A couple of things today got me thinking
about sports and more specifically, about stadiums and fields and arenas and
the impressions and influences they can have on a person upon the first time he
encounters one on a really big stage. My first experience on a big, crowded, frenzied
stage was Memorial Stadium in Lincoln Nebraska in 1978.
It’s funny that with so many years
sitting between 1978 and now, I can still remember so many details about that
day and so much about the experience as a whole. Even better is how none of the
specialness of that day has been lost during the years that have passed. In a
word, that day and the experience were transcending, and it only cemented
everything that I had already come to love about sports before that day.
The date specifically was Nov. 18, and
the opponent was the Missouri Tigers. Nebraska was ranked #2 in the country.
The previous week the Huskers had beaten the #1 ranked Oklahoma Sooners,
sending the state into chaos. To say there was a significant buzz in the air Nov.
18 would be a tremendous understatement. Win the game against Missouri, the
prevailing feeling among fans, sports writers, and anyone else in Nebraska who
could form an opinion, and Nebraska would be playing for the national
championship.
I couldn’t have been more elated when my
dad told me he was taking me. Honestly, I’ve experienced few things since that have
caused the same kind of anticipation and eagerness to swell up inside me. Among
the many memories I have of that day is the sight and feel of the snow that was
falling, the wind that was blowing, and the chill that was in the air. We
parked many blocks away and had to cross the bridge leading to the stadium
along with scores of other fans. I was intimidated and in wonder at the number
of people on the streets, so much so that I didn’t notice that I had forgotten
my gloves back in the car until we had nearly reached the stadium. My dad was
understandably peeved, but he didn’t let it show (too much). I still remember
him graciously giving me his own gloves and how warm they made my hands feel
immediately.
As we made our way up the steps to enter
the stadium, my eyes were darting everywhere. Even at a young age, it was
impossible not to feel reverence for the history the building exuded. It was
also impossible not to pay heed to the raft of voices filling the air. Men.
Women. Old and young. Boys and girls. All decked in red and all full of life. Cheerleaders
outside. The sound of the band coming from inside. The swarm of people filling
the tunnels. All of it was amazing. I held on to my dad’s coat for dear life
and let him pull me along the way, trying to find some light among the masses.
To this day, I can’t think of too many visions
that are as firmly burned in my memory as the one of seeing the field for the
first time. Even speckled with snow, the magnificence of the green field was
blinding to my eyes. It was surreal. And the rows and rows of people
collectively forming a sea of red? Incredible. Our seats were at about the 40
yard line, smack dab in the middle of what I soon figured out were longtime
ticket holders. They were elderly and fiercely loyal. They were also incredible
kind and couldn’t have been happier to have a youngster in their midst. They
shared their binoculars and hot chocolate and observations. They told me what
to look for and showed by example when I should stand, what cheers to
participate in, and when to pay respect. It was like attending church.
The overall experience of witnessing the
field and the stadium in all of its splendor would have been enough to make a deep,
lasting impression, but the game only enhanced all the emotions I was feeling.
Rick Berns took the opening kickoff and returned it for a touchdown, producing
what is still to this day the loudest roar I can remember ever hearing. Later, after
Nebraska would eventually lose the game 31-35, the result produced what would be
perhaps the greatest collectively sense of dejection I’ve witnessed. As big of an
impression as the cheers and joy and happiness of that touchdown made on me,
the grumblings after the game ended were just as heavy and influential.
I completely and utterly realize how
fortunate I am to have had such a memorable game and atmosphere be the center
of my first encounter with a major sporting venue. I completely realize how
lucky I am to be able to hold onto those memories in such an endearing way. I
have such fond recollections of that day and how I got to share it all with my
dad. I vividly remember how he took care to look after me and make the day
special. I still remember the car rides to and from the stadium, and how
drastically different the anticipation of the game felt from the contemplation
of sorting through what I had actually experienced after.
Every time I’ve entered Memorial Stadium
since, I’ve remembered that day with great joy and made a point to give that
day the just due that it deserves. God made me a sports fan for whatever reason
he did, but he made me a fan for life by gifting me that day. I learned on my
first encounter on the big stage how special sports can be.
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