The Power of Red

Somehow we lose our self identity in the identity of twenty-something year old boys who throw and (sometimes) catch and run a football. In the coming days and months and years we will re-examine ourselves in Nebraska. Some of it is very practical - a favorite cheer of "Husker! Power!" has been replaced with "Fire! Cosgrove!" (the defensive co-ordinator). Some of it is much more esoteric. Why do we need this? Why do these trophies make my heart swell? I did not earn them. But they are somehow part of how I see myself. I am not even the most devout fan.

We stayed for the whole miserable game and then toured the trophy room.

"Wow! How many National Championships is that?!" Frank exclaimed.

"None since you were born," I said.

"Nebraska used to be really good, huh, mom," he observed.

The evidence for that is overwhelming.

We walked into the "Heisman Trophy Room" and when I saw the three trophies lined up with soft lighting, I gasped. "Oh my!" I said.

The security guard smiled at me. He had seen that reaction before. Why does that happen? What is it about football?