An Open Letter to Husker Fan - 2007 Edition

Dear Husker fan,

Well, here we are again as we stand on the curb, waiting to depart on another long journey. Before I go into my annual rant about my true feelings for you, I need to digress for a moment.

When I was a kid, I watched a LOT of TV. I watched game shows, sitcoms and pretty much everything in between. I'd watch just about anything at anytime, much to the disdain of my parents. One show my folks loved was one of the shows I liked the absolute least.

Fantasy Island ran from 1978 to 1984, and pretty much put me to sleep every time before the closing credits. For those of you too young to remember, Fantasy Island was about this creepy old dude who, along with his midget sidekick, welcomed people to their Hawaiian resort in order to let them face their fears and live out their fantasies.

The problem is, the show sucked donkey balls. Even at the age of 9, I thought it was completely idiotic that somebody could be so stupid as not to see through Mr. Roark's phony, "Why...THIS wasn't in the plans!!" bullshit. How could these people be this dumb? "That gypsy isn't your mother reincarnated to save you from being killed by the evil rancher. It's just some homeless woman that Mr. Roark trained and the rancher us just some actor hired by the resort. You stupid bitch, just ask to see some ID!" And so it went every week.

Driving around the other day, I realized that something from the past reminded me of the current state of Husker football. Something tugged at that Deja Vu feeling that lives inside all of us.

The similarities are spooky.

- Creepy guy with white hair promises that your fantasy will come true.
- Goofy looking dude with black hair and a funny accent is his little bitch.
- People show up to "paradise" in order for creepy guy to make dreams come true.
- Something goes horribly wrong, people are ultimately sorry they met creepy guy.
- The whole thing is revealed as a sham as smoke and mirrors are revealed.
- Bystander goes back to boring life after learning a valuable lesson.

Sound familiar?

Four the better part of four seasons, I have tried to tell you people that your existence is one giant product of smoke and mirrors. Like the idiot lady convinced that they gypsy is her long-lost mother, you people go ahead and collectively believe otherwise, despite the warnings and objections from those outside your own circle. Like that woman on the show, you've been lured with the promises of a better life...a better state of mind...a better world in which to live in...of "restored" order.

And just as predictably as the dumb blond in 1978, you are just too damn stupid to see the strings being pulled in the background. You are a complete and total fraud, living in a land where everything is held tightly to the vest in order to keep you from knowing the truth. Your leader is a con artist. Your players are thugs and deviants. Your ethics, morals and values that used to fill you with pride are in shambles. Your coaches are dolts. Your traditions are pathetically outdated, idiotic and corny. Your uniforms hideous. Your self-patronizing arrogance is a product of your own envy toward other teams. You're obnoxious. You're unimaginative. You're sophomoric. You have the sophistication of Buck Owens covering a Naughty by Nature song. You're a puppet playing a part in the master production of an egomaniac and a dude who couldn't coach his way out of a Pop Warner playoff.

You may think to yourself, "Hey crazy blog guy...you do this every year. Why is this year different?"

This year is different, because the world is slowly beginning to realize how full of shit you really are. Whether it's facts resulting from this blog, some random rival Big 12 message board, or one of your state's best media members blathering on and on about concepts, theories and Jeremy Crabtree's opinions...people around college football and the conference are slowly starting to understand what I've been preaching for years.

That whole clapping for the losing team thing? Sham
That whole "win with class" thing? Sham
That whole "win with good kids" thing? Gone
That whole homegrown talent developed by hard work? Sham
That whole close-knit coaching family? Gone
That whole humble and knowledgeable fan base? Fraud
The whole "Win with class and dignity thing? Never existed

Your entire program...your complete and total reason for existence on this earth is riding upon the hope and ramblings of a complete and total madman, who's fluky 5th-choice head coach is barely treading water to keep from getting humiliated against any team worth a shit. He may base his offense on Tecmo Bowl theories, but Bill Callahan is at the very least smart enough to know that if USC beats you by 50...he's going to have to deal with way more than just "Frank apologists"..namely battering rams, boiling buckets of tar and giant industrial-sized bags of chicken feathers.

I used to ramble on that I was your only enemy. At the time, I was one fighting behind enemy lines, trying ton convince the world what complete and total hayseed idiots you people were. Well that phase is complete. Mission freaking accomplished.

Your enemy now lies within. Your enemy now wears your colors, resides in your own office and is paid for by your tax dollars. The same man who passes out Order Restored t-shirts and presents his teams with made-up trophies for something that was second nature just 6 years ago, is now the same guy who is sailing the ship past the red-colored iceberg. Unfortunately for you, instead of raising the alarm and changing directions, you've put your faith in a moron and gone back below deck to the buffet for seconds. (Many of you literally from the looks of you)

As stated previously, it takes hard work and dedication to destroy a top-tiered program, and it doesn't take an MIT professor to see it all coming from a mile away. Many of you will point with schoolgirl delight the fact that you've got a "Hesiman" Caliber QB to lead your team. You are quick to inform others just how quick and talented Marlon Lucky is. The linebackers are "studs". The Offensive line is of 1983 caliber. The DB's will most certainly be better because Rivals100 told you so. Not just one of you believe this...but all of you. This is the case with the casual observer at the corner bingo game in North Platte all the way up to the state's top sports columnist, who has so much kool-aid flowing through his veins that his blood type is Mountainberry Punch..

But lost in your euphoria is the ability to think even with the most remote clarity. You've sacrificed your reputation, your morals, your integrity and your sanity just to get back to where you were. You have no choice but to believe Keller is the second coming of Joe Montana...you have no choice but to believe that Marlon Lucky is Barry Sanders...you have no choice but to compare Corey McKeon to Dick Butkis. Why?

You have no choice, because if you're all wrong...you'll become everything you've mocked for the better part of 40 years.

To make things worse yet, if you're no longer the National Power you've built up in you're mind...you'll end up being nothing more than some overweight red-clad bumpkin who lives in the middle of fucking nowhere, with nothing more to talk about beyond comparing Volleyball statistics, the 2008 John Deere models and last week's milo prices. This realization that without the self-created dominance of Husker football, has most of you subliminally scared to death...just as it should. What in the hell are you going to do with your time once Steve Pederson has destroyed your program? Ride bumper cars at Fun Plex? The Farmer's Market every Saturday morning? Omaha Botanical Gardens? Blockbuster Total Access?

You idiots act like douchebags because you have absolutely no choice. Meanwhile, the rest of us normal fans in the world of college sports snicker relentlessly, as we watch your complete implosion before our very eyes.

But why snicker?
You assholes have been pulling this "we're better than you" shit for the better part of four decades. Why in the hell shouldn't K-State fan pile on the hate toward your phantom greatness? Why shouldn't Colorado roll their eyes at the way you break your arm patting yourself on the back 24/7? Why shouldn't Missouri fan pile on with every ounce of hate and disdain toward the red-clad Ned Flanders look alikes who have stood across from them every season, clapping politely and and slowly nodding. "It's OK Tigers..you'll get better...good luck to you."

Fuck you Husker fan.

Fuck you horizontally with a steaming tire iron you pathetic overall wearing, wheat munching, George straight listening, reality dodging, combine driving, pheasant hunting, Trev worshiping, rival star counting, Larry the Cable Guy DVD owning, recruit lusting ass clowns.

This implosion has been a long time coming, and will be savored and enjoyed by every single fan of every single team who has witnessed your arrogance and insincere attitude toward anything and anybody who has ever kept their distance from threatening you. Well now not only am I threatening you...reality is threatening you in the form of a bare and desolate wasteland that will become your hopes and dreams if just ONE of your horseshit unrealistic expectations doesn't hit the mark this season.

You may beat Nevada tomorrow. You may even pull a win out of your ass at Wake Forest in 8 days. But no matter what you do, you must come to the realization that there is absolutely no looking back. You snipe at each other like conjoined brothers trapped in the back seat of a Ford Country Squire Station wagon on a cross country trip. You get more pissed off at a fellow Husker fan who appreciated Frank Solich and the option than you do people like me who bash you every minute and accuse your hall-of-fame former coach of having sex with farm animals. These are the rapidly expanding cracks in the rock-solid foundation that Bob Devaney, Tom Osborne and hundreds of woman beaters, thugs, petty thieves and drunk drivers have laid before you. If and when you screw this up, they'll be nothing left for the rest of us to do but laugh at the whole lot of you...frantically drowning in the raging river of tears that only you created.

I hope you get bitchslapped upside the head by every single team you play. I hope each and every one of you realize just how idiotic it was to put all your faith in a slick white-haired guy in a 50 dollar suit who sounds like a cross between Sylvester the Cat and Hannah Montana. I hope you someday realize just what complete and total hypocritical assholes you've become, in your quest to chase your youth.

Perhaps you should take a trip to recapture that feeling of importance and dominance? Perhaps you should step back, and try and make things right. Perhaps you should re-evaluate your support and loyalties, and set your mind straight?

Perhaps a trip to Fantasy Island is in order?

"The plane Steve!....The plane!!!"

Let the Bodies Hit the Floor. This is gonna be fun.

AJ