by Hank Brockett
No, I am not speaking in metaphors, and yes, I do talk to my shoes. As the time nears for fans to celebrate the NIU football homecoming experience, I am reminded of a very different time, where fences operated as the only entrance to mayhem. Let’s go back ... back .... back ....
Actually, it’s not that far back. The year is 1998. Whoa! All kinds of 20th century things are happening in retro ways.
I sit in my first-floor Douglas Hall room, slowly recovering from a Friday night of extreme television watching. The skies have opened up, a tell-tale sign of early fall. The rain pelts my window, with thunder offering a nice backbeat.
For as big a casual football fan I am, the opportunity to watch the homecoming game in person is something that doesn’t quite hold the appeal of, say, brushing my teeth. I still remember the heartbreaking loss to Eastern Illinois, begetting the taunts of some loser friends from Charleston. That is never a good thing.
Anyway, that doesn’t mean I won’t watch the game on television. The Huskies are making a rare appearance on SportsChannel (remember that?), so I decide to dodge the raindrops and watch the game with my roommate.
I’ve rarely made such a wise move, or so I think. The game actually is delayed a short time, for threat of storms in the area. Just when I think I should go eat lunch, however, the roar of the nearby crowd shakes the room. The game will begin!
Actually, that might not be such a good thing. We have lost 23 games in a row, the longest Division I streak in the nation. One more loss may mean more tears, and the last great heartbreak. But we are confident, somehow.
As the game progresses, things are going surprisingly well. The announcers are pulling for the Huskies, the Bad News Bears of the Mid-American Conference. Who wouldn’t, especially in going up against the nondescript Central Michigan squad, enemies just because they are against our lovable heroes.
Flash-forward to the fourth quarter. The game still lies in the hands of the Huskies, not a common occurrence. With five minutes left, the game solidifies in the muck. Barring catastrophe, the Huskies will break the streak.
The decision then crops up that maybe my roommate, his girlfriend and I should go over and check out the celebration. But would that mean that we are fair (poor) weather fans? Could we live with ourselves that night, in joining in the fun and not lasting through the rain? I decide that I will forever be admiring to those who stuck it out the whole game, but I might as well see them at pandemonium’s peak.
We run over to the game, a two-minute jog that lasts much longer in the rain. But the gates are closed. No admittance! Drat!
Our heads hang in wet shame, not content with just listening to the anticipatory roar. In the blown-out-of-proportion time, though, we spot students being led to a fence that grows with every recollection. I think it is about 10-feet high.
The problem with climbing fences in the rain is that Nikes seldom are designed for such a task. My roommate and his girlfriend climb with ease. I, on the other hand, stumble, slip and scratch my way up. As I pause at the top, I see the fence has torn up my barely worked hands. The blood drips all the way down the other side, to a waiting pit of mud. Oh, well. Jump!
We arrive and then all Hades breaks loose. A guy is accosted by security for trying to break down a smaller fence. The wiser man makes the young one cry with carefully selected words.
As I laugh, the last seconds tick off. Without realizing it, I flow onto the field, floating in mass. I end up near a goalpost that never stood a chance. Victory has resulted in its defeat.
We take the goalpost through campus, uprooting signs and trees in the process. Our journey ends at the East Lagoon. We absurdly plant the post in a new locale as we slap hands with soaked strangers.
Just the thought from that day two years ago is enough to soak my thoughts for a spell. Despite my fair (poor) weather instincts, it still was fun.
But streaks, rain and goalposts are but details in a larger emotion. The excitement from a larger, shared experience thankfully has lasted this short time after. And it wasn’t the celebration that made the day. It was the fact people wanted to celebrate.
Thus, my theory is this: Take advantage of celebratory times. There is nothing more pathetic than an unmemorable existence.