A comeback, and a heartbreaker.

                If Nebraska could just consistently deliver the aggression and efficiency of the fourth quarter at Miami, they would be scary good.

            True, it helps if you don't let an offense barf 17 points on you in the first quarter.

            True it helps if you don't commit so many penalties. My favorite, the five-yard penalty on Luke Gifford for lining up on the kickoff more than five yards from the line. On a kick that went for a touchback. Miami got the ball at the 30. I can't even recall ever seeing that flagged, before. I especially loved the final punts of Miami's last possession, 4th & 7 at the Nebraska 47, punt, fair catch at Nebraska 10. Penalty, Running into the kicker, dodged a bullet, there. 4th & 2 at the Nebraska 42, punt, out of bounds at the Nebraska 14. Penalty, personal foul, Miami. 4th & 17 at Miami 41, punt, touchback. Three plays, two penalties, and a change of 10 yards in field position.

            True, it helps that in the fourth quarter, Miami's offense got more conservative than election day in Clay County, it was good to see that Nebraska was able to stop the run when everyone knew it was run, not like the Minnesota game, last year.

            I was wandering around town, dealing with the manic-depressive (fickle) nature of Huskerfans, who were running the emotional gamut between 'they are an embarrassment to all Nebraska fans' to 'keep fighting to the end, that's all we ask for', from the same person, in the span of 45 minutes.

About as close as Nebraska got all day

              Jake's invited me in, as it always does, and I found Lloyd happily pecking away at his laptop. "What gives, pardner? I thought you'd be in the alley looking for cats to kick."

            Lloyd looked up at me, gestured to the opposite bench, and smiled. "Nope, I'm good. Disappointed in the loss, but I get to dry my tears with about five c-notes."

            "500 bucks," I whistled low. "That's a pretty good haul. The Cowboy?" I asked as confirmation for than question.

            "Yep. When the line first hit, Miami was favored by 5, so i called up the Cowboy to get in on that. He said he wouldn't give me five, the line was dropping, even then. He settled for 3 with a hook, so I jumped on it."

            "So, how much did you bet? On a road game. In Miami."

            "200 bucks. Believe me, I was going to have to claim to be a designated driver to drink pop for free at the start of the fourth quarter. I heard Cowboy laughing in my head the whole game. When Tommy hit Zo for the touch, and then CC for two, I thought, 'OK, 33-18 is respectable, but I'm still going to lose'.

            I nodded, I was enjoying how animated he was in telling the story. I gave him the 'go-on' gesture.

            "Then Tommy hit Reilly, and I'm all, 'kick the PAT, that way we're still only one possession down, if you go for two and fail, we'll be two possessions down', we kicked it and it was 33-25, I'm still down, but we can at least hold our head up."

            "How bloody did your fingers get on that last possession?"

            "It was like Miami wanted to give it away. Tommy looked like Russell Wilson, hitting guys down the seam, running for a first down on 3rd and 13, with the 2-pointer to JW, the game was tied and as far as I was concerned, i was almost in. 75% of overtime games are decided by three points or less, so I was almost there."

            "Tell me about the overtime, for me, it was almost as bad as Matt Hasselback's, 'We want the ball, and we're gonna score', only to throw a pick six."

            Lloyd shook his head, "Almost that bad," he said, "Not quite, but almost. I saw what he was looking at, and it was a case of too much confidence in his arm, which is not a new problem. Miami was in a zone coverage, and Morgan was crossing the back of the end-zone. Tommy saw him, but was on the run to his right, he was trying to throw the ball about 45 yards without having his feet set, he didn't get as much energy into the ball as he thought he did, or needed and so under threw it by about 10 yards, the Miami defender didn't even have to move."

            "It was essentially game over at that point, the penalty on Lewis for being a big, frustrated, dumb-ass, didn't help," I said. "I don't know why Miami didn't just put the stake in on the first play. They have a good kicker, their house, spot the ball in the middle of the field, and kick a 30-yarder. Game over. They ran 4 plays to gain two yards, any of which they could have fumbled on."

            "I was just happy that the defense didn't give up and fought for those four plays. Miami kicks the field goal, wins 36-33, but with Nebraska getting spotted 3.5 by Cowboy, it was like they won, 36.5-36. Covered, baby. Covered." Lloyd smiled and pulled out a wad of 20-dollar bills."

            "You put 200 down on Nebraska, after Cowboy's handling fee, you should have about 360. Where did the rest of it come from?" I asked.

            "Ohio State and Alabama. There's a regular, here, that is always wearing his Terrell Pryor jersey on Saturdays. He was going off on how Nebraska sucks and if they played OSU it would be a total blowout again, blah, blah, blah. So I told him that they needed to take care of their own business, first. He laughed and said OSU would beat Northern Illinois by 56, easy. I told him I had 50 bucks that said that it wouldn't be that bad. We had Melissa hold the money, and told her the conditions."

            "Ah, you had the Kraken hold the cash, very nice," I said.

            "Yep, she put my money in one side of her bra, and the OSU dude's in the other side. I didn't mind. Not. One. Single. Bit."

            "I'm sure you did. Did you tip her?"

            "More than I should have, I think," he said smiling.

            "What about Alabama, how did you make money with them?"

            Lloyd frowned. "There was this loud, smartass kid, in here. He went to school at Alabama and his current football knowledge is ok, but to him college football started the day he became an Alabama fan, all of 6 years ago. So, I made a little wager with him about Ole Miss beating Alabama, strait up, no points. He was so confident in Alabama at home, he said 'Roll Tide' as we shook on it. I told him I'd start an on-line petition to replace Franklin on the hundred with Bear Bryant if it made him feel better. He flipped me off after throwing the money at me and storming out of here." Lloyd chuckled.

            "So. Moving forward," I said. "What does Nebraska need to do, 'cause the natives are restless and talk is drifting back to a 6-6 season. Even though you and I both know that this wasn't one of the 'count it' games on the schedule."

            "I think they gelled, a bit, in Miami," Lloyd said. "I think Daniel Davie lost his starting gig, and that is a positive. Kaaya completed 1/3 of his yardage in the first quarter, when Davie was back there. From the second quarter on, Nebraska outscored Miami 33-16. I know, lots of other factors played into that, but the pass defense was a lot better."

            "What else do they need to work on?"

            "I can give you four things that need to be fixed, three of which can be done, easily."

            "Hit me, what do you fix?"

Stanley Morgan, Jr. is going to be a good one.

      "First, the dropped passes. This was the first game where it was a problem, and was probably more a result of being on the road and getting too excited for a big game. They looked flat and complacent for the first quarter. Experience takes care of that. Second, the stupid penalties. 13 of them, most of which were just plain dumb, or lack of discipline. There was a play in the third quarter, I think, where Tommy hit JW down the sideline for a first down in the red zone. It got called back, for a personal foul, instead of 1st and 10 inside the Miami 20, it became 2nd and 25 at the Nebraska 34. Essentially, a 46 yard penalty."

            "That's been a problem for years, now," I said.

            "That will get fixed as they get used to the new offense, so it is a more long-term project."

            "What else?"

            "I do believe that Tommy will continue to get better. He has great confidence in his throws, but sometimes it's too much confidence Two of his three interceptions were a result of him trying to do too much. The other one was an early Christmas present from the football gods for the Miami defender. Tommy needs to learn to set his feet and put his whole body into the throws when he's scrambling, he might take a hit, but he will deliver the ball, better."

            "What is the last thing, the other easy fix?"

            "Please, please, please, for the sake of Bob Devaney and everything else that is sacred for Nebraska football, stop wearing the all-white surrender uniforms. They look bad, and the play in them is even worse. Even in the 90's, when the Huskers were the meanest, baddest mothas on the block, white-on-white was a bad combo. Georgia Tech, Washington, Iowa State, just to name a few. On the road, it should be mandatory, from this point forward, that white jerseys will be paired with red pants."

            With that, I decided to see if Melissa could deliver a drink saved from the watery depths. I needed some bourbon, but not as much as I thought I would need at the start of the fourth quarter.

Hurricanes? More like a tropical depression, lately.

            Ah, Miami. The girls the glitz, the gays. Bikinis on South Beach, crack dealers in Liberty City. Crockett and Tubbs picking up moonlighting cash from the Golden Girls. Tony Montaña, 'Say hello to my little friend' while blasting away, out of control. Joe Montana, in total control, shredding the Miami Dolphins. Myer Lansky, Mariel boat lift, Don Shula, Dan Marino, Larry Czonka, Jim Kiick's cocaine rap. Pasty midwesterners vying for attention from with leathery transplanted retirees as they board cruise ships that make the Titanic look like a tramp steamer. 

            You say the word 'Miami' to a Husker fan and it brings back memories, some of which aren't so pleasant.

            Gotham Bowl in frozen Yankee Stadium; Ferragamo and the bomb, Schnellenberger and his cookie duster 'stache, Curly-headed Kosar, Jeff Smith on 4th and 8, Rozier 'injured', Fryar's 'drop', Calhoun tipping away the pass. Jimmy Johnson and the spray-on hair, with the thugs. DUI Erickson and Thugs: the continuation. Frank Costa, buried by Terry Conneally. Warren Sapp suckin' air after getting punched in the yarbles. Cory Schlessinger and the 'Trap'--twice. Tommie Frazier and Brook Berringer tag-teaming the Hurricanes into a squall.

            Things are not what they used to be. This won't be the car chase from 'Bullitt'. Instead of a Mustang GT going against a Charger R/T, it'll be more like an Escort and a Neon, I'm not sure which is which.

            Last year, things got ugly. The normally placid, respectful, boring Husker fans attacked a bus that they thought carried Miami fans. It didn't. Cops were called, one got hit by a glass bottle lobbed by a drunken tailgater and the Indian Center ended up losing a revenue stream. On the field, their players jawed, things got chippy, and personal foul penalties called. The Miami players and coaches taunted the fans, which, I guess, is what you do, when you're losing on the road. Ameer Abdullah stole the show and the Huskers earned an important early season win.

            This year, the Huskers have to go to Miami. The 'Canes have just as much attitude with even less to back it up. Nebraska has a different coach, whose approach to handling the brashness and attitude of the Miami players (and crowd) will be very different. I'm not sure if a Mr. Nice-guy approach is the way to handle it, but in football, it's the one who retaliates who usually draws the flag. A 'Chill' attitude just might work.

            The focal point for Miami is quarterback Brad Kaaya. He's a tall, skinny kid with a good arm and good decision making. He threw for 359 yards against Nebraska, last year, in a 41-31 loss. I know I kind of buck the trend, here, but I'll take a win and you can have the stats every time.

            Miami has a decent ground attack, and very good receivers, so they will match up well with Nebraska's secondary. Their weak spot also plays into Nebraska's strength. Miami's o-line is isn't very good, while Nebraska's front line, and even front 7 are more athletic and should have a significant advantage. It will be all about putting pressure on Kaaya, make him uncomfortable in the pocket, if he gets time to find an open receiver, he will.

            On the flip side, Nebraska should scare the crap out of Miami, they let Florida Atlantic run almost at will on them. The Owls took them into the fourth quarter before the magic ran out on their back-up quarterback. Tommy and Sweet-n-lo should be able to tear chunks out of the Miami defense, which is not as scary as the monsters of the past.

            I can see Riley using the pass to set up the run, in this situation. Miami has decent depth, and they're playing at home, so trying to wear them down with a pounding attack may not work very well. I see the game plan as being very patient, chip away, hit 'em where they ain't and control the ball. Most importantly in this kind of strategy is finishing drives. If you get inside the Red Zone, you have to get a touchdown, no settling for field goals.

            Miami's coaching staff is on the hot-seat. There is a lot of grumbling and there have been planes rented to tow banners around the stadium calling for the Head Coach's dismissal. Either that or they will read 'Surrender Dorothy'.

            That being said, the coaching staff need a win in order to keep the torpedoes from breaking a leg or two. No. Wait, that's what will happen to me if I don't make a certain payment to a certain someone. Totally unrelated.

            The line opened with the Huskers as five point dogs. There must be a lot of confidence in Nebraska because the bettors put their money where their money where their mouths are, and moved the line two points in the Huskers' direction. They now sit as three point dogs, which is basically just giving Miami home-field advantage. This one will be close, I don't want to see it come down to a field goal in the rain, at least it's not the green sand that used to be in the Orange Bowl, but I'm still not sure that Drew Brown has got the leg swing on auto-pilot, yet.

            Winning this one won't make the season, and it isn't quite a must win, but winning against Miami on the road will do a lot for the player's confidence, reassure Riley that taking the gig was a good idea, and might just send Al Golden's real estate agent on a listing trip.

            I'm not going to go all over-analytical, here. I'm going to go with my gut, which usually keeps me out of trouble, and has been known to stop deadly objects. The gut says 28-24 Nebraska.   

Nebraska 41, Miami 31

    From the files of Lloyd.
     Game four. Miami, (Fla.) (MiaF) at Nebraska (NE).
     20 Sep. 2014 0535
     Huskerfan is jacked. Jacked, man. The Hurricanes blew into town with all their brashness and bravado and bullshit. These cats are not the cats of yesteryear. It's not Michael Irvin and Warren Sapp and Vinny Testaverde. These are not the dudes you grew up hating because not only did they act like assholes on the field, they had the audacity to back their shit up with their play. No, these weren't the fearsome tigers of the 80s and 90s; these guys were more like bocats or lynx, still dangerous, but not nearly as much as their progenitors.
     I hate discussing games as duels between opposing players of the same position. It doesn't matter if Brad Kaaya will play Better than  Tommy Armstrong. It makes no difference if Duke Johnson outduels Ameer Abdullah (as if). The matchups are how Kaaya will handle the noise of the 91,000 people baying for his blood How will Ameer keep moving the chains against a fast, athletic defense?
Those are the kinds of things I seek answers to. Those are the things I hope to gain insight to.
     20 Sep. 2014 1347
     The crowd downtown is well on their way. The red beer (tomato juice and beer) is flowing in quantities that remind one of a slaughterhouse. Middle aged-moms and pops are tippling their wines. The young and single are tossing brewskies as they flirt and mingle. Hot girls in next to nothing are tossing back shots and petitioning the Lord with prayers of 'Ohmigaw'. Fierce, young laddies are in pursuit, posing and displaying, crushing defenseless aluminum into lifeless, drained recyclable slag. At this rate, the crowd will be at full roar. Maybe volume setting 9. Not 12. Never 12. Seattle is 12 and the old gal on 10th street never gets to Seattle level.
     20 Sep. 2014 1905
     The was a near riot at the Indian Center. 3,000 drunk kids squared of with some tour buses. Cops got called. City cops, County cops, Statie cops. Inter-agency differences set aside in order to present united front and ride to the rescue. Crowd got restless, crowd got stupid. Too much booze? Ya think? One cop caught a can off her noggin, sent to the Krankenhaus. There's one dude looking at serious offense, Felony Assault on an Officer. Probably best throw of his life. Now he wants it back. Yes, drunken bacchanal at the Indian Center. Irony lost only on those there.
     20 Sep. 2014 2014
     First half is done. The NE o-line seems to be grind-grind-grinding the MiaF front into a fine powder. Not done yet, but they will break by the third. Ameer to the left, Ameer to the right, Ameer right up the gut, between the tackles. MiaF has no answer. They hit him high, he spins away, the hit him low and he balances for extra yards as he falls. He's smiling. He's feeling it. Ameer is crushing it. It didn't start out so comfortable. MiaF went right down the field to open the scoring. Three straight first downs. Yet another game of the defense looking at each other with 'whatthefuck' faces on the opening drive, again. NE answered. Lightning strike to AfroThunder from 40 yards out. MiaF stopped on an INT. Despite that, Kaaya looks poised. Things got sloppy after that. Both sides traded punts, and Tommy pulled a Taylor and fumbled on the run. MiaF moves at will, goes up by a touchdown. Ameer responds. Touchdown back. Huskers forced a 3&O. More Ameer. Have to settle for a field goal. Since MiaF scored last, Huskers outgained Canes 129-(-1). 25 plays to 3. TOP 12:43-1:109.
    20 Sep. 2014 2238
     The second half  started where the first left off. More Ameer. The mere mention of Ameer has the MiaF d-line cringing. The NE o-line is looking magnificent, standing the tired 'Cane d-lineman up and driving them back. MiaF d-backs getting a workout making all the tackles. Long grinding drives traded. NE jumps out 24-14, about to put the dagger in, but Kaaya and company responds. Steals a march and is right back in it 24-21. Tommy and Ameer are driving back to push lead back out when Tommy throws a pick. Bad pick. Slap you in the helmet bad pick. Mighty Mouse saves the day. Crushes Hurricane hearts. Trevor Roach, filling in for scuffling Josh Banderas, forces the Duke to fumble. Josh Mitchell, all 5-9 and 175 pounds of him scoops and scores. Dagger in the heart.
  Canes not quite done, yet. They have to throw, now. Kaaya throws a pick to Nathan Gerry, good return, flags fly. Canes throwning down, scuffle edging on ruckus brewing. Bullshit call on Valentine for roughing the passer. More bullshit as unsportsmanlike penalties offset. Bo turns red. Bo yells. Bo points for emphasis. Bo gets nowhere. Field goal traded for a field goal. 34-24, at this point. Must hold until relieved. Kalu gets a pick. Miami starts shit. Brawling and jawing near the sideline, 'there there there, boys' turns into 'get the fuck back to the sidelines'. Miami imploding, Hurricane force winds only coming from their mouths. The team is a summer breeze. Ameer from 10 yards out Head on a stake. Mount that bitch on the wall.
    Game over. Late Miami score. Meaningless. Cosmetic. A slag in Maybelline is still a slag. MiaF is broken, defeated, but they won't shut up. Still talking trash. Husker doesn't know enough to point at the scoreboard and illuminate the Canes. Canes depart. Canes don't shake hands. Canes give crowd the finger. Crowd gives boos back. Crowd sings 'Na Na, hey hey, goodbye'. Crowd full of hatred. Crowd full of vindication. Huskerfan feels that this makes up for the failed two-point conversion when Reagan watched the Orange Bowl from 1600. It doesn't. It's just the next step to 4-0, which hasn't happened since 2011.
     20 Sep 2014 2159
     Streets are quieting. Bars are rocking. Lads and lasses calling plays, trying to score. Inside trap works well. Passing game needs work. Channel your inner Ameer, lads, and nothing can stop you.

     The rain had been pelting down for some time. I was trying to ignore the yelling dude in the next booth, over. I couldn't tell what he was yelling about, he needed his volume controlled. I wanted to walk up to him, get in his face and whisper 'indoor voice', but decided he was doing a good enough job embarrassing himself in front of the young ladies trying oh so hard to look savvy and sophisticated. He didn't need my help.
     Side-bar. If you're trying to look sophisticated and grown-up, don't tuck a t-shirt into your skirt, girly.
     The traffic lights were glowing in little pools on the streets. Bikes in their racks were preparing to give their owners wet butt on the way home. Refuse from the streets washed into the storm drain while the human refuse hunched closer to their buildings, embracing cornerstones.
     A gust of wind rattled the window as Lloyd blew in.
     "Lloyd, my man," I called to him. "Come on over grab a seat and let me buy you something to warm your very core."
     He squished into the booth opposite me. Droplets of rain stowing away on his coat. "I'll take some Devil's Cut and a Coke to chase it," he said, a bit distractedly.
     "You've been processing, haven't you?" I asked. He had all the usual signs. Hands in his pockets, head slightly down, leaning forward, brow furrowed. He hadn't even wiped the rain from his glasses.
     "Yep," he answered, slightly defensively. "I have been looking at the data and a bit at the games and there is one thing that has me worried."
     "And that is....."
     "Speed, man, speed," he intoned. "I'm not talking about Bennies or Dexys, I'm talking about the raw ability of one player to go faster than another."
     "Did you see something you didn't like?"
     "AND THEN I WAS LIKE, 'DUDE' YOU ARE SO GOING TO PAY FOR THAT," from the next booth, Loud Guy was slapping the table for emphasis while blond wine drinking girl next to him looked nervous.
     Lloyd took a breath and carried on. "Their receiver, Phillip Dorsett has some wheels. He had over 200 yards in receptions last week."
     "But that was Arkansas State. I'm betting they don't have anyone on their track team that has that kind of speed. Plus, he's only 5-10, so Mitchell will be on a guy who doesn't have a huge height advantage, for once."
     Lloyd nodded, sipping his whiskey. It is interesting stuff, it is made from the alcohol extracted from the barrel. The alcohol that evaporated in the aging process is called the 'Angel's Share', the alcohol absorbed by the wood, the 'Devil's Cut'. "Duke Johnson is a good running back," he resumed. "He is slightly heavier than Ameer, same height, better take-off speed, but not as shifty, and I'm not sure he's as durable as Ameer. He can stretch a defense on eat-west runs and cut back."
     "I AM SOOOO FUCKING PSYCHED FOR THIS WEEKEND. THIS GAME IS HUUUUUUGE." The PBR in front of him sweated along with the rest of his booth denizens. It wasn't hot.
     Lloyd took a swig of the whiskey and a chased it with his Coke like RG4 on an outside blitz. "Their quarterback is the key to the game," he said, thoughtfully. "He is a drop-back passer, the kind that the Bo-fense usually does really well against. He won't hurt you with his legs, though, which is good. He's a Freshman and has never been in a setting with 91,000 fans baying for blood. I know history is irrelevant to the players, but the crowd will focus their hatred and resentment for all those Orange Bowl losses on the field. They remember the failed two-point conversion. They remember the beat-down in the Rose Bowl. They remember seeing the option get throttled by speed."
     "Hopefully they'll remember Cory Schlesinger and the trap dive," I retorted, just a little playfully. "And Warren Sapp kneeling on the sideline after getting punched in the balls--at least, that's his story."
      "Yep, he's a talented quarterback, but I'm betting there have been cover schemes and blitz packages that JP has been keeping under wraps, just for this game," Lloyd said, repeating his whiskey and Coke maneuver. "Randy will be his worst nightmare."
     "And Randy will elevate the play of the whole d-line against the fat, slow, Miami, o-line. They are not athletic," I contributed. I like adding my bit, every now and then. "What about the Miami defense?"
     "They are quick, too," Lloyd said. "I have a feeling Nebraska will have to wear them down. I have a feeling we wont see many 'explosive' plays. No 70-yard touchdown passes on a third-and-eight play. Tommy will have to be patient, and the running backs will have to attack in waves. Two and three and four yard drives by Ameer, Imani and Terrence in the first half, will be six and seven and eight yard gashes in the fourth quarter."
     "I LOVE BOOBIES," Loud Guy, yet again. "THEY ARE MY FAVORITE THING. NOT TOO BIG, NOT TOO SMALL. BOOBIES!"
     Three girls in the booth. Two flushed. I couldn't see the face of the third. For as loud as Loud Guy was, the girls were piercingly silent.
     Lloyd took a long draw of the whiskey. He didn't chase it down. I could see the glow set in.
     "Do you think special teams will be a big factor?" I asked.
      "I think De'Morney Pierson-El will have at least one big return," Lloyd replied. "It may not go all the way, but it will set up a short field in a key possession."
     "So, big picture," I said. What will the outcome be, after processing all your data?"
     "The latest line has Nebraska by 7.5," he said. "I think that is about right. It will be hard to make a decision on that point-five. I think it will be 24-17, or 28-21, something like that. It will tick me off if I take Miami, and Nebraska wins 28-20. Not really. The win will allow me to cheerfully watch the cash go away."
     "So, Huskers win?" I asked. "Just to be clear."
     "Yes. Final score, 24-17."
     "SHOW ME YOUR TITS. I LOVE YOUR TITS. TITS ARE AWESOME," Loud Guy, yet again.
     Lloyd had had enough. He got up, walked right over to loud guy, bent down and whispered right into his ear. No yelling. It didn't take that long, either. Loud Guy turned white. The blood drained from his face like an elevator with a cut cable. Lloyd pivoted and walked out the door, into the rain. He stood on the sidewalk, letting the rain bead up on his coat. Loud Guy unsteadily got to his feet, dropped a couple bills on the table, and headed for the other door. The one Lloyd was not standing by. He drifted off into the sopping night, nearly stumbled over one of the refugees and disappeared into the darkness.
     I have no idea what Lloyd said. I never ask. I can only handle my own monsters, I don't want to get a glimpse of his.