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.   

Post Jaguars assessment

                I enjoy meeting up with Lloyd when he's in a good mood. A nice 48-9 win will do wonders for his mood, even if it was against a team you expect to get beaten 48-9.

            I ran into Lloyd at Jake's, where he was nursing a bourbon, smoking a Gurkha, and watching whatever NFL game was on, Ravens-Broncos, probably. He might have been secretly watching the Bundesliga soccer game on the other telly, but I wasn't going to out him.

            "So, Lloyd, old buddy, you seem to be in a much better mood than last Sunday," I said as I hoisted myself onto the stool, next to him. "You don't have the laptop out, or anything."

            "No need for it, my good man," he said, quite cheerfully, "No need. I watched the game and saw good things, for the most part, there are some things that still need work, but for the most part, the boys looked pretty good."

                                          I caught the bartenders eye, she came over and I ordered a Four Roses, neat. The bartender had an impressive chest-piece tattoo. It depicted a sailing ship, dismasted and floundering, as kraken's tentacles entwined the ship, fore, aft and amidships. The tentacles led the eye downward until they disappeared beneath the surface of her shirt. I asked her once, after I had my social filter degraded by a few too many bourbons, at just how many fathoms the kraken lived. She just smiled, stepped back and lifted the hem of her shirt to expose her belly. I could see where the tentacles continued upward, pairs of tentacles looped left and right toward her back.  The pair threatening the ship, continued down past the waistband of her jeans.

            I raised my glass and tipped my hat to her. Some dedication to the art went into that piece.

            I turned back to Lloyd, "So what pleased you the most?" I asked.

            "The ground game," he said, immediately. "Newby had 198 yards and two touchdowns. It seemed like he was picking up ten yards every time he touched the ball. He wears number 34, just like Walter Payton, he's no Walter Payton, but I'm going to refer to him as 'Sweet-n-lo' during the games. Maybe it will catch on."

            

                             Sweet-n-lo in action

            "So the o-line must have been pretty good, too," I said.

            "They did well, but the South Alabama d-line was just terrible. As they wore down in the second half, they could barely get out of their stances, never mind generate any push to put pressure on Tommy."

            "Tommy did look pretty sharp, he looked like he made good decisions."

            "Tommy went 21 of 30, for 270 yards, two touchdowns and no picks, a very solid day for Tommy. We only had one turnover, and that was Fife, the backup, throwing a bad one, when the outcome had been decided."

            "Any love for the receivers of special teams?" I asked.

            "Lane Hovey stepped it up with 5 catches. Alonzo Moore is showing that he can be a speed threat. I see a bright future for Stanley Morgan. When DeMornay gets healed up, this receiving corps will be scary good."

            "How's your Drew Brown Bang-your-head-against-the-wall-meter?"

            "He hit both of his attempts, one was a shorty, the other one was pretty decent, so the meter is at 8, not 11, like last week."

            I sipped my bourbon as I processed the information. The offense had done well, but against a defense that wasn't particularly good. They still did what they were supposed to. "Let's talk about the defense," I said.

            Lloyd kind of tilted his head, side-to-side, in an odd sort of weighing the ideas in his head motion. "The front seven were pretty impressive. the D-line got push all night, and stuffed the ground game, South Alabama is a team that wants to run the ball and the Blackshirts shut them down."

            "Tell me about that Rose-Ivey kid, he was all over the place."

            "That was his first action in two years," Lloyd said, matter-of-factly. "He was hurt last year, and was one of the five suspended last week, imagine how much better the run defense would have been against BYU if he had been out there." Lloyd waved away the invisible 'coulda-woulds-shouldas' that started to pester him.

            "What about the back end?", I asked somewhat delicately.

            Lloyd took a deep breath. "The safeties seem to be fine, Nate Gerry especially. The corners are weak points. I have a feeling that there is going to be a shake up on the left side. Daniel Davie had a rough night. He got burned repeatedly, and even when he was getting burned, he could have been flagged for defensive holding. South Alabama's quarterback, Clements, made some nice passes, but Davie was never even in position to contest them, let alone stop them."

            "So, overall, good game?" I asked.

            "Good enough," Lloyd said. "Nebraska did what it was supposed to, and in a week where Auburn got scared, Missouri got pushed, and Arkansas got beat by 'lesser opponents', I'll take it. It was no McNeese State, anyway."

            "One more thing," I said. "I noticed you're drinking the hard stuff, today, instead of liquid hops and barley, and that cigar is a little above your usual price point. What gives?"

            Lloyd smiled. "I won 100 bucks on the game. Nebraska covered the spread so I was good to go."

            "Who did you bet with?"

            "Remember that old bookie, from back in the day, Cowboy Steve? He put me in touch with a young up-and-comer. I almost feel bad about taking his money."

            I opened my mouth to explain to Lloyd how that all works. He's a tech guru and number geek like you wouldn't believe, but I should probably intervene before he starts to parlay. It could wait. Let him enjoy it for today.

            I went back to the office. I opened the desk bottle and just kind of slipped away. It had been a long, tiring week and before I knew it, I fell asleep in the chair.

            I dreamed of a ship of the line, battered by a hurricane, dismasted, adrift, as the tentacles came out of the depths and started dragging her down to dark unfathomable depths.

Jaguars at Night

     The pain and heartbreak of the last second loss to the pasty milk-drinkers didn't seem to be having too much of an adverse effect on the locals. Still lots of Husker gear being represented, the general feeling seemed to be one of accepting defeat in a tough environment against a respectable opponent.
     Of course, there were a few trolls who crawled out from under their bridges to vent their anger and lower their blood-alcohol-content, but they were the same ones who crawl out even when Nebraska wins, not big enough margin, not enough yardage, too many pizzas and not enough Runzas sold, and so on.
     This week's opponent is the South Alabama Jaguars. The only reference that keeps jumping into my head is the line from Barry McGuire's 'Eve of Destruction', "Think of all the hate there is in Red China, Then take a look around to Selma, Alabama'. Dunno why. They aren't in Selma, they are in Mobile.
     Some fun facts; their colors are red, white, and blue. They are called the Jaguars. Their starting quarterback, Cody Clements, is from Whittier, California, where Richard Nixon went to college. I have no idea what that has to do with anything, except after playing at a JUCO, then Alabama-Birmingham, Clements is using up his last year of eligibility at SAU. I guess we'll have to kick him around, some.
     I was looking at their roster, they play a 4-2-5 defensive scheme, which is unusual, and might pose some problems game-planning for. They also have cutesy names for a lot of the positions. They have a 'Jack' end (Jack not name, Jack job). They have a 'Mike' linebacker (not so weird) and a 'Money' linebacker, their defensive backfields consists of a right and left corner, free and strong safety, and a 'Star'. Whatever they call themselves, they gave up over 300 yards to Gardiner-Webb in a win. I know last week still stings, but I'd be willing to wager that Nebraska has a skosh more talent than G-W.
     Speaking of wagering, I ran into one of my favorite shadowy denizens of Lincoln, Cowboy Steve. Cowboy Steve is a distinguished elder of the 'O' Street bookies. Cowboy made book back in the day when he was working his way through the U.  He's told me stories about guys who have gotten in too deep and needed to get some body work by a couple of Indians. Yes, he calls them Indians, he's a Cowboy; what do you expect? He's told me about the kind and quality of work you could get for a hundred bucks, each.
     He was sitting on the veranda of a coffee place, sipping espresso. He was wearing his trade-mark cowboy hat and a black t-shirt with the border of Italy printed on it, in white. "Hey, there, Cowboy. Mind if I join you?"
     He looked up at me, regarded me slowly, "That depends if this is a personal visit, a professional visit, or a friendly one."
     I pulled up a chair and sat down. "Oh, c'mon, Cowboy. You know that if this was a personal visit, I'd use your real name, if it was professional, I'd have dead presidents with me--well, dead ambassadors to France, anyway. So I guess this is a friendly, have a chat, kill some time, talk some football."
     He took a sip from his demitasse, it was hard to imagine, but I knew that with one phone-call, he could have my elbows and knees re-arranged in such a way that I'd resemble a Micronaut. "You do know that I'm retired from my speculation days," he said.
     "That's what I've heard," I said. "I heard you've been off, traveling the world, seeing sights, acquiring exotic tastes," I gestured toward the espresso.
     He shrugged, "I am getting on in years. I just want to enjoy the few years I have left. If that means cruising the Mediterranean, with a lovely, bikini-clad beauty on each arm, drinking wine, soaking up the sun, then so be it."
     I nodded. The image of Cowboy Steve in a Speedo and his Stetson jumped into my head. I had to get it out of there. "Theoretically, since you are retired, if someone wanted to drop a C-Note on the Husker game, what do you think the O-Street line would be?" I held up my hand in a pre-emptive deflection of his protests.
     He took a long, silent stare at me, sizing up my intentions. I could see the wheels in his head spinning and meshing. He took a sip of his espresso, put the cup down on the table and picked up his phone. He tapped it a few times, nodded and returned it to the table.
     "If one wanted to leverage a small amount of venture capital on a speculative deal of this nature," he said, with his disarming rural drawl, "I could see some financiers backing it at 30-and-a-hook."
     I whistled a low whistle. "There's that much confidence in Nebraska, after last week?" I asked.
     "I know you've been around the block a few times. I also know you've watched a lot of football. I also know that you know how people in this town think. Of course it's a straight up win, no action is happening, there. They are playing a team that most people haven't even heard of, this is a blood money game, and it's at night, so, by kickoff, a good chunk of the crowd is going to look like the end of the toga party scene in 'Animal House'."
     "What's that have to do with football?" I asked.
     "Nothing," he said, evenly. "I'm talking about human nature. That's what determines where the stakes get set. My job--my former job, is to decide where I can get the local fan to put his money where his mouth is, without scaring his wallet back into his pocket."
     Very educational, I thought. "So, if I wanted to successfully expand my revenue, I would need to hope Nebraska wins by 31 points, right?"
     "You could always bet against them."
     "Why would I do that?"
     "To make the game interesting to the very end," he smiled. "Imagine your team being up 38-3, fourth quarter. The game is won, right? You could bail or switch to another game, but you won't because what happens of South Alabama, with their starters, puts a drive together against the back-ups, they score a late, meaningless touchdown that turns your 32-point win and cover, to a 26-point win, but you lose your stake."
     The light in his eyes told me that he had seen that happen more than once.
     "Thanks, Steve," I said as I got up. "Let me get you another espresso for indulging my inquiries."
     He touched the brim of his hat and I went inside to place the order. Some people talk books or movies, or get into in-depth discussions about politics, or religion. Not me, I get to chit-chat about the nuances of book-making. As I stood in line, I mulled over the factors and challenges the game presented.
     Human nature aside, Nebraska will just be too strong, too fast and have too much talent to even make this game interesting. It will not be a McNeese State repeat. When it's all said and done, I'm expecting a 45-10 result.
     Maybe I do need to find one of Cowboy Steve's 'active' associates.

Lloyd's post BYU Assessment.

     I waited until after dark to head down to Jake's. The game was over, the outcome was a difficult to accept 33-28 defeat on a Hail Mary as time ran out.
     Now I know how Northwestern felt, a couple of years ago.
     I love going to Jake's after games, before games, when soccer is the only thing on in March, it's kind of like Lincoln's Mos Eisley Cantina, though slightly less scummy and villainous.
     It was also pretty unlikely that I'd find any BYU fans in a whiskey-serving, smoke-filled cigar bar where the drinks smokes and smokin' hot women inflame sinful desires.
     I like being inflamed. I also appreciate the necessity of sinful desires, without them, I'm out of business.
    
     When I got there, Lloyd had a corner booth all to himself. Him and his laptop, anyway. His scrolling finger looked swollen and there was a half-empty beer glass on the table.
     I slid into the opposite side, tilted my hat back and asked, "Rough day at the office? Whatchu drinking, there? You only drink when you are really upset."
     Lloyd continued to scroll, took his time to answer, was probably calculating the probability of my genuine concern versus the odds that I was just messing with him. I put it at 40/60. "Zip Line Nz IPA," he finally replied. "I'm not really upset," he added. "I'm somewhat upset and it was hot, in there, today, so I ordered an India Pale Ale as the ideal way to combat the hot conditions."
     I leaned forward and started moving his glass around, "Just how many of these things have you had? Three? Four, maybe?" I asked. "You better slow down, or I'll have to get you out of the tank with all the frat boys and other hardened criminals."
     "Ha...ha...ha", his sarcasm was evident. "I pace myself, and I know my limit."
     "Ok, ok, ok, no need to get defensive, although it is nice to see somebody do it when they need to," I jabbed and retreated out of range.
     Lloyd, looked up, lifted the glass to his lips with his left and slowly drained the last of his ale, with his right hand, he raised the single-finger salute with a flourish that would make a Kansas State band member proud.
     Further engagement was prevented when Tess, one of the waitresses showed up at the table. Tess is awesome. She's about 5 foot one, shoulder length blond hair, always wears a white tank top and black jeans. She's always accurate with the orders, gives a generous pour to her regulars that treat her right and bikes everywhere she goes and has the thighs to prove it. She is also absolutely fearless, I have seen her throw herself between two guys to prevent a fight. She stood up to, and backed down a guy that she was giving up a foot in height and at least 100 pounds in weight. "You guys need anything?" she asked in a quick, but unhurried manner. Professional is what I'd call it.
     "A High West double rye, and make it a double, please," I requested. "And another Zipline Nz for my churlish friend. I have apparently wounded him, and need to make amends."
     Tess left to gather the drinks. "Break it down for me. Was this an absolute train wreck, or what?"
     "No, not a train wreck," Lloyd said, after thinking about it. "Shouldn't have lost, though."
     "All right, lets break it down by phases. Did the offense do enough to win the game."
     "Short answer, yes. They scored 28 points and generated over 350 yards of offense, with a short field following a turnover."
     "But?"
     "Inconsistency. Moving almost at will in the first quarter, sputtering for a quarter and a half, catching fire again in the third and getting way too conservative in the fourth."
     "The penalties sure didn't help, and they were all legit, except for that 'unsportsmanlike conduct' during the INT return, I thought that was a little ticky-tack since Sutton got hurt on a play where he got hit after he relaxed and that didn't draw a flag."
     Lloyd sighed, "12 penalties for 90 yards. When Bo was in charge, fans said it was a reflection of his lack of personal discipline. With Riley, I'm hoping it's guys trying to learn a whole new offense and not that they're just too stupid to remember the rules."
     Tess brought our drinks. I slipped her my card and told her to keep it open, Lloyd was rolling.
     "What about Tommy?" I asked. "He had a pretty good game, and his passing looked better than last year."
     "Decent, not great. He went 24 of 41 for 319 yards, three TD's and a pick. I wont even hold the pick against him because the BYU defender made a great play and it was virtually a punt on a long third down situation."
     "Buuuut," I said.
     "Two intentional grounding penalties, when he feels pressure up the middle, he turns his back to the field to try to escape, instead of keeping his eyes downfield. Both of the penalties came as he just tried to heave the ball to no-where to avoid the sack, one of these days, that will result in a pick six."
     "How about the ground game?"
     Lloyd just shook his head, "To be fair, they were going against a defense that ranked 20th nationally, against the run. The o-line isn't great to begin with," he said. "The same five guys played every down, which tells me there is no depth. Each of the running backs showed flashes, but none screamed to me, 'just give me the damn ball'. They weren't helped by the play-calling, at a few points. Calling a sneak on 3rd and 2 didn't make sense to me. Calling a sneak and then punting at mid-field didn't make much sense to me."
    "I thought the receivers did pretty well," I said.
     "Yes. No drops, and some excellent individual effort. Jordan's touchdown was pure effort, that play was dead, and he turned it into six. They were generally getting open, and when Tommy had time to find them, the ball was generally on target."
     "So what is your overall assessment?"
     "I don't want to read too much into one game, but the mechanics are there for this to be a good passing offense. The o-line needs to be tweaked, Tommy needs to break his bad habits and a running back needs to step up and 'be the man'. Right now, I'd say this is a 6-6 offense."
     "How about the defense?"
     "The line is good, but needs to finish plays where they pressure the quarterback. Too often it was only one guy breaking through, the qb avoiding him like a dancing bear, and buying time to throw. The linebackers were pretty solid, especially with Rose-Ivy out. Only a couple of times that they missed on their responsibilities. Those couple of times really hurt, though."
     Lloyd took a long draw of his IPA. "The defensive backs weren't terrible, but they weren't great, either. Gerry's pick was awesome. The corners were overmatched all day. the BYU receivers were taller, and fast enough to make double-moves work. All of BYU's big passing plays came at the expense of the corners. They were in position, for the most part, but those taller receivers climbed the ladder to get to the high point, all day."
     "Tell me about the Hail Joseph Smith."
     Lloyd shook his head. "The DC called the text-book defense. Rush three, drop eight guys back in order to have numbers against five receivers, Play works far less often than it fails, so the odds are with the defense, anyway. Just Like Kellogg to Westerkamp shouldn't have worked, this play shouldn't have worked, either. That being said, I don't understand, and have never understood why a defense doesn't blitz from the outside, make the qb get the ball out of his hands. It may have been a Pyrrhic victory for BYU. They lost Taysom Hill for the season with a foot fracture. They might finish 6-6 as well."
     "Last but not least, special teams," I said.
     "Coverage was good on both kicks and punts. Punters did a fine job, Foltz until he got hurt, and Broekmeier did ok, considering it was his first full-speed action. Drew Brown makes me want to chew chalk. I'm not putting the game on him, the offense and defense could have done more, too. We're just not used to being surprised when the kicker makes a field goal. Field goal kicking has been so solid here, for so long, I just don't know what to make of it. He gets glowing reviews for his leg strength and what he does in practice, but it's not translating to the game. He came into the game with a 14/21 success rate, .667, which is like a really bad free throw shooter. He finished the game 14/23, which is now .609. When it comes to kickers I don't want the first word I think of to be 'unreliable'."
     "Based on what you've seen, so far, what does the season look like?" I asked.
     Lloyd thought for a moment, "Four definite wins, four definite losses, three swing games, so anywhere from 4-8, which will have pitchforks and torches on O street, to 7-5. with a chance to win 8 in a bowl game. which will have the grumbling about the 'right hire' kept to a rumble."
     I drank my Rye and let that sink in. If Lloyd is only cautiously optimistic about 8 wins, it might be a long fall. It might keep me busy, though.

Opening with BYU

                The setting sun cast long shadows through the canyons of downtown. The looming towers yawned as the last few dribbles of humanity dripped out and oozed across the sidewalks. The reflection off one of the towers cast an eerie orange glow through my office.

            If I had to match it to a paint chip, I'd call it somewhere between 'Atomic Haze' and 'Boiling Sea'. Maybe that's why Glidden never called back.

            I had my feet up on the desk, the brown in the bottle offering a modest accent color to the ambiance of the room. The brown in the glass hinted at what had already added to my internal ambiance.  The piles of papers on the desk marked the last round of progress in the endless war between my debts and revenue. Debts had taken Hill 238, and gained control of the surrounding territory. I was hoping for reinforcements to help Revenue begin a counter-attack, but it was a dismal stalemate that would probably grind on as a war of attrition.

            There are a couple of distractions when the bills, the strife and the hassle get to be too much. One is that class is back in session and the neighborhood is flooded with young, fresh, enthusiastic students. Full of life, full of vim and full of it. The t-shirts were tighter than ever, the shorts were tighter and shorter than I'd ever seen. The girls weren't much better, but I granted them some leeway.

            The other distraction was football, yes football. The season that is more important than moisture harvest season on Tatooine. Everything tied into it. Economics, psychology, history, science, politics and sometimes, even a little sports. I don't get into it quite as much as I used to, but my friend, Lloyd, is my go-to ubergeek for all things related to, or associated with the once-mighty, currently slumbering behemoth that is Nebraska football.

            Go Huskers.

            Its been a rough year for Huskerfan. We don't like change.

           Tom Osborne had been at the helm of the Big Red Battlewagon for 25 years. He's the guy who has been the paragon of coaching not just here, but at a national level. He exchanged his whistle and headset for his fly rod and reel 17 years ago. Since the end of that era of stability, we are on our fourth ship's Captain.

           Frank Solich inherited the ship and a fine crew. He couldn't quite maintain the efficiency and was the target of a new Admiral that wanted to make over the fleet. Just when it seemed he had gotten it figured out, he was relieved of his command and sent packing to Ohio.

            Bill Callahan was brought in and tried to convert the battleship to an aircraft carrier. Offensively, it packed a lot of punch, but defensively, it couldn't stop anything. Huskerfan was unhappy with what had happened to the beloved ship, and the Admiral who was responsible. Both were sent packing by Osborne, who assumed control of the Fleet. 'Winston is Back' as it were. A gruesome, terrifying fate awaited Callahan as Huskerfan kicked his dumb ass all the way back to the NFL.

            Then we had the Bo Pelini experiment. Pelini was a Bull Halsey or George Patton kind of guy. He motivated the players with tough love and an 'us against the world' mentality that ended up alienating a good chunk of the fan base. He was profane, but his players loved him. He was mercurial, but his players knew he had their back. He was a defensive-minded coach whose scheme was revolutionary at stopping the Spread, but his players couldn't stop Melvin Gordon.

            He was sent packing to Ohio, too.

            The new guy who is in charge of re-fitting and or rebuilding the Husker flagship is Mike Riley. He seems like Jack Fletcher. Mr. Nice Guy, the Anti-Bo, reserved, steady. Huskerfan is giving him the benefit of the doubt, since he's a newbie, but they aren't too sure about him.

            He was hired away from Oregon State. What does Oregon State know about football?  Not exactly an Alabama a Texas or Oregon, even.

            While he coached at the NFL level, his record was not great. He was also Johnny-on-the-spot for the whole Ryan Leaf fiasco, and had to make do with ancient re-treads at quarterback like Doug Flutie and Jim Harbaugh. I wonder if he ever visits Ryan in the Montana Grey-Bar Hotel.

            He's not 'One of Us', gooboo gahboo. Huskerfan likes to trace connections to football coaching like Victorian era godmothers did with family trees. He didn't play here (like Scott Frost). He didn't coach here (like Turner Gill, who played here, too), so we're not quite sure that he 'gets it' when it comes down to Nebraska Football. We're not sure he understands that he needs to establish an 'offensive identity' for the team. Around here that means 'running offense' like Osborne or Ground Chuck, way up there in the People's Democratic Republic of Seattle. Huskerfan codes 'offensive identity' to the option the same way segregationists coded 'States Rights' to racism. Maybe not as ugly, granted, but it longs for a historical era the same way.

            It looks like he's a disciplinarian, though. He's got five dudes suspended for the first game. The difference between Bo and Mike is that Bo would have yelled and screamed and cussed and thrown stuff around the room as he listed off the players transgressions. Mike would have sat down, flipped open a folder, read silently, closed the folder and said, 'I'm very disappointed in you, son.'

            I don't know which is worse.

            This year will be a test for Huskerfan, I'm going to break it to you, gently. This team will not be in the College Football Playoff. There, I said it. This team might, just maybe, get in to the B1G Championship, and get crushed by Ohio State. This team probably will win eight or nine games and go to a bowl game. The true test will come for the Huskerfan that has publicly avowed support for the team, as long as they don't get blown out. I think it is very realistic that this team might go 6-6, but Huskerfan will be fine if those six losses are close ones, right?

            Riiiiight.

           The first opponent is BYU. The Cougars roll into town with a dynamic, mobile, Heisman-candidate quarterback Taysom Hill. He's like a bigger version of Taylor Martinez but can actually throw the ball, a little bit. He wants to beat you with his feet. This is where Huskerfan wants to see if scheme can make better use of the talent on the field than what Bo did with it. Mobile quarterbacks have been the stuff of nightmares for the last few years.

     The Huskers are without five players who were naughty to an unknown degree and unknown identity, Riley suspended them. BYU is supposed to level a number of suspensions against as many as nine players that got into a fight in their bowl game, last year. BYU coach Bronco Mendenhall...wait...Bronco? Anyway, Bronco says he won't announce the suspensions until after the Nebraska game. Hmmmm, something isn't adding up and smells rotten in the state of Deseret, but we'll see.

     I think Nebraska's speed on offense will be tough for BYU to deal with. I've been hearing that Tommy has been working hard and even worked with Bret Favre in the off-season. Tommy's biggest issue at quarterback has been over-trusting his arm and ability to force the ball between defenders.

     I don't know if Favre is the best counselor for those issues.

     Nebraska has about five running backs that could start at BYU. I have a feeling that the game plan is to send wave after wave of running backs at BYU, force the safety to cheat up in run support and hit them with the play action. If I have depth at running back and offensive line, I run lots of plays to the outside to wear the defense down. I use my ground game to keep Hill on the sideline, as much as possible. I shorten the clock.
     I had been talking to Bookie T, earlier. He's one of the infamous 'O Street Bookies' that have been known to run action on sporting events and get the occasional college kid into trouble. He was saying that Nebraska should win by eight points. That was a bit much for my blood, I am thinking more along the lines of four points. I wouldn't be shocked to see BYU win this one, either.
     There are so many variables heading into this one, that the only things that are certain is that it will be hot, a new P.A. announcer, and Harvey Perlman has a thin skin.
     I decided that a change of scenery was warranted. The sun was down, darkness enshrouded the areas where the street lights held no sway. It was time to go to work and try to gather some scratch.
     As I put on my hat, I scratched out a prediction on my desk blotter, 24-20, Nebraska.