The MightyBeekeeper
A.K.A: The Angry Beekeeper, The Fabulous Beekeeper, the Drunken Beekeeper, the Grateful Beekeeper, the Amused Beekeeper, the Incredulous Beekeeper, the Most Reverent Beekeeper, the Hateful Beekeeper, Ike Turner and the Grammar Lady.
Age: 33
Vital Stats: 6'1 225
Born: Kearney. Lived in Beatrice, Omaha and North Platte; have relatives living in Lincoln, Beaver City, Broken Bow, Anselmo, Norfolk, Ogalala, Hastings (and no, not in the hosptial--at least, not at the moment).
Education: University of Kansas, Georgetown University
Current Residence: Dallas, Texas
Occupation: Management Employment/Labor Attorney (licensed in Kansas, Texas admission pending; not certified by the Texas Board of Legal Specialization...)
Hobbies/Passions: Republican politics (in my first life, I was a political animal--consultant, staff aide, lobbyist); music (anything--Beethoven, Steve Earle, the Deraliers, Frank Sinatra, Guns & Roses, NIN, Rev. Al Green, you name it); great Tex-Mex; Kansas City BBQ; the Royals; blonde or redheaded women with porcelain skin, long legs and a certain sense of elegant menace...
E-mail: [email protected]
Favorite Huskers (in no particular order):
Tony Davis, Brook Berringer, Vince Ferragamo, Grant Wistrom, Scott Frost (though he didn't start out as a fave), Rik Bonness, Turner Gill, Mike Brown, Terrell Farley, Randy Schleusner, Kelly Saalfeld, Harrry Grimminger, and of course, Monte Kratzenstein (see below).
Early Husker Memories: the 1971 Orange Bowl, Nebraska vs. LSU. I was five, and my little brother and I both had chicken pox. We were quarantined in the parents' bedroom while Mom and Dad had a bunch of friends over to watch the game. I would normally have been allowed to stay up and watch with the grownups, but because my damned Aunt Janet had never been exposed to chicken pox, i was shut away from the only television in the house and I missed the first national championship. I love my memories of the Huskers of the seventies--the placemats from the Conoco station with game scenes depicted thereupon, the booze decanters celebrating the first--and second--national championships (I've told my Dad--I get his), the beginning of the Osborne years, even the heartbreaking losses to Oklahoma. I remember watching the NFL today on CBS during the 1975 season--Brent Scumberger, Phyllis George and Irv Cross-they were discussing the college teams that had a shot at the national championship (this was the week before the OU game, when we were 10-0), and when they forgot to mention Nebraska, the phone lines were flooded with so many calls that they made up for the omission by singing a bit of "Dear Old Nebraska U." To this day, I wonder if that might not be a factor in why Brent hates us so much--but it's okay; we hate him, too.
I've recounted on the HC board how, when I lived in North Platte, I used to play catch with this skinny kid from Brady who would come to town to visit his Grandma. (We would pretend to be the Husker QB and receiving corps--one of us got to be all of them--and we would win championship after championship, right there in the gravel on S. Ash Street.) And how, years later, I got to watch that skinny kid--Monte Kratzenstein--playing for the Huskers. I felt like he had made the dream come true for both of us. He was only a role player, but I was damned proud of him, all the same. And how my little brother was a hateful, menacing DE and a Nebraska camper in '86. He got some attention from the program--and but for two bad knee injuries during his senior season, he would have played for Coach Osborne, even if it'd meant walking on.
What the Huskers Mean to Me: Everything. It's hard for me to express, and I often do it best on the spur of the moment, when I'm logged onto HC and pissed off at an idiot recruit (Adrain Mayes) or some foolish Kansas State fan (as if there's any other kind....) But I shall try.... As a boy, I dreamed of playing for the Huskers. I had other ambitions, like running for president, becoming a lawyer and being rich, all of the standard crap, but for me, the most consuming, driving, motivating passion was donning a red jersey and whipping that Oklahoma Sooner on the other side of the neutral zone...scoring and the winning TD in an Orange Bowl, and carrying Coach Osborne off the field after helping to win him his first national title. Problem was, I was too small for the line and not quick enough for the skill positions. I worked my butt off--I got quicker, got stronger than an ox and meaner than Hillary Clinton, and turned myself into a pretty decent HS player--but by my junior year, it'd become pretty clear that, aside from maybe Division III, I wasn't gonna have a shot at playing college ball anywhere--let alone in Lincoln.
I went on and did other things. I was a "big man on campus" in college, I dabbled in elective politics, went to Washington and had some amazing Forrest Gump experiences there. I've loved beautiful women, have been blessed with a perfect little boy, built a rewarding career and, in general lived one hell of a nice life. If I get hit by a bus tomoorow, I go knowing that I've accomplished things that were beyond the imaginings of that dorky little kid in North Platte. But I've never let go of the one old dream that will never, for me, come true. Sometimes, even now, as I'm drifting off to sleep, I still mentally rewrite history--I imagine making the play that changes the outcome of the '86 and '87 OU games, of football glory wrapped in Scarlet & Cream. (Okay. More often, I dream of hot, raunchy sex with a 23-year-old Grace Kelly look-alike wrapped in black lingerie, but honestly, I do still dream of being a Husker...) No matter where I've gone or what I've done, the Huskers have given me something to care about and to be proud of. Watching our boys steamroll schools with "superior" talent, I'm always reminded of what hard work, discipline, sacrifice, respect for tradition and commitment can accomplish. And I am always pround to tell anyone that I was born in Kearney, Nebraska.
Like all of us, my life had had its ups and downs--but none of the "downs" ever made me feel as low as Husker losses make me feel at the time. My divorce in 1998 was tough, but just a few months later, the thought of it does not affect me as much as the momory of the 1978 Missouri game, the 1982 Penn State loss, or the 1984 and 1994 Orange Bowls. And though I recognize that this may be taken by some as proof that I am not the most well-adjusted soul on the planet, I make no apologies. Having found all of you here on the Husker Central Board, I don't ever feel alone. I knew, for example, after the Texas loss, that I wasn't the only one hurting terribly. For that sense of community, I thank you all.