The Red Sea

(...in Nebraska, not the Middle East.)  The Memorial Stadium in Lincoln at every Huskers game.

It -- the stadium alone -- becomes the third largest city in Nebraska during the game.  (I think that is impressive?  Aren't we the state with more cows than people?)

(photo credits to Wikipedia for this one)

I witnessed this phenomenon last Saturday.

I had never seen a football game of any sort before (though I had played tackle football in the churchyard back in my glory days).  Some close friends decided this was a woeful deficiency in my education.  Thus they very kindly took it upon themselves to complete my Nebraskan-ness.  (Thank you!)

They said, "The one requirement is that you wear red."  Hmm.  I don't own anything red. I dug a ribbon out of a Christmas box in the basement.  My roommate generously supplied a scarf.  There!

I took a notebook along to the game. They asked why.  I explained, "This is my poetry journal.  I'm going to write about the game when I get bored."  (Everybody does that, right?)

Actually, I didn't write anything the whole game because I was too busy watching.  Or eating Runzas.  (Mrs. D was right -- they really do taste better at the stadium.)  And there really was a machine that spits hotdogs at people.  (I had disbelieved.)

Most of all, it gave me a new source of endless small-talk matter.  You should have seen my students when I told them I was going.  The classroom erupted.  I was barraged with advice.  It's like joining a friendly, boisterous (and very red) un-secret society.