This used to be a slogan for a commercial, but on Saturday I saw three very relieved faces - only one of whom may still need antacid tablets.
Nebraska played a much-improved game compared to last week's narrow loss against BYU and ended up winning 48-9 over a game South Alabama team who never stopped trying. At the press conference after the game Coach Mike Riley entered the room with a smile that displayed the sense of relief he was obviously feeling at his first win for Nebraska. Although, as he said, it was "a week late" he was clearly happy that not only had his team won but they had done so while correcting a number of the facets of their game that had let them down last week. Nebraska had scored the first touchdown and never looked back as their troubling memories from last week floated off into the distance like the red balloons that celebrated that first score.
Another very relieved man who spoke to the Press was Michael Rose-Ivey, the linebacker who had missed the 2014 with a serious knee injury and had been suspended by the team for the first game of 2015 because of his violation of team rules. Rose-Ivey led the defense with 10 tackles during the game against South Alabama, and said several times how happy he was to be back on the field. He made light of his misstep when he ran on to the field alone for the first defensive play, having forgotten that the Defensive Co-ordinator wanted to have a final word to the defense before they went out. It was only after lining up in his position that he realized he was the only Nebraska player on the field. "Oh well" he thought "It must be one final punishment for my team violation that I have to play against the offense all by myself".
On a more serious note, Rose-Ivey referred to his violation several times and it was clear that he had owned up to his mistake, accepted his punishment and had worked very hard to work his way back into the team. I was impressed by his maturity, especially in comparison to the professional athletes that we so often see who refuse to take responsibility for their actions.
The third manifestation of relief that I witnessed Saturday night was not in the press conference but in the stands. It seemed that a gentleman two rows behind me - a season ticket holder since 1992 - had felt a craving for a hot dog since the early part of the first quarter. I could hear him talking to his wife as he kept a keen eye on the vendors who scaled the dizzying heights into our south-western corner of the stadium. His tone of voice grew steadily more concerned as he spotted in turn purveyors of pepsi, water, popcorn, pizza, Runza's, and candy - but alas no hot dogs. Then as the game continued, the parade of traders would start all over again albeit in a slightly different order. Even by half time there had still been no frankfurting joy in Row 90. What cruel twist of fate, I wanted to know, would keep this poor soul in suspense with a feeling of dogless doom hanging over his head and spreading steadily through the crowd? Did not the Barons of Bratwurst know that they were denying a man who had seen the Big Red through some 23 seasons of ups and downs? Did he not at least deserve the consolation of a soothing saveloy to compensate him for those lean years where square peg West Coast offenses were attempted to be squeezed into the round holes of the Husker lineup?
But then, like a vision of an oasis to a dying man in the desert, 7 minutes and 32 seconds into the third quarter one brave young mountaineer ascended into the upper reaches of the stadium with his precious cargo. They were warm, they were moist, they were wrapped in foil but most of all they were hot dogs - and above all they were red! As the feeling of contentment spread across the man's face while he and his wife enjoyed their long-awaited reward, I could not help but wonder if he had if he had brought any rolaids with him.