Fanaticism
Teams forge common identity in everyone
March is a great month. Aside
from spring break, which I have
been looking forward to since late
January, it happens to be the month
when spring training starts. Each of
the last three years, I have spent the
month in a state of dazed oblivion. I
listen to the radio at night and try to
pick up the signal from the AM
radio station back in Denver that
carries my Colorado Rockies games.
Of course, the only AM radio I have
that picks up the signal is in my car,
so I drive around town aimlessly,
cheering my team on. It signals to
me the beginning of another
wonderful summer.
Obsessed? Yes. Disturbed?
Probably, but for a reason.
Quite simply, I love baseball.
I never have been the type of fan
who gets involved in rotisserie
leagues, or mock games. In fact, I
rarely do more than read the box
scores and watch religiously when
the Rockies are on TV.
It makes it tough to be in Lincoln,
especially because the Journal Star
isn’t exactly the Bible of sports
coverage. I have been known to
drive all the way out to North Platte
or Ogallala to pick up the Denver
papers. I watch ESPN all night just
for a peek at my players, the scores,
who pulled a groin. Anything.
A friend asked me recently, why?
Why all the fanaticism? He said I
seemed like such a normal person
otherwise.
The strange appeal is this. Our
teams keep us rooted down to our
heritage, past lives, or whatever you
want to call it. They create a bond
between us and other people. They
allow us to identify with other
people in the same way we identify
with someone who is of the same
ethnic or religious background.
Jody Burke
“/ remember the way I
felt when the US.
Olympic Hockey team
beat the Russians for the
Gold in 1980 at Lake
Placid. They were OUR
team. ”
“Hey, you’re a Husker fan, so am I!”
The players, the team uniforms
and colors, even the stadiums they
play in, all become ingrained in our
personal memories, and in the myths
of the community they reside in.
Ever heard a native New Yorker over
the age of 45 talk about Ebbets
Field, or a subway series?
The feeling can even ascend to a
national level. I remember the way I
felt when the U.S. Olympic hockey
team beat the Russians for the Gold
in 1980 at Lake Placid. They were
OUR team.
The best summer of my life was
the summer of 1993 when I had
season tickets to the Rockies. I went
to games rain or shine; I even went
to a handful of games by myself.
The smell of the hot dogs and feel of
the summer sun made me a fan
forever.
The teams are our identity. They
are one and the same. You don’t
have to be a fan of the sport to get
caught up in it. In 1986, when the
Broncos were in the AFC champion
ship game, my mother was ranting
and raving at the TV along with me
and my father. I expect this from
Dad. Dad and I are a bit psychotic
anyhow, but not Mom. But there she
was, screaming at the TV, cheering
on the team.
It doesn’t matter the size of the
team, or the market. Some of the
most fervent fans are people who
live near small towns that have
minor-league baseball teams.
That’s why I was more than
pleased when Lincoln was recently
awarded a United States Hockey
League franchise. It gives Lincoln
another outlet. We have the Huskers,
but hopefully the Stars will bring an
identity to the city that has been
missing.
It adds one more opportunity for
things to do here, at the very least.
The city has been begging for any
sort of excitement for a long time.
What’s more, the rivalry between the
Stars and the Omaha Lancers should
be instantaneous.
I hope the community embraces
the team as its own and derives as
much enjoyment out of the team as I
have out of the teams in my home
town. These dreams are important to
us. For me, they are as much a part
of my past as where I grew up. It’s
good Lincoln has this opportunity.
The city deserves it.
Burke is a senior English major and a
Daily Nebraskan columnist
Nursery of life
Young must plan for ‘ageing’ population
Ask your peers what troubles
them most about the future. You’ll
likely hear AIDS, cancer, the
economy, devastation of the environ
ment, the welfare state, even nuclear
weaponry.
Such threats to security greet
every generation.
Few of us would be inclined to
name “ageing.” We’re young and
seemingly indestructible. And even
the advent of our parents’ old age
may seem far away.
In a younger time, our parents
worried about the Cold War and
losing friends in Vietnam. Now they
are concerned about pensions and
Alzheimer’s and growing old.
I think we, you and I, need to
include in our vision of tomorrow a
world overflowing with elders.
A report, “The Economics of
Ageing,” in The Economist earlier
this month said, “In 1900 America
had only 374,000 over-80s; by 1990,
the figure had gone up to more than
7 million.”
If these numbers are any indica
tion of the boom in population of
senior citizens, by 2030 the number
will be staggering. What will these
changing demographics mean to the
youngsters in the crowd?
As The Economist said, the
Beatles invited their generation to
consider growing old in a light
hearted, lyrical fashion.
“When I get older, losing my hair.
Many years from now,
Will you still be sending me a
Valentine,
Birthday greetings, bottle of wine...
Will you still feed me,
Will you still need me,
When I’m 64.”
It’s one thing to consider growing
old with another, or with a genera
tion. It’s quite another to fret about
those who arc older growing
ancient. Seems a heavy burden to
lay on the mind of any twenty
something.
And past generations didn’t share
the same concern. At the turn of the
century, the average life expectancy
Kelly Johnson
“It’s one thing to
consider growing old
with another, or with a
generation. It’s quite
another to fret about
those who are older
growing ancient. ”
was about 50 years. By 1990, this
age had increased to about 72 years
for men and 79 years for women.
This trend begs consideration of
several things.
First, because we live in the land
of political correctness, we’ll need
to consider what to call the ageing.
Old people? The aged? Elders?
Golden oldies? Senior citizens?
British children of the 1980s took
to calling their elders “wrinklies.”
That’s a surefire way to create an
intergenerational divide.
And second, 1 think this means
we will need to change the way we
perceive old age and the elderly.
Take Bob Dole. The leading
candidate for the Republican
nomination for the American
Presidency is 72 years old. Dole, if
elected, can color Americans’
expectations for and beliefs about
the aged.
While many companies encour
age early retirement for economic
reasons, people are capable of
working into later stages of life. And
as it Becomes more commonplace
for people to work into their 80s,
society will adjust its ideas accord
ingly.
Third, industrial nations enjoy
what The Economist termed, “the
luxury of ageing.”
People cost money to feed, clothe
and shelter, at any age. But older
people, after they’ve retired, are
consumers.
In the Edo era of Japan, peasant
families practiced “uba sute,” which
means “throw old mother away.”
After her spouse died, the family
would carry the old woman to the
mountains to save the expense of
feeding her. The custom is now
obsolete.
But most nations have a modem
equivalent, namely nursing homes.
Some say that “ageing in place”
will become the norm. Instead of
placing people in nursing homes to
be cared for, they will remain in
their homes. And the help they need
will be given at home.
Pearl S. Buck presented this
challenge in 1954, “Yet somehow
our society must make it right and
possible for old people not to fear
the young or be deserted by them,
for the test of a civilization is in the
way that it cares for its helpless
members.”
Consider this. The same baby
boomers who crowded the nurseries
after 1945 would be packing the
nursing homes of the 2030s.”
If that is true, those of us in the
nursery of life must anticipate the
demographic changes ahead. We
must be prepared to act with
compassion, to allow our elders
dignity, to appreciate additional
opportunities to learn from their
wisdom.
As John F. Kennedy said, “It is
not enough for a great nation to have
added new years to life, our objec
tive must also be to add new life to
those years.”
Johnson if a senior news-editorial and
English major and a Daily Nebraskan
colamnist
Irish want to know
all about Nebraska
Two months here and I’ve
managed to escape the hick
factor. No questions about
whether we have running water.
No comparisons to “Gunsmokc.”
First, I had to escape the
sweeping American stereotypes. I
did engage in one O.J. debate,
with people who knew more
about Marcia Clark than I ever
wanted to know.
I had to convince members of
a movie-saturated culture that the
next-door neighbor usually isn’t
Pamela Anderson and that A1
Pacino and Robert DeNiro don’t
stage daily shoot-outs down Main
Street USA.
It’s unfair to compare the
whole of the United States to
Ireland when Ireland is smaller
than Nebraska. New York and the
movie culture of Hollywood don’t
represent the whole of America.
It’d be like saying an Irishman
represents the whole of Europe.
There are as many differences
between New York and Lincoln as
there are between New Delhi and
Lisburn. And after people figure
out I’m not a beach bimbo or city
slicker, they start to wonder.
Here’s how the conversation
goes:
So, what part of the states arc
you from?” (They notice the
accent.)
“The Midwest,” I answer
safely.
“Nebraska,” I say, with a heavy
emphasis on the N, so they don’t
start asking me about Eskimos.
And the reactions have been
better than I thought they would
be.
I was in a pub waiting for this
guy to make some smart comment
about cornfields when he said,
“Oh, Nebraska. Omaha. Strategic
Air Command. I bet you have
missiles everywhere.”
Missile silos, com silos, take
your pick.
I was in a hostel in Belfast
when a man from Galway asked
where I was from. I reluctantly
tried to explain before he stopped
me and said, “Oh, yes, I drove
through Nebraska. I stopped in
this little town south of Omaha.”
That “little town” was Lincoln.
At the business newspaper
where I work, the obvious
response I got was, “Oh, yes.
Paula Lavigne
“I’ve gotten a few
“Dances With Wolves”
comparisons and one
mention of Charles
Starkiveather from an
Australian guy in a
pub in Northern
Ireland. I smiled,
finished my drink and
ran. ”
Mutual of Omaha.” And Warren
Buffett, of course.
I went on a tour of some crypts
under a church (four months as a
tourist and you get a little
desperate), and the question came
up again.
“Nebraska,” the man said.
“There’s no rock in Nebraska.”
I argued until he asked me to
name someone.
“Matthew Sweet,” I replied,
whereupon his eyes got really big.
He’s a big fan, and I got a great
tour. (By the way, all the record
stores here have Matthew Sweet
and 311 compact discs. Sorry, no
Mercy Rule, but I’m working on
it.)
I do get a lot of, “Oh, Ne
braska. that was a great Bruce
Springsteen album.” I’ve gotten a
few “Dances With Wolves”
comparisons and one mention of
Charles Starkweather from an
Australian guy in a pub in
Northern Ireland. I smiled,
finished my drink and ran.
While working at the airport, I
ran into the one and only (so far)
native Irishman who was an
American football fan — Wash
ington Redskins, but we’ll forgive
him. He knew quite a bit about
college football too.
“Nebraska,” he said. “Yeah,
aren’t you guys like, oh, what is it
... the Huskers?”
Lavigae is a junior news-editorial
major and a Daily Nebraskan
coinmnist.