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About The daily Nebraskan. ([Lincoln, Neb.) 1901-current | View Entire Issue (March 2, 2000)
Misguided dreams Hinging future on solitary goal causes heartache, disappointment Jack had always been a bully. As a young child of 10, he beat up a kid in his school bathroom and pissed on him because the kid said “Hi.” The victim was a nerd and had no right to give Jack such an insipid greeting. This incident made Pops quite pleased, considering Pops had an anxiety attack when his first child was a girl. Jack was what he had prayed for in a kid, and he could see by his son’s actions early on in life that he was going to be a tough son of a bitch. Jack always was taught that vio lence, when used in proper situa tions, was a means of gaining respect. He was privy to Pops’ idea that violence with weapons is the antithesis of respect, but the physical body was the tool of the gods. After being held back not one, not two, but three years from the first grade, Jack was bigger than the rest of his high school class. Pops had plans for Jack; he was going to be the most ferocious, finely tuned, pec torally enhanced defensive lineman that had ever come from a dinky town in the Midwest. (It doesn’t mat ter what town, it only matters where he’s headed.) Pops wished he had enough money to relocate the family to either Odessa or Midland. The rival Texas high schools recently had spent a combined total of almost $9 million on their new school stadiums. They knew where their priorities1 were. On the rare occasions when Pops would wake up soaked in sweat from nightmares, he would ponder quite heavily (for two minutes) whether he had done the right thing by holding Jack back and by pushing him to be the best physical specimen this town had ever seen. One cigarette later, dreams of glory put a reaffirming smile back on his face. He wanted to see his plan come to fruition, no matter what ties were bound or broken. He knew in his heart Jack would thank him later - this was what they both wanted. Screams of excitement rushed through Pops’ head as he put on his red and white sweater that exhibited quite clearly his pride for his son and his love for the sport. It was game night. Jack was going to make his Mom and Pops proud at the football game tonight, and he knew his girlfriend would sleep with him if they won. His girl (It doesn’t matter what girl.) was so overcome with the onslaught of popularity she gained by screwing the stud athlete that she hid from everyone the fact that Jack accidentally had hit her a couple of times. Besides, she attributed it to his extremely high level of testosterone. She knew that everyone gets out of hand and that Jack was stressed more than the “average” stu dent because of his destiny for great ness. She herself doesn’t play sports anymore, not since the game ~ ; ^ ^ when she missed a serve and her dad stood up % l. to shout, “You suck.” Embarrassment was enough to turn her off instead of propelling her for ward, but Jack had nothing but support. Needless to say, they won the game, Jack got . laid and he wondered what col lege would be like in ' six short months. The girls would be all over him. They would be a distraction j from his studies, but he knew that any good football college has tutors that cater to an athlete’s every need because athletes are spe cial, and in this case, special doesn’t mean retarded. two Years Later: Karen Brown is a senior English and film studies major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist. Jack doesn’t make it. He simply isn’t good enough. He was excep tional in junior high, he shone like a star in high school, but he just wasn’1 the cream of the crop that the red anc white glory of Nebraska needed. The Huskers didn’t care that they were ruining a life, because it’s not really their fault —they are simply the institution that caters to hopes and dreams. It could have been any person in any sport anywhere that was rejected so ungratefully. Jack turned his hatred and con tempt for his failures onto his par ents, who, in turn, would not speak t< him (except to bring up his failure). Their arguments were never about how their parental love was a bit “micmiiHpH ” hi it ahniit how Jack had not tried hard enough. He spoke to Mom and Pops very rarely - he was tired of being called a worthless son of a bitch. Pops’ vicari ous dreams were dissipating quickly. Everything he had worked for was ruined - again. Jack, rather than be defeated by his father, put his energies into his fraternity (It doesn’t matter which one.) and spent the rest of his short lived college career going to the bars , and playing in the annual “Putt-Putt Golf-a-thon.” It soon became the highlight of Jack’s year. Not only could you drink ) at the bar with the boys, looking at the ladies, but it was a welcome chance to get rowdy and release pent-up frustration. Bonding through punching each other’s shoulders is the most fulfilling sort of love in the world for ath letic men. Jack doesn’t think of this brother hood as being the paradox it is. He accepts that the violent actsthey dis play fulfill some sort of sexual satis faction that estrogen-laden creatures , can’t give. Ah, all this can be found at the “Putt-Putt Golf-a-thon.” At this blessed event, Jack was surrounded by those just like him, those whose hopes of a bright future in sports had been slowly diminished to a weekend of brotherly affection (with or with out the tackling). Still, Jack always knew he was better than they - because he had had a real chance once. These other suck ers didn’t know what it was like to be as great as he was in high school and how he had tried out for the Huskers. Jack went home that night - golden putter in hand - and went upstairs to his closet. Don’t get scared, dear reader, he’s not going to blow his brains out (like his father wanted to do so many years ago). Jack reached into his closet, pulled out his redshirt Husker jersey No. 43, put it close to his face and started to cry. 2 n w 3 rS’ "TJ ?T o 2: Wounded pride Lack of initiative, activism on campus keeps campus conservative Sometimes I get off the phone with Anna, and I’m disappointed and angry when I shouldn’t be -1 should be happy for her. She tells me she has joined a coed literary fraternity at Brown, then she tells me to hold for a second; Adam is knocking on the door. Adam lives next door. Not only are the fraternities and resi dence halls coed, the floors are, too. I’m used to hearing about things like this from her. Anna tells me about the fraternity she is joining at Brown. She says they have midnight poetry readings at secret campus locations, sort of like the boys in “Dead Poets Society.” They exchange secrets and do rituals that seem synonymous with other fraternities, but she swears it’s different. She likes the secrets, saying they promote group qualities. I’ve been anti-fraternity since mine got dis banded two years ago -1 argue that secrets are false and promote noth ing. I am biting and nearly upsetting her. She tells me that the members live in an old mansion on campus. That’s coed, too. She’ll live there next year. When she tells me she has to pay dues, I nearly jump into the “you’re paying for your friends” line, but I refrain. I really want to piss her off, but I know I am jealous as hell of her and; her coed literary fraternity. That’s why I argued in the first place. It’s Freudian displacement. Maybe I learned something here. I know if a coed fraternity existed at UNL, I would be the first to sign up. But I’m sure it’s too liberal. I wonder if most students even have heard of such ideas at UNL. Even if they did, would the university accept them? They don’t allow members of the opposite sex in most residence hall rooms past 2 a.m. Yet there are health tips about how to use con doms on floors. That’s education. Anna is shocked to learn that there aren’t coed fraternities at UNL. She laughs at the conservative nature of the school. “Now tell me again why you decided to go there?” It’s a question I’ve asked myself often over the past three years. I never really had an answer. I tell myself I’m sure I would have heard the same question regardless of where I had gone. I tell Anna it’s not a bad school, and I don’t really think it is. I don’t want to say I regretted my time here. Besides, she goes to an Ivy League school. Could there really be a fair comparison? She says Ivy League schools aren’t the only ones with literary societies and coed everything. “Shouldn’t a public university at least offer options for a diverse stu dent population? There’s a disparity in the minds of22,000 students. Why aren’t they given the opportunity to choose?” I’ve always said it was because the school was too conservative, even if it was public. But who really makes it conservative? It’s a stock answer to say, James Moeser. I thought about starting my own party to run for ASUN this year. I would have called it S.H.A.M. Students who HAte Moeser. Anna asks me if it’s.fair to blame one person, even if it is the chancel lor. I know it’s not, but it sure is easy. Who doesn’t love to bitch? Who else is to blame? If we’re blaming ASUN, aren’t we really blaming ourselves? She says student government doesn’t play much of a role there. But students are involved. I wonder where it comes from. There was an article here about the lack of student involvement. I’ve heard the words too many times; they are making me sick. I mention the student elections that took place yesterday. Supposedly the great changes are about to take place. On Tuesday, the options for new student leadership looked bleak. Because I didn’t start my own party, I Voted for Buff because I agree with their idea to change the alcohol policy. I’m on campus all day, but I don’t see anyone in front of the Union leading a rally for change. If I don’t read the Daily Nebraskan, I don’t find out anything. It’s hard to support a cause I don’t see. I tell her I don’t think anyone is shouting out loud. But if no one is shouting out loud, is there really a cause beyond my own? Is mine just a lonely voice whining for my own causes amidst the clamor of thousands? I know it’s not bad here, just con servative. That’s just the way it is, isn’t it? Anna’s fraternity and the ways of her school can’t be here because we’re Nebraska, not Brown. But just for a second, I don’t want to envy Brown. I want Anna to be jealous of Nebraska. Trevor Johnson is a junior English and secondary education major and a Daily Nebraskan columnist L_-'-----.-* ~ 1 ' *