|Retired, but still living by a clock and deadlines|
It’s been a tough couple of weeks here on the homefront ever since the Huskers pulled off the miracle catch and win over Northwestern.
It was quite a catch and I watched every bit of it on TV. The only problem . . . the betterhalf and I were at the game and I persuaded the betterhalf to leave the stadium with just more than a minute left on the game clock so we could beat the traffic.
Yep, it’s been quite a couple of weeks, thanks particularly to those who called my loyal Husker fan-spouse via cellphone right after the catch asking her how she liked the win. Thanks to those callers from Chicago, Phoenix, Minnesota and various Nebraska locations, I’ve heard her repeat my name in vain many times since then. Compounding my problem are the delayed e-mail messages that continue to flow into the home computer and serve as a daily reminder, stirring her ire.
At first I attempted to justify leaving the game early by pointing out she was able to see the Huskers hold their opponent to a field goal when we passed by a tailgater’s TV. Then I noted when we arrived at the car she was able to listen to the radio describe the last four seconds of action. “And besides,” I said, “you’ve got the game taped on two TV sets at home so you can replay it and actually see it better than you would have at the stadium.”
I prefer to make no comment on her reaction.
I must remark I’ve never seen traffic so low after a ballgame as when we drove down O Street. I guess one could say the traffic matched our conversation the rest of the evening.
Unfortunately, I find myself still living by a clock and newspaper deadlines. Certain timetables for performing daily tasks are still commonplace in my lifestyle — no matter how mundane the activity. I wonder why I need to get up at 5 a.m. Why do I feel dogs at the Adopt-A-Pet shelter need to be outside by 7 a.m.? Why do I try to read two daily newspapers before noon? Why do I feel I must drive to Austin, Texas, in no more than 14 hours to visit grandsons and family?
And finally, why do I feel I must be in Lincoln at least three hours before kickoff of a Cornhusker football game, especially when I’m content on leaving the game early?
RL Furse is publisher emeritus of the News-Register