Give Him Kid Gloves for Catch

On Nov. 8, late on a Saturday afternoon, I was driving on the 405, going home from the Breeders’ Cup horse races, listening to my car radio, when I heard a kid win college football’s national championship, all by himself.

I don’t even remember his name.

He is truly immortal now--two months later--because of what he did to save the Nebraska football season for everybody from Omaha to Ogallala. He saved it for the old Cornhusker coach, Tom Osborne. He saved it for Nebraska’s huge alumni fan base here in Southern California. He saved it for hard-core corn addicts everywhere.

And I’ll be doggoned if I can think of his name.

That day, in the car, a friend and I were catching up on the sports scores. Excitedly, an announcer said that Nebraska was “in big, big trouble,” in Columbia, Mo., with seconds to go. Missouri had the lead. Nebraska had the ball.

Off a live feed, in his studio, I guess, the radio guy said he would bring us the last play of the Tiger-Cornhusker game. A “real nail-biter,” I think he called it. Either that or a real barn-burner.

“Frost back to pass,” he said--I do know the Nebraska quarterback’s name, at least--”and throws into the end zone!” A desperation pass, I think he called it. Either that or a Hail Mary.

Well, I doubt that Mary prays for Nebraska any more than she does for Missouri, pardon my blasphemy, but something vaguely miraculous did happen. The ball was tipped, slapped, juggled, jiggled, until a Nebraska kid came out of nowhere--and I don’t mean Lincoln--to catch it.

“Pandemonium” broke out on the field, the guy said. Either that or bedlam. I don’t know if any barns burned.

The kid saved Nebraska’s bacon.

Davison? Wasn’t that his name? Matt Davison? Some freshman?

I think he caught only one pass for the Cornhuskers in their Orange Bowl victory at Miami, but they ought to give him a game ball, a season ball and his own private dorm on campus, with a maid, a masseuse and a free subscription to Corn Illustrated. They should call it Davison Hall. They should carve Davison’s face on the side of a Nebraska mountain, like those presidents’ faces in South Dakota. They should offer Davison some sort of thank-you gift, like, oh, North Dakota.

Nebraska was 13-0, but one play made the team No. 1 . . . and it came in November.

Some of the credit belongs to the football coaches, those impressionable flibbertigibbets who voted Friday night for Nebraska over Michigan as the No. 1 team in America. (Good thing the coaches didn’t vote five minutes after the Outback Bowl. Their final rankings would have been 1. Georgia. 2. Michigan. 3. Nebraska.) I wonder which Nebraska victory this season impressed these coaches the most . . . the one over mighty Akron or the one over powerful Central Florida.

That skin-of-their-teeth Missouri experience and that 38-24 win (at home, yet) over Central Florida certainly didn’t seem to mean much to the coaches. Only one of Nebraska’s victims was ranked among the nation’s top 10 until the Orange Bowl game, which was played against a team with an injured quarterback.

Jason Peter, a quote machine who plays defensive tackle, was his usual funny self after Nebraska’s win over Tennessee. He said of Michigan’s players, “Give them my address. We’ll settle it in my backyard.”

That’s the Peter place, 9798 Wolverine Baiter Way, Lincoln, NE 68588.

Who would be favored?

“Us, without a doubt,” said Peter, who apparently knows what America doubts.

I can’t wait for the day when we can go to our own backyard, in Pasadena, to settle No. 1 versus No. 1-A. I agree wholeheartedly with ABC-TV’s Gary Danielson, a former Purdue quarterback, who says: “It’s almost laughable to have these bowls calling the shots. It’s the tail wagging the dog.”

After the big Rose Bowl game, I mistakenly wrote that Michigan had just become college football’s undefeated, “undisputed” national champions. Stupid me. I thought if No. 1 won, it should remain No. 1. What could I have been thinking?

I also wrote that the first Rose Bowl game, in 1902, was called off with Michigan leading, 49-0, because the opponents begged for mercy. I can see now that today’s coaches hate mercy. Mercy is for wimps. They like Nebraska beating Tennessee, 42-17. They wish it could have been 142-17.