If the key is fitting in, he appears to be no lock

MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, Neb. -- Three days until USC sends an entire state into mourning, and a few more minutes before the official ceremony, so I’m making small talk with the mayor of Norfolk and asking if he’s met our mayor, or the mayor’s girlfriend.

Apparently Gordon Adams doesn’t get around like our mayor does, so we get on with it, the mayor from Johnny Carson’s old hometown presenting me with the key to the city. Obviously he’s not up for reelection.

It’s a large gold key, engraved and with a little card attached -- noting it can also be used as a bottle opener. These people here are resourceful.

I’ve just come from Burwell, Mike Svoboda, owner of the Shur Fine Grocery Store, taking me out back the night before and telling me to look over the corner of the garage.

“That’s why we live in Nebraska -- the view of the Big Dipper,” he says.

He’s got that right. You might be able to see the Big Dipper in just about every other state, but not over the corner of this here garage. Shucks, I wonder if they got any land over yonder for sale.

DEBBIE & MAX Emerton extended the invite to Burwell, because apparently no one else will stay in their remote B&B.; If you like the feeling of what it’s like sitting in an old house with no hint of civilization anywhere close -- wondering if you’re going to be the next victim in “Chainsaw Massacre V” -- this is home.

The Emertons also have scheduled a horseback ride across the Nebraska prairie. You ain’t seen nothing like the Nebraska prairie unless you turn your horse to the left, or right, pull him back or kick him forward. There’s just nothing here but prairie and that snake crawling toward Bill and me.

Bill’s the horse. I get Bob to milk and Bill to ride. Ever since I made fun of the big-butt women, none of them will come near me.

Bruce Switzer is the cattleman overseeing our ride, and he says, “I’ve got nothing against people; I’d just rather not be around them.” Who knew I’d run into one of Jeff Kent’s relatives way out here.

Switzer looks like Robert Duvall in “Lonesome Dove,” but rides a horse side saddle like Miss Kitty. Right now he’s concerned Bill might get spooked, rear up and knock me atop the snake.

I explain to him I’ve already dealt with Tim Thomas of the Clippers, so it’s not like I’m new to situations like this.

Later we’re riding into a patch of wild marijuana, and Switzer doesn’t want me to let Bill take a hit. I’m used to dealing with athletes on drugs, so riding a horse on them isn’t going to bother me. I’ve probably even bet on some.

Switzer figures it’s time for Page 2 to move on down the road, Bill, of course, just laying around the barn now with a case of the munchies. That’s what brings me to Carson’s hometown.

Dan O’Gorman works in Burbank these days, but he grew up here and he’s come home to mom and dad’s house for a few days -- Pat & Fran agreeing to take him back as well as Page 2.

Dan has all kinds of activities planned, including a visit to one house that includes a red-painted-basement shrine filled with thousands of Huskers collectibles, some hanging directly over the kitchen sink where his wife would be washing dishes.

“She has to do that or I wouldn’t marry her,” says the Huskers fan, someone pointing out that he’s on his third marriage.

There’s also a morning stop at a Norfolk radio station. Jeff, the talk show host, invites callers to chat with Page 2, the first an irate old man, who huffs, “At least we don’t have to worry about drive-by shootings here.”

That’s kind of funny considering the obvious bullet hole in the front window of the station. If you’ve heard Jeff’s show, you’d understand why.

The next caller is a female, identifying herself as a big-butted woman, who says, “I need to defend myself.” I figure she just needs to lose a few pounds.

Jeff turns to Dan to talk about his memories of Norfolk, and then asks Page 2 about L.A., so I mention the time I wrote about my visit to a porno convention. Just a little fun for the folks in Nebraska, but it looks like Jeff is going to swallow his microphone.

“One of the porno actresses gives me a gift to give the wife,” I tell Jeff’s audience, “but I can’t accept it because we’re always looking for batteries at home what with all the remote controls that we have, and so I don’t want to leave the wife frustrated again.”

There’s a pause, that suddenly becomes a pregnant pause, so to speak -- before Jeff says, “We gotta take a break.”

It seems to me to be a pretty long break and there’s not much more to be said apparently when he returns. And from the look on Dan’s face, maybe you really can’t go home.

TWO DAYS until USC sends an entire state into mourning, and I’m now in West Point sitting in a tub stuck on a sandbar in the middle of Elkhorn River along with some Nebraskans. Big surprise we hit rock bottom.

They call this “tanking,” sitting on chairs inside an eight-foot-wide metal container ordinarily used to hold water on the prairie for cattle. The idea now is to drink beer and float lazily down the river.

By this time I’ve already met Patti Knobbe, a.k.a. “Miss Sunshine,” from the Chamber of Commerce. She brings me a Subway sandwich. “Had them flown in from Omaha,” says Jason Sturek, the West Point News sports editor, and I’m not sure he’s kidding.

Miss Sunshine, like so many others on this trip, has been rebuked for meeting with Page 2, but she sees the good in everyone. Her husband, Scott, makes sure Page 2 boards the tub -- the one with the hole in it. With Miss Sunshine and Scott, it’s obvious opposites attract.

Someone wonders what Page 2 is going to do if Nebraska wins Saturday. Remember, they’ve been drinking beer.

TOMORROW: Lincoln, “DerViener Schlinger,” and I’ll betcha right now Gary Matthews wishes he was tanking deep in the heart of Nebraska and out of the reach of Major League Baseball.

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T.J. Simers can be reached at t.j.simers@latimes.com. For previous columns by Simers, go to latimes.com/simers.