Now THAT'S a Good Sport!

Last night, I was reminded that the word "fan" is short for "fanatic." Six points from the Husker volleyball team toppling unbeaten Illinois, I was screaming like a Banshee, having just made myself a vow to hock up my lungs right out of my mouth. Even if it took the rest of my life.

Fortunately, it only took about 10 minutes. But I was quite willing to keep at it until the last blonde hair on my head had squeaked "uncle" and given it up to the gray.

I could not have been higher, either physically or emotionally, wedged into seat 11, row 12, section N, my back against the brick, my head just inches below the seam where wall meets roof line. Two hours earlier, I had a short, polite conversation with the person to my right, a 60-ish woman who seemed nice enough. By 9 p.m., I was hugging her like a long-lost relative, squeezing her shoulders a bit too hard. Beaming like an utter idiot.

There is something irresistible in watching twelve strong, supremely talented athletes battle it out in close quarters. Something almost mystical in the way they communicate in the flash of an eye, somehow knowing where the ball--and the opponent--will be next.

Fuzz your eyes a bit, and suddenly the Husker Volleyball team isn't six individuals, but rather a vacillating, interconnected amoeba, each piece seamlessly bound to the next. It is truly astounding to watch them play. Especially when everyone's in sync.

Yeah, I watched their football counterparts humiliate Minnesota earlier in the day. But I also was able to keep reading my book and catch a nap while I did so. Such side activities are not options when the game is volleyball. Put the two sports on a split screen and I dare you to ignore those six women, operating like some magical Spirograph--fluid, fast, strangely circular.

Next to a volleyball match, football seems embarrassingly clunky and slow. Ah, but I wander. . . .

This is about last night, the toppling of a king (or queen). The transfer of the throne to the women in red. My friend Allison and I were two of the four thousand, lucky enough to witness the transfer. Feverish and in love. Simply beaming.

Downright fanatical, one might say.