Dearly Beloved,

We are gathered here today to mourn a loss.

Not of a great man, nor of a great group of men.

No, more than that, we are here to mourn the passing of an idea. An ethos. Or maybe it was a pathos. It was definitely one of those Greek things that one of those Greek guys talked about before he died of some kind of brutal ancient affliction that history usually confirms is just a fancy version of diarrhea.

Noted Greek fullback/philosopher Janostotle

When you live in the state of Nebraska, there are certain truths that you hold to be self-evident. That all men are not created equal; that some are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienably thick, farm boy necks and the ability to squat a metric shit-ton; that among these men, we will only describe them with adjectives that are football code for “white dude.”

Those are facts that we believe in so greatly that they are carved into the very foot of our Dong-shaped State Capitol itself.

So, my friends. My Family.

It is not without some sadness, some trepidation, that we have tasked ourselves to gather here and dry our eyes, lift our chins to that great rising of the sun over East stadium, and to find a way to trust in the Frost’s plan.

We have to accept, as difficult as it may be in our heart of hearts, that the Frost works in mysterious ways.

And though our hearts may be heavy, and our shoulder pads significantly more streamlined, look to your left and your right: who do you see? You see community. You see fire. You see someone who will start their drinking at 7:45 in the morning if need be, so that they can build a healthy buzz before an 11 AM kick. So, let us wear black today.

Let us YouTube highlights of brothers Makovicka, and Tom Rathman while we sob around mouthfuls of Amigo’s.

Allow yourself a moment to grieve, yes, but then give yourself a chance to heal. Give yourself a moment to remember that, though our fullbacks may have been called home to the Pearly Gates of Saint Osborne, the black we are wearing still has a skull and crossbones on it.

Let us never forget the moment Andy M.F. Janovich caused old men from Hastings, to Axtell, to Gothenburg Nebraska to twerk to DJ Kool in broad daylight.

So let’s raise a glass.

Probably of some kind of locally sourced, wholesome, milk. And let’s pour out just a little for the fullback.

RIP. Rest in (Triple o)P(tion).