On Saturday night, with my vocal chords Fran Dreschered and my hands dully aching, I walked out of Pinnacle Bank Arena having just watched Nebraska Basketball lose another game.

They lost by one point, to a very vulnerable Kansas basketball program that narrowly avoided dropping their third game in a row.

Moral victories are a lot like eating leftovers. They’re budget friendly. They’re the “right way” of doing/looking at things, because you’re making the responsible decision not to waste. Sometimes, they even taste pretty good. But they’re never as delicious, as perfect, as the meal when it’s fresh.

Saturday, for all its brutality at the finish — the Huskers getting a swift kick right in their Jayhawks with Svi Mykahiailiuiaujliuikjskjui’s 3-pointer dropping in to put the KU ahead with 23 seconds to go — was just that: a moral victory.

(Image courtesty of FS1)

So, no. It didn’t taste that good.

And, yes. Some people will throw it out because, at this point in the game? Husker fans want (and deserve) something fresh. Something deliciously hot out the oven to chew on, not reheated in the office microwave for 1:30 while Janice from accounting loudly talks to her homegirl about her kids’ issues with diarrhea at the spot in line behind you.

We’ve been eating leftovers for 3 years.

We’ve been waiting ’til next year so long, our fan base is now as old as the acrobat we hired for the halftime show.

(*Author’s note: which, can we talk for a second about letting this AARP member come out and do a bunch of stunts with no net and no padding, Nebraska? I don’t want The Amazing Sladek’s blood on our hands. The last thing I want for him to do is get all hopped up on Centrum Silver, velour his way onto the court and impale himself on a chair leg in front of 15,000 people. You know what was stacking up alongside those 8 chairs he was balancing on? My anxiety. That’s what.

My anxiety was 8 chairs high and Pinnacle Bank Arena doesn’t even have the decency to sell the $7 beers I need to calm myself down, when I’m concerned that this kindly old man might have some Werther’s Original residue on his hands and slip to his death. This dude’s will is written in hieroglyphics on a wall somewhere in Mesopotamia and we’re letting him risk it all so he can cash a check and wink at a couple of the elderly ladies sitting courtside? Like, Tom Osborne was probably in a rocking chair in some $5,000 seat in a private box thinking: damn, that guy is too old for this. Alright, that’s my rant. ❤ u Sladek.)