As a fan, I’ve never wanted a victory more.

Yes, I was desperate for Tim Miles and his band of red-hot transfer-ballers to take out Baylor in the NCAA Tournament in 2014.

Yes, I was feverishly screaming as the fans turned the court of Pinnacle Bank arena into a joyous mosh pit that same year.

I wanted those games to be victories. One was. One wasn’t.

And so the endless, soul searching Soul Cycle of Nebrasketball continued. Always pedaling. Sweating. Sometimes feeling really good about the workout. But never really getting anywhere. Season after season. We get off the bike, we’re in the same place as when we started. And when we head to the gym locker room the same NIT or CBI or empty nothingness of being so close-yet-so-far is standing there staring us uncomfortably in the face like the old man who’s always air drying his junk and has zero intention of getting a towel.

It continued through big expectations and big letdowns, through “wait ’til next years” and “damnitweweresoclose”s. Transfers came. Transfers left.

Nebraska basketball, so long a labor of love for the die hard fans, so long that one restless child that has so much potential to be something great if they would just apply themselves and, you know, do it. They have another chance. Another dream-job interview.

If only they don’t oversleep. Or rip a giant hole in the crotch of their pants while they’re standing up to go into the HR managers office. We need to stay out of our own way and just…oh, how would Shia Labeouf put it when he’s doing something completely insane in front of a green screen in a tight black tee?

The parallels between that 2014 team and this squad are definitely there. We’ve seen this kind of talent on the court before. We’ve had dynamic athletes and a big time scorer that’s capable of getting hot. But, even then, we were never able to take the next step. As a program. As a fanbase.

This Saturday, Tim Miles and his new team of transfer-ballers need to pedal on that stationary bike until it snaps clean off of the pegs holding it in place and they Matt Foley right through the barriers that have held back the team.

There is no other chance. No better moment. No Diem that need be Carpe’d if we don’t win this game. It is imperative. In italics. In bold. This is the chance. Now.

It’s the starter’s pistol sounding for the race ahead and this has to be the team that doesn’t stumble or false start but gets out clean and then finishes the race.

But this year feels different. (*Author’s note: Stop me if you’ve heard that before)

This team looks different.

Especially at Pinnacle Bank Arena, where the Huskers have gone on a 16-game home winning streak since losing a heartbreaker to Kansas nearly a year ago.

It will be no easy task. Not with Nebraska. Not with history. And certainly not with Creighton. It never really is.

Can the Huskers defend Creighton’s elite-level ball movement, 3-point-shooting, and offensive prowess? Will James Palmer stay aggressive and dialed in? Can we continue to see positive growth/momentum from Isaac Copeland and the rejuvenated Glynn Watson?

Glynn Gary Glynn Boss

I believe.

And not just because I want to or because that is the essence of my fanhood, reverbing around in my heart. But because that team in 2014 didn’t have the cohesion, the athleticism, or the guts to do what these guys are about to. Because my eyes and my brain agree. Because, hell, we have to.

This time, Tim Miles has his alarm set. Hell, he’ll probably be up before the sun crests the 9th green on whatever Lincoln country club golf course he lives on.

This time, there will be no doofy, slapstick version of a slacker-trying-to-land-that-big-job and psychosomatically self-sabotaging.

This time Nebraska will come out guns blazing and machine-gun down that giant ape that has been surgically attached to our backs for the past seven seasons until it loses it’s grip and goes plummeting down to the foot of the State Capitol building.

Seen here: Grant Gibbs.

There’s a little trick I use to tell how good the atmosphere is going to be at Pinnacle Bank Arena in the moments before tip. I check the floor of the men’s room. If it’s disgusting and slippery with poorly aimed, flammable-from-alcoholic-intake liquid? I know it’s going to be lit inside the Vault.

I have a feeling it’s going to be a nightmare in there on Saturday.

Go Big Red.