This is what Nebraska Week means. It’s 1989 along Stadium Drive, a crisp morning just after Halloween. The CU Buffs’ football assistants, sitting around a conference table, watch as coach Bill McCartney enters the room with cartoon smoke bellowing from each ear, his face twisted into a gargoyle’s scowl.
Before a word is spoken, he scans the room with a death stare.
“Whose car is it?”
Silence. The staff members look at each other. What the heck is he talking about? What car?
The Buffs coach asks again, louder this time.