As Max Falkenstien and I stood in the bleachers behind the east end zone in the growing darkness at Lewis Field, I thought to myself, “Hey, calm down, you’ve seen close football games before.”
So had Falkenstien. He’s been broadcasting the Jayhawks on radio since the days of soft helmets, and I could tell he was a little nervous, too. Falkenstien has seen maybe a million KU football games. I’ve probably seen only about a hundred thousand or so.
Anyway, we had placed ourselves strategically so we could watch a last-ditch field goal attempt by Oklahoma State’s Cary Blanchard. If Blanchard made it, the Cowboys would stretch their non-losing streak against Kansas to 18 years. If he didn’t, Okie State’s whammy over Kansas would end.
That’s what it had come down to.
MOMENTARILY, Blanchard’s boot was floating end-over-end through the sprinkles, shifting wind and shining stadium lights.
Soon I could see the kick would not slice through the middle of the goal posts, that it was on a trajectory to my left. Then it occurred to me that Blanchard was a right-footed soccer-style kicker and his kick would curve. Omigosh, I thought, it’s going to bend through the posts.
Only the kick did not curve. It stayed on a straight path. Suddenly, it struck the upright and bounded away. I looked at Falkenstien and he looked at me. We both smiled. Both of us had been in Stillwater on that early November day in 1972 when Kansas last defeated the Cowboys.
Quickly, Falkenstien bolted to adjacent Gallagher-Iba Arena to set up for coach Glen Mason’s post-game show. I stayed in the bleachers for a few minutes watching the Kansas celebration.
It didn’t take long to spot the happiest man on the field. Mason was running around like, well. . .a madman, a happy madman. He was jumping, twisting, throwing his fists in the air.
ALL OF A sudden, Mason ran over to John Hadl, one of his former assistant coaches who now runs the Williams Fund, and leaped on his back. That’s right. Mason leaped on Hadl’s back. Players do that, not coaches.
Aw, heck, just because you’re 40 years old doesn’t mean you can’t act like a kid. “Hey, I’m an emotional guy,” Mason said afterward. “I was happy because I saw so many kids happy and excited.”
Why wouldn’t they be happy?
“Do you know,” said center Chip Budde, one of only three senior regulars, “that this is the first time we’ve won two in a row since I’ve been here?”
Actually, Budde was on the team in 1986 when the Jayhawks won three in a row over Utah State, Indiana State and Southern Illinois their only victories that season, incidentally but he was a red-shirt freshman and didn’t play.
Budde was a junior at Lawrence High the last time Kansas won Big Eight games back-to-back. That was in 1984 when KU followed its 28-11 shocker of Oklahoma with a 28-27 win at Colorado.
KANSAS HASN’T won three Big Eight games in a row since the Hall of Fame Bowl season of 1981 and, realistically, another hat trick is unlikely with Nebraska coming to town Saturday.
Kansas hasn’t defeated Nebraska since 1968 Budde was a year old then and it doesn’t seem probable the Jayhawks would snap their two longest non-winning streaks on successive weekends.
Perhaps the wind was a factor on Blanchard’s fateful kick on Saturday. I don’t know. I do know only a inch or two, no more, stood between an exuberant Kansas victory and a depressing defeat.
They can call baseball a game of inches all they want. Baseball certainly is. But football is, too.
