She wanted Paul Bunyan's Axe — like she'd never wanted another axe in her entire life.
She marched in the band at the University of Minnesota. And for three years, she'd watched those hated Wisconsin Badgers beat her Golden Gophers, then celebrate by swinging the axe. This is tradition.
Wisconsin and Minnesota have met in football 119 times, a Division I record. Before Paul Bunyan's Axe, they played for the Slab of Bacon trophy. It disappeared mysteriously — sort of like Minnesota's football program.
Katrina Hilgemann, a Millard West graduate, was sick of losing last fall. Then the Badgers went to Minneapolis and won again, 31-28. The Gophers staggered over to the band and sang the alma mater. This is tradition.
They were still singing when Wisconsin players dashed into the end zone and pretended to cut down the goal post. With Bunyan's Axe.
Welcome to the Big Ten, Nebraska.
You'll need to get used to a few things.
Like campuses so big, you'll need a compass to find your car. Like winter weather so cold, your toenails will shiver. And, of course, “trophy games” such as the Wisconsin and Minnesota battle for the axe.
Nebraska isn't just moving from the Great Plains to the Rust Belt, you see. It's changing cultures.
The Big Ten is the oldest Division I-A athletic conference in America. A prestigious club in which tradition rules. Football teams take pride in their rugged style, bland uniforms and, above all, Rose Bowl pursuit.
The Big 12 is a polo shirt and jeans conference, said Gary Barnett, former football coach at Northwestern and Colorado. The Big Ten is coat and tie.
“There's just something about a Big Ten program that you feel like you're a cut above,” Barnett said.
The Big Ten has its reasons.
All 10 public Big Ten schools rank among the top 30 nationally, according to U.S. News & World Report. Of the 18 public universities with endowment funds exceeding $1 billion, the Big Ten is home to nine.
Hilgemann interned last summer in Columbus, Ohio, home to Ohio State. She hung out with business majors from all over the conference. They didn't bicker about differences, they reveled in “the awesomeness of being part of the Big Ten.”
The league stands for unity as much as distinction.
Think of the Big 12 like residents on the same dormitory floor. Sure, they felt connected by geography — they saw each other every morning in the bathroom — but personalities were different. And individual goals always trumped community.
Come Saturday night, one next-door neighbor went to study, another went to a party and you went to a movie. Sunday morning, you played Frisbee and rehashed the weekend. Everyone was finer for the freedom.
The Big Ten is a fraternity house. Residents, all of similar pedigree and social class, feel a kinship. They stick together, value whole over self. Not only do they pursue the same goals, they also root for each other in the quest.
Yes, sometimes Nebraska might get stuck scrubbing toilets on a Friday night in preparation for alumni weekend. But according to Big Ten theory, the benefits of fellowship trump the drawbacks.
“The Big Ten truly is a collection of like-minded institutions,” said Doug Anderson, a Superior, Neb., native who is dean of Penn State's College of Communications. “All have become better because of their relationship with one another and respect for one another.”
And now Nebraska is joining them. Conference realignment is not a new phenomenon in college athletics.
In the 1920s, the Southern Conference included the finest schools beneath the Mason-Dixon Line. It counted 22 schools in its membership. Eventually they split up, and now the conference doesn't even play Division I football.
The Atlantic Coast Conference, knit tightly in a 540-mile circle when it began in 1953, has undergone massive changes since 1991, adding four schools from Tallahassee, Fla., to Boston.
The Big East Conference has seen so many drastic changes, it's hard to keep track of its membership. Right now, it stands at 16, but only eight play Division I-A football in the league.
The current Pacific-10 Conference, meanwhile, had only half of its current membership in 1960.
But the Big Ten has epitomized stability, remaining almost exclusive. Known in its early years as the Western Conference, the league has existed for 115 years. And since World War I, it's made just three transactions: It dropped the University of Chicago in 1946, added Michigan State in 1950, and added Penn State in 1990.
Before the Big 12 originated in 1996, some of its members had never met in football. Big Ten schools, on the other hand, have shared Saturday afternoons for more than a century.
Of course, outsiders aren't so reverent.
Had you asked a Nebraska fan six months ago about the Big Ten, he likely would've labeled Big Ten traditions lame. Who waves an axe after beating Minnesota (the same Gophers who once gave up 84 points to Nebraska)? Celebrate when you really win something — like a national championship.
Since 1970, the Big Ten has won just two football national championships. The conference, according to critics, is 11 shades of bland, too focused on the past to notice innovation, let alone nurture it.
“The Big Ten still has that reputation of Woody Hayes and Bo Schembechler. ‘Let's beat each other to death and see who comes out at the end,' ” said Todd Mishler, a Wisconsin native who wrote a book about Big Ten rivalries.
Yet the league and its massive alumni factions still end up with the best TV deals. What other league can put middle-of-the-road teams like Northwestern and Michigan State on ESPN on Saturday morning?
The Huskers will appreciate the national attention, but their transition won't be entirely seamless, Barnett said.
Nebraska will walk into five football arenas a year just as impressive as Memorial Stadium.
“Nebraska's always been one of two or three big boys in the conference,” Barnett said. “Now they're just going to go sit at the table with a bunch of big boys. Michigan, Ohio State, Penn State, Iowa, Wisconsin.”
But if anyone could and should make the jump, sources across the Big Ten said, it's Nebraska.
The Huskers' emphasis on tradition and consistency, their values of modesty and dedication — it's all tailor-made for their new league.
So is Bo Pelini's stingy defense. And the highlight clips of Tom Osborne's power running game. And the proud walk-on tradition. And the sterling statistics for academic All-Americans.
Anderson, the Penn State administrator, wasn't in the heartland in 1996 when the Big Eight became the Big 12.
“But my guess is this is going to seem more comfortable, more natural, more palatable and going to have a much happier ending,” Anderson said.
Just one glaring task remains: rivalries. You can't proceed in the Big Ten without them.
So start thinking of potential trophies, Husker fans. An old combine? A muddy shovel? A big axe?
Wait. That one's taken.
Contact the writer: 649-1461, dirk.chatelain@owh.com
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