The last great magic act happened on a blustery November afternoon in 1986.
Nebraska had just locked up victory over arch rival Oklahoma — or so it seemed.
OU quarterback Jamelle Holieway had fumbled on fourth down from the Sooners' 15-yard line, and NU recovered. The Memorial Stadium crowd exploded. Orange Bowl, here we come.
Fans didn't see the flag on the ground. Face mask.
The penalty jump-started a 94-yard Oklahoma drive. With 1:22 left, Holieway found a tight end named Keith Jackson at the goal line. Jackson ripped the ball away from a Husker defensive back for a game-tying touchdown.
At least Nebraska would get a tie — or so it seemed.
Then the Huskers punted. Then Oklahoma got the ball.
With 18 seconds left, on third-and-12 from OU's side of midfield, Holieway fired for Jackson down the sideline. He made a spectacular one-handed catch, gaining 41 yards. Next play, Oklahoma kicked a field goal.
Final score: Oklahoma 20, Nebraska 17.
“Nebraska believed we'd do it,” OU coach Barry Switzer said at the time, “and we did.”
Ten years earlier, Switzer oversaw a similar Oklahoma last-minute rally in Lincoln. That day, he made famous a term that brought a pang to Husker hearts.
“Sooner Magic.”
Nothing in college football compared with Nebraska vs. Oklahoma when they were in their heyday. From 1970 to 1989, Nebraska led the nation in wins; Oklahoma was second. Each fall, they eyed each other from afar as they stormed through the Big Eight Conference.
High stakes, a star-studded cast and a late-November time slot made NU-OU brilliant theater. But what turned it into a 12-month obsession for us Northerners were the fourth-quarter twists that always went Switzer's way.
Brash Barry beat gentle Tom Osborne in 12 of 17 meetings. Eight times, Switzer trailed in the second half and rallied to win — with a little help from his magicians.
Mere mention of their names might still cause an old Husker fan to stir in his sleep: Tinker Owens. Elvis Peacock. Billy Sims. Buster Rhymes.
And, of course, Keith Jackson.
Jackson's one-handed catch belongs next to Johnny Rodgers' punt return in 1971 in rivalry lore. But his torment of Nebraska actually began a year earlier.
He popped his head into Switzer's office the week of the 1985 Nebraska clash and made a selfish suggestion.
“This is a big game,” he told Switzer. “I can help us win. Put the ball in my hands.”
Switzer listened. A few days later, in the first quarter of the biggest game of the year, Oklahoma ran a new play: tight end reverse.
Just before the snap, Switzer turned to his friend on the sideline and said, “Touchdown this play.”
“All I remember is when I got around that corner,” Jackson said, “there was nothing there but green.”
He rumbled 88 yards for a touchdown. No. 5 Oklahoma rolled No. 2 Nebraska, 27-7.
In all, Jackson went 4-0 against Nebraska; through a scheduling quirk, three of them were in Lincoln. The last came in '87, when No. 2 Oklahoma rallied in the second half to beat No. 1 Nebraska, 17-7.
Recently, Jackson listened to a conversation between Switzer and former Heisman Trophy winner Billy Sims. They talked about the importance of Nebraska in those days.
“We had such a respect for them,” Jackson said.
It was respect passed down from OU players Greg Pruitt to Joe Washington to Sims to Spencer Tillman.
“Here's a team that you have to beat,” Jackson said. “Here's the standard, the best in the league.”
But if Nebraska was the standard, why did OU win so many times?
Sims believes OU had a slight edge in speed and athleticism most of the '70s and '80s.
“There are players and there are difference makers,” Sims said. “We always had a lot of difference makers.”
It also may have had something to do with Oklahoma's attitude. Most coaches are naturally cautious around their teams. Respect the opponent, they say, or we might lose.
“Not Switzer,” Jackson said.
Switzer regularly told his starters to hurry up and “go out there and hang half a hundred on 'em” because the second-teamers wanted to play, too.
“There's a word out now called ‘swagga.' They don't say ‘swagger,' they say ‘swagga,'” Jackson said. “He had a certain swagga about him way back when.
“We're the championship team, we're coming into your backyard. We're gonna beat you. Because we're Oklahoma.”
Oklahoma stopped being Oklahoma for a while after Switzer resigned amid scandal in '89.
During the bleak '90s, the Sooners wanted nothing to do with Nebraska. Their slump precipitated the end of the annual clash, which in some small way precipitated NU's departure for the Big Ten.
Jackson doesn't like it.
“When you start thinking about rivalries, you look at them like they're part of history. They're an important piece of the sports fabric of life.
“You want USC and Notre Dame. You want Ohio State and Michigan. You want Oklahoma and Nebraska.”
After five All-Pro seasons and nine total years in the NFL, Jackson, 45, was inducted into the College Football Hall of Fame in 2001.
He lives in his hometown, Little Rock, Ark., where he's part of the Arkansas radio broadcast team. He orchestrates an after-school and summer program for at-risk kids.
Jackson still speaks frequently to Broderick Thomas, the Nebraska defender who tried to cover him on the critical play in '86.
“Broderick still says I pushed off,” Jackson said. “I tell him the referees didn't call it, so I didn't. We argue that all the time.”
When the game was over that night — when the rivalry's last magic act had ended — Jackson entered the tunnel under Memorial Stadium with trepidation. If the Nebraska fans had seen what he'd just done, surely they'd pummel him.
As Jackson made his way through the crowd, Husker fans reached out to shake his hand.
“It still sends chills down my spine,” Jackson said. “I have never seen — anywhere I've ever been — anything like it.”
Same goes for Sooner Magic.
Contact the writer:
402-649-1461, dirk.chatelain@owh.com
twitter.com/dirkchatelain
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