Back in my trick-or-treating days, kids, we'd lose three or four comrades along the way, falling to the sidewalk or driveway, swelling, gasping for breath. We'd say a chocolate-drooling prayer over them, divide up their candy and move on because we knew that's the way they would have wanted it. It wasn't 'til decades later we learned about a little thing called peanut allergies.

The 7 billionth person was just born. Wouldn't you know it? It's another damn Duggar.

Oh, crud. More driving trouble for the Huskers. Rex just clipped a couple of trick-or-treaters. Fortunately, they were dressed as Twilight characters, so no harm done. In fact, let's add it to his highlight reel.

Rethinking Halloween costume. Was gonna go as LaRussa -- perplexed expression, phone stuck to my ear -- but that seems so last week; besides he's retired now. Then planned to dress as a chalkboard -- X's and O's scrawled all over me -- and be Husker Halftime Adjustments. But the time spent explaining the costume would cut into candy time. So, look for me in Broncos' uniform, No. 15, running around in a panic on your lawn, alternately praying, screaming and collapsing onto the ground. Now, to talk my wife into dressing up as Suh to chase and clobber me.

I realize man's hunter-gatherer instincts have atrophied over the thousands of years since our survival depended on them. Still, it's pretty pathetic that I can't for the life of me figure out where my wife hid the damn Halloween candy in this house. I believe I'd have better luck finding a mastadon, but they don't come in chocolate, do they?

Back despite popular demand, Beaucoup Boku, which finds our haiku-spouting coach doing a victory lap on behalf of his sometimes maligned O-coordinator:

Perdedor my ass
Watch Beck work two turntables,
microphone and Rex

Students at the Big 12's newest member, West Virginia, already are preparing for visiting teams from their new conference with an intimidating chant: "You shore do got a purdy mouth. You shore do got a purdy mouth." Also, the band started working up an arrangement of "Dueling Banjos" yesterday, but a couple of tubaists sprained their lips.

Amazing if True Husker/B1G Game Day Trivia: Perhaps you’ve caught an occasional glimpse of a priest on Nebraska’s sideline and wondered why. Well, Bo Pelini is a good Catholic boy who likes to keep a priest nearby as his soul is ever in mortal danger during games. Indeed, there’ve been a few games where Bo’s had to go to Confession half a dozen times before the final whistle. Father also performs other Sacraments as needed – including the occasional Anointing of the Sick for game officials who run afoul of Bo and, yes, after the 2009 Big 12 championship game, the Last Rites for a conference muckety-muck who encountered the coach in the tunnel. And so, in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, GBR!

Nor'easter bearing down on mid-Atlantic states, threatening up to a foot of snow in the next few days. It's already been dubbed Snowtober. Really? Surely we can do better. How about Snowlloween? Boolizzard? Or: Mother Nature's at the Door Trick or Treating and If You Give Her Another F-in' 'Fun-sized' Almond Joy She'll Blow Your Damn House Down?

Amazing if True Game Friday Husker/B1G Trivia: Michigan State’s Keith Nichol’s incredible, game-winning, deflected, last-second Hail Mary catch last week reminds us of this: Sports teaches many important real-life lessons, such as: Success is about hard work, talent and commitment, of course, but sometimes it’s about being in the right place at the right time. Exhibit A in NU history is Matt Davison, a fine football player, to be sure. In fact, he’s No. 6 in career receptions at NU – and, please, no snarky observations such as that’s a little like being the sixth smartest Texas governor in history. But it is not his overall career but rather one grand moment – Nov. 8, 1997, against Missouri, helping to ensure an eventual national title – in which the freshman Davison was in the right place at the right time and came through. Just ask the Husker fans who made the trip to Faurot Field to see it; there were 850,000 of us there. Of course, Davison never will to pay for a drink in a Nebraska bar as long as he lives. Finally, we would be remiss not to say: Hey, Pelini, be sure to keep an eye on that SOB Nichol tomorrow, OK? GBR!

The Big 12 is the Marcia Brady of conferences -- stringing one boy (West Virginia) along 'til a cuter one (Louisville) shows interest. Now, the little tease has two dates. She's just cruisin' to get hit in the nose again with a football, if you ask me.

Some days, about 9 a.m., I think, man, I could go for a beer right now and maybe just drink the rest of the day. But I don’t. That’s called professionalism.

Gadhafi was buried today. Times like these, I like to indulge a fantasy of a quite literal Hell, where I imagine him now slowly twisting on a spit above flames, earbuds glued into place and piping, say, "Friday" into his brain over and over again, and, even worse for him, stuck wearing the same outfit for all Eternity. I imagine Yankee pinstripe pants, a Texas Longhorns jersey, big, fluffy bunny slippers and a yarmulke.

Looking for love in all the wrong places again, huh? Well, for starters, maybe you should get outta the bar men's room.

A new groundbreaking study by MIT engineers confirms what we've all long suspected: It turns out each year contains an average of 67 Mondays and only 37 Saturdays. Obama, taking a break from offing international slimeballs, has ordered a SEAL mission to the sun to shift it one-decillionth of a millimeter to the left to repair the calendar. Of course the mission carries risks; any more than one-decillionth of a shift, and the sun will explode, instantly ending all life on Earth. Still, I presume you'll agree the risk is worth it. Godspeed, brave men. And hurry, dammit.

Book of Tebow 3:16: For God so loved the Broncos that He gave them his Son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life, or at least life unto late in the fourth quarter, to somehow prevail against the most godawful -- so to speak -- team in football.

It is said that Mitt Romney and Rick Perry really don't like each other. So, whatever their flaws, let's take comfort that at least both are good judges of character.

Minnesota has six national championships, one more than NU. How can that be? Some perspective, in a special Gopher edition of Beaucoup Boku (Haiku from Coach Pelini):

Two 'round World War II,
Rosie Riveter, QB
Last? Hint: They liked Ike

Gather 'round, young Husker fans, and let me tell of you a time not so long ago when the Big 8 -- God rest its soul -- reigned and the Mighty Option roamed the Earth and on a day like today, NU's prevent offense was put in the game early in the third quarter and still racked up 35 points, though, by game's end, was composed largely of peanut vendors, members of the marching band's flute section, a couple of drunk frat boys, and maybe even a drunk sorority girl or two, at least one of whom was missing a limb; the only uniform cleanup required was to scrape the blood and entrails of Gophers, or Jayhawks, or Cyclones, or sometimes we couldn't even remember who, from Husker cleats; the sports information director spent much of the day Sunday notifying opposing players' next of kin; and a mere 28-point margin would have been thrown back, as an angler returns a tiny fish to the lake, and simply not counted. Those were good times, kids. Oh well, GBR!

Husker Haiku:

Amukamara
Ndamukong, Jean-Baptiste
Big-name recruits all

After the debate contretemps over illegals doing lawnwork at the Romney estate, I'm sure I'm not the only one who tried to imagine Mitt Romney mowing his own lawn. Can’t do it. Ron Paul's the only one I can imagine doing it. Mowing his lawn, that is, not Romney’s. Yelling at neighborhood kids, too, I'm sure -- something about the Fed, I suppose.

Alotta people wonder why Gadhafi never promoted himself beyond colonel. Truth is he found the generals' uniforms to be a bit gaudy.

Hmm. The dispatching of Gadhafi to Hell just one day before the Rapture. A coincidence? I think not. Ladies and gentlemen, please allow him to introduce himself, a man of wealth and taste -- the Antichrist.

Great. Thanks to that jackwagon in Ohio, I suppose The Man's gonna crack down on exotic pets now. I just hope they don't come after my shih tzu that I like to dress in a teddy and heels and have dance for me.

So, why are we giving a pass to the 2 to, say, 15%? They look pretty fat and happy, too, if you ask me, smugly throwing in with the rest of us 99%-ers.

Republicans have a hit on their hands

Good news for the GOP. Network execs, impressed by the debates' boffo action and ratings so far, have renewed the pilot series for at least six months. Oh sure, they wanna tinker a bit, because that's what network execs do.

To wit:

-- How to resolve Mitt and Rick's Sam-and-Diane act? Fisticuffs or a big "I-love-you-man" bromantic hug? Need to focus-group that one.

-- Cain may be overplaying crazy a bit; let's tone it down. Fewer references to killing illegal immigrants maybe.

-- Time to write Huntsman out; he brings nothing to the table and we already got the Mormon demographic covered anyway. Maybe have him spontaneously combust next time Bachmann gives him her crazy eyes.

-- In cliffhanger, Santorum will be caught at end of one episode in a compromising position, on his knees in a Minneapolis airport men's room. At beginning of next episode, camera pulls back to show him merely reciting the Rosary. Whew!

-- Not enough sex. Introduce a new love interest for someone. Gingrich was quick to volunteer, but that's a little too spot on.

-- As an aside, love, love, love the plot twist on the other side of the aisle -- Obama's teleprompter being stolen. Definitely gonna work that in -- our heroic president rendered speechless, unable even to say “hope and change” or to remember who, exactly, is the change we've been waiting for. Will his teleprompter resurface in time for him to run for re-election? Stay tuned.

But back to the main act:

-- Still gotta figure out a way to get Palin on the show; she kills. Maybe we sneak her into every scene on the campaign trail, a la Alfred Hitchcock's pop-ups in his own films? Or could she be the aforementioned love interest? For Ron Paul? Hmm. Get writers to storyboard that, though, please, not too explicitly.

-- Finally, see what else debate audiences will boo. A basket of adorable kittens? Children in wheelchairs? Kittens in wheelchairs?

Yep, no doubt about it. We got a hit here.

Embarrassing moment at last night's debate: Both Perry and Bachmann showed up wearing the same thing, bought at the GOP souvenir shop: "I was the Republican frontrunner and all I got was this lousy T-shirt."

Midseason state of the Huskers, via Beaucoup Boku (Haiku from Coach Pelini):

Offense Taylor-made,
good or ill. D down a Crick
without a paddle

I really love brainstorming, except for the part where I can’t tell people how stupid their ideas are.

All these protests, left and right, leave me feeling sort of empty inside. I’m politically active and interested but have yet to find a movement for which I’d take to the streets. Most of the nation’s institutions strike me as ossified, self-interested and eager to demonize, rather than engage, their opposition. That goes for unions, corporations, Congress, the White House, Democrats, Republicans,... etc. Whether Tea Partiers or Occupiers, the marchers’ slogans and stunts are pithy, often entertaining and full of good old American spit and fire but also simplistic, at times downright ignorant or – and these are deal breakers for me in any political cause -- egregiously misspelled or Hitlerized. I reckon I’d join a movement that started by recognizing the extraordinary complexities of the times, eschewed the notion they can be easily blamed on one faction or another and was realistic about what can be achieved in a nation split down the middle. But, man, we’d sure have to lug some big-ass picket signs around, wouldn’t we?

Like all loyal fans, I have spent the No. 4-of-the-Second-10-ranked Huskers' bye week with eyes glued to the screen, reviewing film from the first six games, frame by frame, to determine exactly what's going wrong with that defense. At 2 this morning, midway through my fourth pot of coffee of the night, I hit on it. "Ye Gods," I muttered. "They've got only 10 players on the field -- on EVERY stinkin' play -- and at times one of them appears to be a cheerleader. What a colossal Huskerf--k!" I have alerted Coach Bo and offered myself up as a game-day consultant charged with counting defenders on each play. What a relief, huh? GBR!

Husker fan haiku (hey, don't blame me; blame it on the bye week)

We're not booing you
It's October; just trying
to scare other team

Damn. Just when Husker fans are starting to feel a little better comes word that the basketball team had its first practice Friday.

I fully intended to march with Occupy Lincoln but took a wrong turn and ended up amid gathering of the 1% at the Nebraska Club. The food and booze are a lot better, so, sorry, I think I'll stay. But I'll take good notes and report back on these capitalistic swine. Oh, speaking of swine, here comes another tray of ramake. Later.

Abided by Bo's no-booing edict at big contest today. Didn't like it. How are high school marching bands gonna get better if they don't get honest feedback?

Herman Cain has dismissed the ridiculous reports that his 9-9-9 tax plan is based on the tax plan in SimCity 4. However, he did acknowledge he got his military policy from Call of Duty: Black Ops.

If you want to teeter so close to the edge of eternal damnation, you'll feel the singe on your soul (or maybe that's your bladder letting loose), here's a old favorite of mine: Barrel through a Catholic school parking lot and nearly hit a covey of nuns.

Bo haiku to the fans (Beaucoup Boku, if you prefer):

Don't boo my players
That's quite unnecessary
Have you seen me scream?

The media and political establishment have decreed Romney will be the nominee, which sure saves voters a lot of trouble since these powers of prognostication are so flawless. Should be a helluva race between Mitt and President Hillary Clinton, huh?

What we all need around here -- media, fans, team -- is a mid-season, palate-cleansing, old-school Big 8 style 60-point beatdown. Negotiations are under way with Huskers' old buddy Turner Gill to see if he'll offer up his Jayhawks for an exhibition game. He wants a huge payout, but money is no object.

Many gyms have installed individual televisions on equipment – a damn good way to ruin a perfectly good TV, if you ask me. That aside, though, here’s the obvious next step: Make the quality of programming contingent on how hard you’re working out. On a Sunday afternoon, for instance, a half-assed pace on the treadmill will get you, say, a Dolphins-Rams game; step up that intensity, though, and you’ll get Packers-Patriots. Or if you’re watching old movies, the lollygaggers get, say, “Howard the Duck"; the hard core, “The African Queen.”

New date for the Rapture is Oct. 21, and right on cue not one but two Messiahs have emerged -- one in Denver and one in Chicago -- to lead their long-suffering people to the Promised Land.

Theo’s first step: End all that Cubs’ curse talk with ceremony at Wrigley Field's home plate: Goat, black cat and Steve Bartman all to be sacrificed to the Gods of Baseball, their ashes mingled with those of Leo Durocher, Harry Caray and Ron Santo and raked into warning track dirt.

The media and political establishment have decreed Romney will be the nominee, which sure saves voters a lot of trouble since these powers of prognostication are so flawless. Should be a helluva race between Mitt and President Hillary Clinton, huh?

Theo Epstein has his work cut out for him on the North Side. For example: for the last 10 years, whenever someone would tell Ernie Banks it was a beautiful day for baseball, he'd say "F--- you!"

Interesting complication in Red Sox-Cubs negotiations over Theo Epstein going from the former to the latter. Boston doesn’t wanna be forced to take Chicago prospect in the deal. Instead, they’re insisting Cubs send one to Yankees and another to Rays in exchange for Epstein going to the North Side.

Bo speaks to the media in haiku, or Boku if you prefer:

You all saw the game
So, yeah, what did you think, huh?
Well, write what you want

You can't spell boo without Bo

This feels like the best-timed bye week in Husker history, doesn’t it? A wild-ride first half of a season ends with NU right about where most of us figured they’d be: 5-1. But oh, what a strange, unsettling trip it’s been.

For now, though, a chance for everyone to catch their breath, get a grip, adjust expectations, regain some perspective and just generally chill the hell out.

Here’s what we’ve learned in the 2011 season so far:

-- College kids are unpredictable and often immature, and man-children who have been worshipped for their athletic prowess for years not surprisingly come to feel entitled to such worship and aren’t very adept at handling rougher treatment.

-- Football is a glorious yet stupid game.

-- It’s not the ‘90s in Husker Nation anymore, and never will be again.

-- Nebraska fans, who love to preen about their national reputation for good sportsmanship, can be as surly and unforgiving as the average Philadelphian at times.

-- And Bo is a supremely stubborn guy with a nasty temper and kind of a dick to the media, which makes him similar to probably 75 percent of the nation’s other college football coaches. And the more he wins, the less we’ll care about the aforementioned.

So, what’s new here?

Presumably, Bo and his boys will make some mid-season adjustments during their bye week. Some Husker fans might consider doing the same.

Let’s start with the booing. Apparently, some fans booed Taylor Martinez after a second-quarter pick Saturday night. Some who were there heard it; others didn’t. Clearly it wasn’t most, or even many, of the fans, but Bo seemed to hear it and the TV cameras – surely he knows by now there’s one trained on him at all times -- caught him gesturing in disgust toward the crowd.

Certainly, booing at college athletes is bad form. I can’t imagine how anyone who has, or ever had, a 19-, 20-, or 21-year-old child could do it. After all, they are students. Would you go into an English classroom and boo students’ poor performance there? OK, actually, I would, so that’s a bad example. But you get the point.

Another problem with booing is that it’s so unfocused and scattershot. Are fans booing the quarterback’s play, a missed block by the left tackle or the offensive coordinator’s play-calling? Or perhaps it’s a section-wide outbreak of gastrointestinal distress from the week-old fare the hot-dog man just fobbed off there.

Maybe it’s an Occupy Memorial Stadium protest against the evils of big-time college sports. Or perhaps it’s just an anguished cry to the heavens at the existential unfairness of it all.

There’s a certain mob mentality in these moments. If there’s safety in numbers, there’s also douchebaggery. But try this test: If it were just you sitting in the stands, alone, watching the game and players therefore could hear you, and only you, would you boo? If not, then don’t do it as part of a crowd.

The privacy of your own home is another matter. There, I have been known to thoughtfully question a player’s or coach’s understanding of the sport from time to time. At particularly frustrating moments, I may even point out to the dog that a certain coordinator might be happier plying his trade elsewhere and perhaps should be encouraged to do so, covered in tar and feathers as an inducement if necessary. And more than once, I must admit, I’ve permitted myself to think, just fleetingly, perhaps this team would be better, and therefore I happier, had a certain player or coach taken up swimming or tennis instead.

Booing aside, this has become an unquestionably surly fan base in recent years. One wonders: Can Husker fans enjoy following a sport that might never again win a national title, or even seriously compete for one? One that might win a conference title only once every five years, or even once every 10 years?

In other words, can they enjoy, as some dude once wrote and a certain university thought eloquent enough to inscribe in a certain stadium, "Not the victory but the action; Not the goal but the game; In the deed the glory?"

Hell if I know, but we may be about to find out.

Finally, there’s Bo. His post-game press conference Saturday night was classic. He gets hostile with an Omaha World-Herald sportswriter who had the audacity to do his job. Bo’s smart enough to know that picking a fight with the media is good politics for him with most fans. But let’s be clear: It is not a sports reporter’s job to support the home team. That’s what fans do.

Well, that’s just who Bo is, a phrase becoming nearly as ubiquitous around here as “if you don’t like the weather in Nebraska, wait 10 minutes.” Let us just be grateful as a society that he went into football coaching and not, say, hmm, well, just about anything else.

Oh, well, Husker football will be here long after Bo has gone on to Ohio State or LSU, where he’ll either win a national title or end his career by going Woody Hayes on Erin Andrews on national TV. Or maybe both.

Either way, we’ll say we knew him back then. Some of us might even say, “yeah, I used to boo at that SOB all the time.”

State of Nebraska has just about finished four miles of fence along I-80 designed to reduce deer-vehicle collisions. Meantime, deer, who have an even greater stake in solving this problem but who see it from a slightly different perspective, are planning a series of fences ACROSS the interstate. This should be interesting.

State of Nebraska has just about finished four miles of fence along I-80 designed to reduce deer-vehicle collisions. Meantime, deer, who have an even greater stake in solving this problem but who see it from a slightly different perspective, are planning a series of fences ACROSS the interstate. This should be interesting.