National Baseball Hall of Fame pitcher and Omaha resident Bob Gibson struck fear in the batters who faced him. The intimidation he projected from the pitcher’s mound was the result of his unshakeable concentration and focus. He was generous and approachable off the field, even taking the time to engage in conversation with fellow Nebraska sports fans. Gibson died in 2020.

My mother, raised on a farm near Tekamah, was the principal sports fan in our household.

Growing up during the Great Depression, baseball was a common schoolyard activity for students attending the one-room Crawford School for nearby farm children in grades 1-8. All they needed was a bat, ball and some make-shift bases. Mom held her own with the boys during those games. I still have the wooden bat Mom’s aunt and uncle gave her all those years ago, much too heavy for a little girl.

One of my earliest baseball memories came in 1967 when I was 8. Mom sat me down after school to watch a World Series game between the St. Louis Cardinals and Boston Red Sox. She said we were rooting for the Cardinals because their pitcher, Bob Gibson, was from Omaha.

Cheering for a player from Nebraska was good enough for me. I was too young to appreciate the details of the game, but with Mom by my side we cheered for the player and his team because he called Nebraska home.

Gibson pitched three complete games in that series. He dominated in an era when pitching reigned supreme. In 1968, perhaps his best season, Gibson posted a remarkable earned run average of 1.12, securing another World Series appearance. Such greatness earned him a first ballot induction into the National Baseball Hall of Fame in 1981.

Fifteen years later, I jumped at the opportunity to get Gibson’s autograph at an area mall. I arrived early, finding myself near the front of what would become a very long line. Right on time, he appeared, prompting applause. He was as commanding as ever, his graying hair the only sign of age compared with baseball cards from decades earlier.

I was about to meet one of my baseball heroes, a great Hall of Famer noted for striking fear in the batters he faced. I knew about his awards and statistics. Later I would learn his jersey, No. 45, was retired by the Creighton University basketball program where he played from 1954 to 1957. The St. Louis Cardinals retired his baseball jersey bearing the same number.

I handed the ex-flame thrower his primary tool, a baseball, as it was now my turn in line. The apprehension I felt was totally unfounded. After all, it’s not like I was digging in at the plate preparing for a knockdown pitch. The most dangerous instrument he wielded that afternoon was a ballpoint pen.

Gibson smiled and began signing my baseball. Then he did something I will never forget.

He handed back the ball, looked at me and said, “You know that should say, ‘Three Straight National Championships.’ ” I was wearing, a gray “Back-to-Back” Nebraska National Championship sweatshirt with the years 1994 and 1995 on either side of a large red and white “N” embroidered in the center. A loud voice in my head shouted: Of course, Omaha native Bob Gibson is a Nebraska Cornhusker football fan!

The realization shouldn’t have surprised me, but it caught me off guard. Here was one of baseball’s all-time greats initiating a conversation with me about my favorite college football team. Then to test my level of fandom, he asked if I knew why it should say “Three Straight.”

Knowing he was referring to the last-minute Orange Bowl loss to Florida State after the 1993 season, I tried switching gears, blurting out the first thing that came to mind, “Yes, the missed field goal.” Gibson sat back, shaking his head, obviously dissatisfied with my answer. “No, no,” was his reply. Then he leaned forward with both elbows on the table, pointed at my shirt and said, “It was the phantom clip.”

He was right, and I was disappointed with my response because I knew better. He was referring to a referee call that nullified a Nebraska touchdown in the second quarter. Television replays showed there was no clip. Calls by officials were not reviewable back then.

The touchdown that would have won Tom Osborne his first national championship as head coach was reversed. Had it counted, no game ending field goal try would have been necessary. For that moment, Gibson and I were just two Husker fans lamenting over what should have been, oblivious to the growing line behind me that wasn’t moving.

We both noticed some grumbling. With a knowing sideways glance that only I saw, Gibson called out to the impatient crowd, “Excuse me, but we’re having a conversation here.” He looked as though he was deciding whether to get back to signing memorabilia or continue talking Nebraska football with me. Mindful of the obvious answer, my time was up.

Gibson shook my hand and I thanked him as I walked away, ball in hand, beaming. All these years later, that treasured baseball takes me back to when I was a boy watching baseball with my mom, cheering for a Nebraskan who would one day let me into his circle over our shared love of Nebraska sports.