Amie Just: Opportunity to cover Huskers for home paper is a childhood dream realized | Huskers

Phelps County, that’s technically home for me — especially on fried chicken Thursdays at the Cozy Inn in Holdrege. Born and raised on eight-man football, minimum maintenance roads and John Deere, my story starts on a farm north of Funk.

The brick house under the comforting canopy of a massive maple tree, that’s where this dream originated. University of Nebraska sports columnist. That’s what I wanted.

Steve Sipple. Tom Shatel. Lee Barfknect. As a football-obsessed girl with horrible penmanship but a knack for writing, I devoured everything they wrote when I got my hands on a Journal Star or a World-Herald.

One of my favorite childhood photos is of me as an infant holding an upside-down newspaper. I like to imagine I’m “reading” one of their stories, even though I’m fairly certain the paper in my clutches was a Holdrege Citizen. Once, when my childhood babysitter was painting my nails, I started reading the newsprint she put down to protect the countertop. I wish I could remember what piqued my interest, but knowing myself, it had to be something sports related.

Now — nine years after graduating from Lincoln Southeast and five after graduating from the University of Kansas — here I am. Childhood dream realized, following in the footsteps of someone I idolized as a kid.

How do I follow that? One day at a time while being unapologetically myself, I suppose. For me, that’s the hard part. Writing about myself? Gross, but here goes nothing.

I use far too many em-dashes. Typos happen too. Apologies in advance. I write how I speak: Lots of pauses, plenty of qualifiers, sentences that aren’t really sentences, half-related anecdotes strewn about.

My friends tell me I care maybe a little bit too much. Not in a bad way — just that I wear my emotions on my tattooed sleeves and pour so much of myself into my work. Caring too much and swearing too much, might as well engrave that on my epitaph. Y’all shouldn’t have to worry about the latter, but the former has been on full display my entire life.

When my mother suggested we leave the 2008 Colorado game early, I glared at her. She made a sound argument. It’s a long drive back to the farm. But still. Nope. Not happening. Amie Just does not leave games before the final whistle. (I, for the record, was absolutely correct in my demands that day. You’re welcome.)

Even “Amie” comes from me caring too much. In elementary school, I changed the spelling of my nickname in an effort to stop my teacher from confusing my homework with a classmate who had the same name. It worked, and it stuck. My inspiration? The Pure Prairie League song, of course.

What y’all can expect from me, in addition to my columns, are meaningful stories that matter and resonate. I’m a beat writer at heart, spending the last three seasons covering the New Orleans Saints for The Times-Picayune, and there are parts of that description I’ll hold onto here — dogged reporting, writing untold stories, looking at things from a fresh perspective.

I may have been a football-only reporter for the past three years but I’m aiming to write about as many sports as possible with a focus on football, volleyball, women’s and men’s basketball, and the administration as a whole for now. Here’s hoping my allergist and I can come up with a workaround for my peanut allergy so softball and baseball can receive plenty of my in-person attention come spring.

As a former swimmer and track athlete (and former gymnastics reporter), I know there are important stories across all sports. With that in mind, I’ll do my best to branch out.

In addition to Nebraska Athletics, I’ll be a fixture at road races and will keep writing running columns. I recently drew up my training plan for the Good Life Halfsy, and I hope the odds are on my side for registration for Lincoln Marathon weekend. For those who knew me in high school: I’m as surprised as you are. Going from a 200- and 400-meter dash specialist to running half marathons? Bizarre.

The dream of landing this job may have originated in the 308, but the actual work, those failures began at Lincoln East. Didn’t make the newspaper or yearbook staffs for the three years I applied. Don’t remember the reasons why, but not good enough nonetheless. Transferred to Southeast for myriad reasons, including that one, and finished my senior year as the editor-in-chief of our literary magazine and contributed dozens of photos and stories to the yearbook.

Instead of going to NU, I went slightly south to the University of Kansas — something I know some of y’all will hold against me, which is fine. Kansas offered me quite a bit more in scholarships than Nebraska did. I have never once regretted that decision.

I was lucky enough to latch on as a correspondent for the Associated Press, fill a half dozen roles at the University Daily Kansan and write some for other outlets, and that, in turn, led me to my internship at the Washington Post and my first job at the Missoulian in Missoula, Montana.

After roughly a year and a half, I hopped in my Jeep and took two days to drive to Baton Rouge, and I’d been in Louisiana ever since — though, a layoff early on put my stint in the Pelican State in jeopardy. Thankfully, though, I was rehired after that tumultuous period three years ago.

My entire Louisiana tenure was one heck of a wild ride that has prepared me for whatever’s in Nebraska’s future and then some.

In the six-ish months of my LSU coverage in 2018-19 — yes, I’m very familiar with Mickey Joseph and Bill Busch — I covered some wild stuff. LSU played in that infamous 7OT game against Texas A&M; I was the pool reporter for what’s been dubbed the NOLA No-Call in the NFC Championship game between the Saints and the Rams; LSU’s basketball coach Will Wade was suspended on the eve of the regular season finale (in which LSU won the SEC title outright for the first time in 10 years); LSU’s athletic director “stepped down”; and LSU’s gymnastics team placed second at the NCAA Tournament.

And that doesn’t compare to the rollercoaster of a time I had with the Saints for the last three seasons. There were so many bananas games: Alvin Kamara’s six-touchdown game, Drew Brees’ near-perfect game against the Colts, the sham of a game against the Broncos when Denver had no quarterbacks due to COVID, the sham of a game against the Dolphins when the Saints were down 22 players due to COVID, the list goes on.

The non-game stories were out of this world, too. Covering everything related to Brees and Sean Payton alone was enough to keep anyone busy.

With Brees, between his thumb injury, his countless records, the multiple controversies, his speculated retirement, his actual retirement, being there for the end of his career is something I cherish. With Payton, we had our moments. Our off- and on-the-record phone calls were always enlightening. I’ll never forget the time he compared me to his mother after I asked a question he initially didn’t like, though, midway through his answer, he realized my question was actually a good one. Still doesn’t feel real to me he won’t be coaching next season, but I digress.

That locker room was full of special people who trusted me to tell the types of stories I hope I can continue to tell in Nebraska. I’ve written thousands of articles over my career, and two of the three that stick out to me the most came from the last two years.

I’ll never forget where I was the night I found out that Demario Davis’ infant daughter had been diagnosed with cancer during the pandemic and he and his wife wanted me to write the story. It still means the world to me that Thomas Morstead, one of the heroes of Super Bowl XLIV, showed his vulnerable side in a series of interviews so I could chronicle his tumultuous 2021 after the Saints let him go.

Through it all, I’ve never forgotten where I came from. I’ve always been proud to represent Funk, Lincoln and Nebraska when I’m away from home, but there’s something special about returning to my roots.

I’m over the moon to reunite with Bison Witches on a more regular basis, spend far too much money at the Mill, and get reacquainted with all the trails around town as I slowly reacclimate to running with hills.

Can’t wait to run into readers in random places — heck, I already have. (Hi, Mark.) My inbox is always open for comments, questions and feedback.

It’s not lost on me that we’re at a critical juncture for Nebraska Athletics, the Big Ten, and the greater landscape of college athletics. Whatever happens — good, bad, ugly, anywhere in between — I’ll be there.

And I’m ready to watch it all unfold.