It's 5 o'clock on a Saturday night in Lincoln, the Huskers kick off in two hours, and the party that began at sunrise for some is now reaching fever pitch.

Downtown Lincoln is lit up in one big party celebrating Huskers, football, rivalries - especially tonight's foe, the Oklahoma Sooners - unseasonably warm weather and booze.

Police Officer Chris Vigil pulls his cruiser out of the downtown police headquarters and into a sea of cars on 10th Street with dread, mostly.

Husker games may be the highlight of the year for many, but not for the cops who work to keep the party under control.

Aside from the police directing traffic, it's four officers vs. about 100,000 people downtown.

For them, Game Day means breaking up fights, hauling in drunks, arresting minors with fake IDs and stopping people from peeing in public.

And this is a night game, so people have been partying all day.

Vigil is immediately called to 10th and P streets, five blocks north, where a cop directing traffic is now trying to re-direct a very drunk, very big Husker fan.

Vigil pulls over beside Embassy Suites, where football fans are now watching this impromptu game: A burly man named Matt has been cuffed and is arguing with an officer.

Matt had been trash-talking with another guy when he hauled off and punched the guy in the back of the head, the first officer on the scene tells Vigil. The victim wasn't badly hurt and didn't want to press charges, but Matt is going to the detox center.

"You just said you were gonna attack me," the officer says.

"Piece of s***," the drunk says.

"It's not worth it," the officer says. "Just relax."

"I don't wanna relax!"

He also doesn't want to get in Vigil's police car.

Ten minutes into his shift - his first day back after a two-week break to heal a shoulder injured in scuffle outside a downtown bar - Vigil gets kicked in the chest.

Fortunately, Matt's aim isn't good.

"My dad owns this ... precinct," Matt warns the officers.

It takes both officers to wrestle him into the back seat, where he is suddenly sorry.

Officer Vigil explains to Matt that if he calms down, he'll go to the Cornhusker Place detox center - the drunk tank - and walk out as soon as a sober friend can pick him up.

"I appreciate that," Matt says.

"Think about what you're doing," Vigil says.

Now Matt has a better plan: He would prefer to pay his fine and go home. He would like the handcuffs to come off.

"I will go to bed," he promises.

"You just tried to kick me, man," Vigil says. "I don't think you're in any condition."

"I didn't try to kick you."

"My chest would disagree with you."

"Official review would disagree with that," the drunk says.

"What?"

"Judicial official review would disagree with that," he slurs.

* * *

Vigil pulls up to Cornhusker Place, a brick building beneath a bridge about two blocks west of police headquarters. The elevator is busy, so 5-foot-7 Officer Vigil guides 6-foot-4 Matt upstairs to the detox area - where there are five Husker fans in similar situations.

Normally, the cuffs could come off by now, but Matt is a big guy who just punched a man, kicked a cop and threatened to assault another one.

Matt's blue jeans are losing a battle to stay around his waist, revealing Husker boxers.

He asks Vigil to do him a favor and pull up his pants for him. Vigil obliges.

His face and hair glisten from the drinking and wrestling with cops as the detox workers tell him to blow into a Breathalyzer.

"Go! Go! Go! Go!" they urge.

0.212. Nearly three times the legal limit.

But now he's cooperating, thanking the worker for explaining forms, shaking her hand.

But in an instant, his mood shifts.

He doesn't want to sign the intake form.

He's suspicious, determined to read the fine print.

Two police officers move in, sensing trouble.

If he doesn't sign the form, he'll have to go to a quiet room for 24 hours, Vigil says.

He briefly lunges toward Vigil and then it dawns on him: "I didn't even go to the Husker game!" he says.

He paid $97 for his tickets.

And it's still 45 minutes to game time.

* * *

Vigil's next call: The "blue light phone" was activated on the pedestrian overpass near Haymarket Park, a bridge to more tailgate action. There are two buttons on the bridge that people can push in an emergency.

"As you can imagine, drunks love to push the button," he said.

There's no emergency, just hordes of people walking toward the game, bars, parties.

Vigil walks through the tailgate north of the INS building, an upscale party on pavement with tricked-out RVs and flat-screen TVs. An inflatable beer bottle as tall as a man is propped up on a vehicle near a sign reminding partiers to drink responsibly.

Beer is flowing - into mouths and onto the pavement. Bags of empty cans and bottles dot the lot.

It's legal to drink on private property, so Vigil won't be writing tickets unless someone gets in a fight or a minor is drinking.

As he's backing out in his squad car, a man behind him takes a swig from a beer can while crossing the street.

Vigil parks, gets out.

The tall, preppy man wearing khaki shorts says he didn't realize it was illegal to drink on the street. Ten people passed by doing the same thing, he says.

Eric says he's from Michigan and he used to be a prosecutor in Iowa and he's never heard of this law.

Vigil is undeterred. As he writes out a ticket, he tells Eric he can either pay a $98 fine or be in court Dec. 11.

The officer keeps writing, and Eric grows more frustrated. Now it's 100 people he's seen doing the same thing.

Vigil pours Eric's beer out on the street.

A kid walking by says, "Don't you have anything better to do?"

* * *

A few blocks away, Vigil sees a tall, dark-haired man at Ninth and Q streets take a swig of Jim Beam on the corner, near a line of people waiting to get into Barry's.

He gets a ticket too, but doesn't put up a fuss.

Vigil empties the bottle and throws it in the garbage a few blocks away.

Now he's needed at N Street Liquor, where the clerk says a drunk man in "really bad shape" is sitting on a curb. He's gone when Vigil gets there.

Driving north on 14th Street, he spots an officer struggling to get a feisty man in a fedora and sunglasses into his car. The officer has been on the force only a couple of weeks.

Vigil jumps out to help.

The Brothers Bar & Grill bouncer said the man was trying to fight with staffers. The officer found him across the street in Woody's Pub with a whiskey bottle in his coat.

Now he's going to detox.

* * *

Vigil is called to Brothers, and a report of a fake ID.

Driving by N Street Liquor later, Vigil spots the drunk reported earlier.

"You look like you've had a bit too much," Vigil says. "Let's get you someplace warm and dry."

"You want me to drive?" Freamon jokes as he gets into the police car.

"You can get the next one," Vigil says.

Freamon asks Vigil if he knows the football score. Vigil has no idea.

He asks Vigil to roll down his window, then hollers to a man crossing the street with his daughter on his shoulders.

"Hey, big dog! What's the score right now?"

The man doesn't know.

"We could arrest you for that!" Freamon yells back, before losing his window privileges.

* * *

Freamon has been to Cornhusker Place so often he knows what button to push when they get in the elevator. And the workers already know his name.

He wonders whether they'll have bologna sandwiches tonight.

He estimates he's been here 75 times before.

There's a line forming at detox. A man inside one of the treatment rooms is yelling obscenities at the top of his lungs, kicking and pounding the door.

He endlessly yells the F-word, in rhythm with each punch on the door.

He's an angry drunk.

Vigil tests Freamon's blood-alcohol content while they wait in line.

0.410.

He'll sit it out until he sobers up, most likely for 24 hours.

In line ahead of Freamon, a woman with hoop earrings and a Husker T-shirt is begging with the officer who has her in handcuffs.

"This ain't right," she says, slurring her words slightly. "I'm not that drunk. I'm an adult. I'm 24 years old. I'm the valedictorian of my class."

It's 8 o'clock, and Lincoln's drunk tank has just reached its capacity of 23, give or take a few.

Five Husker fans and one Sooner are lined up, waiting to be admitted.

One of the cops mentions Nebraska is winning, 7-0.

* * *

A call comes in: What appears to be a 12-year-old is passed out in a Haymarket alley.

Vigil finds a middle-aged woman lying in the alley next to a car. She springs alive and does her best to appear sober after he shines his flashlight on her.

She sits in a chair, crosses her legs, insists she's fine.

Four firefighter/paramedics arrive and then leave when she refuses medical attention.

Normally, Vigil would take her to detox, but there's still no room at the inn. He leaves her with a friend who promises to get her home.

* * *

After several failed attempts to grab dinner, Vigil works his way into Lazzari's for three slices of pizza and a pop.

But after ordering, he is called to the Brass Rail, next door, where a drunk guy is trying to start a fight.

Detox is still full, so he's allowed to get a ride home.

Vigil returns to his meal and is joined by another officer, who graciously takes a fake ID call so Vigil can finish eating.

Soon, two other officers are chasing down two guys involved in a fight at Brothers, and Vigil is called to Sandy's bar, where a guy was kicked out for being belligerent.

A fake ID is called in at the Downtown bar, where a bouncer quickly surmised the skinny girl in skintight black leggings, heels and a slinky red shirt did not weigh the 145 pounds on her license. More like 100.

"I like 'em about 145, and she was not 145," he says, laughing.

After 10 minutes of denial, she admits it's her sister's ID. She's 19.

She blows a 0.14 and will likely face three charges: fake ID, lying to an officer and minor in possession.

But there's still no room in the drunk tank, so she's allowed to get a ride home.

It's about 11 o'clock, and the game is over. Huskers win.

Vigil is now the only officer available to take calls in downtown Lincoln because the others are all out on calls.

* * *

At 12:30 a.m., several officers converge on the Brass Rail, where two men are reportedly dealing drugs. But police can't find drugs or cash and let them go.

Their attention turns to a bloody young man who emerges from the bar. He claims he lost his hat and got punched. He's encouraged to leave rather than worry about the hat.

As the sidewalks swell with Husker fans streaming toward cars and bars, the crowd is well-behaved. There's a lot of "GO BIG RED!" hooting and hollering, but few fights.

Police congregate outside the Downtown bar, where the music is pumping and a line snakes out the door. People tend to either disrespect the officers or kiss up to them.

Everybody wants to know if Officer This-and-That is working tonight, their way of telling the cops, "Hey, I know a cop like you."

But the most common question, by far, is "Where can I get a cab?"

The answer: Go stand by Jimmy John's at 14th and O streets and grab the first cab you see. If you call for one, it'll be hours.

Vigil says he once saw a guy give a Jimmy John's delivery driver $100 to take him where he wanted to go.

Shortly before 1 a.m., a guy almost walks in front of a cab on O Street. A cop hollers at him.

Maybe his life was saved by a cop tonight, maybe not, but he continues on, oblivious.

Reach Deena Winter at 473-2642 or dwinter@journalstar.com.