Bob Devaney Clear Bag Policy

Picture this: It’s a crisp Saturday afternoon in Lincoln. I’m walking toward Memorial Stadium, feeling that familiar electric buzz, my pockets jingling with keys, my phone, and—yes—a grand total of zero bags. The guy next to me? He’s got a tiny clutch that looks like it could hold a single lip balm. We both pass through the gates in seconds. No pat-downs, no staring at someone’s hastily-zipped backpack. Just pure, beautiful chaos-free entry. (You’re probably thinking: “Wait, is this heaven?”)

That, my friends, is the Bob Devaney Clear Bag Policy in action. And yes, it’s named after the legendary coach—though I’m pretty sure he never carried a clear purse. This policy, rolled out a few years back, requires all bags to be transparent, no larger than 12” x 6” x 12”. The goal? Speed, safety, and eliminating the “what’s-that-weird-lump-in-your-backpack?” dance. (Honestly, I’m here for anything that cuts down on stadium pat-down awkwardness.)

Why clear bags? Because nobody wants to be a human sieve.

Let’s be real: the old system was a nightmare. You’d stand in line, watching security squint into someone’s gym bag, pulling out a half-eaten sandwich and a worn copy of “The Screwtape Letters.” The policy stops that cold. Now, you see everything. It’s like stadium security got a cheat code. (I still have nightmares about the guy who brought a full crockpot to a game. Yes, that happened.)

The policy also means less time in line. And let’s be honest—nobody wants to miss kickoff because someone forgot they had a literal watermelon in their backpack. (Pro tip: don’t be that person.) It’s a trade-off: you lose a little privacy, but you gain ten minutes of tailgating. I call that a win.

The irony? Coach Devaney probably hated slow entries.

Bob Devaney, the man who turned Nebraska football into a powerhouse, was all about efficiency. He’d famously say, “The only thing that matters is the scoreboard.” Well, Coach, this policy is the scoreboard for security lines. It’s swift, it’s clear—literally—and it keeps the focus on the game. (I bet he’d approve, though he might’ve grumbled about having to squint through a clear fanny pack.)

Bag Policy | BOK Center

Here’s the kicker: this isn’t unique to Nebraska. The NFL, MLB, and colleges everywhere have adopted similar rules. Bob Devaney Stadium just got the brand name. It’s like the Kleenex of bag policies. But the irony? Some fans still show up with a neon-green, completely opaque backpack and look shocked when security points to the sign. (I’ve seen people argue with a volunteer who’s 74 years old and just wants to watch the game. Don’t be that person.)

What you can actually bring (and what you can’t).

Here’s the cheat sheet, because I know you’re curious. Clear bags only: plastic, vinyl, or PVC. You can also use a small clutch (like, 4.5” x 6.5” max) that doesn’t have to be clear. Diaper bags? Yes, but they must be clear—and you get a medical exception if you have a cooler for insulin. (I saw a mom bring a clear diaper bag that looked like a jellyfish. It was adorable.)

NCAA Baseball Game Day Information – UK Athletics

What’s banned? Everything else. No opaque backpacks, no duffels, no coolers (unless medical), no camera bags bigger than your phone. And please, leave your crockpot at home. The rule is simple: if you can’t see through it, leave it in your car. (Or, you know, become a minimalist. That’s what I did. Now I carry my ID and a credit card. It’s liberating.)

The hidden bonus: free mental decluttering.

Here’s something nobody tells you: the clear bag policy forces you to simplify. Suddenly, you’re not dragging around a purse full of receipts, old gum, and a half-written grocery list. You’re walking into the stadium with only what you need. It’s like a tiny brain cleanse. (I actually started carrying a clear bag to the grocery store. People stare. I don’t care.)

Clear Bag Policy | South Okanagan Events Centre

And let’s talk about the community aspect. When everyone’s bag is clear, you can see what others brought—sunblock, a flask cleverly disguised as a water bottle (please don’t, security knows), or a pair of binoculars. It’s oddly friendly. It’s like a shared vulnerability. (I once saw a guy pull out a tiny clear bag with nothing but a single Tylenol and a note that said “Go Big Red.” True story.)

So, next time you’re heading to the game, embrace the clear bag. It’s not a punishment; it’s a time machine for getting through security faster. Bob Devaney may have been a football genius, but this policy is his posthumous gift to every fan who hates lines. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go buy a clear fanny pack that makes me look like a referee. (I’ll rock it. You’re welcome, Nebraska.)