Facepaint; Signs; Shouts

The students were stuck between a stadium wall and the participants of battle, and looked a little like crowded fish in a hatchery with no place to go; orange and black; facepaint; signs; shouts; jubilation.

The players stood memorized by the kickoff formation of USC, hoping against hope that the Gatorade they had already dumped on their coach wasn't premature. The hands team was on the field, and the fate of the entire team now rested with their determination to gain possession of a ball they say never bounces the same way twice. Silently, they waited, aware but not willing to aknowledge the growing mass behind them.

Erin Andrews, normally unflappable on the sideline, ditched her pretense and rushed out "I'm standing over here with the players, because it's safer than with those students."

The stadium waited.

A USC cleat struck leather and the ball, as it is wont to do, bounced awkwardly into the waiting arms of an Oregon State receiver. The stadium, as if a living breathing being itself, heaved in a way that only those who have seen decades of triumph and defeat but can't help getting wrapped up anyways can. The fish hatchery went crazy.

In a moment, Oregon State took the final knee and the field went from a nice shade of green to a shade normally reserved for alerting deer hunters that you are, in fact, a human and should probably not be shot. The hatchery had been released into the ocean, but the density never changed. Instead more people poured over the wall of the stadium who was happy to oblige, happy to live in another moment of triumph. The television announcers were silent, because nothing they could say would add color or description to the events on the field. That's probably the way it should always be.

Erin Andrews, having recovered from her moment of humanity, coralled Oregon State head coach Mike Riley, and asked the question that everybody knew was coming: What this win meant. Riley took a long time, and finally managed to get out "It's good....it's really good" through tears he didn't care to hide. The interview continued, but that was all that Oregon State needed to say. The camera angle never wavered from the "sky cam" because a tight shot wouldn't capture the moment. "It's good....it's really good."

When Jacquizz Rodgers was contained for an interview, he laughed and reminded us what it was like to be 19 years old. Tonight, there would be a lot of smiles despite the aches that come with being a pint-sized kid batted around by enormous men for 60 minutes. Through a smile that you could hear, he talked about being that small; being a "little dude" who could hide behind the linemen for just long enough to get lost in the shuffle, then reappear in the endzone helmet be damned. That smile was bigger than he was.
Then the announcers started talking about the implications for the BCS, and how good this made Penn State look, and as they talked we were reminded that College Football is about money and BCS and polls: by and by the moment was lost.

If you want your proof that football can be damningly beautiful, look no further than an interception turned touchdown. If you want your proof that College Football means something more than money and greed, look no further than Jacquizz Rodgers' smile. If you want a reason why you stayed up until 12:30AM last night watching kids play a game, all you need is this: It's good...it's really good.