To Be Young and in Love

I can tell you exactly when I fell in love.

We had been hanging out for a few weeks, spending Saturday afternoons and a few Friday night pep rallies together. We always had a lot of fun, tailgating with my parents near East Halls and thumping some unfortunate opponent at the games, but our relationship was pretty casual.

It wasn’t until October 8, 2005 that I knew it was serious. Penn State was playing Ohio State in a night game that became the stuff of legend, and I was there for it all. I was there for the birth of Paternoville. I waited outside the student gate in the mob that became the next year’s football poster, making friends with people I never saw again, doing “We Are!” chants for the recruits Mike McQueary was escorting. After fighting my way through a scary, pressing crowd of bodies that made me understand why Simba was scared of the stampede, I was standing in the sixth row under the bright lights, watching gladiators clad in crisp white and navy duke it out for the glory of Old State. I was entranced by the shine of my pom-pom against the black night sky, and I screamed at the top of my lungs with the deafening roar of the 12^th man and the thunderous echoes of “We Are…Penn State!”

It was then that I knew that Penn State Football was the new love of my life.

Football spent the next few months spoiling me. Game after game was filled with thrilling drama as he teased me with the agony of defeat before swooping in with a miraculous, highlight reel-worthy play to win the game and let me drink again from the cup of sweet victory. The Orange Bowl that year was really just Football’s way of toying with my emotions, but the ending was worth every heart palpitation.

It was puppy love at its best, but also at its worst. I could only see the good about my new love, and anyone who dared criticize Penn State Football or any coach or player would quickly find himself on the receiving end of my ire and wrath. Any time that State lost, I could easily place the blame on the referees. Such was my loyalty to my Dear Old State that I started to believe that the state of Iowa didn’t really exist. What’s in between Illinois and Nebraska? Eh, just a vacant cornfield. Any time the team lost, I did my best to quickly forget the game and turn the final score into a repressed memory. What was the final score of the Northwestern game, and how big was the comeback? That, I remember. What was the score when Penn State played USC in the Rose Bowl? Couldn’t tell you.

Not that Football and I never had a disagreement; we’ve had our fair share. Like when it snowed during the Michigan State game in 2008 and I slipped on a bleacher, smashing up my shin and making a bump that’s still there today. Or when I didn’t get tickets for my senior year, or when a small student oligarchy put itself in charge of Paternoville. Or when Football broke my heart, losing at home for the first time during my tenure as a student in a game that, obviously, I can barely remember.

But what is a love for Dear Old State really about? Why did I fall in love with Penn State football? Was it because they won? Of course not, because that would mean I don’t love them when they lose, and folks, the saying is “Penn State Forever,” not “Penn State Only When the Team Beats Michigan.” Rabid loyalty is a good thing, but Football doesn’t need me to defend him to critics to prove my love. All he wants is for me to put on my blue hat and lion earrings and spent some quality time with him. That’s what a love for football is about for a student fan.

It’s about the tailgates before the game, bringing your friends to meet your parents and score some free cheeseburgers. It’s about the facepaint, taking turns lathering a friend’s face with white and topping it off with blue pawprints. It’s about yelling in harmony to block the sound of the snap count and the high fives when the opponent gets a false start penalty. It’s about laughing and smack talking on a road trip to watch the team play in the Big House or the Horseshoe. It’s about jumping up and down to Zombie Nation and holding each other up so no one fell, it’s about swaying together and singing the Alma Mater, and it’s about the wave, complete with fast- and slow-motion. It’s about the time you spend and the friends you make while congregating for a single purpose. I don’t love Penn State Football because sports are inherently that awesome. I love Penn State Football because it gives us all something to cheer for, to talk about, to share with each other.

Now, a bachelor’s degree, two minors, and a Master’s degree later, I’m teetering on the cusp of graduation, but walking away with my diplomas does not mean I’m walking away from my college sweetheart. It’s a love I’ll never fully outgrow. After all, I’m a State-R-Us kid. I’m sure there are still plenty of Saturday afternoons in the future for Football and me. And someday when I’m wearing a Penn State Grandma sweatshirt and my grandkids are bringing their friends to my tailgate, I’ll be sharing the love just as our Penn State predecessors shared with us.

We Are. Penn State. Forever.