Back to (Almost) Normal
You Can’t Go Home Again, But If You Try Sometimes, You’ll Get What You Need
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I will always look back with deepest fondness on Penn State’s 2005 Big Ten Championship season as a reclamation of something we perhaps all took for granted, coming, as it did, so unexpectedly on the heels of four losing seasons in five years that felt at the time like the inglorious end of the Paterno era. One personal memory from that fall, which has stuck with me for over 15 years, came during the afternoon before the #16 Lions’ legendary home upset of sixth-ranked Ohio State.
As I wandered through the soggy tailgate fields, drinking in the the sights and sounds of celebration undamped by the foggy drizzle, I caught sight of a young man – a student or recent grad, mostly likely – wearing a white hoodie that had clearly been frantically cranked out that week to seize on excitement around the team’s first national ranking in over two years. It bore a message that hit like a thunder clap: The distinctive Nittany Lion logo and, in classic block-collegiate font, “We’re Back.”
That’s it. Simple, beautiful, just like our uniforms. “We’re Back.” I will never forget seeing it, because we were, and we knew it. There was a lot of season left to go, but there was something in the air. It was a statement about the program’s return to national relevance, but also about the people who loved it, neatly summing up where we were physically and psychologically, back in our happy place.
Hours later, the spontaneous explosion of human energy accompanying Calvin Lowry’s game-turning interception of Buckeyes quarterback Troy Smith rippled forward into the future so powerfully, etching itself so indelibly into our memory, that to this day, the same Zombie Nation that brought out the best in a rain-soaked, but euphoric crowd that evening plays every time Penn State’s defense makes a big play. So when good old “Kernkraft 400” kicked up after whirling-dervish defensive end Jesse Luketa’s pick six functionally sealed Penn State’s 300th program victory at Beaver Stadium on Saturday, it tethered two moments when Nittany Nation gained valuable perspective on the fragility of this very special ritual we get to share.
In preparing for this assignment, I hoped and planned to write nothing but glowing anecdotes about how wonderful it felt to come home again and how everything was exactly as it had always been (certainly, I suspect my editor wishes I’d written that piece), but at least for me, a 25-year resident of the Nittany Valley and veteran of more home football weekends than I’ll bother to count, it wasn’t quite there. Tantalizingly close, but not all the way. It felt a lot like a dress rehearsal for the real thing yet to come, a chance to regain our footing and to gain the perspective that comes from stepping back for the long view. There was so much to enjoy and appreciate, ranging from the sacred to the profane, yet I couldn’t help detecting a note of melancholy lingering below the surface.
On an afternoon when we gathered, in part, to celebrate the receding of a worldwide black swan event – one whose influence, evident in the the scattered masks and vacant seats, was fading, but not forgotten – our attentions were repeatedly drawn back to the first such identity-shaking moment of a then-young century sadly destined to be full of them for the American Republic.
From a pregame military flyover to a halftime tribute from the Blue Band, Penn State commendably balanced the overall raucous atmosphere of the occasion with the somber nature of the twentieth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks on our nation. For a certain segment of alumni in attendance, a group to which I belonged, the whole proceeding conjured up a very visceral revisitation of that morning when the idyll of our college days in Happy Valley was shattered in a matter of hours: vaguely-recalled memories of a frantic professor leaving the room and then returning with baffling news, frenzied and confused classmates crowding the HUB, tense and frightened calls home from a dorm or apartment. Confronted with the painful memory of a tragedy whose aftermath has continued playing out in news headlines as recently as last week, it was hard to prevent the nagging sadness of our age from intruding on my utter contentment.
Likewise with the game weekend itself, there were profligate reminders of what once was and might be again, and yet for every echo of the past that carried into the present, instances of difference and deviation from the norm subtly persisted. Downtown was busy on Friday afternoon, but not insane. The tailgate lots began filling up early, but many fans clearly held off on making the trip for one more week. Entrance into the stadium was something of a mixed bag, with hiccups around the move to virtual tickets offset by easier, faster traffic flow through new (probably fake) security scanners. Penn State’s defense continues to look like one worthy of its lineage, and the offense showed signs of progress while still leaving plays and points on the field. The interior of the Nittany Lions’ offensive line continued to struggle, even as coaches shuffled personnel groupings and assignments, so the comfort of familiarity was not wholly absent.
The stands were very full, but not jam-packed. Whoever greenlit the announced “attendance” figure of 105,323 with a straight face missed their calling as a satirist (yes, I know “tickets sold” and other tricks of the trade pad the official number). No doubt some fans chose to stay away due to lingering uncertainty around the coronavirus and its assorted Greek-letter variants, a stark reminder that some of us do not yet feel comfortable (or welcome) at a party that should be for everyone. In particular, most of the club seats remained empty. Paradoxically, those who pay the most to occupy precious space inside Beaver Stadium also seem least likely to ensure it gets filled (yes, I’m sure some of them were inside at the Mount Nittany Club). The same cannot be said for the students, however. Neither the negligible brand appeal of the opponent nor the lop-sided nature of the contest discouraged their enthusiastic participation from opening kickoff to postgame alma mater. Their youthful exuberance was a highlight of the day, and a welcome reminder of what this whole thing is really all about.
So as I scanned the field, sidelines, and stands from Section NB, as I’ve done dozens of times before, I was struck with a feeling of deep gratitude for the countless blessings I enjoy, among them the opportunity to put down roots and mark the passage of years here in a place I cherish, the epicenter of a special spirit that unites a global community. It’s been a rough and winding road that brought the Penn State family through from that tragic September 11th of two decades ago to a hopeful one this last weekend. We’ve been beaten up here in the Valley, from within and without, sometimes battered along with the rest of the world, while also subjected to other tortures that were uniquely our own. The scars fade, but never disappear. Recently, the going has been particularly rough, for all of us. But we’re still here. We keep returning for another round, another semester, another game. Changed, but stubbornly defiant survivors.
Seasons, conditions, players, and circumstances never stay the same – the Valley, after all, is a place where perhaps time moves more slowly, but it stops for no one – so it’s comforting to know a few things are as constant as the rising Sun: Penn State’s offensive line is bad. We’ll spend the week fretting and complaining about it, and come Saturday, we’ll be back in our seats in front of the television or (if we’re really lucky) inside the Beav, optimistic about the chances for win number 301.
We’re back.
Chris Buchignani hosts The Obligatory PSU Pregame Show, entering its fifth season in televised syndication, with Brandon Noble, Mike the Mailman, and Kevin Horne.
