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I sat in my hotel room Saturday night with the remote control and stirred the alphabet soup of college football—ABC, CBS, ESPN. All had great games going, so I surfed the channels, hoping to catch the high points (or the replays of the high points) of the day's action.

While I watched the Bulldogs, Badgers, and Boilermakers roll to victory, something began to simmer in my mind. There were a lot of people at those games. Not only that, it took a lot more people to get ready for and to clean up after the 56 Division I-A games played on Saturday.

I know you chamber of commerce types are snickering at my naïveté, but to be honest, I've never considered the "numbers game" before.

If I had attended The University of Tennessee game as planned on Saturday, I would have shared the stadium with 102,037 of my closest friends. We would have consumed up to 150,000 soft drinks, 40,000 hot dogs, and 12,000 boxes of popcorn. We would have used more than 200,000 pounds of ice.

A total of 70 players can take the field for each team during a NCAA-sanctioned game. In addition to the head coach, each team brings along dozens of assistant coaches, trainers, and water carriers. Hundreds of media types show up too, and, of course, there are the stripes who referee the game.

Before each matchup, someone mows the grass and paints those pretty checkerboard squares in the end zones. Someone (or a team of someones) cleans the stadium. Someone else gathers the stats and prints the programs. Someone cooks the hot dogs.

After the game, someone clears away all the garbage left by the screaming fans. By Sunday afternoon, most stadiums around the country stand pristine again, ready for the next battle.

But here's the deal. Unless you're the goat or the hero—someone who makes a difference in the outcome of a game—no one ever thinks about you. Few people ever bother to thank all the people it takes to make a game day successful. So hats off to all the unsung heroes at stadiums across the land! To each and every one of you, we say thank you. There would be no college football without you.

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Weekly Editor's Blog: Redemption in the Bluegrass

Saturday night’s game had all the makings of a classic Southern rivalry: two high-octane offenses, six lead changes, and not one, but two, Hail Mary passes with less than 60 seconds left in the game--one a beautiful 57-yard spiral caught and run in for a touchdown, the other stopped just 11 yards short of the goal line.

After press passes for the Tennessee game fell through, I almost sat this one out and watched at home. But, by the grace of God (and an enterprising Kentucky fan), I ended up on the front row of Commonwealth Stadium for the Governor’s Cup game between bitter in-state rivals University of Louisville and University of Kentucky.

"You’ve got to understand," explained long-time UK fan T.G. Shuck, chief meteorologist of Lexington station WKYT, who sat across the aisle from me. "I grew up on Kentucky football. These tickets belonged to my dad before they belonged to me. I’ve sat through years of bad Kentucky football."

Indeed. It had been 30 years since the Wildcats had beat a ranked opponent and more than 20 since they’d cracked the Top 25. But this year was different.

"Both schools went to bowl games last year," T.G. noted. "These seniors played through the lean years, so you can see this stadium is ready to explode."

He was right. You could feel it. Long-suffering fans dared to "Believe in Blue" again. They crossed fingers, threw salt over their shoulders, and hoped against hope that the ’Cats would finally ground the high-flying Cards, a team that finished one play from a national championship berth last season.

From the opening kickoff where Louisville fumbled and Kentucky recovered, the game was a barnburner. Still, with just 1:37 left on the clock, the ’Cats trailed 34-33. "We’ve been here before," an old-timer behind me reported stoically, arms crossed over his chest.

After making a fourth-and-one conversion near midfield, Kentucky was flagged for a personal foul. Andre Woodson answered with a 57-yard bomb that connected with receiver Steve Johnson who eluded two defenders and stumbled into the end zone.

Louisville’s own desperation pass was deflected and then caught on the 11-yard-line where a UK defender stuffed Louisville’s hope for a miracle. Men, women, and children began pouring over the stadium walls like lemmings plunging into the sea. Goalposts were toppled. Euphoric fans ripped clumps of bluegrass from the field. Others kissed the ground where Johnson caught the pass that sealed the game.

T.G. stood smiling long after the final buzzer sounded, his arm around wife Angie. "I can’t believe it," he said. "I just can’t believe it."

PHOTO CREDIT: ALLEN ROKACH Bama fans get serious about making a run for the SEC championship.

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Weekly Editor's Blog: To the Victor goes the Spoils

I had an "ah-ha" moment at the Alabama-Vanderbilt game at Dudley Field in Nashville on Saturday. The Crimson Tide rolled over the Commodores 24-10, but that's not the score that mattered most. This is the one that really counted: Alabama 11, Vanderbilt 0.

That's the number of college football national championships each university claims.

Winning is the bottom line in big-time college athletics these days, and those who win reap the benefits. Winning teams make more money for the university. Winning coaches have more job security. Winning football programs have larger stadiums, larger bands, and more fans who turn out to see if they'll win again.

Few teams have more loyal (or more hungry) fans than Alabama. With less than an hour until the game started, Bama's crimson-clad supporters were flooding the stands. They cheered during warm-ups. They cheered when Coach Nick Saban scratched his head. They booed when the Commodore mascot threw himself on the ground in front of the departing team and then cheered wildly when a Tide player happily jumped over him instead of going around.

By contrast, many of the Vandy followers didn't show up until after the game started. Tide fans outnumbered them about three to one. More students were partying on nearby fraternity row than were cheering on the Commodores inside the stadium.

I was feeling a little sorry for Vandy until I met a young fan from Tullahoma, Tennessee, who was taking a break from the heat and eating a slushy by the concession stand. He sported a spiky gold wig, a pair of khakis, and his tennis shoes. His face and body were painted black and gold, and he had a huge gold "U" tattooed on his chest. (His buddy sported the corresponding "V.") Of course they were disappointed that Vandy didn't win, he said, "But it's just fun to come to a game here. We have a great time."

So maybe it's not the score that matters after all.

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Weekly Editor's Blog: You've Gotta Believe!

By the time the fourth quarter rolled around at muggy, rain-soaked Jordan-Hare last Saturday night, the atmosphere inside the stadium had grown quite tense. Auburn was trailing Kansas State 13-9 in its season opener, and the offense seemed incapable of scoring a touchdown.

That’s when it happened.

A sprightly orange-and-blue clad fan in Section 15 stood up and began to yell at his fellow Tiger supporters. “You’ve gotta believe!” he implored, arms wide, palms turned toward the sky. “You’ve gotta believe!”

After every series of downs, he continued his tirade. To his delight, Auburn went on to win the game 23-13, scoring twice in a span of 50 seconds late in the game. But this optimistic fan sums up the thing I love most about the kickoff of college football season. Everybody believes!

Need proof? Ask the boys who play for Appalachian State. This obscure little David rolled into Michigan’s Big House and felled the Big Ten’s Goliath, all because they believed they could. Arkansas State gave mighty Texas a run for its money, while Georgia Tech’s Rambling Wreck hung 33 points on Notre Dame, avenging last year’s opening loss.

Still, the most moving display of hope and optimism came during pregame festivities at Virginia Tech. Both the Hokies and the East Carolina Pirates honored those slain in last spring’s brutal massacre. The event proved a healing balm for students, faculty, staff, and the entire Tech community. What’s more, it showed what college football can be—no, what it ought to be.

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Weekly Editor's Blog: Football Fever

I get chills. My heart thumps wildly. Tears well in my eyes. I yell at the top of my lungs. Then it happens. The Tennessee Volunteers run onto the field at Neyland Stadium, streaming through an orange-and-white "T" formed by the "Pride of the Southland" Marching Band. It's one of the most exciting moments in college football.

Of course, many of my friends disagree. "I close my eyes when Tennessee comes out," says Georgia groupie Stephanie Mims. She loves her 'Dawgs though. "My favorite is the kickoff cheer. It's the first thing they taught us at freshman orientation," Stephanie remembers. "Go-o-o, Dawgs! Sic 'em! Woof! Woof! Woof! "

Making Memories
Traditions like these are the ties that bind fans and teams. Players come and go; coaches sell to the highest bidder. But our rituals fill us with pride during the glory years and give us hope during lean ones. Best of all, they're fun for fans and intimidating to opponents.

Take the pregame ceremonies at Florida State, for example. Just before the game begins, Chief Osceola rides onto the field atop an Appaloosa horse named Renegade and throws a flaming spear into the turf. Gulp! At Oklahoma, the Sooner Schooner, a miniature Conestoga wagon pulled by two white ponies, races across Owen Field each time the home team scores.

Clemson grad Amy Franklin says nothing compares to the way her Tigers storm the field. After warm-ups, the players and coaches board a bus and ride to the east end of the stadium. Then each one touches lucky Howard's Rock before running down the hill and into Memorial Stadium. "I'm ready to jump out of my seat and play with them," she says.

Picks From The Staff
Watching the golden eagle circle Jordan-Hare, a nod to the Tiger's battle cry: ‘War Eagle!', is one of the most-loved traditions at Auburn. Assistant Travel Editor Tanner Latham, a lifetime supporter of the Crimson Tide, favors shouting his school's chant: "Rammer Jammer Yellow Hammer, give 'em hell, Alabama." "It was the only time I could cuss in front of my parents and get away with it," he confesses.

Texas grad Jennifer Frazier keeps a photo of the school's clock tower at her desk. The snapshot was taken after a game and shows the tower bathed in burnt orange light, the signal that the Longhorns were victorious that day.

Southern Living Copy Editor Katie Bowlby, a huge Notre Dame fan, shakes her head when Southerners carry on about their rituals. "Other schools have them too," she patiently points out. "Tradition doesn't graduate. You can quote Charlie Weis on that one."

"Football Fever" is from the September 2007 issue of Southern Living.