“Let’s go, Penn State! You can do it!”
Those were some of the last words my little Stella said before bed last night. I let her stay up for the first two drives of the Penn State-Notre Dame semi-final Orange Bowl because I’m a good dad. Also, because she didn’t have school today. But truthfully, a part of me thought, It took 35 years for me to witness this—why not share it with my oldest daughter?
The “this” I refer to isn’t just another game. It’s the chance to play for a national championship—not to win one, mind you, but to stand at the precipice of something truly great. Those are two distinctly different things, the latter of which I’ll save my thoughts on for another day. But for 35 years, through the highs and agonizing lows, I’ve waited, watched, cheered, and cried, all for my beloved Nittany Lions to get this far.
Last night, I thought they just might.
When Mitch Jeter—who’s from right up the pike here in North Carolina!—kicked the go-ahead field goal for Notre Dame, my heart was pounding. As the ball sailed through the uprights, I sat frozen, adrenaline coursing through me. My mind raced. What would I say to my friends in our Penn State group chat? How would I sum up the emotions of that moment?
In the end, I sent the only thing that felt right: “I don’t know what to say. It was fun, though.”
And it was.
Even now, the sting of the loss lingers. Penn State won’t get to play for the title, not this season. I’ll have to wait at least almost 37 years—at least—to see a championship, and that’s assuming I’m lucky. It’s sad, it sucks, and it’s frustrating.
But there’s a line in the History of the Eagles documentary that’s always resonated with me. It’s about the band’s breakup in 1980, and it goes, “It comes together, it’s magic, and it falls apart. But, you know, how cool that it even happens at all?”
That’s how I feel today about the 2024-25 Penn State Nittany Lions football team.
This season wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t a championship. But it was magic. Tyler Warren pulling passes from the air as if his hands were magnetic. Abdul Carter and Dani Dennis-Sutton storming through lines like twin hurricanes. Nick Singleton and Kaytron Allen—The Lawn Boys—cutting through defenses with a ferocity that turned runs into poetry. Drew Allar stepping into a spotlight brighter than anyone his age should endure and finding his footing, even if it wasn’t always flawless.
And then there was the comeback against USC in October. Watching them claw their way back, step by step, play by play—it felt like the purest expression of what sports can do. The collective joy, the sheer improbability of it, is something I’ll carry for years.
All of this happened under the guidance of three brand-new coordinators. Not once did it feel like the team skipped a beat. If anything, they became something more—a team brimming with promise, even if they fell just short of glory.
It’s tempting, in the championship-or-bust era of sports, to see a season like this as a failure. But my grandfather, who’s in his mid-90s, taught me something about patience and perspective. He waited 75 years and seven days to see his Red Sox win a championship. When it finally happened, he didn’t gloat or even celebrate much. I think he was just grateful he got to see one. He’d already watched Ted Williams, his favorite player of all time, and in his eyes, he’d been given plenty.
Back then, sports weren’t solely about trophies. The regular season mattered. Traditions mattered. Rivalries, road trips, and shared moments mattered. Even without a championship, the journey itself could be enough.
That’s what this Penn State season was for me. Enough.
After the game ended, I texted my Irish friend who was at the game and my uncle, a die-hard Notre Dame fan. I told them both, “Go win it all,” and I meant it.
We live in a world brimming with vitriol and hate. It’s exhausting. I want to be someone who can feel joy for others, even when it comes at the expense of my own happiness. That’s empathy, and it’s something we desperately need more of.
This morning, as Stella bounded into my bedroom, she said, “Daddy, Mommy already told me Penn State lost. But that’s okay, I don’t mind.” I just lay there, smiling—she was so innocent, and so full of happiness, even in the face of defeat.
Being a parent since her birth has been a wild ride. My experience includes a global pandemic, two work layoffs, becoming a stay-at-home dad, and watching my wife endure postpartum health complications. We’ve lost close family and friends. We’ve made new ones and expanded our horizons in Charlotte. It hasn’t been easy, but it’s been worth it.
Through it all, Penn State football has been a constant—a reprieve where the worries of the world fade, even if just for a few hours. It’s the tie that binds my family together. It’s forged friendships and created countless memories.
So today, I’m choosing gratitude. I am grateful for the moments Penn State gave us this season. I am grateful for the excitement they brought to my family’s life.
The cold air will feel even more bitter for the rest of this winter. The loss will sting, but life will go on.
No matter the result, no matter the circumstances, true Penn State blue always bleeds the same.
We Are.