Recapturing the magic of Penn State football

Kiera Missanelli

is a senior journalism major at Pennsylvania State University

Growing up, Penn State's magic was summed up to me in two words: hot chocolate.

As a child of a Penn State dad, I was told stories of the magical land of State College on game day. The skies were gray, the clouds low, the autumn trees in brilliant shades of orange and red, and the air chilly. But nothing could defeat a great football team - nor the passion of its fans.

My dad lured me in. "When we go to a football game," he said, "you can get a big mug of hot chocolate."

I was in third grade when I attended my first game, but the day was not like my dad had described. It was October, but hot, and the sun seemed to be located directly over Beaver Stadium. There was no hot chocolate, and I was devastated.

But there were other days, and I realized my dad was right. The games are magic - and so is the hot chocolate.

About a year ago, I even watched the game with my dad again - but not from the student section.

Because Dad was a loyal alum and donor, we were invited to attend Graham Spanier's "President's Tailgate," which included a giant breakfast buffet and a musical performance by the Penn State Thespians.

I shook hands with the president and then rode to Beaver Stadium on a blue bus just like the ones coach Joe Paterno and the team used. In the president's suite, I sat behind giant glass windows, shielded from the snowstorm outside. I sipped on a giant mug of hot chocolate and watched Paterno's 409th win.

Nothing could define Happy Valley magic more than that moment.

That was Oct. 29, 2011.

One week later, the Jerry Sandusky scandal cut the legs out from under Penn State. Spanier and Paterno would soon be gone and it was left for everyone else to pick up the pieces.

On Nov. 9, from my apartment balcony, I watched students take to the streets and riot police trying to hold them back.

What happened to the magic?

Two days later a candlelight vigil was held for the victims. Thousands of students, faculty, and community members filled the Old Main lawn, flickering candles in hand.

The Old Main bell struck 10 and silence took over. The Blue Band played the alma mater and, instinctively, people put their arms around one another and rocked back and forth, singing in unison.

The next day, Penn State played Nebraska - without Paterno for the first time in 61 years. An unnatural emptiness occupied the stadium that day.

The team did not run out onto the field. Instead, the players marched out, hand in hand. Then, both teams got down on one knee in the center of the field and silence filled the air once more.

We needed to heal.

Three months later, Paterno passed away.

Another candlelight vigil was held, along with memorial services that brought more tears and heartbreak. We all stood along the roads as Paterno's blue hearse took him through the Penn State campus one last time.

So much has happened since that day, much of it bad.

But rising from the devastating details of last summer's Freeh report, and even with the crippling NCAA sanctions, has come the hope of this year's rebuilt football team.

And when Penn State beat Northwestern in a homecoming victory, the lyrics of the alma mater seemed like were more than just a college song.

They made us feel restored.

In the chilly din of that game, vendors sold hot chocolate.

And in the student section, as I slowly sipped from my mug, I appreciated the magic that was once and forever will be Penn State.