There is a moment, every fall, that reminds me why I love this state. The sun goes down. The lights come up. The smell of popcorn and the smoke of pit hamburgers drifts across a parking lot that was empty six hours ago and is now packed bumper to bumper. The band strikes up. The student section erupts. And somewhere in the stands, a grandfather who played on this same field half a century ago watches with pride as his grandson takes the field.