You set your alarm for 4 a.m., but you’re wide-awake before it goes off. You tell yourself you’re getting up at this ungodly hour because you need to get there early to set up the tailgate.

You are lying.

You’re up this early because it’s the Rose Bowl and Oregon is playing in it and the alternative is to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling, so you might as well drive to the stadium.

On your way to Pasadena you see the sun rise. And you think about how at some point in the second half you will see the sun set, and you wonder what the score will be then. Someone makes the joke that getting up at 4 a.m. for the Rose Bowl is a thousand times easier than getting up at 7 a.m. for work.

In the parking lot, everything is green and yellow or red. So much red. The morning quiet is punctured by Supwitchugirl and “Teach Me How to Bucky” and even “Fight On.” It’s early, but you are drinking and not eating and you know this is untenable but you are too anxious to eat anything.

Soon you are meeting friends. And everyone is drinking and laughing and enjoying the sun because back home it is 40 degrees and raining. At one point you are drinking sangria and playing catch with three people you just met and on every other Monday of the year this would be slightly weird but today it is normal.

Every conversation eventually comes around to “Do we win this?” Everyone is confident, at least outwardly. But these conversations all end the same way: someone says “We have to win this” and then everyone nods while staring blankly ahead, muttering “Gotta win it.”

Now you are walking into the stadium. And you are thinking about all of the other fans who have made this walk. A very small percentage of them have been Oregon fans and none of them in living memory have walked out a winner. This thought at once terrifies and excites you.

You sing along with the national anthem and roar your approval as the jet flies overhead. Then the teams take the field and Oregon looks fast in their new uniforms. Wisconsin looks very large except for Russell Wilson who is surprisingly small. This makes you feel better about Oregon’s chances because you remember two years ago when your heart sank as you realized Terrelle Pryor was bigger than most of the Ducks’ defensive lineman.

The Badgers get the ball first and score almost immediately. Every fear you had about this game is on display: Montee Ball is shredding the Oregon defense and Wilson is using play-action to perfection. The slow-starting Ducks are doomed.

Except they’re not. Because, for once, they start fast. And now the two teams are trading haymakers, and OH-MY-GOD-DE’ANTHONY-IS-RUNNING-RIGHT-AT-US-DID-YOU-SEE-THAT-91-YARDS-OH-MY-GOD!

Halftime brings a strange calm. Even amidst the din of the marching bands, there is stillness. People look shell-shocked. Thirty minutes of football have decided nothing. You feel mentally exhausted and you wonder how the players can possibly hold up under the mounting pressure, the weight of 95 years.

Lightning strikes again as De’Anthony Thomas scores on another long run, and now Oregon has the lead for the first time. But not for long. The Badgers score 10 straight points, then force an interception. Now they have the ball, up three and they almost never commit turnovers and you are trying to stay calm but inside you are dying, begging for something to swing the momentum, not just right this instant but also in Oregon’s fortunes in these stupid BCS games and if this is how it’s going to be forever then I guess it’s an early grave for me and the freaking Ducks put me there.

Kiko! Did the twice-suspended linebacker just pick off the quarterback who throws an interception about once every four games? The replay says he did and thank god for the big screen because you might have blacked out when the officials signaled Oregon ball.

The Ducks score—Tuinei is catching everything!—then quickly get the ball back. They are milking the clock and moving the ball and a touchdown would probably ice this thing so why is the kicker coming out on 4^th-and-1? Terrible thoughts now and you hate yourself for thinking them. He’s gonna miss this. Just like USC all over again. Oregon is headed for a three point loss.

Right down the middle.

Counting seconds now. Just over 400 to go and the Oregon Ducks are up by seven in the 4^th quarter at the Granddaddy. Of course Wisconsin is driving. Too good not to. A score seems inevitable and you wonder if the Badgers would go for two. And then chaos near the Oregon sideline. The Ducks have the ball? How is that possible? Everyone turns to watch the replay on the big screen and the ball is just sitting there, in-bounds, and Michael Clay is diving on it and by god that’s not going to be overturned! Your buddy is shouting “How did it not go out?!?” People are screaming, hugging, jumping.

One last chance for the Badgers. Need to go 87 yards in 16 seconds. Impossible, right? 29 yards and out of bounds. 33 yards—how was he that wide open?—and Russell Wilson spikes it. The clock says “zero” but you are sure there will be one more play after they review it and you think, “Wouldn’t be ironic if the Badgers won this game on a Hail Mary?”

You have never heard a sound like it. When the official announces that the game is over, you hear shock and joy and relief and undiluted bliss. You cry when they give Chip Kelly the trophy but you are laughing, too. You sing “Mighty Oregon” as loud as your frayed vocal cords allow. You stay inside the stadium until they kick you out. Everyone you see in green and yellow looks like a really happy zombie, people shuffling around in a daze, happiness etched on their faces.

And as you exit the stadium into a perfect Southern California night, one word is buzzing in your head. Validation? Vindication? Nah.

Victory.