by Greg Woodman
It’ll be cold. It’ll be dark. The game starts at 7, and most students will already be home. Thanksgiving break starts on Saturday, and many are heading home Thursday and Friday.
But you? You’ll be there.
At your post. In the lot. Tongs in hand. Crockpot humming. Cooler stocked.
Because you know something a box score can’t explain:
This was never about football.
It was always about the tailgate.
About showing up when no one’s keeping score.
About being the cruise director, the chef, the host, the heartbeat of Saturdays.
We ought to have a Bud Light–style anthem for you:
“Here’s to you, EZUP Tent Setter upper, Mr. Cooler Bringer.
You drive 3 hours, haul 80 pounds of meat,
and pretend paper plates don’t fly away in the wind.”
You’re the reason this place feels like home, even when the record says otherwise.
You’re not the sizzle. You’re the steak.
And the tailgate?
It’s not a meal.
It’s a wedding. A rehearsal dinner. A fire circle. A reunion. A picnic. A multigenerational gathering of the people you love.
It’s where laughter echoes louder than the speakers.
Where memories simmer longer than any chili pot.
Where strangers become neighbors and neighbors become family.
It’s not just tradition; it’s belonging made visible.
It’s what matters.
And this weekend?
It’s the last one.
The last tailgating of the season.
The last stroll through the lot.
The last Saturday morning spent setting up and enjoying something sacred.
That’s the Griffin tailgate, with all four of his adult boys flying in from across the country to be there.
It’s the whole OLV tribe showing up, all of them connected through years at Our Lady of Victory elementary school.
Scout troop bonds.
Old stories.
Warm food.
Kids of our kids tossing footballs.
Adults not even pretending they’re only here for the game.
Because they’re not.
And now, the season is winding down.
Boy, did it go fast, and it’s one none of us will ever forget.
Despite the losses. Despite the mystifying fall of the football season.
I’ll say it loud and proud:
I absolutely loved every tailgate. Do we need a committee to proclaim Penn State National Tailgating Champions?
But once again, it reminded us: This isn’t just a game. It’s a gathering. A ritual. A reason.
So, here’s to you, Tailgate Hosts.
Chefs of love.
Architects of tradition.
Keepers of the fire circle.
You are the steak.
And you serve it up with love.
