By Jenn Sterger

SATURDAY

Saturday morning was an early call, as I had to be at Raymond James Stadium in full cowgirl garb for the University of South Florida's Homecoming game against Pitt. Don't get me wrong -- I love a good game, but like Indiana Jones hates snakes, I despise noon kick-offs. USF weren't the only ones suffering in the hot Florida sun during a nooner. In Tallahassee, my boys were owning UVA at Doak, with Xavier Lee commanding the offense.

Jenn enjoys her view from the field before last Sunday's Buccaneers-Saints game. Photo by Mat Ratner

I spent the majority of my gameday in Tampa with my friends the Beef Studs, who take pride in repping the Bulls in full bodypaint, hula skirts, and all sorts of odds and ends. The Studs are always hospitable, always have my back, and just let me be myself. During the game, my friend Tony kept sending me updates from Tallahassee, with scores and  play-by-play, which made me happy since he had unlimited texts for the weekend. The Pitt fans themselves were really cordial throughout the game, despite the fact that USF led the entire game courtesy of quarterback Matt Grothe and the fired-up Bulls offense.

Then things got ugly. Grothe was sent back to the locker room with an ankle injury, and though his replacement, Pat Julmiste,  did a decent job, the offense appeared discombobulated. Just when it looked like South Florida had the game wrapped up, Pitt's Darrell Strong caught a 19-yard touchdown pass. While most guys would celebrate with their teammates, Strong chose to share his excitement with the home crowd. That's right: the one-finger salute ... or maybe it was a heckling fan who was No. 1. Regardless, it wasn't the first time I had seen that sign flashed at Raymond James by an opposing team. Strong's "public display of affection" to the Bulls faithful cost Pitt 15 yards and made their chances of completing the two-point conversion pretty slim.

Within minutes, the game was over and South Florida had secured a 22-12 victory. This exhausted Cowgirl took off her boots and headed home. I watched the rest of the day's games from a local pub over some wings with a few token friends before retiring to my bed to watch the "U" go down. I had to catch most of the game on THE highlight reels the next day, as for the first time in my college career, I passed out before 10 p.m.

SUNDAY

I woke up the next morning to the sound of my alarm -- apparently for the "nth" time. CRAP! I had overslept. I quckly threw on some shorts and a baseball hat and headed out the door for what was supposed to be the grand finale of my weekend: I would be on the sideline at a Bucs game.

We made our way out of the catacombs beneath Ray Jay and onto the field just as they were rehearsing the pregame show. I watched a review of procedures for expanding a giant flag across the field, with countless volunteers running to all of their designated spots. The frantic antics with the flag reminded me of that parachute game we used to play in kindergarten.

Sitting on the Saints bench, I watched the players trickle out of the locker room and began their warmups. Some ran laps around the field with the most blinged- out headphones I have ever seen, while others tossed the ball around and joked with one another. Just then, a buddy of mine got the brilliant idea that the giant fan behind me needed to be put to good use and flipped the switch on. The blades turned with so much propulsion that they nearly blew little me off the bench. "Gee thanks, Ethan," I said, "because that's just what South Florida needed ... a man-made hurricane."

We took in the rest of the game from our seats, complete with the overly-gross fried stadium food, a beer and a foam pirate ship hat. Laugh all you want, but it was a sweet hat and I had no objections to it being a part of my wardrobe. When people made fun of me for wearing it, I simply told them, "Chill out, I have a lot of ship on my mind right now." Lame? Sure, but you know you smiled!

I've been a Bucs fan since the days of their hideous "creamsicle" uniforms and I took in my first football game under the rim of "Big Sombero" as they called the old Tampa Stadium. I remember what it was like to be a "real" fan. Before the new flashy uniforms, the bandwagoners, or the Super Bowl Championship, there were humble beginnings. As I am only 23, I wasn't around for the Dark Ages before Bobby Bowden's arrival at Florida State, which I am sure many would liken to my early experiences with the Bucs. Hell, even during my two years at South Florida, the program wasn't even a fraction of what it is now.

Sometimes, you need to get back to your roots, to appreciate where you are at, where you have been, and what you've accomplished. This weekend showed me just that. Like all things in life, teams have their own cycles: They are born, they flourish, and they fall. It may not be as easy as lather, rinse, repeat, but all it takes is a spark to get the wheels churning again. My Noles defeated Virginia this past Saturday, and while they may not be the dynasty of old, they showed signs of life when most had written them off for the rest of the season. It may not be the Renaissance that Seminole fans are looking for, but at least it's progress.

My vacation from all things Nole, reminded me why I love this game. In a game of unpredictability, underdogs can still rule the day, new legacies can be born, and broken teams can be rebuilt. My Seminoles may be down for now, but I'd still never count them out.