Actually, I never really saw that last play. I never saw the man they called Stone Hands pick a lame duck off the Beaver Stadium turf. My view of the greatest play in Nittany Lion history was the back of a Woolrich jacket and the tassle of a wool winter cap.

Still, I can say I was there. Even though the only hint I had of victory was my dad's uncharacteristic yelp and the unmistakable roar of 85,000 fans, I was there.

Now, there are old-timers out there who may argue, who may cite their own pieces of Penn State history, but no one can deny that Penn State's miraculous 1982 victory over Nebraska under trucked-in artificial lighting is one of the most exciting games ever to be viewed under the shadow of Mount Nittany.

There was something electric about that day -- be it the constantly short-circuiting lights or the bevy of malfunctioning CBS cameras. And when the Lions jumped to a 14-0 lead and darkness began to pervade Happy Valley, the excitement began to roll up the spines of Penn State's largest crowd in conjunction with the evening chill.

This was a pivotal game in a pivotal season. Make or break. Everyone knew that.

Nebraska quarterback Turner Gill was simply a blur for most of the night, eluding Penn State's pass rush, finding open holes, and doing a good job of handing the ball off to Mike Rozier.

Penn State quarterback Todd Blackledge, meanwhile, was playing the same game with Curt Warner. Yet in the second half, it was the Lions who were on the run, desperately grasping and clawing onto their lead.

Now that's a lot for an eight-year-old heart to absorb. And when Gill leaped over from the 1-yard line to give the Cornhuskers the lead, my father -- the quintessential pessimist -- simply cast one eye toward the aisle and another toward the traffic on University Drive.

But he never made his move. No one did. Maybe my memories have been clouded by the years, but some sort of divine intervention kept everyone planted in their seats.

One minute, 18 seconds. Perhaps the clearest image of that night is the quick glance I stole at the scoreboard. That just sunk the monstrous pit in my stomach even lower.

Thanks to a personal foul on the kickoff, Penn State had to burn 65 yards in 78 seconds.

The start was promising. Blackledge found fullback Skeeter Nichols for 16 yards. Then Kevin Baugh was open for another 16 to the Nebraska 34. We stood. We sat. No one knew how to react.

A Paterno-esque draw play drew nothing, and the tension drew tighter. Blackledge misfired twice, and it was fourth down. Game over, my father mumbled. Nice try.

But with somebody high above obviously getting a good look, Blackledge rifled a pass to Kenny Jackson just inches beyond the first-down marker.

Paterno must have made a pact with the devil for what happened next. Blackledge tossed a 15-yard pass to tight end Mike McCloskey near the Penn State sideline. The referees called it a catch. Cornhuskers Coach Tom Osborne was redder than his shirt.

Replays showed that McCloskey was somewhere near the water cooler when he actually hauled in the ball. It was quite possibly one of the worst calls in football history.

But on that night, it was just one in a series of miracles, which ended up in Stone Hands.

I didn't see the rest of the game. This is what I saw on TV. With eight seconds to play, Blackledge dumped the ball in the middle of the end zone to nobody.

And in slow motion, Kirk Bowman stretched his tight end body across six feet of space and cradled the ball a couple of inches from defeat. It turned out to be the inches that saved Penn State's first national championship.

"He caught it!" my father screamed.

"Who? Who?" I cried.

"He caught it!"

Nobody knew who No. 80 was. Nobody really cared. He was a hero, a knight in blue armor.

This was a game where all the magical elements of college football came together in three hours. The miraculous comeback in front of the hometown crowd, the unlikely hero, a little luck. Maybe that's why it still sticks so clearly.

Over the 999 times that Penn State has taken to the field, and the 999 times to come, there will never be anything like that.

Just ask my dad.