It's springtime in Happy Valley.

The sun, after a few months of hibernation, is — or was, at least — out in full force. The last of the hard, gray snow is melting. It's no longer pitch black when I come out of my 5:30 p.m. class.

And one of the most recognizable signs of spring showed up in Happy Valley late Sunday night — the arrival of March Madness. As the last few seconds of the clock disappeared, I was putting my sneakers on. By the time the fans in the Superdome had flooded the floor, I tore out the door.

"Where are you running to?" my roommate asked as I flew down the hall. A valid question. I wasn't sure of the answer, but I knew once I hit the street I wouldn't have to worry about it. I ran out alone, but I wasn't by myself for long.

I stood in a crowd of 2,000 of my closest friends; people I have never seen and might not ever see again. We screamed. We cheered. We high-fived and hugged like it was we who won the game.

We weren't cheering the team because it was going to make us a fortune on our tourney brackets. We weren't cheering because we had been with them from the start of their amazing journey. We were cheering out of sheer adoration for the boys on the team and the school they play for. We were happy for them. We were proud of our school, proud of our team. We were cheering not just for Titus Ivory and Gyasi Cline-Heard, but for Penn State University.

The volume of our voices had as much to do with our love of Penn State as it did for the magnificent game our boys played. We yelled because the place we've gotten so much out of was finally getting some good press. We yelled because the guys on the court weren't millionaires imported in to play ball — they were our classmates and friends.

It felt so good to throw my head back and yell in support of Penn State. I had to sit back all semester and watch as a barrage of outsiders passing judgment on our school, and the students and a misguided official harassed our president, devalued our degrees, and insulted the student body.

The winter months were hard for me. As a Penn State student, I had to listen to neighbors and friends slam our school for highly publicized events that were grossly misrepresented in the media, didn't even come close to encapsulating all that is Penn State, and were really positive examples of Penn State's commitment to free speech, student-centered programming and creative freedoms.

So when I had the chance, I opened my mouth wide and yelled.

I cheered for everything I loved about Penn State, for everything that Penn State meant to me and everything that made me proud to be a Penn Stater.

I cheered for Habitat for Humanity's efforts to build a house in Center County. I cheered for Thon, for the Nutrition Service Project, for Alternative Spring Break. I yelled for the students running to represent the rest of their peers on borough council, for the protesters who try and keep their school on moral and ethical high ground. I yelled for the diversity of opinions we have at this school, for the hundreds of different organizations that co-exist on this campus.

I clapped for the tremendous support student Eileen Shirk, who was injured in a car accident over break, is receiving from Penn State. So many people responded to her situation with cards, call, and e-mails that her family set up a Web site to help traffic all the supporters and well-wishers.

Too often, it's easy to equate school spirit with torso-painting crazies at Penn State football games, or to get discouraged with Penn State when the administration does something we disagree with.

But Penn State is not its football team. It's not the Board of Trustees, the alumni or the buildings that make up campus. We are Penn State. We are the blood in its veins, its heart and soul and consciousness all at the same time. And each of us have our own personal Penn State, a custom-made version we create in our four years of friendships, involvement, and classes. School pride extends beyond the ups and downs of our football squad. It comes from the value we attached to everything we do as Penn Staters. It springs from the effort we put into our schoolwork and devotion we give to our activities.

School spirit is not just diehard devotion to anything Penn State. It's the desire to get our hands dirty, make a difference, and make this school a better place then when we left it.

So it's springtime in Happy Valley. After a long, hard, winter, the sun is finally on its way out. The birds are finally singing. And Penn State is finally shining the way it should be.