Jimmy Kennedy kept saying after the 34-31 win against Wisconsin that his improved play wasn't that big of a deal.

The only person he had to prove anything to was himself, which he does week after week, he claims.

He said he had read the columns and articles that popped up across Pennsylvania saying he wasn't getting the job done, calling him a disappointment.

But he didn't listen to that, didn't let it get to him or stir him up, so he said.

No, Jimmy was just being Jimmy and for some reason this time around he got four sacks and was a terror on the line whereas the other four games he'd been missing until it was time to interview after the game.

What is it about football players and coaches that makes them insist on denying the obvious impact of things like increased emotion, a direct challenge and personal resiliency?

It's a macho sport and yes, you've got to be tough and, at least outwardly, put on the face that none of this phases you. Kennedy actually said that: "I don't think I play with emotion."

But really, the big difference between Kennedy on Saturday -- and this year's Penn State team all season -- is the presence of the emotion that drives football.

And it's there in the perfect football way, the way you'd see in old black and white game film, the stuff of Johnny U.

It's the thing that made Joe Montana the best quarterback of his era, and Brett Favre the best of his.

The source of it at Penn State is a kid named Zack Mills and it arrived, in several installments, the same time he did last year.

But the whole team is doing it now, and that is what separates this Penn State squad from the previous two.

There are adjectives to explain it but they are silly and miss the point.

The point is, Mills can get absolutely drilled on second-and-15, sprain something in his shoulder, get up and find Gerald Smith for his first catch of the year and a Penn State first down.

Four plays later, Mills sees a fumble squirt loose and jumps on it so quickly the play might have well been planned that way.

And the other players follow.

Jimmy Kennedy, for one.

I wrote these words last week: "If ever there was such a thing as a 'statement game,' tomorrow could be it for Jimmy Kennedy."

He responded with a game that stated, quite clearly, that his projected dominance may still come true and also said: "This wasn't a statement game or anything."

Other guys stepped up, too.

Larry Johnson powered his way to 114 yards on 14 carries before an injury meant backup Mike Gasparato would have to take over.

Gasparato couldn't be Johnson. Paterno called them apples and oranges; it's more like comparing a squire to a knight.

"He is not as big, quick, strong or experienced," Paterno said of Gasparato.

But he got the job done anyway.

And for his part, Johnson didn't rush to get back in the game. He said he could have. And in the past, he's been impatient. He's the type of running back who always wants the ball.

Saturday, he gave that up, let his backup do the work and put the good of the team ahead of his own.

Mills does not show much emotion on the football field. The extent of it might be a raised fist. After games, he speaks slowly and softly.

There is none of the exuberance Paterno hates and all of that he tries to make his players understand.

Saturday, with the sky already starting to get dark and Penn State victorious, only a few players remained slowly stalking off the Camp Randall turf.

Mills, at midfield, turned and pointed to the Penn State fan section.

Then, he broke into a full sprint and ran back into the locker room.