I can still see Curtis Enis surging downfield, barreling past Ohio State defenders, en route to a 211-yard day in which he scored the winning touchdown to beat my beloved Buckeyes, 31-27.

As an avid Buckeye football fan at the time, this 1997 loss to Penn State was upsetting, but not really surprising. Joe Paterno's teams had been among the best of the Big Ten for as long as I could remember, and there was no shame in losing to a formidable foe like the Nittany Lions -- especially at Beaver Stadium.

But oh, how the times have changed.

On Saturday against Purdue, the white-clad student body was as raucous as any I'd ever seen -- either in person or on television. The fans were loud enough to give Heisman-hopeful Kyle Orton all he could handle when coming up to the line to audible or adjust his offense.

After a Penn State defensive stand in the first quarter, marshmallows rained down on the student section. And for the first time this season, the football team played with a fire and intensity that did justice to the program's slogan for the 2004 campaign -- one hungry pride.

The 108,000-plus in attendance were all thinking the same thing after a fourth quarter Calvin Lowry interception: Penn State actually has a chance!

Now this is where the nice, heart-warming feeling ends.

Since when does it come as a surprise to Lions fans that Penn State should not only stay competitive with Purdue, but also have a chance to beat the Boilermakers -- on our home turf, no less?

During the moments after Anthony Morelli's incomplete Hail Mary pass, there was little anger, little frustration, little devastation among the fans.

Following the tough defeat, Lions fans filed out of the stadium, accepting their lot as the has-beens of the college football world.

As a life-long Big Ten fan, I was well aware of Penn State's recent struggles, but I had no idea of how much the fans had suffered during this dry spell.

Before the Wisconsin game on Sept. 25, ESPN analyst Trev Alberts spoke in disbelief of how far the Penn State football program had sunk, repeating "Penn State... this is Penn State?!?!"

The rapidly developing culture of losing here at Penn State is something rather alarming.

If you told long-time Lions fans in August that the team would be 6-5 at the end of the regular season, some would cringe at the thought, some would be delighted at the improvement from 2003, while others would say something to the effect of, "Well, I think we are a 6-5 football team, so that seems about right."

The latter two responses are a warning sign to all who would have given the first reply, at all who still associate Penn State football with rich tradition, a quality team year after year and the image of JoePa being carried off the Superdome field after winning the Sugar Bowl.

The problem is that Nittany Nation has borne witness to loss after loss over the last five years, and expectations have been lowered like a limbo stick -- lower and lower after each season. Like a drug addict desperate for a quick fix, Penn State fans are now thankful for a lesser product than what they were once accustomed to.

So as Terrance Phillips makes a diving reception against a porous Purdue defense, as exciting as the play may have been 10 years ago, the catch is exponentially more thrilling at this point in time because of the lowered expectations, the culture of losing that is becoming ingrained here.

An obvious solution to this problem is to field a winning football team. But when the popular expectation is a 6-5 finish, a student who's seen little but losing on the football field's definition of "winning team" may not match up well with that of an alumnus who was here for the 1983 or 1994 season.

Even so, at this point in the 2004 campaign, I'd still settle for a 6-5 season.