It was a meaningless game, just more of an excuse for a get together. The parents lined the sideline with their fold-up chairs, pulling the leg of Penn State men's lacrosse coach Glenn Thiel who acted as ref for the alumni scrimmage.

"What's the hold up ref?" one parent yelled. At one point, Thiel handed over his whistle to another spectator so he could say hello to an infant. After the alumni team broke its scoreless drought with a goal in the third period, making the score 7-1, the families in attendance roared with a mocking cheer.

When silence followed in the stands, the question came.

"Is Mike here?"

He remained quite anonymous on the sideline in Holuba Hall, his white alumni jersey identifying him as No. 10.

Last season as a senior tri-captain for the Penn State men's lacrosse team, Mike Jacober wore No. 11, his curly black hair puffing through the back of his helmet.

If you asked Jacober, it seems like he never left. Many of the same families watched as he spun and sprinted down the sideline, while his former teammates awaited him in the post-game reception line for a welcome back.

"It's honestly like a day hasn't gone by," Jacober said. "It's kind of scary coming back here and seeing that the place is exactly the same."

"It means a lot to come back here. This is where everything happened. After that happened, the year kind of flew by."

On March 26, 2005, Jacober's life began to hit fast forward. After a game against Fairfield, his family was not among those watching the game. This was odd, because they would frequently fly in to watch his games. Their plane didn't make it in that day.

Two miles north of campus in Bellefonte, a single-engine plane piloted by Jacober's father, Jerry, crashed near Route 150, instantly taking the lives of all onboard. The passengers on the plane included his mother, Karen; brother, Eric; and family friends Gregg and Dawn Weingeroff and their son, Leland.

Jacober doesn't remember much of the season that followed. The games are a blur, inconsequential moments of a life-changing period of time. He missed only one, against Massachusetts, and returned to action a few days later against Mount St. Mary's. Penn State rallied around its captain for a 14-5 win.

At the time, the lacrosse team became like a family for Jacober. Camaraderie formed into closer relationships which still manifest into lengthy conversations, like the one that he had with defenseman Keith Benjamin after the scrimmage.

Nothing can replace flesh and blood, but there was something to be said for his former teammates as Jacober removed his equipment after a game in which he did not score. He became more than just a warm-up opponent for the current players. The blue team headed to the locker room, not without at least a passing word for Jacober.

"It's nice to come back and here and see what I miss," Jacober said. "You make friendships on the team that I'm experiencing are still very alive."

Those that have stayed in touch can easily stumble into Jacober on the internet. He has traded in his midfielder's stick for a guitar and his new album, "Before and After." His Web site, Mikejacober.com, promotes his rock band.

Before graduating from Penn State with a degree in restaurant management, Jacober was torn between his career goals and his urge to sing rather then to serve. But after much thought, he decided that it would be a mistake to not explore his musical aspirations first.

"I would regret not pursuing it all the way 10 years down the road," Jacober said. "I figured, go for it."

The album cover illustrates a wooden vessel sailing into the sunset, its large sails reminiscent of a colonial ship. This could be interpreted as something out of a port near his hometown of Providence, R.I., but that is something Jacober would not go into. The meaning of his music and "Before and After" remains something extremely personal.

The lyrics include words about his father, mother and brother. Listening to the music -- impressive in its own right -- better portrays his message than reading into the lyrics.

Yet a couple mothers joked amongst the crowd that Jacober is waiting for his album just to go from tin to cardboard, instead of gold to platinum. Money isn't his motivating factor, though -- taking pleasure in the words grants more satisfaction.

"I expect to enjoy it," Jacober said. "The important thing is that I enjoy doing it and I'll be doing it for the rest of my life."

As long as he is afforded time on this earth, that will be a part of his life. And as Jacober stood on the turf in Holuba Hall, there was more that he could hold on to before the handshakes were over. Each person there to greet him remains more significant than one could ever imagine.

"I don't plan on the friendships ever going away," Jacober said.