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Traditions and an air of normalcy at Penn State

STATE COLLEGE - A sea of blue and white overflowed on the grassy hill just outside the players' entrance to Beaver Stadium. It wrapped around the street, onto the sidewalks in front of tailgating tents and down the block.

STATE COLLEGE - A sea of blue and white overflowed on the grassy hill just outside the players' entrance to Beaver Stadium. It wrapped around the street, onto the sidewalks in front of tailgating tents and down the block.

This was a scene that greets the Penn State team every football Saturday. Marc Stocum has been wearing a white hard hat with two Penn State flags poking out of the top and eliciting chants from the crowd with his megaphone for the past 10 years.

Never before, he said, was there as much enthusiasm and noise in support of the team. This was as normal a game-day experience outside the stadium as could've been expected, given the circumstances, yet there were still signs that this was anything but normal for a college-football atmosphere.

Standing on a rock while Stocum directed chants stood Dave Spengler, who ordered two tickets for himself and his son for Saturday's game on the university's ticket-exchange website two weeks ago. He thought it might be Joe Paterno's last home game because Paterno's contract was set to expire at the end of the season.

Watching the events surrounding the child sex-abuse scandal unfold last week, including Paterno's termination, left him heartbroken.

"The whole week was like watching your house burn down," said Spengler, of Valley Forge.

But then the four blue school buses transporting the team and coaching staff came into view in between the mob of fans and the tree branches swaying back and forth as their brown leaves drifted into the autumn air. The buses came to a stop, and the doors opened . . .

Matt McGloin stepped off the bus first as the starting quarterback, per tradition.

For the last 46 years, Paterno would follow, but as a gesture to the coach, his seat was left vacant. His son, Jay, the team's quarterbacks coach who rarely rides the bus to the stadium, followed McGloin and pumped his fist as he walked toward the gate, inviting more noise and support for the men who trailed behind him.

"It's been a whirlwind of emotions, but I don't want to be anywhere else in the world right now," one fan said.

The university sent out a text message saying there was a bomb threat for the stadium, but police and dogs searched and found nothing. The university also announced that there would be a heightened security presence and more thorough and deliberate inspections of bags.

Few protests and demonstrations occurred outside the stadium before the game. Members of the Westboro Baptist Church were on hand, but students quietly organized a counterprotest without any violence. Other students handed out blue wristbands to raise money to combat child abuse.

Some of the visible signs of the day: "Screw the media," "Fire the trustees" and "JoePa got screwed."

As the orange of the sun vanished in the sky, fans holding smartphones and cameras snapped photos in front of the bronze statue of Paterno.

Walking through the parking lots, some fans were throwing a football. Others were drinking, hugging and laughing.

"We lost 17-10 - no, 17-14," one fan was overheard on a cellphone.

"See you next time," a man told a group of tailgaters.

They won't return to the football lots until next season, but Saturday was the first step toward showing that normalcy would return someday.