The game was over. Harvard lost.

Everything was happening so fast around me. Reporters were running after players. The Penn band started to play the "SportsCenter" theme. I was still trying to figure out what had happened, but all I could feel were the hairs standing up on the back of my neck as my body shivered.

How on earth I was going to write this article? How could I ever put into words how I felt? How could I make people understand?

But something made me forget about all that. Something made me smile.

Today, I am reminded of Ken Burns' baseball documentary. He interviews former Negro-leaguer Buck O'Neil, who remembers how he once heard this special crack of the bat as a youngster. He looked over at the batter, and it was Babe Ruth.

A few years later, he heard that noise again, and it was Josh Gibson, perhaps the greatest Negro-leaguer ever. Then, in the late '80s, he heard it again--Bo Jackson.

O'Neil smiled. Sort of like I did.

I've been lucky enough to have the shivers come back. When a goal by Melanie Allen '96 with four seconds left shocked the No. 7 Northeastern field hockey team. When the Harvard men's soccer team erupted with two overtime goals against Brown to take the 1994 Ivy Title. When Tim Hill '99 sank a last-second basket to send the Harvard-Penn game into overtime, where the Crimson would avenge its 1994 defeat.

And I have felt peace, like in 1996 when I stretched out on the bleachers at Lavietes, off duty, and watched the Harvard women's basketball team give Penn the drubbing of its life. Or the countless times that I have enjoyed a burger after a field hockey game, courtesy of Chez Clark.

Where else can I find such a great range of emotions? Where else does it all come together?