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There are times, especially on cold Friday nights, when the whole exercise of football feels insignificant.

Sitting in the stands, you may feel that you are watching an elaborate children’s game: tin soldiers lined up in formation, exaggerated hand gestures, whispered instructions, and artificial heartbreak.

The real world is full of war and worry; it deserves your emotional attention. But football is a sport, and sometimes you wonder why so many people fill the stands—giving up three hours of free time, braving frozen toes, and neglecting bathroom needs—to watch two groups bicker about moving a ball from one side of the field to another.

Yes, football can feel foolish at times—but Friday night was not one of them.

When Harvard and Dartmouth took the field last weekend, there were exactly two guarantees: that for half the players in the stadium, the night would end in elation, and for the other half, the night would end in devastation.

If this projection seems extreme, then consider the facts.

Ever since the Crimson sobered up from its champagne-soaked victory over Yale last year, the team had prepared to play the Big Green.

Dartmouth menaced as the embittered avenger, the team that filled up seven of the 14 spots on the Preseason All-Ivy Defense but still saw itself as a slighted underdog.

For days and weeks and months, Harvard players trained with this opponent in mind. They woke up for morning workouts, grunted through non-contact drills, and stayed on campus for summer training. And the seniors on the team—well, they did all this with the knowledge that this season would be their last one.

Meanwhile, 130 miles away in Hanover, N.H., the Big Green underwent the same self-sacrifice, and probably with higher stakes.

The Crimson, a perennial older brother, had won 11 straight matchups heading into 2015, including a 23-12 decision last year to hang Dartmouth its only loss. For the senior-heavy Big Green, last weekend’s clash loomed as the final chance to ensure that years of effort had amounted to something more than just another second-place trophy.

On Friday night, football mattered because the adult memories of so many players hinged on the result, and this statement held true before the game even began.

Very rarely does a sporting contest mean as much as this one did.

At the time, you could see this importance in the way that players acted when they were removed from the action—in those quiet moments when muscle memory has no effect, and real emotions emerge in the open.