So, that’s why preps were king

YOU could see them jumping, everyone, both sides, 24,667 people, all at once. In a frenzy. In a rhythm. The whole lower bowl.

You could feel the place shaking, the floor rolling like a Mauna Loa quake. It was seismic. Last night's game should have been measured on the Richter scale.

This must have been what it was like back in the day at the old stadium, delicious madness on Thanksgiving.

This might have been what it felt like when the Govs Won it All.

It was incredible, last night.

The bands played, the place rocked. The students bounced and the stadium shook. You could feel it.

You could taste it. It coursed through you, through everyone. Chicken skin everywhere. The feeling flowed.

People flew.

Gray-haired men jumped, jumped, jumped.

Adults did.

Adults would dance.

Adults would weep.

Everyone in the stadium was relentless.

To the last seconds, every single person in the stadium believed.

That's what made this night so special.

This was the greatest, the grandest, the biggest, the best, the most emotional high school football game anyone has seen in a long, long time.

It was, someone said, louder than any UH game all of this year.

And it wasn't even close.

This was Kahuku's biggest state championship win. The toughest. The closest. The sweetest.

This was Punahou's finest hour in decades.

In the beginning, Kahuku had the katooshes. Punahou had the points.

But then Kahuku made it 22-21, 5:02 to go, with a ridiculous run by Malosi Te'o, with a fantastic punt and then a safety that made the Earth move.

And then an interception, and another score, 28-21. The place should have deflated. The air should have left. The stadium should have exhaled. But it never did.

To the last seconds, everyone in every seat believed. Both sides. Everybody bouncing. The whole place shaking.

The Drive. Punahou marching. The whole place screaming.

Both sides of the stadium, unshakable. Lungs bursting. Music blaring. Drums rumbling.

It felt like flying.

Everyone young, no matter their age.

The place was alive.

High school football, alive.

This must have been what it was like in the old days, at the old place.

During that final drive, the Punahou players held hands, the way legend says those termites used to, when the old place shook as it always did.

And it was loud, then, both sides screaming. Everyone believing. It was enough to make your heart burst. Your eyes hurt. Your vision blurry. Your arm numb.

In the greatest way.

This is what sports is about, nights like this.

This must have been what high school football was like.