I will never forget the first time I walked into Camp Randall for a night game. It was 1998 against UCLA, that 4:30 kickoff that stretched into the darkness and the whole place just shook. We had Ron Dayne grinding out yards and that old grass field that smelled like November in October. You could feel the history in every single bleacher seat. Now they talk about these fancy new stadium renovations and video boards bigger than my house and I just think about sitting in the student section freezing my tail off watching Barry Alvarez build somethiing real. That place had soul before they polished everything up.