I am sunburned and I am tired. A day later, my eyes are still bloodshot, my lips chapped and my feet, still achy.

I remember the last time I was in the Rose Bowl, in 1999. Saturday was hot, but that night was cold — so cold, my dad bought me an overpriced sweatshirt. I went to quite a few football games back then, as my dad was a regular season ticket holder.

Those who know me now probably wouldn̢۪t believe it, but for probably eight years of my life, Saturday nights during the fall were all about Fresno State football. Through grade school, I missed very few football games. Week after autumn week, my dad, my brother and I watched the Bulldogs play from the north end zone.

We remember watching the Bulldogs play under Jim Sweeney. We remember watching them take the field for the first time under Pat Hill. And we remember watching the Bulldogs give up 35 points to the Bruins that night, while we scored a meager 21.

What changed in the time in between?

When I started high school, the number of free Saturdays dropped drastically, from having pretty much every weekend free to having none. It also became substantially less socially acceptable to be seen in public hanging out with my dad.

Despite enrolling at Fresno State when I came to college, I never got back into the habit of going to the games again.

I was always working, or hanging out with other friends. There was always, until Saturday, something else I had to do, something better, or something more important.

I didn’t completely ignore the team — I have watched plenty of important games on television or listened to them on the radio, and I generally follow the Bulldogs’ season by at least checking the scores from their games.

But, experientially, there̢۪s something different about not watching while standing on top of the shells of peanuts and sunflower seeds, about being able to watch a game in your socks.

Nearly a decade later, and under radically different conditions, I watched the Bruins give up 35 points to the Bulldogs — and then one more — to give Fresno State its first victory against UCLA in the Rose Bowl.

I brought a sweater this time — a different one, though equally overpriced. I didn’t use it.

In 1999, I worried about frostbite. Saturday, I worried about heat stroke.

And unlike that game in 1999 — which, really, is my last distinct memory of watching the Bulldogs play live — I didn’t sit anywhere near my dad, who attended the game with more of my family and my parents’ friends.

Leaving the stadium, I was glad I̢۪d gone, but it was hard not to compare the experiences and reflect on the things that have changed and those we̢۪ve missed since we last watched the Bulldogs play in the Rose Bowl on that cold September night.

Mathew Gomes is a senior majoring in English and music, with an emphasis in composition.