It happens sometime during the second quarter. The student section, still filling up with late arrivals, starts up the infamous cheer.

The left half of the students calls out, “Eat S—!â€Â The right half responds, “F— you!â€Â They do this over and over again until something else interesting happens, which may even be football related.

Great minds have written scores of literature debating whether or not college football truly counts as a sport, but nobody knows it like Wisconsin fans.

Half of the student cheers don̢۪t even pretend to be about the game. They did the wave in slow motion. The band hardly played during the double-overtime thriller on Saturday, but it put on a spectacular 20-minute postgame show that included the entire stadium singing the alma mater (twice), two different local polka favorites (with dances), the chicken dance, hey baby (with motions), three 80s hits, the fight song, the Fresno State fight song, and a tribute to Les Paul.

The press box hospitality room served bratwursts. The student union had a German-style beer room. Fans wore Green Bay Packers jerseys to the game. I ate macaroni and cheese pizza. Everyone was white, and they played three-year-old rap songs like they invented ‘em.

As a born and bred Southerner on my first trip up North, I observed all of it with wild-eyed wonder. I had never before doubted that the South was the best and most interesting region. Imagine Brad Pitt̢۪s character in Inglourious Basterds. Now imagine him with a northern accent.

See my point?

But I was wrong, forgive my ignorance. Who knew the North had so much personality? I watched Bobby̢۪s World as a kid and never even realized there were actual people who talked like Bobby̢۪s mom. The place has a muted, quiet swagger all its own that it refuses to shove down your throat.

In the airport terminal on the trip back we talked to a woman who worked a magazine stand. Somehow health care came up and she said she had heard the rumors that Obama would want to kill her if she were ill.

No need to lie, inside I said, “Not this shit againâ€Â and I tried to politely explain the error of the rumors. This was met with, “Well it doesn’t matter to me. I don’t want to live if I’m old and sick anyway, ya know?â€Â
This shockingly humble and friendly demeanor reflected on most of the people we met there, almost to the point of being a flaw.

My roommate, who is from Wisconsin, explained some of the culture to me on the trip up. “During the winter everybody drinks beer has sex because it’s too cold to go outside.â€Â He went on, “Like me, I was born in August. That’s just how it is up there.â€Â

And speaking of beer, the student section had a cheer for that too.

Oh yea, and the football game. The game was good enough to give anyone an ulcer, and both sides pulled hard for their teams. But, you guessed itРI didn̢۪t hear a single harsh word from one of their fans to ours.

It̢۪s an orgy of nerdiness, a little Germany inside America, and I̢۪ll never forget it.

Or, as all of Camp Randall Stadium reminded me 35 times after the game was over, “When you say Wisconsin, you’ve said it all.â€Â