To those who show up game after game despite records and stats, for better or worse; these, we celebrate.

To the seniors who haven’t missed a single home game or a chance to go shirtless and war-painted in front of a crowd of thousands; these are the fans who cry over Paul Rhoads’ emotional locker room speech and relive the glory of the 2011 victory against Oklahoma State.

To the ISU marching band; hundreds of members sweating through their polyester uniforms under the heat of the September sun. The trumpeters, sousaphone players and percussionists who endure the weather, strain and stress of performance to espouse their school loyalty in the loudest, proudest fashion.

To the sun-withered octogenarians who studied agriculture at Iowa State half a century ago, and return to cheer on each new generation; to their children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren who repopulate Ames each year.

To the families with custom-painted RVs; drivers of those flashy crimson monstrosities that barrel toward Ames for every home game. To those for whom it’s not tailgating without the comforts of home: rugs, furniture, and a flat screen TV.

To the lone vuvuzela player in the student section of Jack Trice, who gives form to the raucous, bawdy cheering of students who celebrate together over each yard gained.

To the students who camp outside Jack Trice’s gates at 6 a.m. for a noon game, just to have first-row privileges; these fans are die-hard believers in “first come, first serve” and the “no saving seats” rules.

To the man with the motorized cooler who whizzes through tailgate sections on his makeshift vehicle, a flash of cardinal and gold past cars, tents and cornhole boards.

To all those who tailgate with their toddlers and dogs, forcing both varieties into bright red and yellow sweaters, jumpers and tutus.

To the alumni far from Iowa, desperately clutching the edge of their chairs at the start of every play; it isn’t just the fans who are physically present who carry our team and our spirit. To the people who wear their Cyclone hoodies every weekend, even when their friends ask “Who?”

To the spectators who endure late-November games on frozen stadium benches.

To that one house in Iowa City with the Iowa State banner flying from the porch, defiantly challenging a city of Hawkeyes.

To the kids who line the fence along hillside seats, dying just to high-five their favorite ISU player.

To Paul Rhoads, maybe not a “fan,” but an embodiment of fan spirit through his passion and love for ISU athletics and the Iowa State name; any college coach can be skilled, but Coach Rhoads inspires loyalty through pure emotion and drive.

Ode, not to the athletes on the field, not to the university leaders in the skybox, not even to the student body. Ode to the fans. The faithful ticket holders and tailgaters: the students, the alumni, the parents and grandparents and thrice-removed cousins.

Ode to those who might not win the games but who make the experience worth celebrating.