At 5:25 a.m. on the morning of the Cyclones’ football home opener against intrastate pseudo-rival Northern Iowa, Lincoln Way is still asleep, just like on almost every other Saturday. It’s asleep just like sane Cyclone football fans should be at this hour, dreaming of bowl games and winning seasons and a world where Seneca Wallace’s goal-line dive against Florida State in 2002 was ruled to be the touchdown we all know it was.

But this is not just like every other Saturday.

The warm, pink glow of the Tip Top Lounge sign hovers above a line of groggy-but-upbeat Cyclone fans lined up 60-deep to drink Pabst Blue Ribbon and eat a chili breakfast of champions as they prepare to cheer on their team.

With Garth Brooks’ “Friends in Low Places” on the jukebox and sufficient cardinal and gold apparel to complement the red eyes and jaundiced livers of the early morning drinkers, the mecca for ISU football fans is located near the corner of Lincoln Way and Des Moines Avenue, if only for a little while.

A few hours and several pitchers later, the scene shifts to the tailgate lots that surround Jack Trice Stadium, packed full of SUVs, lawn chairs and pre-game excitement. Fathers and sons wearing matching Lane Danielsen jerseys throw footballs around as older men stand around speculating on such paramount matters as the strength of the left side of Iowa State’s offensive line. The predictions grow bolder and louder with every beer, culminating in one friend slapping the other on the back and laughing, “Well, at least we aren’t wearing purple.”

Over at the student lot, the mood is also upbeat, as Cyclone fans and Panther backers trade barbs, needling each other about questionable color schemes for football uniforms, 10-loss seasons and the tragedy of being a fan of a Division I-AA team.

Grizzled tailgating veterans casually sip Keystones next to nervous freshmen who are desperately hoping that they won’t have to show their brother’s girlfriend’s roommate’s ID to a cop.

But the question that hits some non-tailgaters like the heartburn after a third undercooked hotdog is a simple one: Why?

What is the point of this entire production? Why are we masochistically forcing down warm beer and cold chili as the sun comes up? Why are we sacrificing our weekend days (and possibly years of our lives) to celebrate a third-tier football squad? Why do we feel the need to tailgate?

I thought you’d never ask.

Tailgating simply brings us together. It makes us paint our faces, fire up our Webers and band together like the Scottish in “Braveheart” for a few Saturday mornings each fall. And it doesn’t even seem to matter that Dan McCarney isn’t exactly William Wallace. I mean, where else could two people become instant friends for the simple reason that they’re wearing sweatshirts of the same color?

Tailgating makes the 45-year-old in Lot B-4 who drives a BMW and drinks Michelob Ultra — hopefully not at the same time — have something in common with the college kid in S-4 who drives a 10-speed and drinks whatever is on firesale that week.

Tailgating helps us make friends with people who were complete strangers just five minutes earlier. Finding out that you and a former stranger share the same desire to see every toothless, belt-buckle-wearing, first-cousin-dating K-State fan suffer through a decade of losing seasons is a special feeling.

Tailgating lets us meet our roommate’s parents that we’ve seen in the photo taped to the mini-fridge but have never actually met. And it lets us meet our own parents in an environment where we can sit back and relax without having to worry about who’s going to do the dishes or feed the dog. If you still haven’t sat down and had a beer with your folks, you’re missing out terribly.

Tailgating gives alumni a reason to drive from their jobs in Kansas City or Minneapolis to revisit the old stomping grounds, to let the fond memories wash over them and to get the last early-September sunburn of the year.

Tailgating also apparently gives people the go-ahead to wear fanny packs, as evidenced by the three that I saw and documented on Saturday. Most importantly, tailgating gives us a chance to spend time with friends and family in a setting that can’t be recreated. In 20 years, I can guarantee that we won’t remember what we got on that meteorology final or why we all hated Frankie from the “Real World” with a burning passion, but we’ll never forget the times with buddies at Trice. Tailgating will be a large part of our recollection of college when we’ve long since left this campus behind.

That’s exactly as it should be.