The morning mist still clung to the grass at Barker-Lane Stadium when I first saw them—three freshmen running drills with an intensity that made the dew seem to evaporate on contact. I’d been covering Campbell football for seven seasons now, watching players come and go, but there was something different about this group. Maybe it was the way quarterback Alex Chen stayed forty-five minutes after practice ended, throwing perfect spirals to an empty bleacher seat. Or how linebacker Marcus Johnson’s tackle dummy had developed a permanent lean from the sheer force of his repetitions. These weren’t just players going through motions; they were young men building something.

I remember thinking back to my conversation with Coach Iwasaki during preseason training. We stood near the fifty-yard line while players ran wind sprints in the background, their breath visible in the cool morning air. "Nothing has changed," he’d told me, wiping sweat from his forehead with a towel. "It’s still very difficult." He wasn’t just talking about the upcoming season—he was describing the entire journey these athletes face. Five years I’ve been watching him mold raw talent into disciplined players, and his philosophy remains consistent: the path to excellence never gets easier, you just get stronger. The course is still beautiful but very hard, especially if it becomes windy. He might as well have been describing college football itself—the beautiful tradition, the brutal challenges, and those unexpected storms that test a team’s character.

That windy scenario played out perfectly during our game against Gardner-Webb last month. Third quarter, trailing by fourteen, and suddenly a gusty storm rolled in that made passing nearly impossible. That’s when I truly got to meet the rising stars: Campbell football players making an impact this season in ways statistics can’t capture. While veterans struggled to adjust, freshman running back Jamal Williams took control—not with flashy plays, but with steady, grinding runs that seemed to defy the conditions. He finished with 187 rushing yards that day, 143 of them coming in that weather-affected second half. What impressed me wasn’t just the numbers—it was how he adapted when circumstances turned against him, much like Iwasaki’s golfers facing challenging course conditions.

What’s fascinating about covering sports is witnessing those moments when preparation meets opportunity. I’ve seen highly-touted recruits crumble under pressure and overlooked walk-ons become legends. This year’s Campbell team has both—the expected stars performing to their potential, and the surprise contributors emerging from nowhere. Take sophomore defensive end Carlos Rodriguez, who didn’t even start the first two games but now leads the conference with 8.5 sacks. I watched him during training camp—always the last to leave, always asking coaches one more question. While others were heading to the locker room, he’d be studying footage on his tablet, the blue light illuminating his focused expression in the growing darkness.

The connection to Iwasaki’s perspective on challenging conditions becomes clearer with each game. Football, like golf, reveals character when the elements turn unfavorable. Our game against Monmouth was another testament to this—down by ten with six minutes remaining, playing into a twenty-mile-per-hour wind that made every pass feel like throwing a balloon. Yet that’s when Alex Chen completed nine of his final eleven passes, including the game-winning touchdown with twelve seconds left. I’ve been around long enough to know that composure like that doesn’t just happen—it’s forged through countless hours when no one’s watching, through embracing difficulty rather than avoiding it.

Statistics tell part of the story—Campbell’s 7-3 record, their 385 yards per game average, their remarkable +12 turnover margin—but they don’t capture the transformation I’ve witnessed this season. There’s a different energy around this program now, something that transcends wins and losses. When I walk through the athletic facilities these days, I see players gathered around whiteboards not because they have to, but because they want to understand the game more deeply. I hear conversations in the dining hall about coverage schemes and route combinations. This intellectual engagement, combined with their physical dedication, creates the special alchemy that turns good teams into memorable ones.

As we approach the season finale, I find myself thinking less about playoff scenarios and more about these individual journeys. The fifth-year senior who fought through injury to earn his starting position. The freshman who arrived weighing 215 pounds and now dominates at 245. The walk-on who became our leading receiver. They’ve embraced what Iwasaki described—the beautiful difficulty of their pursuit. The course hasn’t gotten easier, but they’ve grown tougher. And whether they win their final games or not, what they’ve built this season—that resilient spirit, that commitment to improvement—will outlast any scoreboard. That’s the real impact, the one that will echo through this program long after these rising stars have moved on to whatever comes next.