I saw something worth believing in on Saturday

The shift started before kickoff with an extended stretching session inside the practice facility rather than on the field. Then came the tunnel run, led by Isaac Wilson—a departure from the usual entrance, with Deion “Coach Prime” Sanders running farther back alongside the team. Between the third and fourth quarters, players danced and rallied the crowd.

There was an energy I have seen in flashes this season: genuine passion, joy, and collective effort. More than anything, the Buffs looked connected.

They looked player-led.

That isn't a slight to the coaching staff, I mean it as a sincere compliment. There's something powerful about watching the lessons, standards, and expectations coaches teach take root. That moment when players stop simply following orders and start holding themselves and one another accountable. Leadership was no longer coming exclusively from the headsets on the sideline; it was circulating through the roster.

That was the shift on display Saturday.

With injuries mounting, I watched sidelined players like Danny Scudero, Zach Atkins, Tyler Martinez, and others step naturally into mentorship roles. Teammates actively sought them out after position group huddles, looking for feedback, encouragement, or quiet reassurance.

It's easy to view an injured player strictly through the lens of what the team is missing on the field. But watching these young men continue to coach and support their teammates proved that leadership doesn't vanish when the pads come off. If anything, it becomes more visible.

You could see the imprint of the bye week. The practices, the film sessions, the conversations held behind closed doors. There was palpable determination on the sideline, but also deep gratitude for the opportunity to compete together as brothers.

And when the clock hit zero, the heartbreak was unmistakable.

There were tears and heavy, lingering silence. It wasn't the numbness of a team that had given up, but the grief of a group that had played until the final second. The two halves were night and day, and while there were costly mistakes, the effort never wavered.

What struck me most was that the disappointment wasn't directed outward. It was personal.

It came from a locker room of young men who believed in one another and felt the sting of letting their brothers down.

That's a very different kind of loss.

I had to remind myself on the drive home that Colorado had lost the football game. The scoreboard matters. The win-loss record matters. Nobody's pretending otherwise.

Yet the growth on display in just two weeks felt undeniable.

To be fair, this is my first full season covering every game from the sidelines. In years past, my vantage point was limited to spring games, the occasional road trip, and what I observed on TV. I wasn't there week after week to watch personalities develop, relationships deepen, or the locker room learn to carry itself through adversity.

There's plenty of long-term perspective I don't possess, but I can speak to what I see through the lens and my own observations.

This season, I've learned to watch for the details that never make a box score or postgame recap: the subtle shifts in posture, the way teammates rally after a turnover, the composure during press conferences, and the quiet resolve that lives between snaps.

Every week carries its own pulse. This week, that pulse was determination.

Over the past five months, I've repeatedly caught myself wishing I could ask Adam what he made of this team; the outside noise, the scrutiny, and the human stories quietly unfolding behind the scenes.

That's what I miss most: his steady perspective, the chance to compare notes on what we were seeing, and his knack for catching the vital details others overlooked.

When frustration around this team reached a boiling point a few weeks ago, I have a feeling he would have said:

“Just wait.”

Adam understood that things are rarely as wonderful or as terrible as they seem in the heat of the moment. He had a way of grounding everyone when emotions ran high, reminding us that these are young men still learning how to lead, how to fail, and how to respond when adversity strikes.

I think he would have recognized what happened on Saturday: A team that hasn't quit.

A team learning to lead from within, to hold each other accountable, and to fight for something bigger than themselves.

I don't know what the rest of the season will bring, or whether Saturday's progress will immediately translate into wins. Maybe the results will take longer to arrive than we hope.

But when I think back on this game, the final score won't be what stays with me.

I'll remember the leadership, the encouragement, the brotherhood, and the raw heartbreak. I'll remember that it felt like something fundamental shifted.

And I'll remember driving home Saturday night feeling something that can be hard to come by after a defeat.

Hope.

And for now, that's more than worth holding on to.