If you could play college football for one day, just one game, you could do worse than to step onto the field Saturday when Florida State visits Miami for their annual cataclysm.

You can't, of course, but as a favor to ESPN.com readers, past and present players on both sidelines have agreed to open a door into the psychotic episode that is FSU-Miami.

Come inside, but watch yourself -- it can get a bit messy here.

	Osceola and Renegada fire up the Seminoles -- as well as the Hurricanes.

Stop -- don't step there. Renegade, the FSU horse mascot, was just there, and that's enough said about that. Did you see Osceola charging down on the field on Renegade throwing down his flaming spear at midfield, inciting the Seminoles into a fit of screaming -- and inciting the other team, the Hurricanes, to nearly riot?

"The whole hocus-pocus they do with the horse and the Indian and slamming the spear down, it gets us fired up just as much as them," says Miami punter Todd Sievers. "It's reverse psychology almost. Our fans get fired up, and you'll see the whole team start bouncing up and down because the emotions are flowing. You've got adrenaline shooting out your ears."

That's nothing. Step inside the tunnel leading from the Seminoles' locker room to the field. It's hot in here, but then, it's hot everywhere in Miami.

"I'm sweating when I get off the plane," says FSU defensive end Alonzo Jackson. "And I don't stop sweating until I get back to Tallahassee."

The sweat is flying in the tunnel, where the Seminoles look like a mass of ants building a colony, one climbing all over another.

"It's nutty in the tunnel before any game -- but it's nuttier before Miami," Jackson says. "People are jumping over the top of you, pushing you all over the place. I'll probably have to say, 'Let's save some energy for the game.'"

Too late. Players on both teams have been saving their energy all morning, and it's starting to reach a crescendo. The Hurricanes, for example, spent the night before at Don Shula's Hotel in Miami Lakes, trying to get away from the distractions of campus and Coral Gables. On the bus ride to the Orange Bowl they are quiet, to a man every player on the team listening to headphones, alone with his music and his thoughts.

"Everybody's hungry, but the leaders on the team have to control the flow of emotions," Sievers says. "We played in the granddaddy game of them all, the national championship in the Rose Bowl. We know what we have to do."

	“	It's different. More serious. Before Florida State, everyone can feel the tension. Everyone. ”
		— Miami LB Jonathan Vilma

The players leave the quiet of the bus for the growing bedlam of the stadium, where fans are gathering hours before kickoff, and then into the quiet of the locker room. Understand, the locker room before most Miami games is a lively place to be. They're joking, they're laughing, they're dancing. Today, they're silent.

"It's different. More serious," says Miami linebacker Jonathan Vilma. "You may hear a guy singing a song, but probably not. If we're playing Rutgers or Temple, it's more relaxed. We figure we know what to do, we can handle our business and win. People are having fun. Before Florida State, everyone can feel the tension. Everyone."

Imagine being Alonzo Jackson last season at Doak Campbell Stadium. The Hurricanes were in his town, his house, and he couldn't play because of a knee injury. Getting dressed in that quiet locker room -- the Seminoles are just as serious, pregame, as the Hurricanes -- Jackson was distraught.

"I was crying before the game because I couldn't play," he says. "I was crying on the sidelines, too. I wanted to be out there so bad."

The sideline is no place for the tender-hearted. At the Orange Bowl, Miami fans subject the Seminoles to unspeakable insults. Some of the fans have been out in the sun too long and maybe they've been drinking. They've definitely been slighted by any FSU player from the state -- especially one from South Florida, like FSU receiver Anquan Boldin of Pahokee -- who dared to play for the Seminoles.

"Even the fans are more intense," Boldin says. "There's more trash-talking from them than in any other game, and it's constant. They know who we are, and they don't like us for choosing FSU."

It's not any safer on the field. A rivalry game like this, sometimes the emotions get out of control. Remember that episode last season, when Florida tailback Earnest Graham accused FSU defensive lineman Darnell Dockett of twisting his knee at the bottom of a pile? Commonplace in a game like FSU-Miami.

"At the bottom of piles, things are happening," says Miami offensive coordinator Rob Chudzinski, a former UM tight end who caught a touchdown pass against the Seminoles in 1988. "They aren't nice things, either."

The huddle may be the only place of refuge in the entire stadium. The Seminoles have given quarterback Chris Rix a hard time for two years, accusing him of being egotistical and aloof and too eager to scramble out of the pocket, but on this day Rix has his team's undivided attention.

"There might be some bickering or something most games, but this game here, you can feel it in the huddle," Boldin says. "No one's talking but the quarterback. Everyone's eyes are focused on him."

Not Warren Sapp's eyes, not in the final seconds of that game in 1991. His eyes are on FSU kicker Gerry Thomas, who is lining up a 34-yard field goal that will decide the winner. Sapp, the macho defensive tackle, is holding hands with teammates and kneeling, muttering a prayer while staring down Thomas.

The kick is up, and it's close -- so close, Sapp can't tell if he made it or missed it. On the other sideline, FSU coach Bobby Bowden is ripping off his headset in glee, about to celebrate. Under the goalposts, Sebastian the Ibis, the Miami mascot, has as good a view as anyone in the stadium. Sebastian rolls to the ground and celebrates Thomas' miss as Bowden stops in his tracks and Sapp rises to scream.

"I saw Sebastian kicking his legs up," Sapp says. "That was the best."

Good game, all.

Gregg Doyel covers college football for the Charlotte Observer.