Well, it’s sorta my job. I’m not actually employed by anyone on a consistent basis, and I wonder if I ever will be, but that’s not the point here. (And I’m writing, so why don’t I just come to the point?) I’m still getting out occasionally, and perhaps the idea that it may not happen again all that often perhaps makes me a little more reflective.

The point is that being at a Big Event can sometimes be a nerve-racking experience. In a good way, mostly, though there are moments when you wonder if the stress might kill you, the older you get.

Take, for instance, being on the sidelines in the final minutes of the UCLA-Tennessee game Monday night.

Reporters aren’t allowed on the sidelines of college football games until the final five minutes, generally, of the game. And, really, you wouldn’t want to be, because you can’t adequately see a game from the sidelines. It’s a worm’s-eye view of events. You see things fine when they’re right in front of you, but if the play goes the other way, or there’s a long pass away from where you’re at — you don’t see the big picture you get up in the press box. Which is why coaching staffs send so many guys upstairs.

Anyway, schools allow reporters on the field at the end of games. Some guys go the first minute they can. I’ve never understood this, because it just means they’re going to Not Quite See even more of the game. And some of these guys are the same ones who want to see the replay of every important play the first 50-plus minutes of game action. And then they rush to get to the field, where their vision is severely impaired?

But, eventually, just about everyone does go down because you don’t want to get caught in the crowd at the end of the game, when all the fans are trying to leave the stadium as you’re trying to get through the stands. Like swimming upstream.

So, I went down there as UCLA was starting its final drive in regulation, with 1:54 left and Tennessee leading, 21-17.

The Bruins began moving. Kevin Craft, the kid who threw four stunningly ugly interceptions in the first half had it going. Norm Chow was calling down plays that Craft actually could execute, and the Bruins were picking apart Tennessee’s big ol’ defense with 8, 9, 12-yard passes.

So, I got to the playing field, made a left and went to the end of the stadium that UCLA hoped to reach. (You can’t stand between the 25s because those are reserved for the teams.)

As the Bruins got closer, the entire stadium got louder and more excited and more nervous.

And even when you’ve seen hundreds of football games end (maybe even a thousand, by now), in person … even when you consider yourself a jaded nonpartisan viewer … you cannot inoculate yourself from the energy of tens of thousands of people around you.

The noise, the collisions (which are far more violent to see, up close, than you can imagine, watching via television), the stakes, the clock … even if you are there as a witness, not a fan … your brain gets overwhelmed by the stiumuli, and you notice your pulse rate picking up and your mouth getting dry.

I inevitably wonder how middle-aged (or older) football coaches can stand it. They are fomenting the excitement, channeling it, with their playcalling and timeout calls, and why don’t more of them just fall over with heart failure? Not saying they should, but how do they escape? The officials, too, for that matter.

And as the home team gets closer to the end zone, the crowd gets even louder, with organized cheering and random buzz. It’s a wall of noise, like the biggest hive of bees in world history swarming above your head, or maybe being too close to a 747 while it takes off. And this is punctuated by even louder episodes, those eruptions of sound and energy and passion that accompany a really big play. Say, a 3-yard touchdown pass by Kevin Craft with 27 seconds left.

It vibrates through your body, almost like sitting too close to an amplifier, and you feel the adrenaline drip — and you don’t even have an emotional stake in this game. But everyone else does, and your body behaves as if you’ve wagered the farm on these last few seconds.

I will miss this if/when I stop doing it. I prefer the chance to be in an environment where the excitement is so palpable it can, literally, make you ill. I will miss the challenge of trying to master my brain and become that clear-headed observer I aspire to be. (Who ran to the fans first, which coaches hugged each other, how did Rick Neuheisel react, and what was the band playing?)

It’s a rush. Sports is, or can be. Particularly football. Right there at the end. When you’re down on the field, and 60,000 or 70,000 or 90,000 people are raising Cain. It’s more intense than basketball or baseball or any other sport. I suppose because the numbers of people are so much bigger.

Anyway, I went through it again, last night, and it struck me that it’s a special part of the sports journalism business. Maybe not a healthy part of it, but certainly an exciting, memorable aspect of it.”Buzz, buzz, BUZZ, ROAR!” It gets your attention.