SOUTH BEND, Ind. — If the day that was Saturday had come with directions, it would have read something like this:

Refrigerate before use.

It was that hot.

But even a microwave on Saturday could not keep them away from the College Football Hall of Fame, where Major Harris and 23 of his classmates were inducted in a circus atmosphere that had a menagerie filled with Auburn Tigers, Alabama Elephants, Arizona Wildcats, some Longhorns out of Texas, a Hawkeye from Iowa and one of those Nittany Lions from Penn State named Curt Warner, by way of Pineville.

In some ways it was sad, for there was not really very much of a representation from West Virginia for Harris, at least not compared to the way the Ohio State Buckeye fans turned out by the hundreds, all wearing scarlet and white Chris Spielman jerseys and almost every one of them posing with mascot Brutus, who turned the day into mostly a Buckeye festival.

But if there was one poignant moment in the afternoon, it came during the presentation of the College Hall of Fame blazers, some of which we might say will need a little alteration but none of which came without the pride and honor of representing an accomplishment that few will ever know.

Former Notre Dame star Mike Golic, who has gone on to become an ESPN star on his Mike and Mike in the Morning show, was emceeing while Hall of Fame president Steve Hatchell and Hall of Fame member turned broadcaster Mark May alternated presenting the blazers.

On a day when everyone was taking off whatever outerwear they may have, here were the Hall of Famers putting one on and smiling widely about.

When it came time for Harris to get his blazer, the spin of the wheel had him receiving it from May, who just happens to have been one of the all-time great players at Pitt. The irony of this was not lost on either of them.

As Harris approached, May looked at him and mouthed the words: “I’m giving YOU this?”

The two laughed, shook hands warmly, then May held the jacket out and Harris slid in his left arm, then his right.

He looked downright Hall of Famish in the blazer.

This was a day when rivalries really didn’t matter. Troy Brown of Marshall, who has just finished up his professional career, was also an inductee and Randy Burnside, the school’s Sports Information Director, was explaining how during one function earlier in the day Harris was off by himself so he went over to talk to him, told him how he had grown up in Poca a WVU fan and how he’d seen him play when he was 9 years old and his father took him to East Carolina for a game.

That year, of course, was 1988, Major’s unbeaten season, and the East Carolina game was one of the toughest the Mountaineers had to win.

Burnside also told about how gracious Don Nehlen had been to him, putting to rest, perhaps, those words that Keith Jackson used to love to utter: “These two teams don’t like each other very much.”

What was, perhaps, the best part of the entire day, and that included the evening induction ceremony and speech making, was the way these old geezers drew so many young people. We’re talking not high school age, but grade school age and younger.

They could not have know who Grant Wistrom was or, for that matter, Major Harris, but that did not seem to matter. They were gaga over the Hall of Famers, some of them the cutest little cheerleaders you have ever seen, some learning about the legends of college football from their fathers, who had grown up worshipping them the way these kids worship a Noel Devine or Pat White.

They frolicked on the field, throwing footballs around, chasing after T-shirts as they were shot from a compressed air cannon at them.

A man on stilts would play catch with them, the tallest man they had ever seen. They were delighted to do so, even though some could not even get the ball up high enough for this 12-foot “monster” to catch it.

The truth is, as you looked at these heroes of college football past, you realized that the future of college football is stronger than it has ever been, that the game is a Pied Piper to the young, both boys and girls.

Oh, their fathers were willing to line up and pay $100 after a long wait in an autograph line, because these were their heroes, and the grownups will happily part with $175 for dinner, be it rubber chicken or mass produced steak, because of what college football and people like Major Harris had done for them as they grew up.

And now they saw that it was no different with their own children, one of whom got Major Harris to even stop between events to sign a T-shirt for him ... free of charge.

E-mail Bob Hertzel at bhertzel@hotmail.com.