By Sara Lipka

University Park, Pa.

The ladies lined up early in the stadium tunnel. Fifty of them, ages 17 to 67: mothers and daughters, nostalgic sorority sisters, an orthopedic surgeon and three members of her staff. They had rooted for Penn State football forever from the stands, but on this warm Friday in June they were here to take the field.

Plenty of college football programs, including Penn State's, run men's fantasy camps. Only a few hold events for female fans, and those tend toward talks and tours (the Ole Miss Ladies' Football Forum features a fashion show). At Penn State, the women wanted to play. Before athletics officials could decide how best to market their new X's & O's Camp, it sold out.

The players paid $395 for the daylong event and came from around the corner and across the country. Some sported Nittany Lions T-shirts and hats; others displayed their devotion with tattoos. Among the group were Kelley Paterno, daughter-in-law of the legendary head coach, Joe Paterno, and Brittney Payton, daughter of the late Pro Football Hall of Famer Walter Payton and a reporter for cable television's Big Ten Network. They all chattered about favorite bowl games and having been too excited to sleep. Fervor flagged only when the older women saw their ages on the roster. "Good thing they didn't put our weight!" said one.

In the stadium's media room, campers took turns posing at the table where coaches and players sit for news conferences. "Who's gonna play quarterback?" came a question from the floor. Trish Boyer, 45, an alumna from Washington, deepened her voice and pointed to the next woman in line for a photo: "Her."

The ladies strode through the locker room with their playbooks, then took notes as an assistant coach, Mike McQueary, drew offensive schemes on a whiteboard. "We weren't going to go over what a first down was," he'd decided. Instead, he and three other coaches discussed the "front side A gap" and "curl route off five-step timing." Hands went up. Huh?

In response to a question about the term "in the box," Mr. McQueary started sketching a formation. "Wait," said Jane Abourezk, 48, a math teacher from Centerville, Ohio. "Isn't that more like a reduction?" Hoots and whistles. Mr. McQueary was impressed, sort of. "Is your husband a football coach?"

He was, at Centerville Middle School. Ms. Abourezk blushed and shrugged but quietly defended her skills to a teammate: "I grew up with football."

The ladies diligently studied defensive maneuvers, but they relished stories from the coaches. Most teams call a weak-side linebacker "Will," but at Penn State he's "Fritz," after a pizza-delivery guy in the 70s. At team meetings, when a player's cellphone rings, his teammates cough so Joe Paterno can't hear it.

Cameras clicked constantly, but never as much as when the women walked onto the field. "This is a dream come true!" one said with a gasp. "I think I'm gonna cry," said another.

On the 50-yard line, they tried out the plays they'd learned. Whether each group nailed or flubbed them, the reserves cheered. Some women wore knee braces; others admitted they were out of shape. But for every run-through, a surplus of players stepped up.

Debbie Hall, 44, a preschool teacher from Indianapolis, had had two recent hip replacements. "I said I would just stand on the side," she explained later, "But did I? No." Pam Driftmier, 46, a conference organizer at Penn State, had recovered from blood clots in her lungs last year and checked with her doctor before coming to the camp. But she didn't mention that to her fellow players. She didn't want anybody to go easy on her.

After lunch the women tried on players' helmets and held up the size-18 shoe of Levi Brown, a former left tackle. The team's veteran equipment manager, Brad (Spider) Caldwell, entertained the group with domestic details, like that it took four 90-minute wash cycles to clean the white jerseys after this year's Capital One Bowl. He buffs dinged helmets with Mr. Clean Magic Eraser or steel wool and Windex. Before the team started ordering custom cleats from Nike, he'd color in white ones with black Sharpies and paint swooshes with white nail polish.

With no time left for another chalk talk, the women went out for more drills, and Joe Paterno, in his 45th year as coach, stood watching. "They look better than some of my players," he said.

And he wasn't about to coddle them. He noticed Darcy Kresge, 36, a physician's assistant, sprint into the end zone and spike the ball. In a huddle, he called a penalty on the "showboat" for unsportsmanlike conduct: "She just cost the team 15 yards!" (She was mortified.)

Then came game time, but with a glitch: The petite jerseys didn't fit. Mr. McQueary responded to the grumbling with pleas for patience, but then, looking worried, fetched a few official uniforms. The women burst out of the tunnel to a throng of fans, one on cowbell, some with signs ("My PSU grandma, aunts, and godmother rock!").

Each team played a 22-minute half on offense, with two strings alternating plays. Coaches called passes and runs as the fans screamed. "Hey Julie, light 'em up!" "Get her, Suzann!" "Pick it off and go the other way!" It was flag football, but with lunges and tumbles.

In the frenzy, sometimes too few players lined up. "Hey, Mom! Get out here!" yelled Casey Brownyard, 17, who dove into the end zone to score. She and her sister, Nicole, leapt into a chest bump.

The game ended in a tie, one touchdown each, and the fans rushed onto the field, snapping pictures as kids rolled across the grass. Later, on a tour of the training facility, the women mingled with shirtless players. At dinner they signed a ball for Mr. McQueary, a former Penn State quarterback, who welcomed them to the family. "I thought I would die a thousand deaths," said Beth Jeziorski, 54, a homemaker from Murrysville, Pa.

Gloria Spicer, a 62-year-old sign-language interpreter, said her grown children couldn't believe she was doing this. Next time her daughter is coming. Comments on Facebook suggest that many more female fans are, too: "I am SO there next year!!!"

Penn State may offer a few women's camps in 2011, said Patrick Steenberge, president of Global Football, which ran the event. The idea of more alumni sweating with coaches appeals to Guido N. D'Elia, a consultant who directs communications and branding for Penn State football. "We want them having that experience," he said, "because it brings them closer to the university."

In the five years of the men's camp, a five-day affair priced at $4,990, participants have pledged $1.2-million in scholarships to the team, said Mr. D'Elia. Each event generates about $10,000 for the athletics department.

The women are awaiting next year's camp, but first, fall: tailgating with their new teammates and watching plays they have run themselves.

For now, they're still reeling. Dee Dellert, 40, went back to her phys-ed classes at Matawan Regional High School, in New Jersey, and showed students pictures of herself playing quarterback. Lea Asbell-Swanger, 50, assistant director of Penn State's Center for the Performing Arts, had knocked down a pass during the game, and her husband, Terry, couldn't stop talking about it.

He called her father. He told neighbors at his sister's yard sale. The next time Lea and Terry went to their regular coffee shop, the cooks came out of the kitchen. They wanted to hear the story, too.