It was around the middle of the third quarter that I realized the man sitting seven rows behind me in Neyland Stadium was no ordinary Vols fan. Picture the average cast member from HBO's Deadwood, then cross him with whatever comes to mind when you listen to Bob Dylan's version of "Moonshiner." Throw in some shockingly loud bellowing and you've got the general idea. Beginning in the first quarter but picking up steam as the night grew colder, this guy had a cross word for everyone. From Tennessee quarterback Jonathan Crompton ("How about some more picks, Johnny!"), to Steve Spurrier ("What now, Steve! What now!"), to an injured Gamecock fallen at midfield ("Get up, you p---y!"), no one was safe. And the voice! I tell you, UT's marching band would have been happy with its resonance.
It's safe to say, then, that my trip to east Tennessee was a successful one. A study in contrasts, Knoxville combines the remnants of pre-war industry with stunning foliage and a topography reminiscent at times of San Francisco's. Neyland itself sits right against the Tennessee River--Vols fans lean over the middle deck railings at halftime and sneak cigarettes--and between the factories in the distance and the boats moving upstream, I had myself convinced that it was 1900. The university's academic reputation is not what it should be, of course, but what other walk from downtown to a college stadium involves passing a statue of Sergei Rachmaninoff? That's got to count for something, right?
As for the game, I'm here to attest that your father's Steve Spurrier is no longer operational. "I'll be damned if I waste a scholarship on a kicker" has given way to "I'll be damned if I waste one on a non-slot receiver." Fun 'n' Gun has turned into Run 'n' Run . . . up the middle for no gain, and if I never see another three-yard dump over the middle on third and six, it'll be too soon. Even Vols fans, still smarting from the whole "You can't spell Citrus without UT" thing, seemed largely bored with the ol' ball coach, and the conversation in my section hinged more on Urban Meyer's inevitable odyssey to Notre Dame than on anything Spurrier was doing. A traditionalist and a holder of long grudges, I'll admit to being a little bit disappointed.
Still, you can't beat SEC football on a Saturday night. Neyland was shaking (literally and frighteningly), the band was on fire, and Tennessee's Halloween-themed uniforms had us giggling for most of the evening. All things considered, I defy you to tell me that Jacksonville was a better time.
-GM
GM,
It was a better time by typical young-adult standards--certainly not by ours. Your experience was the kind that leads to fond memories and clever blogging. Mine was the kind that leads to memory loss, credit-card loss, bank-account dwindling, cell-phone breakage, personal injury, shorter life expectancy, and perhaps unflattering new nicknames among peers. The crowd I run with these days is an intense one, and it's serious about "having a good time." I feel much too old to act so irresponsible, and I'm well below the average age! I knew I was in for a rough ride when I woke up at 9:30 the first morning to go for a run on the beach and was severely scolded by everyone for not already having a drink in my hand.
Truth be told, a larger portion of the "World's Largest Outdoor Cocktail Party" happens in St. Simons Island, Georgia in the days surrounding the football game. UGA is actually given a one-day Fall Break the Friday before the game, so the typical formula includes cutting Thursday classes to make it down in time for three straight nights of activities that would make Jim Belushi's Animal House character blush. St. Simons serves as the UGA embassy; the entire campus has essentially been transported there for the weekend. What strikes me as amazing is the inability of some (my friends) to take advantage of the new setting.
Beach? Check.
Girls? Everywhere.
Alcohol? More than we could finish.
Weather? Gorgeous.
Condo security deposit? Decidedly insecure.
Somehow, the idea of paying for a cab to take us to some bars two miles off the coast won out. Overwhelmingly. Each night. From what I recall, Florida remains undefeated.
-JW
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