Confessions Part 2

For reasons not entirely explainable, I woke up one November my last year of high school and in a snap decided to attend the University of Tennessee. My resolve to never support football in any way was weaker than my desire to get out of the city I had lived in my entire life. I scrambled to get my application together, was accepted (of course), and moved into the dorms one week before my seventeenth birthday.

Contrary to popular belief, there is a lot more to Knoxville than Neyland Stadium. I explored the many academic clubs and cultural offering throughout campus, happily oblivious to the fact in a few short weeks the entire town would come down with Orange Fever.

The week of September 1st, the students started getting antsy. My classmates told me I had to go to at least one game. “It’s something you just have to do,” I was told. I could tell they would not let up until I did, so I decided to go to the season opener against Syracuse, first making sure I had a full inoculation to the frenzy. All I remember from that game is standing rock still amongst a mass of crazed, jumping orange, and the guy next to me (who was uber cute and I was totally crushing on and was really the only reason I had gone) asking, “Why aren’t you cheering?” “Because I have no idea what’s going on!” I replied.

There. I’d gone to Neyland Stadium. I still hated football. Take that world.

The next week was an away game against Arkansas. I chose to go see “The Rainmaker” starring Dale Dickey and David Keith, the closest UT has to famous theatre alums. Except I saw Keith’s understudy because-- straight up, honest-to-God truth-- Keith has written into his contract when he does shows in town, he gets Saturdays off so he can watch the game. File that away for future reference: a professional actor declines the chance to perform on the theatre’s most hopping night so he can watch his college ball team.

Anyway, I enjoyed the show and walked back to the dorm fully intending to start working on an English paper (ah, that first month when I tried to be a responsible student). But everyone was gathered in the lobby, huddled around a small television watching the game. I rolled my eyes at myself, but plunked down on the floor anyway. After all, college is a time to expand your horizons and meet people. I didn’t want to start the year off being the recluse at the end of the hall.

A funny thing happened. Though I’d anticipated learning more about my floormates and perhaps making fun of our overly-serious English professor, I actually paid attention to what was on screen. With the aid of the yellow line, the commentators, and my peers, I started learning the fundamentals of the game. Their excitement really was contagious. By the end of the night, I at least knew a first down from a touchdown, and couldn’t wait to learn more.

I watched the next game on tv with the floormates, and made it back to the stadium for our fourth game. There were times when I was had no idea what was going on. I missed having a play by play and commentary, and I absolutely could not tell first downs without the yellow line. I didn’t understand half the penalties called. But I understood when to get excited, and I played that to the hilt. It was a close game, and it looked like the Vols would fall short. With thirty seconds to go, Casey Clausen threw a TD pass, putting Tennessee up 24-19.
We went crazy. I experienced my first temporary hearing loss due to the exuberant roaring. I high fived and hugged complete strangers. It had been an intense, exhausting game. All that was left was a punt and maybe a meaningless snap or two.

Unfortunately, no one told Georgia that. I will never forget the weight of 100,000 sorrows as the punt returner ran into the end zone. Final score: UT 24, UGA 26. In less than a minute I had felt the most elated happiness and the most crushing sadness.

That loss hurt, but I was hooked. There was some regret that I could have been having these glorious experiences my entire life, but mostly I was freaking excited at my discovery. I couldn’t wait to call up my family after every game to rehash what happened. I had Dad give me explicit lessons in the fundamentals and strategies. I watched all day Saturday, and even resorted to viewing the NFL on Sundays to really get the game down.

I quickly learned football is way more than knowing the rules in the ref’s books. I needed to keep up with where Tennessee stood in the rankings so I could figure out who needed to win and lose to help us out. I needed to scope out future competition to know what we were up against. I needed to read the practice and injury reports and get some league history lessons to navigate the dramatic who’s who of coaching.

I’ve come a long way since then and fancy myself an expert in college ball. To estimate conservatively, I’ve logged 2000 hours of games in the past eight seasons. And every game I still feel that same excitement I did during that heartbreaking Georgia game in 2001. No other activity has ever kept me as constantly and consistently jazzed.

You may find it corny, but I’ll flat out say: football has made me a better person. I’m less judgmental, more connected, and even a little bit smarter. Stay tuned for details.