A Pretty Good Weekend When All Was Said and Done
But I get the feeling I am forgetting something... (part one of two)
So, here’s Thing One: Indiana was beaten…convincingly.
Now, a national pundit tried to spin it by saying that the loss wasn’t that bad because “if you took out the two plays on Indiana’s Special Teams, it would have been two touchdowns closer.”
Uh huh.
Last time I checked, Special Teams play is part of the game.
I watched part of that noon game at Tobacco Road in Durham, while eating white pepper jack grits. Amazing stuff. Oh, and the grits were really good, too.
I believe my indigestion came from the first of two unbelievables: that on account of last week’s College Football Playoff rankings—and Indiana’s ridiculously inflated place in them—I was forced to cheer for THE Ohio State University who, obligingly, laid the above described lumber to Indiana.
But… can I just say… OSU’s mascot should NOT be named Brutus. It should be Bucky, you know, because they are the Buckeyes. Only, Bucky is the mascot for Minnesota. The Gophers. The Golden Gophers, at that. Really?
Why don’t they just trade? Straight up: Bucky the Buckeye and Brutus the Golden Gopher? After all, whoever heard of an actual buckeye with the name of a Latin assassin, or a gopher of any color who might be confused with a weird gas station… oh, never mind.
Here is Thing Two: Alabama got clobbered… mollywhopped… snot-bubbled… embarrassingly embarrassed by Oklahoma. (When do you kill a Red Elephant? Sooner rather than later. Get it? Sooner?)
The Tide went all the way from Tuscaloosa to Norman (705 miles each way) in order to score three points, on one FG. By that time, I was back on my son’s couch watching both the trainwreck, and the live YouTube reaction of a grim-faced Bama fan named Kangaroo Black (I encourage you to look him up. He’s hilarious.) Now, earlier in the afternoon, he had been all smiles and giggles at the latest travails of Lane Whiffin’ and the Boys from the Grove; by Saturday night, he was, literally, playing the blues on a badly tuned guitar (don’t look him up for that). In any case, he said out loud what I had thought to myself: that the entire Alabama team deserved to be left on the tarmac before the flight back home (as Lane had been just before he was fired at USC).
(As an aside, I can only imagine that those viral crimson-necks who love to say they “don’t give a p**s ’bout nothing but the Tide, baby,” were red- and otherwise faced by game’s end and and wishing they did give a, you know, about something else ’sides the Tide. Baby.)
Speaking of things, Thing Three: Florida slapped Ole Miss and Jackson Dart so hard that the star quarterback cried on his coach’s lap. (I can sympathize, but that is not a good look). Pacing the sidelines when JD threw his third pick (Jackson was not, you know, throwing darts), Lane looked a little green, like he might get sick. Maybe it was a reflection of Swamp moss.
Elsewhere, James Franklin’s (What in the World are) Nittany Lions (?) nearly GAGGED at Maryland. Go, Terps!
Colorado and Coach Prime DID gag at Kansas. Oh, and that guy appearing to push the ref? Please. What we saw was an out-of-context clip of a Colorado quarterback who saw the ref choking another call and tried to save him by administering the Heimlich.
Auburn Won, Lost, then Won again at home against Texas A&M.
Put another way, the Aggies Lost, then Won, then Lost again at Jordan-Hare in the fourth overtime, when, on a two-point pass, a guy whose only job is to catch the ball, didn’t. At which point J-H’s field disappeared under a flood of Plainsmen, Tigers, War Eagles. Or something.
I am not complaining about any of this—well, except for the second unbelievable. In short, Tennessee’s loss last week to Georgia left the Vols with an urgent need for a kidney; that is, outside help in their quest for the College Football Playoffs. Our best hope was for Florida to beat Ole Miss at the Swamp. Unlikely, but I had to believe it was possible. So, for the first time in my life—and, please God, make it also the last—I both rooted for the Gators and, worse—right out there in front of God and everybody—I did the Gator Chomp!
Which may not have felt so bad if I had done it in the privacy of my own home (I could have told myself I was practicing with the Jaws of Life).
Instead, I was in the company of my son’s groomsmen, all but one of whom were from and therefore cheering-on Texas against Bob Stoops’ hapless Kentucky Mildcats. My hope remains that, as they are as yet unfamiliar with the long-standing existential hatred between Tennessee and Florida’s fan bases, they were also oblivious to the sickening irony of an old Vol fan debasing himself in such a way. Further, that since most of them did/do not know me, they will have little reason to remember my shame.
Naturally, the one groomsman who does know me is a Florida grad. He will never forget what he saw. He will never let me forget what I did.
And yes, desperate times call for desperate measures—just as common enemies are new best friends—but I earnestly hope that that whole dynamic is never again repeated. There is little comfort in knowing I did not chomp alone.
(“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned…”
“Do 5000 Hail Mary’s, 10000 Our Father’s, then crawl on your knees to Knoxville and light 870 candles at the statue of General Neyland, one for each of UT’s total victories. Go in peace.”)
Almost beside the point, somewhere in the midst of all the other—what else am I forgetting?—after a slow first quarter Tennessee easily won its own game. We are now on the verge of our third 10-win season in our coach’s four years. Which is HUGE, given our storied but here-lately-a-dumpster-fire history…but that does not keep petulant nega-Vols (rivaling the p**s-giving wackos from Bama) from calling for our coach’s head on a platter.
Why? Because our 9 (soon to be 10, plus a top-10 ranking and a presumptive post-season) were not impressive enough. Meanwhile, our two losses (one to a top-five Georgia) were “ugly.” Oh, and the fact our red-shirt freshman quarterback is not yet Dune Messiah.
But: good news: If the football Vols beat Vanderbilt on Saturday, we are a near-lock to be in the CFP. The bad news is that we may not. Win, I mean. Vandy, a) is pretty good; and, b) would love to spoil our party. An unrelated c) is that it would be the MOST TENNESSEE THING EVER if, after our winning-out in Knoxville, and every one of those teams we needed them to lose, LOSING—we were tied to an anchor, as it were, in Nashville.
Seems like there was something else on the weekend I wanted to celebrate…
Oh, oh, oh! The BasketVols won a pre-holiday tournament in the Bahamas. Listened to that Friday night. Good News! Only, bad news: they also lost a good post player for the season to a foot injury and surgery. Was that the other thing?
I don’t think I am thinking about the Lady BasketVols, who are unranked but also undefeated—unlike Dawn Staley’s crew at South Cackalacky who, admittedly, have played tougher non-conference opposition.
So, a good weekend on Rocky Top, when all was said and done.
But is what I have said all that was done?
I keep thinking there was something else… you know, something important… something that stood out… even on a fall football (and almost basketball) weekend. Something that was unique, original, unrepeatable… and maybe all those things, all at once.
Unless it were none of those things, not precisely: neither unique, nor original, or unrepeatable.
A miracle, yes, but a common everyday miracle, you know? Like the birth of a baby.
Seems like it had something to do with… liquid nitrogen margaritas, was it? With flattened pennies…with promises, pledges and a part of a poem. And this old bald guy who went on about a sloth, and butterfly eggs, and ommatidia…
GRRRRR! It’s right there on the tip of my brain…
(Next time: NOW I remember!)