Maybe it’s because I’ve been reading a lot of work by or about Willie Morris lately, I honestly don’t know. But there was something about sitting in Central Park’s Great Lawn on the Saturday of Memorial Day weekend, with the sun shining on us, completely alone in a city of twenty million. The Girl and I lay on our Ole Miss blanket, her snacking and people watching, my head in her lap as I read Larry L. King’s words about Willie, that helped me to understand even more the man’s motivation in his actions, his concern over the complications of being a southern expatriate, and his desire, and eventually his will, to go home again.

I think that the reasons that I’ve become so wrapped up with the works of Willie Morris over the past few years are the same reasons that most people follow the careers of great writers. Aside from the obvious entertainment value derived from reading quality works of literature, the work of certain great writers help us to define in a way who we are, by describing who they are; putting into words the emotions and realizations of shared circumstance, albeit decades apart. No one who has grown up in the south and eventually moved away can read from or about Willie Morris and not be struck by at least a passing familiarity to their own situations.

One difference between Willie and I stands out glaringly to me, however, and brings me to my eventual point. Willie Morris, for the majority of his adult life, struggled to find a loving soul to play counterpoint to his. Once he found his soul’s match in JoAnne Prichard Morris he was finally complete as a writer, and a man. The difference between Willie and I is that I have had the world’s luck in finding my counterpoint some two-odd decades earlier than he, and as I sat in Central Park on that sunny Saturday and contemplated such things, I was happy in the thoughts that the Good Old Boy would have loved The Girl.

Allison, you truly are my counterpoint. In much the same way that you allow me to be your advisor, you are my inspiration. I strive, every day, to become the man that I should be, for you. You keep me focused, and grounded, and still allow me to have my fun, as all boys will sometimes. You have saved my life, and I can no longer imagine it without you.

I love you.

So, as I made mention of in my SEC Picks last week, I made the trip down to Knoxville this past weekend to take in the sights and sounds surrounding the Ole Miss-Tennessee game. I didn’t tell many people that I was going (including, apparently, some of the people that I was meeting), but I decided to at the last minute, because I’d never been to Knoxville before, and after hearing so many things about the game day atmosphere I was fairly excited about seeing it for myself. Since returning, I’ve decided to grade the town and the school based on my weekend experience. I also realized that, despite my love for all things SEC football, I really haven’t been to all that many SEC stadiums (about half) so hopefully as I visit more I’ll be able to grade them as well, and I’ll get a better idea of how they all stack up. Let’s start from the beginning.

Proximity to D.C.

Part of what made this trip so attractive to me was the distance from my home. For sure, Knoxville is not just a hop, skip and jump from our nation’s capital, but considering that I have to fly to most all games that I go to, being able to drive was something that I thought would be a nice change of pace, and a bit of a money saver. However, a six and a half to seven hour drive, while definitely doable, is not really optimal out of Friday evening D.C. traffic and some of the most redneck, hillbilly highways and interstates this side of the movie Deliverance. It took me an hour and a half to drive the first 20 miles on Friday night, and at one point I was afraid to stop for gas for fear of having to interact with the locals. Just to put that in perspective, I’ve stopped at gas stations in southeast D.C. well after midnight without thinking twice. At least when I go to Oxford, or Baton Rouge, or wherever else, I know I’ll have to fly. Knoxville just teases you with it’s drivability, and then smacks you in the face if you actually try it.

Proximity to D.C. grade - D

Tailgating

I was shocked on Saturday morning as we walked around, and tailgating was virtually non-existent, and those that were tailgating, were doing it poorly, in parking garages, or, horror of horrors, on their tailgates. Tailgating doesn’t have to have happen in big grassy areas like the grove, or with chandeliers and fine china, like so many people seem to think happens with regularity at Ole Miss, but some effort has to be put in. I think the layout of the campus around the stadium has something to do with it, but no grills, no central congregation of people, and effort at all gets no passing grade for Vol tailgating.

Tailgating grade - F

Atmosphere

The atmosphere before the game, even with the lack of tailgating, wasn’t terrible. There were quite a few people up early and milling around outside the stadium. We made our way to the Volunteer Grill, which sits behind Neyland on the river. I was once again shocked that the Vol Navy, which I had heard so much about, consisted of about seven or eight boats, with only one or two containing any visible signs of life, in the form of orange clad tailgaters. The Vol Grill though, was quite nice, with a towering view of the stadium, and an outside bar packed with at least as many Ole Miss fans as Volunteers.

Atmosphere grade - C-

Fans

Are there sororities at the University of Tennessee? Or salads? Because if the answer to either of those questions is yes, then you could have fooled me. I see as many beautiful women walking from my car to the Grove at Ole Miss as I saw the whole day in Knoxville. And I’ve never seen so few good looking lady folks and so many bald, fat sleeveless T-shirt wearing old men in all my life. With that said, there weren’t all that many rude Vol fans, even though the ones that were tring to be ‘nice’ did so in such a way as to come off as condescending. Note to Vol fan: We don’t care what you think about David Cutcliffe, and we’re tired of explaining why he was fired. So shut up.

Fans grade - C-

Stadium

When people told me that Neyland Stadium held 105,000+, I thought that they meant that there were 105,000+ seats, not that there were 75,000 seats that they fit 105,000+ people into. However, other than my knees bumping into the person in front of me, and someone else’s knees bumping into my back for three hours, the stadium was pretty cool. The sound system was good, and the people that run the video showed a pretty impressive series of clips with Reggie White, who was being honored, and of highlights of the Vols previous weeks game against the Tigahs.

Stadium grade - C+

Band

Best part of the day in my opinion. Watching the team run out through the big T was pretty cool, and Tennessee’s band is absolutely enormous. They also played ‘Forward Rebels’ before the game, which wasn’t really suprising, as I knew that they played the opponents’ fight song before every game, but it was cool nonetheless. Also, in the second half, the band moved from section to section in the upper deck, playing right in front of the fans, which was very cool. The only gripe? They apparently didn’t have enough time to learn a second song. Either that, or they just knew that the UT fans weren’t smart enough to learn the words to a second song.

Band grade - B

Nightlife

Not bad. The bars aren’t as good as Oxford, but there are a lot more of them. One question though, for not one, but TWO of the bars on the strip. If you’re going to open a drinking establishment on the most popular strip in Knoxville, what makes you think that make it a cash only bar, and serving only beer, and in one case, only three types of beer, is a good idea?

Nightlife grade - B

Overall

Overall, not a bad weekend. But some publication ranked SEC roadtrips a few weeks back, and put Tennessee, at the top of the list, and I’m just not seeing it. There are, at minimum, three places I can think of that I’d rather go, and remember, I’ve only been to half of the SEC venues.

Overall grade - C-

Oh yeah, pictures can be found right here.

So what do you do if on an overcast Sunday afternoon, if the college football team you follow has just lost its second straight game to what you consider a ‘lesser’ team, and the pro football team that you follow isn’t on television in your area? Do you lay around the house, moping because things aren’t going your teams’ way, spending the whole day in a daze, getting absolutely nothing done, and feeling sorry for yourself? No you don’t. You get your ass up, get on the Metro and take yourself down to RFK stadium, where you watch the Nationals and the Mets play a meaningless late season game. And you do this in great seats. Seats that are so close that you can hear conversations in the home team’s dugout. Seats so close because they are the season tickets of James Carville and Mary Matalin, that your friends lucked into. Seats that are so close, they allow you to take pictures like this…

(See the entire album of pictures here)

“Ray, people will come Ray. They’ll come to Iowa for reasons they can’t even fathom. They’ll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they’re doing it. They’ll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won’t mind if you look around, you’ll say. It’s only $20 per person. They’ll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they’ll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They’ll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they’ll watch the game and it’ll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they’ll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it’s a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh… people will come Ray. People will most definitely come.”

This is possibly the best movie quote of all time. It’s definitely top five. When Terrance Mann waxes poetic about what baseball means to us as a country, it gives me chills, because I don’t think it could be said better. Baseball is an american institution. As time marches on, baseball stays the same. The same 60 feet and six inches from the mound to the plate. The same 90 feet from the plate to first. And the same feeling each spring in our heads and our hearts, as the boys of summer take to the field, reviving memories from our childhoods, as well as reminding us what it was like to play a game for the love of it. For the purity of it. I have baseball fever again.

I’ll wake up this morning, and like most people, I’ll go to work, like it was any other day of the year. Brad Gaines’ day will be a little bit different though. Brad won’t be going in to work today. No, he’ll still be up with the sun though, packing his pickup truck with cleaning supplies and starting off on a trip that’s he’s made so often before. It’s not something that he has to do, but rather something that he does out of desire. The trip is a long and lonely one, but he knows that he has a kindred spirit waiting at the end of the line.

Fourteen years ago today, Chucky Mullins passed away in a hospital in Memphis, Tennessee. He died of complications from the paralysis that occured on October 28, 1989, in a game against Vanderbilt University. On the fateful play that would end his college football career, and eventually his life, he fell to the ground after making a crushing hit on Gaines. Mullins became a rallying point for his Rebel teammates and the Ole Miss fans for the remainder of the season, inspiring the battle cry ‘It’s Time’, and visiting an emotional Rebel locker room before the team’s Liberty Bowl victory over Air Force to end the 1989 season.

The trip to Russelville, Alabama takes Brad Gaines about three hours. When he gets to the small cemetary, he walks to the back, along the brush line, looking ahead until he’s standing in front of the granite stone that he’s visited three times a year, every year, for fourteen years. On the anniversary of the Ole Miss - Vanderbilt game, on Christmas, and on this day, the anniversary of Chucky’s death, Brad visits and cleans Chucky’s stone, in order to continue a connection and a friendship borne out of tragedy.

I’ve had to pause three times while writing this; once while watching the SportsCenter piece that inspired it, and twice while doing research; to compose myself. I don’t think that any Ole Miss fan can truly express what it means to remember Chucky, but I’ll try. To see someone come from so little and to make so much of their life and the opportunities that they were given, as well as to show such strength and inner peace in the face of such a life altering tragedy inspires me, and I’m sure many others, to strive for the same traits in our own lives. And to see the Ole Miss family rally around one of their own in their time of ultimate need makes me proud to be associated with The University of Mississippi, and all of the history, good and bad, that comes with it.

I’m not an overly religious person, but if you’re reading this, and if you think about Brad Gaines today, say a little prayer for him, as he goes to rekindle a special relationship with an old friend. And if you want, say a little prayer for Chucky, too. A prayer for his life, a prayer for his peace in death, and a prayer for the inspiration that he still brings to so many people, so many years later.

Well, early on in this 2005 Major League Baseball season, one thing is certain. The Washington Nationals are one team that most definitely knows how to make an entrance. Last week when they opened their season in Philly with a three game set, the bats came out hot, and the relief pitching saved the day as they took two of three from their division rivals. Tonight, after a week and a half on the road, they made their capital city debut as they took on the Diamondbacks at RFK Stadium.

The night was electric. That’s what I heard at least, I didn’t go. Hell, I couldn’t have gone if I had wanted to, as tickets for the opening match were going for around $250 a pop. It’s been a long time for baseball in the D.C. area, and the folks around here were apparently willing to pay handsomely to see it. It dominated the airwaves on my ride home from work, and it was all over the television when I got back home.

And for good reason. The Nats gave the people of D.C. and opening night to remember, as Livan Hernandez took a 1-hitter into the 9th inning and Vinny Castilla was a single away from hitting for the cycle, which would have been the second time in as many weeks that a National had done that, as Brad Wilkerson did it in the opening series last week.

Another thing is for sure. Washingtonians can make any even larger than life. They bring a mix of nostalgia and modern day hoopla to the major events that happen in the city that is unparralleled anywhere. Dubya resumed what used to be an annual tradition by throwing out the first pitch. Charlie Brotman, the 77-year-old public address announcer who called Senators games before they left for Texas, took his place back in front of the microphone, and proclaimed, “Baseball is back, and happy days are here again!” There was an F-16 flyover, there were fireworks, and there was a general excitement in the air that is usually reserved for Redskins games and political rallies.

I know the pull of the game has already gotten to me. I was able to swing tickets from a friend, and I’ll be in left field on Monday night, as the Nats take on the Florida Marlins. If you have a chance, make sure and watch for me, I’ll be standing next to the guy that’s holding a sign proclaiming, “You’ve Been Nationalized!”