I grew up in
Tennessee, land of gaudy white and orange conversion vans, trucks, boats,
flags, Christmas lights, and on and on. This is Vols country. That’s for “Volunteers,”
the state nickname and the University of Tennessee sports teams. Tennesseans
earned that particular moniker by volunteering to go found Texas (something I
*love* to tell Texans with particularly big egos). Orange and white are the
schools colors.
When I ran
for a law firm, the male attorneys were always very particular about the ties
they wore when they were appearing in court. They had some classy ties and
would spend a good amount of time picking out the “right” one to wear to court.
Except of
game day, when they wore the most awful, screamingly hideous orange ties you
have ever (hopefully not) laid eyes on.
This was SEC
country, where football is near ‘bout the most serious business there is.
But unless
the Vols ever play the Bears, today brings the most serious sports-related
dilemma I will face as a Southerner in Chicagoland. Notre Dame is playing
Alabama tonight. The Fighting Irish vs. the Crimson Tide (the team names have
always made me wonder which institution actually has the more religious roots –
I think I’d hazard a bet that more Alabama than Notre Dame alumni actually
attend church each week).
Don’t
misunderstand, I don’t really follow football. I can count the number of
complete football games I’ve watched without using all my fingers. I go to
Super Bowl parties for the food and the commercials.
 |
| Knute and the Gipper |
But I can
still remember watching Knute Rockne, All American on my grandmother’s little black and white
bedroom television - "Win one for the Gipper!" And I got the message – Notre Dame football was something
special. There was something quintessentially American about it. Even as
a kid, I loved the historical and sentimental resonance. And when I heard the Dallas
Cowboys referred to as “America’s Team,” I knew that was just hype. America’s
team was always really going to be Notre Dame.
That conviction followed from a
somewhat-uniquely Southern bias – professional sports don’t really count. It’s
college sports that really count (and to an only sometimes lesser extent, high
school). Whether it was basketball in North Carolina or football in Tennessee,
there was never any question what really mattered.
Growing up in Tennessee, the SEC is our
royalty. I don’t watch football, and even I got excited when I recognized that
stream of coaches in Blindside. Nobody had to tell me it was really them.
Chattanooga sits right on the Tennessee-Georgia-Alabama state lines, so even
though we were in Vols-country, I knew those rivalries. Particular the one with
Bama.
And one thing living up North has taught me
is that rivals have kinship, particularly when you’re surrounded by people who
don’t really get what the big deal is.
So here’s my dilemma, do I side with my Tennessee
friends and root for Notre Dame? Or do I side with the South and root for the
Tide (that’ll be a first)?
As an aside, I only wish “Go, Vols!” had the
kind of cultural weight and linguistic flexibility that “Roll Tide!” has. “Roll Tide” is an appropriate response in near
any situation.
Greeting your neighbor as you get in your
car to head to work in the morning:
“Roll Tide!”
Translation: “Morning! Have a good day!”
On hearing a friend has just lost his job:
“Oh, man! Roll Tide.”
Translation: “That’s bad, but you’re gonna
beat it.”
On the successful completion of a marathon:
“ROLL TIDE!!!!”
Translation: “Alright!!!! You did it!!!!”
On hearing the news that grandpa just died:
“Roll Tide.”
Translation: “He lived a good life and we’ll
sure miss him.”
And so on…
No comments:
Post a Comment