I’ve seen a lot of amazing things in Neyland Stadium. One of them, I saw last night, at the most unlikely time.
The announced crowd in Neyland for the LSU game was over 96,000. There’s no way there were actually that many bodies in seats. I had four tickets and used only one. The season ticket holder to my left had two and was alone as well. It was one of those games where you could actually stretch out a little instead of feeling like you’re in a clown car with 102,455.
It’s no wonder. The forecast called for cold temperatures, high wind, rain, and little to no chance of a win. On the drive in, hosts of the official pre-game radio shows asked colleagues on at least two occasions what the Vols could do to win the game, and the answer was actual dead air. The co-hosts eventually came up with something to say in response to the questions, but it was obvious from the tone with which those answers were delivered that no one actually believed any of it would matter. Even the one former player I heard pick the Vols couldn’t come up with a game plan to make it happen.
The lack of hope on Rocky Top was at an all-time high, and for the privilege of watching a hopeless game, fans would have to sit in terrible weather all night long.
And yet, there was, in fact, still a huge crowd. Jimmy Hyams estimated that the actual attendance was more like 70,000, which sounds about right to me. They were into it, too, especially when the Vols’ defense forced two three-and-outs and held LSU to a field goal despite the first of two muffed punts giving them starting field position at the 15-yard line. And when Tennessee’s offense started actually moving the ball and tied the game with its own field goal in the wind, the crowd cheered even more.
They were not even deterred when the Vols muffed a punt the second time and gave LSU the ball inside the 20, or when the Tigers turned it into a touchdown this time. The defense was doing its part. The offense was showing life. The team went into the locker room at the half down only 17-10 despite essentially giving away 10 points.
And that was when the most amazing thing happened.
The temperature dropped. The rain and the wind increased. Much of the crowd headed for the shelter of the concourse. Those who remained in the stands had as much trouble catching the wind-swept sound waves from the Chris Blue halftime show as the punt returners had had catching punts.
And then BOOM!
Half of the lights in the stadium lost power. At the same time, the wind seemed to double in strength, and it was raging in every direction at once. Into this tempest, the heavens dumped abominable amounts of rain, which the angry wind caught and made fly, sending it sideways and skyward again for another round.
Pelted by the rain and the wind, the 25,000 or so people still in the stands began to rise to their feet one by one. The team hadn’t even come back onto the field yet, but the crowd began cheering in defiance of the elements. Bring it on! We’re still here.
Just moments later, the players began to emerge from the tunnel, and they didn’t just halfheartedly jog onto the field, either. No, they sprinted and skipped and jumped Into the half-lit maelstrom with their arms raised in the air in triumph. Is that all you got? We’re still here.
With even nature turned against them now, there they remained, a team and its fans, taking it on the chin together from every angle imaginable and somehow still upright, still smiling, still frustrating all attempts to rob them of their resolve.
It didn’t matter that they were teetering on the precipice of the worst season this proud program has ever seen.
It didn’t matter that all hope for the season had been lost weeks ago.
It did not matter that they’d given their all for no reward, over and over and over and over again.
They endured. Still there, still curling a finger to beckon The Opponent to come at them again because now they had seen it all and survived. They were still there.
At rock bottom, with half power, during a raging storm. In another game that they would eventually lose.
No matter.
The heart of Tennessee Football had been battered, beaten, bruised, and finally cast off the cliff into the abyss.
And there they discovered that despite it all, they were alive and well, even at the bottom of everything.
Go Vols.
The view from my seat at the beginning of the second half.
