Exorcism at Steve Spurrier Field: Part Two

Somehow I had brought unspeakable evil back from Las Vegas with me. The consequences of its possession of eastern Tennessee football weren't pretty. Testosterone levels among Tennessean males fell to an all-time low. A depression epidemic was a real possibility. God knows what the effects of the prior 24 hours would have on opioid use. On the other hand, of course, the University of Tennessee had chosen a fine time to begin selling alcohol in Neyland Stadium. Perhaps the Vols' administration had a hand in summoning Pazuzu. To many Volunteer football fans, that didn't seem terribly farfetched, and it would explain much about the athletic director's office.

I considered what I should do. An exorcism seemed to be in order. But where? And how? And by whom?

I couldn't get through to the Vatican. I don't speak Italian, and the Vatican switchboard didn't seem to take my report of a Football Pazuzu seriously. But I couldn't sit idly by while football in eastern Tennessee was corrupted forever. Although I felt uncredentialled, someone had to do something, and that someone, to paraphrase Travis Bickle, was me. Despite my clergy license plate, which I utilize during Biker Week in Daytona Beach so nobody parks me in, I am not ordained. I do, however, own copies of Demonolatry and Malleus Malleficarum, which were used to identify, convict, and exorcize witches during the Inquisition. The only additional required text was The Rite of Exorcism (Roman Ritual), which one can surprisingly pick up from Target for $22.99 with same-day delivery.

Next I had to figure out the where. Where in eastern Tennessee could football karma be so bad, so horrifically evil, that a maleficent demon would hunker down as if at a Holiday Inn? Then it hit me. The Science Hill football team plays at a home field named for Johnson City native, Steve Spurrier. Spurrier was notorious for all manner of running up the score when he coached at Florida. He routinely threw deep with massive fourth-quarter leads, causing much weeping, gnashing of teeth, and four-letter words that could lead to damnation. More importantly, he often said that "You can't spell Citrus without UT," a reference to how his Gators consistently sealed off the Sugar Bowl from Tennessee football teams and relegated the Vols to the Citrus. If the Football Pazuzu demon felt at home anywhere in eastern Tennessee, it would be Steve Spurrier Field.

The next evening, after procuring The Roman Ritual from Target, I arrived at Steve Spurrier Field at 9 PM. I entered the iron gates while carrying Demonolatry, Malleus Malleficarum, The Roman Ritual, and a life-sized rubber model of a human heart, in case any sacrifices or trades would be required. As I stepped onto the artificial turf field, I was shocked to find that I wasn't alone. Despite my legendary IQ and insightful brilliance, others had figured out the location of Football Pazuzu more quickly than me. Others who devoted their lives to strange beliefs and who were trying to control the demon for their own devious and selfish ends.

I was too late to stop them. I would have to cut a deal.


A week later, most things had returned to normal in eastern Tennessee. The Science Hill High football team played a team from Knoxville called Hardin Valley Academy. Science Hill prevailed 52-14. The ETSU Buccaneers, a 2018 FCS playoff team, went up against something called Shorter, which had lost 29 consecutive games. The Bucs won easily, 48-10. And finally, on Saturday in Knoxville, the Tennessee Volunteers hosted Brigham Young. The Vols, holding a 16-13 lead, gave up a 64-yard pass with 20 seconds left, which allowed BYU to kick the tying field goal as time expired. In overtime, a BYU team that had been pushed around all day played like a team possessed. They muscled in a rugby-scrum off tackle play for a touchdown to pull the 29-26 upset. As Brigham Young celebrated in Knoxville, 90 miles away I heard a deep mournful wail. I couldn't tell if it was the plaintive howling of Tennessee's hound mascot or the cumulative crescendo of Vols' souls in pain. It carried on the wind and drowned out everything else in eastern Tennessee.

Why had Football Pazuzu's curse been lifted from Science Hill and ETSU, but not the University of Tennessee? Well, as I said, I had to cut a deal with those mysterious folks at Steve Spurrier Field. They had already begun their own ritual, and the best I could do was bargain with them as to which locales would be free of the demon. They were, as it turned out, Mormons. Rocky Top could not be spared.


Postscript:  A friend of mine was hiking in Colorado at the exact moment BYU punched in its winning score against Tennessee. He swore he felt a rush of wind and heard a loud wailing somewhere overhead. My deal, you see, was that the Mormons take Football Pazuzu with them to do with as they pleased, with my insistence that the demon stay west of the Rockies. National championship teams, after all, do not live west of the Rockies, so how much damage can the demon do? The Mormons, I've heard, made their own bargains with Football Pazuzu in the days that followed. If BYU somehow goes unbeaten at home the rest of the season, we'll know the true power of the football demon. And if they win as underdogs in overtime again, well, sometimes it pays to have the devil in your corner.