"Bad Vols, Bad Vols. Whatcha gonna do when they throw at you?"
The year was 1971.
Harry sat there, slowly filling an empty dish detergent bottle with pebbles, one small rock at a time. We were at the edge of town, on a chunk of land overlooking a state road cutting through a piece of the mountain. As members of a small town juvenile gang, our little group of 14-year-olds was expert at creating an armamentarium to drop on cars traversing the road below. I didn't have a very good arm, so I stuck to basics -- tomatoes stolen from gardens, Tiny Tarts candies, and eggs. Others of our group used more exotics, like Sugar Babies, apples, or the occasional expired quart of milk.
Harry, however, had his strange hobby. He collected his household's empty dish detergent bottles and filled them with pebbles. He was very precise and workmanlike about it. He wanted those bottles weighted just right for throwing purposes. Today, we'd call his hobby "psychotic" and possibly "obsessive compulsive." Back then, I thought it was a little bit disturbing. But I would never have said that to Harry.
We were idiots, of course. Our little "bombing cars" hobby could have killed someone. Fourteen-year-old males, however, are generally not noted for their judgement and concern for others.
I was reminded of Harry's rock-in-bottle hobby as I watched the conclusion of the Ole Miss/Tennessee football game Saturday. As Vols fans pelted the field from vantage points, raining down bottles of water, soda, and the occasional mustard, both sidelines were forced to retreat to the middle of the field or to the locker rooms. Cheerleaders, band members, and dance teams ran for cover, holding cheer placards over their heads as shields as if laying siege to a castle. Rebel coach Lane Kiffin showed the officials a golf ball that had been aimed in his direction.
The folks who brought their own mustard bottles disturbed me in the same fashion that Harry's pebble-by-pebble hobby had disturbed me. Who plans for concession stands to run out of mustard? Or were they really planning to pitch mustard at people all along?
The game was delayed more than 20 minutes by fans, which I do not believe I have ever seen before, and I am 64 years old and have watched a helluva lot of football games. The precipitating event was a questionable ball spot on a fourth-and-25 that gained 24. Earlier in the game, a very questionable forward progress call had cost the Vols a touchdown. Nothing like SEC officials to light some emotions afire early, then throw gas on those same emotions at the end.
Golf balls, water bottles, and the occasional condiment all pelting down on friend and foe alike. The Vol faithful would have been very much at home with our youthful tossing of tomatoes and eggs. Like us, of course, the Vol fans were idiots, as they could have seriously injured someone. Bottles of water are heavy. Golf balls can be wicked.
Vol Nation
There's nothing like 100,000 mask-less Volunteer fans throwing bottles and golf balls to frame the Knoxville faithful as orange-clad maroons (an old Bugs Bunny term). I'm not going to get into the university and SEC response questions. Pete Thamel did a great job asking the proper questions for Yahoo Sports in "Takeaway: What should Tennessee's punishment be for ugly scene in Knoxville?" Instead, I'll ask whatever happened to actual game rules that make it the home team's responsibility for ensuring a game can be safely played?
Why not penalize the home team for the delay? If the home team can't provide a safe hosting environment for a play, shouldn't the home team get flagged for unsportsmanlike conduct? Just flag the team repeatedly until fans either comply or the game is called. Not a neat, clean response, but it is proper and appropriate. If fans can't provide a safe venue for a play, penalize them. Thirty seconds later, if they still cannot provide a safe venue, penalize them again.
Yesterday reminded me of what an irresponsible jerk I sometimes was as a kid. It also reminded me that while idiocy and adolescence may go hand in hand, adulthood isn't necessarily a cure for stupid.
Especially in Knoxville.
Bob Dietz
October 18, 2021
