This was the AP and UPI No. 1 team, Auburn, and this was Super Bothe running back so Bo-dacious that one Atlanta paper dressed him in a Superman outfit and ran the photo full-color, full-page. This was the Bo for whom Auburn had changed its entire offense. Out went the wishbone. In came the I-formation, just so Bo and the ball could get better acquainted, say, 20 or more times a game. After two games in which he averaged 248 yards a game, Jackson was ready to go and everybody was in Knoxville, Tenn. to see him, including 60% of ABC's television audience.
By the way, who was Bo playing?
"Some of the guys got to talking," Tennessee wide receiver Tim McGee had said two days before the game, "and we got to wondering, 'With the TV coming to see Bo and all, do you think they might show us ?' Then we said, 'Nah.' "
Trouble was, somebody had a lousy idea: Play the game. They shouldn't oughta have done that. Yo, Bo: Here's mud in your I.
Tennessee River mud, to be exact, which isn't far from where the Vols danced the Tennessee Waltz on Auburn's nose, scratching the paint on the souped-up, custom-built Bo O and knocking the S off Superman. Here's nobody's No. 1, Tennessee, tweaking the Tigers 38-20 in front of most everybody with a Heisman vote and a television, and leaving Jackson with only 80 yards on 17 carries. Whoaaaa, Bo. You even took yourself out of the game in the third quarter with a bruised knee and spent the rest of the afternoon on the bench. That was strictly Bo-rrrrring
....
While Jackson had 181 yards in the first quarter of his goosebumpy opener against Southwestern Louisiana, he had just 29 at the same juncture against Tennessee. The Vols' defense, playing somewhere on the outskirts of consciousness, bid Bo hello at every hole, turning Auburn's offense into an I sore. No matter where Bo went on this crisp fall day, he got to see the colors change: green to orange, green to orange.