When I was growing up this was the most important sports day of the year. When you played football out in the yard it was Tennessee and Alabama. When you played paper football across the coffee table it was Tennessee vs Alabama. When you drew a football field on a sheet of paper to play pencil-flick football you wrote TENNESSEE in one end zone and ALABAMA in the other. The NFL wasn't really in the south yet (the Falcons and Saints might as well have not existed up in Tennessee, given the media coverage at the time). Alabama-Auburn was barely a thing yet and Tennessee never played Georgia or Florida. The third Saturday in October was always the canonical, platonic ideal of a football game.
The men in the family would sit down at the kitchen table and you'd turn on a radio and sit there more or less in silence for three hours and listen to John Ward describe the action and, at least during my childhood, we'd always lose. When we finally broke the streak in 1982 and won for the first time in my life I was stuck lying in a cold bath because I had a fever of something like 106. I lay in the bathtub listening to Ward go over the final game stats and I cried and I think it was the last time I cried until my grandpa died 20 years later. Three months later Bear Bryant was dead and I was thrilled about that too.
At some point they're almost certainly going to stop playing this game every year, and many -- maybe even most! -- Vol fans are going to be fine with it, and from a competitive standpoint they'll be right. But part of me will die a little when that happens. Nothing that ever happens in sports will ever mean as much to me as lying there crying in that bathtub.
God I hope we beat those motherfsckers down tomorrow.