Tennessee vs The Maxims vs Florida

#1

OneManGang

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#1
Tennessee vs The Maxims vs Florida

Or: The Other End is in New Market

The three of us stood on a dirt mound watching the hole at home plate just get bigger and bigger. Up to this point, the job had been pretty routine. We were building a baseball field and some tennis courts at that new park out in Four-Way. The only glitches so far had been Ed The Architects penchant for positioning boulders as decorations in the parking lot and the time Wayne's D-5 dozer had plowed into a long-dead and buried cow. That last had ended work for the day and we all repaired to Lightnin's Place across the highway to alleviate the stench with a couple of coldbeers.

Me? Well, I was only about six months removed from my college career during which my only real accomplishment had been to qualify for an endowed chair at The Tennessean on The Strip. My only decision of any consequence during that time was, bottle or draft? Now, by the strange and mysterious machinations of local politics, I owned the rather grandiose title of Project Manager. It was one of the many hats I'd found myself wearing recently and it fit a little tight around the shoulders. But there I was, representing the County and the decisions were mine.

I found myself liking all of the guys from the foreman and the equipment operators to the civil engineers that had been rooked into turning Ed's drawings into little posts inscribed with numbers telling the operators how much to cut and fill and where. Clint was the foreman and was prototypical for the group, he was in his mid-thirties with an easy, open way about him, a bone-deep sunburn and a missing index finger on his left hand.

Todd was on his D-9, a fifty-ton mass of rompin', stompin' dirt-moving yellow steel from the Caterpillar factory in Peoria. He was trying to pry that rock we had struck yesterday from the red clay. Todd was about my age but he handled his charge with the deft touch of a hooker separating a John from his paycheck on a Friday night. The hole at home plate was now bigger than the dozer. Todd would try to wedge his fifteen foot blade under a corner of the rock and then use Caterpillar Hydraulics to lift it. Unfortunately, the only thing that was lifting was the back of the machine, up, and up, and hold, and BAM! hed move the lever and let the rear of the machine crash back on it's tracks with an impact that shook the ground. Then he'd move a little to one side and with a belch of Diesel smoke and red dust, try again.

Clint and I stood watching this little dance with Pete, one of the civil engineers. We passed a bag of Red Man around like dopers sharing a joint. Chewing tobacco is damn near a necessity on a construction site, it cuts the dust and keeps you awake in the heat. I was a novice chawer, generally unable to get through the day without at least one stain on my shirt. Clint reflected his fifteen years in the trade with his ability to carry on a conversation, spit and measure a cut in one motion. Pete, though, put him to shame. By far the oldest guy on the site, he could fire a stream of tobacco juice with the accuracy of an unreconstructed Southern senator. He'd selected a small rock as his target today and was shooting about a three inch group from ten feet, but then there was a breeze blowing from the west.

"Ya know," Clint began, "we may just have to shoot that thing." He shot a blackbrown stream, raised an eyebrow, and looked at me.

"What's that mean?" I asked, immediately betraying my rookie status.

With only a hint of condescension he said, "Blow it, dynamite it."

"Oh." I said, "How long will that take?"

Clint answered, "Well, lets see ..."

I had already learned that phrase was contractor-speak for expensive.

"We'll have to bring in a drill rig and a shooter. It'll be the first part of next week."

Great. Now what? The Commissioner was already on me to get this thing done and our grant money was just about gone. Now here comes yet another machine and operator at a couple of hundred-dollars-an-hour. Clint and I then began some back-and-forth as to whether that was really necessary. Then Pete said, "Hang on a minute, boys, let me check something."

Pete left us and strolled over to his government-issue pickup and rummaged around in the cab, emerging with a rolled map which he then spread out on the hood. Pete looked for all the world like some ancient scribe with a parchment as he spent the next few minutes studying the map and making tracings with his finger. Then he rolled up the map and rejoined us on the dirt pile. On the way back he nailed a rusted bottle cap without breaking stride.

Gesturing with his rolled-up map at the hole, which was bigger than the bulldozer, and the exposed rock which was bigger than both he fired a stream into the hole and delivered his judgment.

"Boys, you can do what you want ..."

That's Southern code for, "If you don't take my advice you're dumber than you look."

"... but near as I can figure the other end of that rock, he now used the roll to point more or less northeast, is about seven miles away in New Market."

Oh.

Clint then pronounced his benediction on the hole affair. "Well, Hell, I'll get that drill and the powder man here Monday". He squinted toward the lowering sun and thought for a moment, then made a winding motion over his head. "Let's shut her down and go see if Lightnin's run out of coldbeer yet."

[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]So how did the team do compared to the Maxims?

1. The team that makes the fewest mistakes will win.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]There is absolutely no way to commit SIX turnovers against Florida and come away with a win. The fact the the Vols only lost by 14 shows that the Gators aren't what they used to be either. The first quarter was as ugly an exposition of football by both teams as I've seen in a looonnnggg time.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]2.Play for and make the breaks. When one comes your way SCORE!

If there is a point where Tennessee threw this game away it was the three times when they got the ball in scoring position and came away with bupkis. In the Vols' first possession they got the ball on the Gator 15 after a botched deep snap and promptly fumbled it back. Not satisfied with that display of wanton incompetence, on consecutive possessions in the 2nd canto, Tennessee got the ball on the Florida 38 and 28, respectively. The first went backwards and Palardi punted for the Gator 47 and the second ended when Peterman tossed the ball to a Florida linebacker. Tennessee left 21 points on the field in those three possessions alone.

3. If at first the game or the breaks go against you, dont let up PUT ON MORE STEAM!

If Vol fans can take anything positive from this fiasco, it is that neither the offense or the defense ever really quit. That being said, there were more than enough negatives for Head Vol Butch Jones and his staff to work on in the coming weeks.

4. Protect our kickers, our quarterback, our lead and our ballgame.

Various Florida defensive linemen had their arms around Vol quarterbacks so often I though we would see some polygamy charges filed.

5. Ball! Oskie! Cover, block, cut and slice, pursue and gang tackle THIS IS THE WINNING EDGE.

As if last week weren't enough, Saturday's game put paid to the notion that Tennessee's offensive line is anything other than pedestrian. They opened no holes and far too many plays were blown up in the backfield. Damning statistic of the day: Tennessee and you may have seen this on the weekend traffic crash reports managed just 66, six-six, SIXTY freaking SIX, yards rushing. * bangs head *[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]

6[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]. Press the kicking game. Here is where the breaks are made.

Palardy won the average punt yardage duel by 3 yards. Huzzah.

7. Carry the fight to Florida and keep it there for sixty minutes.

Tennessee could have still pulled this thing out in the 4th quarter with a couple of well-timed breaks. Unfortunately, Tennessee was stuck with Tennessee's offense. An interception killed any chance the Boys in Orange may have had.

As early as 2003, this writer could discern the handwriting on the wall. After witnessing a total domination of the Vols by Georgia, your humble scribe wrote thusly: Welcome, mi compadres[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] to the 1970s. The long slide has begun and theres not a whole heck of lot Coach Fulmer can do to arrest the swan-dive that is UT football.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]ESPN, in their pre-game hype Saturday morning, referred to this as Separation Saturday, a day of big games that would begin the process of separating the elite teams from the merely good. Georgia completed the process of separating Tennessee from the elite teams of the Southeastern Conference. Indeed, given their performance in the last three games, (183 yards combined total net rushing) I would offer that the Vols are in danger of falling out of the middle of the SEC pack. I compare 2003 to 1974, the year before the wheels came off and two years before Bill Battle was excused from the premises.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Yes, there were other winning seasons after 2003, not to mention two appearances in the SEC Championship Game. Offsetting that were three five-win seasons and one six win effort. We see the results of the overall decline covering the last ten years in places such as Eugene and Gainesville.

By All That is Holy, I wish I had been wrong.

MAXOMG [/FONT]
 
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#3
#3
Excellent write up. Sadly- I agree with the history lesson, and I'm afraid it's going to take a few big wins that I'm not convinced that we are capable of- for things to start to turn around. It's gotten so bad that we are now hoping that the other team has more than just an "off day" for us to pull out a win. Today, UF gave us the greatest "off day" that I've ever seen out of a gata team playing the vols, and we couldn't capitalize.

Here's hoping that the big orange can start causing so off days through their own play instead of the failings of others.
 
#4
#4
I've ran a lot of heavy equipment. Sometimes what seems like a little rock is just the "tip of the iceberg". Most would agree that this will be a long season for Vol fans. Could be the same for next season.
 
#5
#5
"As if last week weren't enough, Saturday's game put paid to the notion:ermm: that Tennessee's offensive line is anything other than pedestrian."
 
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#6
#6
IMHO ... One of your best yet.

It would appear that the rock is indeed “…about seven miles away in New Market.”
 
#7
#7
I work in a kitchen serving up delicious filet mignons, sautéed crab cakes, marinated rib eye steaks, luscious chicken primavera and all manner of high falutin food to locals, tourists and even a few millonaires. Thank God they're mostly yanks, tarheels, or fans of teams that aren't rivals. Not to mention my coworkers, you would think fantasy football was the only real competition here. It's a tough job with few rewards and even fewer complements. I find it hard to relate to stories of bulldozers and dynamite. I like the history better. Don't narrow it down so much. With that said I'm probably just a little too mad UT was beaten by Florida again.
 
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#9
#9
To be honest, the only military analogy I could come up with was to reference First Mannassas (Bull Run) wherein neither side really knew what the hell they were doing and even after the Confederates "won" they had no real idea how they did it.
 
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#10
#10
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Tennessee vs The Maxims vs Florida[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]

Or: [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]The Other End is in New Market[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]The three of us stood on a dirt mound watching the hole at home plate just get bigger and bigger. Up to this point, the job had been pretty routine. We were building a baseball field and some tennis courts at that new park out in Four-Way. The only glitches so far had been Ed The Architect’s penchant for positioning boulders as decorations in the parking lot and the time Wayne’s D-5 dozer had plowed into a long-dead and buried cow. That last had ended work for the day and we all repaired to Lightnin’s Place across the highway to alleviate the stench with a couple of coldbeers.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Me? Well, I was only about six months removed from my college career during which my only real accomplishment had been to qualify for an endowed chair at The Tennessean on The Strip. My only decision of any consequence during that time was, “bottle or draft?” Now, by the strange and mysterious machinations of local politics, I owned the rather grandiose title of Project Manager. It was one of the many hats I’d found myself wearing recently and it fit a little tight around the shoulders. But there I was, representing the County and the decisions were mine.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]I found myself liking all of the guys from the foreman and the equipment operators to the civil engineers that had been rooked into turning Ed’s drawings into little posts inscribed with numbers telling the operators how much to cut and fill and where. Clint was the foreman and was prototypical for the group, he was in his mid-thirties with an easy, open way about him, a bone-deep sunburn and a missing index finger on his left hand. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Todd was on his D-9, a fifty-ton mass of rompin’, stompin’ dirt-moving yellow steel from the Caterpillar factory in Peoria. He was trying to pry that rock we had struck yesterday from the red clay. Todd was about my age but he handled his charge with the deft touch of a hooker separating a John from his paycheck on a Friday night. The hole at home plate was now bigger than the dozer. Todd would try to wedge his fifteen foot blade under a corner of the rock and then use Caterpillar Hydraulics to lift it. Unfortunately, the only thing that was lifting was the back of the machine, up … and up … and hold … and … BAM! he’d move the lever and let the rear of the machine crash back on its tracks with an impact that shook the ground. Then he’d move a little to one side and with a belch of Diesel smoke and red dust, try again. [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Clint and I stood watching this little dance with Pete, one of the civil engineers. We passed a bag of Red Man around like dopers sharing a joint. Chewing tobacco is damn near a necessity on a construction site, it cuts the dust and keeps you awake in the heat. I was a novice “chawer,” generally unable to get through the day without at least one stain on my shirt. Clint reflected his fifteen years in the trade with his ability to carry on a conversation, spit and measure a cut in one motion. Pete, though, put him to shame. By far the oldest guy on the site, he could fire a stream of tobacco juice with the accuracy of an unreconstructed Southern senator. He’d selected a small rock as his target today and was shooting about a three inch group from ten feet, but then there was a breeze blowing from the west.[/FONT]

“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Ya know,” Clint began, “we may just have to shoot that thing.” He shot a blackbrown stream, raised an eyebrow, and looked at me. [/FONT]

“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]What’s that mean?” I asked, immediately betraying my rookie status.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]With only a hint of condescension he said, “Blow it … dynamite it.”[/FONT]

“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Oh.” I said, “How long will that take?”[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Clint answered, “Well, let’s see…’ [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]I had already learned that phrase was contractor-speak for “expensive.” [/FONT]

“… [FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]we’ll have to bring in a drill rig and a shooter. It’ll be the first part of next week.” [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Great. Now what? The Commissioner was already on me to get this thing done and our grant money was just about gone. Now here comes yet another machine and operator at a couple of hundred-dollars-an-hour. Clint and I then began some back-and-forth as to whether that was really necessary. Then Pete said, “Hang on a minute, boys, let me check something.”[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Pete left us and strolled over to his government-issue pickup and rummaged around in the cab, emerging with a rolled map which he then spread out on the hood. Pete looked for all the world like some ancient scribe with a parchment as he spent the next few minutes studying the map and making tracings with his finger. Then he rolled up the map and rejoined us on the dirt pile. On the way back he nailed a rusted bottle cap without breaking stride.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Gesturing with his rolled-up map at the hole, which was bigger than the bulldozer, and the exposed rock which was bigger than both he fired a stream into the hole and delivered his judgment.[/FONT]

“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Boys, you can do what you want…” [/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]That’s Southern code for, “If you don’t take my advice you’re dumber than you look.”[/FONT]

“…[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]but near as I can figure the other end of that rock,” he now used the roll to point more or less northeast, “is about seven miles away in New Market.” [/FONT]

“[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Oh.”[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Clint then pronounced his benediction on the “hole” affair. “Well, Hell, I’ll get that drill and the powder man here Monday.” He squinted toward the lowering sun and thought for a moment, then made a winding motion over his head. “Let’s shut her down and go see if Lightnin’s run out of coldbeer yet.”[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]So how did the team do compared to the Maxims?[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]

[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]1. The team that makes the fewest mistakes will win.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]There is absolutely no way to commit SIX turnovers against Florida and come away with a win. The fact the the Vols only lost by 14 shows that the Gators aren't what they used to be either. The first quarter was as ugly an exposition of football by both teams as I've seen in a looonnnggg time.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]2.Play for and make the breaks. When one comes your way … SCORE![/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]

If there is a point where Tennessee threw this game away it was the three times when they got the ball in scoring position and came away with bupkis. In the Vols' first possession they got the ball on the Gator 15 after a botched deep snap and promptly fumbled it back. Not[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] satisfied with that display of wanton incompetence, on consecutive possessions in the [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]2nd canto, Tennessee got the ball on the Florida 38 and 28, respectively. The first went [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]backwards[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] and Palardi punted for the Gator 47 and the second ended when Peterman tossed the ball to a Florida linebacker.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] Tennessee left 21 points on the field in those three possessions [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]alone[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif].[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]

3. If at first the game – or the breaks – go against you, don’t let up … PUT ON MORE STEAM!
[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
If Vol fans can take anything positive from this fiasco, it is that neither the offense or the defense ever really quit. That being said, there were more than enough negatives for Head Vol Butch Jones and his staff to work on in the coming weeks.

[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]4. Protect our kickers, our quarterback, our lead and our ballgame.[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]

Various Florida defensive linemen had their arms around Vol quarterbacks so often I though we would see some polygamy charges filed.[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]

5. Ball! Oskie! Cover, block, cut and slice, pursue and gang tackle … THIS IS THE WINNING EDGE.
[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]

As if last week weren't enough, Saturday's game put paid to the notion that Tennessee's offensive line is anything other than pedestrian. They opened no holes and far too many plays were blown up in the backfield. Damning statistic of the day: Tennessee – and you may have seen this on the weekend traffic crash reports – managed just 66, six-six, [/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]SIXTY freaking SIX,[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] yards rushing. * bangs head *[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]

6[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]. Press the kicking game. Here is where the breaks are made.[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]

Palardy won the average punt yardage duel by 3 yards. Huzzah.[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]

7. Carry the fight to Florida and keep it there for sixty minutes.
[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]

Tennessee could have still pulled this thing out in the 4[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]th[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] quarter with a couple of well-timed breaks. Unfortunately, Tennessee was stuck with Tennessee's offense. An interception killed any chance the Boys in Orange may have had.[/FONT]
[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]As early as 2003, this writer could discern the handwriting on the wall. After witnessing a total domination of the Vols by Georgia, your humble scribe wrote thusly: “Welcome, [/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]mi compadres[/FONT][FONT=Verdana, sans-serif] to the 1970s. The long slide has begun and there’s not a whole heck of lot Coach Fulmer can do to arrest the swan-dive that is UT football.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]ESPN, in their pre-game hype Saturday morning, referred to this as “Separation Saturday,” a day of big games that would begin the process of separating the elite teams from the merely good. Georgia completed the process of separating Tennessee from the elite teams of the Southeastern Conference. Indeed, given their performance in the last three games, (183 yards combined total net rushing) I would offer that the Vols are in danger of falling out of the middle of the SEC pack. I compare 2003 to 1974, the year before the wheels came off and two years before Bill Battle was excused from the premises.”[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]Yes, there were other winning seasons after 2003, not to mention two appearances in the SEC Championship Game. Offsetting that were three five-win seasons and one six win effort. We see the results of the overall decline covering the last ten years in places such as Eugene and Gainesville.

By All That is Holy, I wish I had been wrong.[/FONT]

[FONT=Verdana, sans-serif]
MAXOMG [/FONT]

Again OMG I enjoy reading your commentaries. I fear that we are in store for a long, hard road with the Vols. It won't be pretty over the next few years and it will take a special coach with high caliber talent to get the Vols on the winning track. And the Team's collective attitude must change.
 
#11
#11
OMG:

Your posts are one of the few things I look forward to on this board lately. Keep up the good work. :good!:
 
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#13
#13
Thanks. I enjoy reading your posts. Being a history buff and the son of 2 history profs I really enjoy your posts.

if we ever get good again I cant wait to see a story of operation cobra in 1944. If we pull off an upset you should talk about the nva campaign against the French in indochina in the 50s. No shortage of good parallels.

Keep up the great work!
:)
 
#17
#17
OSKIE! is the hot word for an intercepted pass. Tells the defensive players to start blocking. I believe every youth league, junior high, and high school football team in the State of Tennessee has used it since Neyland introduced it in 1926 and I think he stole it from Red Blaik who was his coach when he was at West Point.
 

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