Now listen here. I want South Carolina to suffer. I want them eviscerated. I want them gasping for air, disoriented, feeling the weight of 100,000 Tennessee fans pressing them down into a cold grave each time they step onto our field. I want to see Tennessee's cleats leaving bloody footprints everywhere as they stomp Gamecock guts up and down the length of the football field. I want the grass of Neyland watered with their tears. I want that mayo guzzling twerp walking off the field bereft of speech, bereft of hope. I want him to choke out the faintest of praise he can muster for Tennessee in the post-game press conference, knowing that what the Vols visited upon his team that day might have set South Carolina back decades. I want the annihilation to be so complete, the decimation so utter, that five generations of his progeny feel the shame of that loss each and every September 30th. And I want their fans to go to sleep each night praying that the agonizing scars of that loss might fade even the tiniest amount by the time they wake - only to awaken and despair at the permanence of their torment.
If this "world's largest burger flipping tailgate party" you propose can give me those things, then I am on board.
But in reality, I think everyone's right, you're confusing Mayo Man with the Burger Master. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
So. Oh well. Live and learn - and count the days until September 30th.