I'm not in favor of a Sunday game, but that's for a selfish reason. Mainly, the free lodging I get for game days would be unavailable as friend would be out of town then.
On the other take, I'd be for it because, because, well because I have a conspiracy theory. It goes like this:
Whispers and mummurings in my admittedly crazed mind have grasped onto a vision felt more than seen. The Butch is an exciting, fresh, dynamic addition to the SEC. Tennessee is a traditional fixture of the same. That Butch is showing himself to becoming a force to be reckoned with. Old Slive welcomes this, makes great marketing, bucking the trend of certain declines in college football.
The Jonesian Juggernaut yet slumbering but stirring into wakefulness, excites even those beyond the SEC. They want the real Orangemen back. It means big revenue to play a strong Tennessee no matter where the game is played. And Jones himself is a joy to watch, putting the Butch on display is whip cream atop an orange cake with a banana slices interior.
It's a gamble as USU could possibly backfire. But the game reeks of an orange sun rising. A chance for the nation to see the Butch shake the Jonesian Juggernaut fully out of its slumber. And take the first unsteady steps down Championship Boulevard. Thudding footfalls, not heard for a decade. Grunts, deep resounding breaths like a great engine revving into life, ready to seek adventure. Stopping briefly to stretch. Orange eyes flash as if remembering something, something unpleasant, something that angers it. When fully awake by the 2nd half, it flings USU aside and lets out a terrible roar as the memory comes fully forth. "Roll the Tide back!" it roars. With thundering stomps, it hambugerizes the Aggies. Across the nation, friends and foes alike look on in wonder.
"Roll the Tide back!" it roars again.
The Butch steps in front of the orange giant, grabs a megaphone and tells it, "The Saban Savages are coming to Neyland to ravage it. They're dragging along the critter you know as. . . . Knowing immediately who the Butch is referring to, it roars yet again. Shaking Neyland almost into collapse. Which cues the Aggies to leave town immediately. Therein lies the basis of a Sunday game. Slive wants the world to witness the orange giant arise from its long time slumber and take its first lethgaric steps down Championship Boulevard.
"I got a One Liner King", says Slive. "I got the Devil himself. "I got the Louisiana Lunkhead, a perpetual Freeze. I got a gushing Gus and a man without a will. I got a Badger who morphed into a hog and a Mullen without a mullet. But it's the Butch we need now.
So it's Sun Day for a reason.
An orange sun breaches the high walls of Neyland. The beams probe the windows of offices at the UT. One finds the profile it's seeking. The Butch turns his face into the beam and smiles wickedly, or is it a snarl? "It's Sun Day", he whispers, "It's Orange Sun Day."
