Confession of a Convert

Being a fan seems like an arbitrary thing but it’s not. If it were, there would be scores of fans jumping from ship to ship as they follow the rise and fall of teams. But there is a more intrinsic bond that is born out of a genuine affection and passion. It’s almost akin to a marital love in both the bond and historical relationship you develop with your team. Whether your fandom is passed on through a parent’s heritage or determined by local geography, it is almost always blossoms as a result of a sweeping-off-your-feet experience.

At a young age, I was drawn to the Florida State Seminoles and Bobby Bowden’s “gee golly darn” laced vernacular. They had the best athletes, their defense was a forerunner of the SEC defenses of today, and they had awesome arrows on their gold helmets. Guys like Peter Warrick, Chris Weinke, Derrick Brooks, and Warrick Dunn transfixed me and caused me to commit my fan-hood to a program almost 400 miles away.

I knew it would never last. You know why long-term relationships rarely work? Because when the going gets tough, there’s no commonality to bind you. The beginning of the end started with Chris Rix, a spiky-haired fraud of a QB, and Drew Weatherford did all he could to Arm Bar me into submission. I didn’t have the heart to end it, but I was a shell of a fan. I couldn’t even bring myself to start a season with FSU on NCAA ’09.

I drifted through this season like a ghost casually watching the train-wreck unfolding in nearby Knoxville. I had watched my fair share of Volunteer games over the years and had even rooted for them, but only within the context of the match-up and not because of any real affection. My remote location and eventually estranged relationship with the Seminoles had an interesting affect on me: I slowly developed the mindset of a casual fan. There was very little rage towards anyone (with the exception of the historically overrated Big 10) and my attentions landed all across the NCAA.

From afar, I followed Lane Kiffin’s ascension to the head-coaching job in Oakland. It seemed bizarre, but what wasn’t with the Raiders? More than anything, it seemed like a masochistic movement for the young coach. Why subject himself to the sea monster that is Al Davis? I gathered that Kiffin had either accepted the job because of an intense disillusionment with what was going on in Oakland or because it was a means to an end.

When Kiffin was unsurprisingly fired, I wondered if he would bounce around the NFL or make a run at landing a collegiate head coaching position. This speculation coincided with Tennessee’s disastrous start and eventual dismissing (or mutually agreed upon resignation – whatever) of Phil Fulmer and soon Kiffin’s name was being bandied about along with Mike Leach and Brian Kelly. Though I thought he would be a lock for Clemson, Kiffin took the Tennessee job and thus began my innocent flirtations with Tennessee.

We continued the exchange of longing glances towards each other as he compiled his coaching staff. Though I was otherwise unattached to the program, I remember being giddy when I heard Chris Mortensen report that Monte Kiffin would be joining the UT staff.

And then there was Ed. I had heard about Ed Orgeron before but only in passing before reading about him in Meat Market. Story after story told of his affinity for Red Bull in the AM and his recruiting efforts that approached Bill Brasky-type levels. In short, his unrelenting approach to coaching and recruiting made him seem like a poor man’s Chuck Norris and definitely someone you wanted on your side.

Though I wasn’t ready to declare my intentions with the program, when I began examining the larger consequences behind Kiffin’s hiring, I realized it was a confluence of people I genuinely liked and wanted to root for. Soon, I anonymously browsed the VolNation message boards, I harassed my best friend James about information on the program, and I found myself obsessing about potential recruits. I was officially smitten, but still recovering after having just getting out of a long relationship.

But the turning point was on February 5th when Kiffin fired the first official shot across the bow at conference and national top dog, Urban Meyer. It was cocky, it was brash, and it was sorely needed. Regardless of accuracy, the firestorm his comments created were the first surges Volunteer Nation had felt in some time. In only a couple of days Kiffin had righted the course of the program, revived the fan base, and set a tone of expectation in Knoxville by directing comments at almost all the SEC powers. It was clear that Kiffin would be steering the program in a much different direction than it had been going and in doing so, he made Tennessee appealing to the casual fan in the same way that King Leonidas made the Spartans appealing. In the face of imposing foes, the Spartans were confident and committed to their approach and ability.

It’s been twenty-six years that I’ve lived within the state of Tennessee. Twenty-six years that I’ve been surrounded by power “T” adorned hats, orange splashed clothing, and a perpetual serenation of Rocky Top and yet none of it awoke any kind of dormant fan-hood within me. But 3 months after Lane Kiffin debuted as head coach, I’m all in. I’m officially rehabilitated and proud to call myself a Tennessee Volunteer fan.