After witnessing the Washington Huskies get demolished in Miami, Max chose to drive north to Gainesville.
There, he experienced the spectacle of one of college football's biggest rivalries.
65-7.
Sixty five to freakin' seven.
Did I really come back to Florida just to witness a massacre in an orange dump of a stadium, surrounded by Raider fan wannabes? There had to be
another reason I had traveled all this way. The sun, South Beach, bikini-clad... no, that can't be it. Oh yeah, there was that other game.
In the weeks leading up to the trip, I found myself more excited for Florida-Tennessee than for UW-Miami. Maybe I was simply suffering from the
post-Apple Cup malaise everyone was talking about... Still, Florida and Tennessee! Two bitter rivals and national title contenders, deep in the heart
of SEC country... where the fans are rabid, likely drunk, and a threat to anyone wearing the wrong school colors. Okay, so I had a wild imagination
and a few preconceptions. Nevertheless, I was eager to immerse myself in a new football culture.
Number 2 versus number 4. The last time I'd witnessed such a high-powered matchup, Scott Frost ran over the Huskies on the way to Nebraska's last
national title. This was being touted as the biggest game between UF and UT since 1928. That year, with the Southern Conference title and a Rose
Bowl trip on the line, Florida lost to UT 13-12. In 2001, could another trip to Pasadena be at stake?
Gainesville may be your typical college town. You can fit the entire population of the city inside Ben Hill Griffin Stadium, there are no real
attractions (except on game days) and orange and blue are everywhere. I arrived on Friday, and quickly found lodging within walking distance of
the school. My mission was simple: explore campus, find out where the hot spots are, and begin to prove or disprove my preconceptions about the SEC.
Prior to the game, Vol fans comfortably mingled with the Florida faithful |
Rivalries come in all shapes in sizes. In Seattle, we've always focused on the Cougars. That is, until our little green cousins to the south
translated decades of resentment into anger and started winning a few more games from us. I had to wonder if there were any similarities between
these SEC rivals. Was Tennessee simply jealous of the mighty Gators' success in the past decade, or was there more to it?
Ask a Florida fan, and they're likely to tell you the Vols are simply sick of looking up at Florida in the standings. The winner of this game usually
plays for the conference title, but the Vols had lost 7 out of 8 to the Gators, and hadn't won in Gainesville in 30 years. Will the Gator faithful
admit that their coach's reputation may have something to do with some anti-Florida sentiments? Probably not. When it comes to Tennessee native Steve
Superior... er, Spurrier, the opposing factions will only agree on one thing. Even the folks from Knoxville admit their native son is one of, if not
the best offense mind in football today. But is his arrogance enough reason to hate his team?
I posed this question to Grover, the first Vol fan I met (yes, Grover). He and his buddy Dave (a Gator fan) debated the merits of the Florida
coach. Dave insisted that the creamsicle nation would welcome Spurrier with open arms if he hypothetically became the Volunteer head coach.
Grover disagreed quite vehemently, before digressing into a diatribe on all the sushi bars opening up back home (his plans for a 'possum bar are
still in the works, he insists).
Steve Spurrier turned Ben Hill Griffin Stadium into "The Swamp" |
Dave and Grover engaged in plenty of good-natured sparring, but seemed to express a great deal of respect for each other's programs. Certainly
not the intensity and bad blood I expected in this southern college town. Maybe I'd have better luck at The Swamp...
Ask for directions to "The Swamp" and you won't always get the same answer. There's Ben Hill Griffin Stadium, and then there's the other Swamp.
Across from UF's sprawling campus is the restaurant and bar that is the place to be before a game. It starts getting busy around 6pm on Friday and
doesn't let up until the wee hours of the morning. Sunday morning.
By 9pm, The Swamp was overflowing. Patrons crowded onto the patio and upper deck, anchored in place for fear of losing their prime real estate.
The occasional UT fan was able to walk about unscathed and generally ignored by his Gator counterparts. Former players, such as quarterback Jesse
Palmer, had staked out territory on the patio, while ESPN's Kirk Herbstreit entertained a long line of admiring coeds upstairs.
Some Gator fans proved to have mixed priorities |
I spotted a particularly brave (foolish?) group of Vols wearing their colors proudly, one boisterously displaying his "Hey Spurrier... Up Yours!" shirt
for all to see. He seemed to revel in the attention, welcoming all the trash talking he had invited. I struck up a conversation with his compatriots,
who did their best to stay in the background. We shared the knowledge that Washington and Tennessee own the distinction of having the only college
football stadiums to which one can tailgate by boat. In Washington's case, I explained, it's the rich alumni who trek across the lake by yacht. At
Tennessee, they informed me, it's all the poor folks who live on the river and arrive by houseboat.
Gameday. Cars occupied every available space on campus, driving onto any open patch of grass to get a spot. Tailgating was in full swing, and
ESPN was in the house. You never know what inspires people sometimes... the sign-makers were out in force, ready to impress the Gameday crew.
"Dockett broke my sign" read a crooked placard, in reference to the Florida State player accused of intentionally injuring Gator running back
Earnest Graham. After a prepared Miami fan had his pro-Cane sign stolen and ripped to shreds, he immediately produced a backup. I was thoroughly
enjoying myself at this point, reveling in the hype of this big game. Three thousand miles from home and privy to an experience few
northwesterners get to see...
That is, until a flash of green in the crowd caught my eye. ESPN's Chris Fowler was addressing the crowd at this point, finishing his preamble
about Gameday's sixth trip to Gainesville. He then proceeded to acknowledge the Duck fans in the front row... Sure enough, there were two scruffy
dudes, green paint peeling off their backs, promoting their team for a national title shot.
3000 miles from home, Max still couldn't avoid Duck fans. |
I was dumbstruck. The first thought that occurred to me was that I was outnumbered 2 to 1, so the "O-S-U! Oregon State! Fight! Fight! Fight!"
cheer was out of the question. Just like that, this rare experience, seldom witnessed by west coast eyes, wasn't quite as special any more. I
felt like explorer Robert F. Scott, thinking he was the first to reach the South Pole in 1912, only to discover that the Norwegians had beaten him
there by a month.
My only prior experience in the Swamp came courtesy of NCAA 2002 on my Playstation. It doesn't quite stack up to the real thing. The $100 I
shelled out for a $7 student ticket landed me near the top of the stadium, parallel with the 10 yard line... a perfect seat. 83,000 fans bring this
jewel of a stadium to life. A neighboring section of Tennessee faithful recited the 283rd rendition of Rocky Top, while the Florida students started
the Gator chomp (which I refused to participate in, given that wazzu fans have adopted it).
As pregame wound down, the cheering swelled. A 90-odd year old man trotted onto the field: Mr. Two Bits. Rumors of his retirement were premature, I
was told, as he started his "Two bits" cheer. Funny, when I did this in Little League, it was always after the game, and we always cheered for the
other team. I guess if you perform the cheer before the game, it's okay to cheer for yourself. "All for the Gators... stand up and
holler!" yelled Two Bits. Pandemonium ensued.
Marquand Manuel fired up the Gators before the game |
My memories from the game itself center more around the action in the stands than the action on the field. Perhaps this is because I felt I had
seen it all before. Florida couldn't run the ball. Florida committed stupid personal fouls. Florida couldn't pressure the quarterback. Florida
couldn't tackle. Florida made a last-minute comeback. It was all eerily familiar.
Granted, it was an excellent game. Rex Grossman looked like a Heisman candidate, and Coach Spurrier was in fine form. The headset went flying
early on, and there were more end-arounds and flea flickers run than I've seen in Husky Stadium in the last five years. Despite all this, it was
the crowd that set this game apart. Having been a part of some great college football environments in Seattle, Lincoln and South Bend, I was
nonetheless blown away.
Passion for this team had consumed the Swamp. The entire east side of the stadium stood all game, and even the alumni on the west side managed to
rise to their feet half the time. When the Vols had possession, the din was endless. In crucial moments, the Florida faithful became as
demonstrative as their coach. Clutched hair, hands covering eyes... cries of anguish after every incompletion. After a decade of high-powered
offensive success, I figured precise, sustained, touchdown-scoring drives were a given in Gainesville; as expected and routine as the turning of the
seasons. Yet each completed pass elicited squeals of glee from the faithful, each first down a small celebration followed by tense anticipation of
Spurrier's next move.
The author refused to participate in the traditional Gator chomp |
The first half came and went. After the third quarter, the entire stadium rose as one, interlocked arms, and swayed while singing the school's
alma mater. My newly-purchased Gators hat and shirt weren't such great camouflage all of a sudden. Eighty thousand singing Florida fans, and I was
standing silently like an idiot. It felt the exact opposite of Seattle, where only about 1 in every 80,000 Huskies actually know the words to their alma mater.
Scant minutes were left. Spurrier gambled a few times on fourth down and lost. Travis Stephens had just completed his domination of the Gator
defense, and left little time for the orange and blue to make up an eight point deficit. The tension surrounding me was palpable. The folks in
Gainesville aren't used to close games. Their team either runs up 70 or so on Vandy, or Florida State comes in and puts them in their place.
Anxious moans kept coming from the students to my left, as they continued to fidget and peek around me at the game clock.
Gator fans couldn't believe what had transpired |
Of course, these people hadn't been beaten in the waning moments by an Ortege Jenkins flip, or been thrilled by a three play, 80 yard drive with 17
ticks left to beat Stanford. To me, two minutes was an eternity. I had no doubt that Grossman would lead his team to the end zone, which he did.
But could he convert the two and send what was already a classic game into overtime?
Alas, no. One lousy play call and an errant pass later, the game was over. Final score: 34-32. Even the Heisman hopeful couldn't do what
Tui and Pickett have managed to do the past few years for the Huskies. I'll take a little leadership and grit over gaudy numbers any day.
The game was long over, and people still hadn't left. A section over, creamsicle pom pons gyrated to Rocky Top in a familiar routine. The
occasional Vol ran over to rub it in the face of a glassy-eyed Gator. The students lay scattered, stunned at what had transpired. After all,
some of their parents hadn't even hit puberty the last time Tennessee came in here and won. Even worse, there would be no SEC title trip, the
formality that preceded Pasadena. Seventy three years after Tennessee had stolen a Rose Bowl invitation, they did it again.
As I entered the tunnel and melted into the victorious mob beneath the stadium, a lady sporting Tennessee colors approached me. Seeing my blue
Florida shirt, she commended me on a good game. Maybe this was the typical SEC fan, sporting and gracious to the end. I tried to explain to her
that I was merely a neutral third party who invited himself to take part in this wonderful tradition, but my words were drowned out by the chanting
mob.
Tennessee would go on to lose in the SEC Championship game against LSU, costing them a shot at the national title (won by Miami). The
Florida-Tennessee game was the last game Steve Spurrier coached in the Swamp. He left Florida to coach the Washington Redskins in the NFL.
Between 1995 and 2001, Max Waugh attended 73 consecutive Husky football games. After his Florida experience, he begrudgingly admits that
life may exist on autumn Saturdays outside of Husky Stadium.
All photos ©Max Waugh 2001
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