Ball on the 12-yard line. Here’s the snap. Pressure coming through the line, he’s got a man open down on the 6. 1:30 on the clock. Can he make the pass or should he run for it? Scrambling, he sees his receiver: he throws, going, going, CAUGHT! There’s no one to stop him!!! Open field, to the 4, the 3 … Can he make it to the endzone for the win?? YES HE CAN!! TOUCHDOWN!!!

It’s football time in Tennessee.

I love football. I absolutely love it. I hadn’t processed that football season had come around again until I went back home this past weekend. My high school played our biggest rival last Friday night. (Before you ask, no, I didn’t go to a high school football game as a junior in college. Did I seriously consider going? Darn straight, I considered it.)

I got into football mode Saturday morning, as my mom read aloud the coverage of the previous night’s game from the local newspaper: “A last-minute, length-of-field drive ended 10 yards short … up 12-7, less than two minutes into the second quarter … interception 68 yards to give his team a 20-7 cushion with 3:05 left in the second quarter …” I knew the game was over and that we had won, but I was still nervous as she read. “Two minutes left? Where’s the ball? How’s our defense this year? Will they run or throw? Probably run, most prep QBs aren’t that good anyway (except for ours, of course).”

That adrenaline rush came back, the one you get during a close game, with teams evenly matched, wondering if your team has what it takes to pull out a win.

To me, football is the most interesting sport to watch because it’s complex. It’s about strategy, with an infinite number of plays to run, but the formula never gives the same results. That’s exciting. You measure your team’s strengths and weaknesses against those of your opponents, wondering who will come out on top, but so many variables are thrown in that make a difference: the talent level of each individual player, whether the player reached that extra few inches for the first down or not.

There’s psychology involved, too; I would hate to be a team playing in Knoxville. I’m overwhelmed and frightened more often than not by 50,000 to 100,000 people in bright orange, and it’s my own school. I can’t imagine coming to play here and having everyone yell at me. Or for me, for that matter. (And that’s such a shame, because I had a promising future as a tight end, and they say Kiffin is giving new players field time.)

In the interest of full disclosure, I ought to tell you this: I didn’t like UT sports for a long time. Like I said, it’s frightening to see so much orange, and I have 18 years of Vol antipathy to overcome. That takes awhile, but I’m trying this year, I really am! I wanted to tell you that, not so you’ll throw rocks at me, but because honesty is important. I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not, but I’m trying. Also, maybe you’ll have a little sympathy with the other poor souls wandering around scared come Saturday morning. (Though, for some people, that dazed look is the result of too many beers at 9 a.m.)

One of my favorite things about football, and sports in general, is the sense of community it fosters. You feel, just by wearing the school colors and cheering on the sidelines, like part of something bigger than yourself. You have something in common with 100,000 strangers, and that’s comforting; you’re not alone in the big cruel world. Or at least that’s how I feel. Maybe I’m reading too much into a mere game, where men throw around an animal skin and hit each other, but I don’t think I am. Do you?

Good luck to the team on Saturday. Enjoy yourselves, Volunteers, and have a good week.

— Leigh Dickey is a junior in global studies. She can be reached at [email protected].