The UT Spring Game Crucible

Sometimes during a great big failure, you become aware of a great big success. This past weekend I took the family to the University of Tennessee’s spring football game. It was meant to be a delightful time for all. However, it fell a bit short.

We gathered the binoculars and headed off to the stadium two hours before kickoff. In retrospect, we should have left for the game in, say, the early eighties, about the time Michael Jackson released “Beat It.” Then maybe we could have found decent parking. As it was, we finally found a spot on the top level of the fifth parking garage we tried. The day, however, was still good.

The fifteen minute hike to the stadium was relatively uneventful and provided a few opportunities to discuss the appropriate attire for a lady. Along the way, we clarified what was meant by “trashy,” “Daisy Duke,” and “too much skin.” We also found ourselves confirming the definition of “skank.” But the day was still good.

I watched the scrimmage. My wife was distracted by cheerleaders and dancers, but she also watched. My daughter, on the other hand, sat silent and munched on popcorn as she stared off into the distance (usually toward the game clock). Yes, she occasionally asked how much longer the game would last or rested her head on my shoulder, but she was ever so pleasant. She couldn’t have been more bored watching the author of a Henry Kissinger biography wax monotone on Book TV, but she was pleasant. The day was still good.

After the game, we made our way back to the car, a futile activity by three people silly enough to think they were leaving. When we got to the parking garage, we hiked 9, count them, 9 flights of stairs. For the record, that is eight too many and one short of death. This was my daughter’s favorite part of the day. When we reached the car, we then waited in line to leave the garage. When I say waited, I mean the cosmos itself thought it was a long wait. Buzz Lightyear redefined his catch phrase “To the length of the wait to leave the parking garage and beyond!” Father Time asked what we were still doing there. Moss grew on our kneecaps. It was no longer a good day. Then I looked back at my daughter, still patient and content. I realized she had suffered the day patiently for me. I failed to make her a football fan, but she had become something much more. She was a loving daughter giving her time to Dad. At that moment, I also realized it wasn’t a good day, it was a great day.