There is only one force on earth that can make me sing "Rocky Top".
Sure, I know all the words. Anybody who grew up in Appalachia has (Kentucky born!) Loretta Lynn's twangy lyrics burned into their ears. But I had to listen to that damn song every single time Fulmer's Fighting Fugitives beat Kentucky (read: annually). And then I moved to Alabama, and carried my bad football mojo with me. It was bad enough to hear it when it was expected. But drunk Vol fans filling Bryant-Denny with their orange noise pollution? Damn near sinful.
So, I have a hatred of that song that traverses three states and two football teams. But last night, I sang Rocky Top, and I sang it loud.
What was that irresistible force that moved me? What power could exist, that would sway my hatred so?
Patricia Head Summitt.
Congratulations to the Lady Volunteers. Here's to you overtaking John Wooden.
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