In which I tell about loving something far more than I should

“To you who talk too much and sing too loud and cry too often and love something in life more than you should.”
― Fredrik Backman

This will be my most embarrassing post.

It’s not because I did something embarrassing, it’s because you’ll read this and think, “Dude, get over it. That’s silly.”

I know it’s silly. But it’s my story.

In October 2022, I encountered a problem for the first time in my adult life: the Tennessee Vols football team was really good.

We were astronomical when I was a kid: we had Peyton Manning, we beat Alabama six straight times, and we won a national championship in 1998. I was 7, and I was there at the Fiesta Bowl when we beat Florida State 23-16.

Then in 2010, I got to campus as a freshman and started a job working for the Athletics Department. I got to be with the team at training camp, meet the players and coaches, and be on the field at games. It was the coolest job on the planet.

The only problem was the team was terrible. From 1983 to when I got on campus in 2010, Tennessee lost to Vanderbilt one time; during my four years, we went 2-2. You’d have to go back to 1937 to find another class that went 2-2 against Vanderbilt in their four years (it got worse for classes after me—Tennessee lost three straight to Vandy from 2016-2018).

In all my years in school, and then working there full-time for two years after, I never saw us beat any of our main rivals: Florida, and Alabama. We rarely even got close. Most of the time, we lost by 20, 30, 40.

So in October 2022, when we were undefeated and hosting Alabama, I was sick to my stomach. First, because I wanted to win the game. But second, because I couldn’t be there.

FOMO eats me alive. I love two things: my community and experiencing meaning in my bones. I used to stand on the sidelines; to have to watch on TV twisted my guts.

Tennessee won on a last-second field goal. I watched the game at a house on the Tennessee River, and when we won, my brother and I jumped in the river.

The fans stormed the field, they tore down the goal posts. It felt like an "Elvis dying" moment in that everyone remembers where they were.

And I felt sick for the next two weeks. I’d get on social media and see another friend posting about being there and getting on the field after the game. I’d talk to other friends who also weren’t there, and they’d talk about how they didn’t mind because they were there when we finally beat Florida in 2016 (I had moved to Kansas City by then and watched that game on a phone).

Everyone made a core memory that night. I missed out.

I’m going to stop myself from writing all the further thoughts about feeling sorry for myself, but to sum it up: I was sick, I was jealous.

But jealousy is the feeling you get when you fear that someone is going to take something that is yours.

This wasn’t that. I realized it was envy.

Because envy is the feeling of wanting something that belongs to someone else. In the Christian tradition, jealous is a word God uses to describe Himself, while envy is one of the deadly sins. Jealousy can be good if it’s for your spouse, your time, what you believe in. Envy just kills things.

And once the green fades from my vision, I can think back to October 2022 and the moment we won. The ball had barely hit the ground before my brother was shirtless, running out the back door.

I screamed, “Is it real?!?” I saw the fireworks at the stadium and screamed, “IT’S REAL!” then took off. We ran across the cool grass down towards the periwinkle water reflecting the late October sky, while my wife filmed us, laughing hysterically.

I cannonballed off the dock, the cold water assaulting my lungs. We could hear cheers from the neighboring houses down the riverfront; fireworks popping in the gathering night. And I was dog-paddling to the dock thinking, we finally beat Bama, and I was going to die three minutes later because I’m a moron.

My wife was laughing as she watched. She’d just experienced the emotions of caring about a silly football team for the first time. This was the greatest miracle of the night and I was there to witness it.

It’s silly. But it’s my story.

And if I’d just open my eyes, maybe I’d see how much I love it.