The nights we sang Rocky Top

I’ve heard it once and a thousand times: The Pride of the Southland Marching Band sending “Rocky Top” up out of Neyland Stadium into a Tennessee night.

My buddy Randy and I were on our way to see the Vols play Kentucky as we walked beneath “The Hill.” Up there, Ayres Hall has stood since 1921 before Coach Robert Neyland won any of the games that would lead to the stadium being named after him.

We were excited. We’ve been to dozens of Vols games together, but most back when we were in school from 2010 to 2014, which means more often than not, we saw the Vols get their butts whooped.

It’d been a while since I’d seen Randy. We both have kids and did the Dad dance of “Maybe next week? Let me get back to you. I would love to see y’all.” But Randy and I’s friendship has survived a few gaps in seeing each other. We met in kindergarten in Mrs. Shirley’s class. His Mom was a Nebraska Cornhusker fan, so when they beat us in the 98 Orange Bowl, Randy made sure I knew about it the day after waiting in the pick-up line.

We both left and went to different schools in 3rd grade. But in 8th grade, all the schools feed into Science Hill High, so we picked up again. Plus, Randy and I were in the same youth group, went to the same Summer Camp, and Randy was on that sacred path of becoming a Vols fan, which was fully cemented when we went to college at UT together.

So I’m not worried when I don’t see Randy for a while, but I thought of him when I had an extra ticket to the game. Now that I think about it, we probably went to our first game in 2010 as students, too:

2010: Tennessee vs. UT- Martin. It’s a late kickoff, and we’re all dead tired because last night we stayed up till 2 am doing nothing like playing HALO 3, talking to pretty girls in the courtyard between the dorms, or buying junk food at the little mart beneath the cafeteria.

2024: Tennessee vs. Kentucky. It’s a late kickoff, and we’re dead tired because our babies were up in the middle of the night. On the way over, we had a long conversation about avoiding processed food and the benefits of going organic.

2010: I’m staring at some pretty girls in sundresses outside gate 23, where the students enter.

“You see that girl there?” I said, pointing at one of them. “She’s the One.”

“That’s the 4th time you’ve said that this week,” said Randy.

“The One” reaches inside her boot and stashes an airplane bottle of Jack Daniels.

2024: We’re staring up at a tree outside Gate 23.

“You think that’s an elm?” Randy said.

“I’m not sure. Could be a hackberry. It’s a big one, though,” I said.

“I just planted a tulip poplar in my yard,”

“State Tree of Tennessee.”

“That’s why I planted it. That and the bees will love it,” said Randy.

2010: The Vols run through the giant “T” formed by the Pride of the Southland Marching Band, and we’re already on our feet singing “Rocky Top” at the top of our lungs. This is the student section. We’ll stand the entire game. We don’t care that the fans behind us want to sit. The poor people have to watch the game on the Jumbotron.

2024: The Vols run through the giant “T” formed by the Pride of the Southland Marching Band, and we’re already on our feet singing “Rocky Top” at the top of our lungs. After the song ends, I take the first chance to sit down, thankful that the old man in front of me also sits so I don’t have to watch the game on the Jumbotron.

2010: I miss a few plays because “The One” (a different girl) walked by in an orange sundress.

2024: I missed a few plays because I was trying to take a photo of Jupiter. I was amazed you could see it even with all the light pollution.

I send it to my wife. She’s not as interested as I am, but she gets me. “Cool!” she says.

2010: Our kicker misses a field goal, and we yell at him.

2024: Our kicker misses a field goal, and we yell at him but also wonder if his Mom is sitting near us and how she must feel.

2010: “Do you think we could make a bowl this year?” Randy said.

“Probably. I feel like 6 or 7 wins is doable,” I reply.

2024: “Do you think we can make the playoff? I said.

“Probably. I feel like 10 wins is doable,” Randy said.

2010: During a TV timeout, I pulled out my phone, and we checked scores from other games.

“Wow, Georgia is beating Florida,” I said. “That’d be an upset.”

2024: In a TV timeout, I pull up pictures of my daughter dressed as a koala bear for Halloween.

Randy smiles and then checks his phone. “Florida is beating Georgia. That’d be an upset.”

2010: The Vols win easily. They’re on their way to a 6-6 season, but we’re just happy with a win for now.

The Pride of the Southland Band strikes up “The Tennessee Waltz.” All around us, people lock arms around each other and sway as the sad song echoes around the stadium. We’re new here, but we put our arms around each other.

The song made me think about all the people who have come and gone from this place, who have seen games from these seats here at Neyland Stadium, walked the halls through the Student Union, and sat in class up at Ayres Hall.

Even as a Freshman, I knew how time was passing and getting faster. It feels like mere weeks have passed since I was 6 watching Peyton Manning from my Dee Daw’s seats in section Y8.

2024: The Vols win easily (kind of). They’re on their way to hopefully the playoff. The Pride of the Southland Band strikes up “The Tennessee Waltz.” Randy and I are arm in arm, swaying before the song begins.

I think about how it doesn’t feel like 14 years have passed since we were kids over there with the students in section D. As the song echoes through the stadium and rises to join Jupiter up there in the sky, I feel that time is passing faster and faster. The Student Union is long gone, and Neyland Stadium has a new Jumbotron, yet some things remain the same, like Ayres Hall up there on the Hill.

The song ends, and the band plays “Rocky Top” one last time. Randy and I sing together like we’ve done a thousand times.

“Home sweet home to me,

Good ole Rocky Top (wooh!)

Rocky Top, Tennessee.”