Wishful Thinking Wine And Calendar Party

Do I always see the ship's passengers enjoying the rising tide?

Do I understand why sign ordinances make a local coffee shop's shingle the same size as a burger chain's?

I am a flawed individual - some days I want to sit alone with my flaws and some days I proudly put my flaws on display. The continuous luxury of anonymity, I suppose.

My blood boils during sporting events, the savage beast within barely leashed, straining, looking for weaknesses in the harness and invisible fence of social settings.

One day, I stroll with my wife through the refined displays of a benefit for Randolph School called Under The Christmas Tree. The next day, I'm frustrated that the fans for the visiting football team aren't screaming as loud as they can out to the limits of their lung capacity.

Two young newlyweds sat next to me at the UT-Memphis game last night, one a native New Yorker from near West Point and the other a Mississippi gal working in Olive Branch for U.S. Xpress (Express or eXpress?), a trucking firm.

The former married an Ole Miss fan. Thus, their bedroom is all Yankees and Rebels. Their wedding cake was topped with a Derek Jeter and Col. Reb figurine combo (who knew such a combo exists - talk about specialised markets!).

We sat and chatted while the UM band hustled around the corners of the football field (which reminds me to ask why rugby and futbol teams don't have pepbands), a caged beast paced during its procession, the sun set and planes arched overhead.

I have a special place in my heart for Mississippi women - I'm old-fashioned like that. Doesn't matter to me what they claim for family heritage. There's something about that land o' the South that makes a woman bold, adventurous and focused on improving her future.

And New York women who are as true a Tennessee fan as a woman from the three states of Tennessee will turn me into melted butta.

Yesterday, I was caught between two worlds - the world of silver place settings, Olde World furniture and luxury automobiles, and the world of $12/hr jobs and hopes for an airplane mechanic's degree one day.

I live in both worlds. I've flipped burgers, waded sewers, ridden in limos and eaten megahundred dollar meals.

People are people.

Last night, Tennessee's finest covered the carparks and entranceways of the Liberty Bowl so the governor-elect and his wife could walk onto the field for the coin toss, a ceremony whereby the two teams decide who's the most offensively minded.

Ladies and Gentlemen! In this corner, the down-but-not-out Vengeful Tigers of Memphis! Across the evergreen grassy battlefield, the Rugged Volunteers of Knoxville!

Like I said, I'm no saint. Last night, I needed a good strong drink to prop me up during the genuine ingenious execution of tackling and flanking apropos for the occasion.

Instead, stone-cold sober was I.

By halftime, after kissing cams and little tiger cams and ABC choices and furniture races and the Memphis not the UT band playing Sweet Caroline, I was worn out from the excitement of a 40-7 lead by my up-and-coming team.

Bray found a way. Reveiz and his revengeful, tackling tough boys held the Tigers at bay.

With Houston's having a 45-plus minute wait, we slipped into the Half Shell for immediate seating and me an ice-cold Newcastle brew in time to cool my blood while the Vols held on in a 50-14 victorious romp of Freedom and Liberty.

Thanks to Josh's service, stadium ticket takers, parking attendants, BBQ smoked sausage cook, scoreboard operators, Senola Huell's cookies, Janet's mosquito repellant, Dan's generosity, Fay's pumpkin pie and rail/air/road traffic engineers.