It shocked me one day when football came on the television and shattered my beliefs about the receiving abilities of wooden-based television arrangements. Vanderbilt was playing Tennessee. I was maybe eight years old at the time. Tennessee scored off a short TD run. My grandfather made a displeased grunt from somewhere in his enormous lantern-sized head, the same one that totters on my neck like a bowling ball taped to a gameday shaker.

"What's wrong, Gran-gran?"

"I'm thinking Tennessee's a little bit more physically equipped than Vanderbilt is."

"Are we pulling for Tennessee?"

"No, Spencer. We can't do that."

"Why?"

"We just don't. You can't cheer for Tennessee. We don't do that in Nashville."

"Can I cheer for Vandy?"

"You can cheer for Vandy, but you can't pull for ol' Tennessee."

"Got it."