The Bet

It was over a year ago when I was in Bristol to visit my Dad that we were discussing the governor's race, and the Haslams. Like me, he wasn't sure if Bill Haslam could govern our state without letting the family business, Pilot Oil, leak into his decisions. As usual, in the course of the conversation, he had to mention the college football career of Bill Haslam's father, who's known affectionately around Knoxville as Big Jim. Not only did Big Jim play for the University of Tennessee, he was a standout on a national championship team and a team captain during his senior year. I had heard those facts many times. But on that day, my Dad brought up something he had never mentioned before.
Him: "I can't remember how far into the season it was, but every Sunday I bought a Knoxville newspaper and on that Sunday I read in the sports section that Jim Haslam wasn't going to be allowed to finish out the season. Even though he was the captain of the team, he was ineligible to play because someone had produced a picture that clearly showed him on the field, playing in a game during his freshman year. I don't remember how many games were left to play when this happened, and I don't remember precisely what year it was, I think 1952, but I do know that he never played in another game. Ever."
Me: "Really?, Wow, I've never heard anything about that."
Him: "Well, I can tell you that it happened. I remember it like it was yesterday."
Me: "I'm not doubting you. But I've never heard that story before.Was it a big scandal?"
Him: "No. It wasn't a scandal. It was treated more like an oversight."

So while it was an interesting story, it was a long time ago, and probably nobody cared anyway. But when I got back to Knoxville and mentioned the story to Ron, he totally discounted it. "I've never heard anything about that, and I think I would have heard about it if that had actually happened."

Really? You're doubting the University of Tennessee football brain trust that disguises himself as your father-in-law? Oh, you silly, silly boy.

We were at DEFCON 3.

I checked through all the UT football history books that we have. Nothing. I got on the Internet. I Googled everything related to Big Jim and UT football. Nothing. I went to the library and tried to look through newspaper archives on microfiche. That lasted about fifteen minutes before it made me feel dizzy and obsessive, and I gave up.

A month or two later, we were having dinner with our good friends, Barney and Betty. Ron, not even a doubter, but a wholehearted nonbeliever, thought I should tell them the story of the unfortunate ending to Big Jim Haslam's football career. Betty was quiet and noncommittal, but Barney became an instant nonbeliever, to the point of putting his money where his mouth was. "I'm saying not only did it not happen, but I'll bet you ten dollars you can't come up with anything that shows it did." We shook hands across the table.

Poor guy. He had no idea who he was dealing with.

We were at DEFCON 2.

Time has a way of passing and making people forget. The election came and went. Bill Haslam won. Big Jim beamed.

The inauguration took place yesterday.

This morning my Dad called at 8 a.m. On the front page of the Bristol paper there was the beginning of a week-long article about our new governor and his family. In the first installment was the story of Big Jim's UT football career that was cut short because he was deemed ineligible after someone outside of the university proved that he had played in a game his freshman year. That same article was in our newspaper this morning here in Knoxville.

I immediately texted Barney. "You owe me ten dollars." Like my father, I never forget anything.

We're meeting for dinner at six. I told him to be sure and bring cash.

Everyone can relax. We're back to DEFCON 5.

Drop Dead Fred*

PhillyTwo and I left for Tunica on the 26th, which given our track record, was as civilized as we could pretend to be. We've been known to head to the casinos on Christmas Day. The weather was iffy when we got up that morning, but a little snow and ice didn't change our minds, and it was the damn salt truck that actually made the drive more difficult. If you've ever driven behind one, you know what I'm talking about. I pressed the windshield-sprayer button so many times between Knoxville and Cookeville, I ran out of the blue stuff and had to stop and buy some. My black car was salty white by the time we got to Mississippi.

As soon as we arrived we went straight to our room and broke out the food and drink: summer sausage, wheat thins, cashews, Chex mix, and vodka mixed with Sprite's and garnished with limes. The perfect hotel picnic. Then we went downstairs to the casino to let the gambling begin. We decided to acclimate ourselves to losing money by starting in the Keno lounge because it's cheap, time-consuming and the waitresses come by often. We were betting a dollar a game, so there was no real fear of winning big. UNTIL...PhillyTwo marked her numbers, went to the counter, paid her two dollars (for two games) and when she came back and sat down, she noticed they had marked the wrong numbers. She went back to complain, but the first game on her ticket had already started, so they said they couldn't correct that one, but they could correct the next one. She said, "Okay. And you might as well check the one you marked wrong and see if I won anything with it." And of course they did, and of course she won $120  on that ticket! Their mistake. Her good fortune.

The next morning I got up early and so that I wouldn't disturb the one who has to sleep late on vacations, I went downstairs to call Ron. I was excited to tell him about PhillyTwo's big win. He answered the phone, but once he said, "Hello," he went silent. I thought the phone had disconnected. But then I realized he was still there, but wasn't talking. Then it came. "Fred's gone." "What?" "I had him put to sleep this morning." He was sobbing. "He couldn't walk anymore. I knew it was time." By this time we were both were crying. Him, in the privacy of our home. Me, in the middle of the hotel lobby with people staring at me, wondering how much money I had lost. Must have been a lot, the way I was carrying on.

So the dog I loved to complain about, the dog I hated to love, but did, isn't with us anymore. He was sixteen years old. He had been deaf for quite a while. He could barely see. He was incontinent. We were fairly certain he was senile. And finally, he could no longer walk. Ron was right. Sadly, it was time to let his buddy go. Fred was a member of our family. There will never be another one like him. 

PhillyTwo snapped this picture of Fred wrapped in a coat right before we left for Tunica.  RIP little Fred.

*Sorry about the title. I couldn't resist. I always look for humor through tears.