Football at The Hatfields

Football at the Hatfield House

As traditional East Tennesseans my three older brothers went to UT and earned degrees along with a deep love for UT football and basketball.  They took jobs and moved away but remained avid UT fans who attended UT football games as often as they could.  When they came home on a UT football weekend there was a standard procedure that had to be followed before each game started. In order for them to see the game the television antenna which was on top of our highest hill would have to be readjusted in order to get television reception from the channel that carried the game. Many of our neighbors who lived on top of hills got four channels. We lived in a valley so we only got one channel.

The procedure to adjust the outdoor antenna required a large coordinated effort of at least four people who were positioned in such a way that communication could be relayed from the living room to the top of the hill above our house. One person was stationed in the living room to watch the television reception quality.  Another person was positioned in the yard. The third person was positioned half way up the hill, and the fourth person on top of the hill would manually turn the antenna in various directions until the best reception was received on the set in the living room. All communication had to be yelled to the next person until the person turning the antenna and the person viewing the game had found the best reception. This procedure involved Mama, Daddy, the brother who wanted to see the game, and me. Usually I was the one in the middle of the pasture field who had to dodge the cow manure while I relayed messages.

 My only interest in the game was the half-time show when the majorettes performed; otherwise, I hated football and didn't understand it. After the game the antenna had to be readjusted back to the one channel we regularly watched. Changing the antenna was a ordeal, to say the least.

During the beginning of my freshman year in high school I decided I wanted to see the majorettes perform live in the stadium so I began my own campaign to get my oldest brother to take me to a real game.  He said 'no'. I continued to beg and finally my brother said, "You don't know enough about football to get to see a real game" (which was true), but I continued to insist on going to the game.  Finally, he said, "I'll take you if you can answer three football questions correctly."  Here was my chance.

The three questions were: How many yards are there in a football field? What do you call the man in a striped shirt who blows the whistle? And how many 'downs' does each side get before the ball switches sides? I guessed and did not get a single answer correct. My brother laughed until he cried. I was humiliated.

Today if you ask me if I like football, I will tell you "I don't much care for it." While I have forgiven my brother, I still have no interest in football even after I know the answers to the three questions.