Ah, Orange!

I was a Vol from birth, whether I knew it or not. Though was born and raised in the Motor City, both of my parents are originally from Tennessee and so I have had orange running through my veins all my life.

I noticed from a young age that the love of the University of Tennessee reaches cultish fervor in East Tennessee. I've watched pickup trucks with mudflaps the size of billboards cruising the two-lane roads of Smalltown, UT flag streaming behind them. If you follow Route 25 far enough north, you'll pass a white picket fence lining the yard of an orange and white house occupied by hardcore UT lovers. Only weeks into my first semester at UT I saw a handcuffed and shackled murdered on the evening news being led to a waiting police car. He was decked out, from head to toe, in orange UT clothing. Even people who can't spell university love the Vols and will lay down and die for UT football if asked to do so.

So I came to Tennessee, forsaking the cold, bitter winters of Michigan. I left behind flat campuses in favor of the mountainous terrain and craggy cliffs that define the UT campus and, consequently, give me iron-man stamina from having traversed these obstacles. I came because, I couldn't resist the orange glow.

It's great to be a UT fan, but so much better being a Vol. It's the difference between being on the outside looking in, and being the guy sitting at the banquet table, orange frosting dripping off your face as you eat all your cake, too. It's damn good cake, too.

And Michigan is still frigg'n cold.