Same face. Different quarterback. It's strange what memories a single uniform can conjure.
I don't have strong ties to the University of Tennessee.
My memaw who grew up in Belbuckle claimed I had a great uncle who played there, his nickname having to do with the alligator wiggle of his hips going through the line. Personally, I never met the man, and if there's a grainy team photo out there with him in it, I wouldn't be able to pinpoint his pale cheekbones anymore than I might be able to pick out President Rutherford B. Hayes in a line up of nineteenth century Presidents who used the White House for a Gilded Age beard off and nothing more. But I did recognize Tyler Bray's face on Saturday, dazed in the sun, and twisted in defeat, as if the Florida Gators had poured him a shot of bad whiskey. I recognized that face, slumped jaw and saddened eyes; I'd seen it at least four times before, the viewing of it as familiar to me as my memaw's stories about uncles I never knew.
