Yes, those pillow biters have finally pissed me off. Living in Nashville, the one recourse I could take was that the pecking order was firmly entrenched and the lovable Vandy fans could prattle on about how smart they were, their hatred of UT or mumble about finally winning one, but, in the end, knew they were our [itch bay]. It was cute and so hard to hate them, though. I even rooted for them, it was simply the decent thing to do, in all honesty. Actively hating them was sort of like hating the angry special ed kid who lashed out at the world for his condition, just mean and petty. I think I even received a merit badge for it when I was a kid, making up for my epic errant archery fiasco. Unfortunately, it's bad enough I have to live in this town and listen to the 100,000 Alabama bandwagoners or fans of some shitty, worthless, mind-numbingly boring local NFL team that will split once they start losing regularly again as they did to the last suckers they lived nearby. No, now I have to deal with the obnoxious and now confident Vandy fans that their below .500 team fresh off an earth shattering victory, their most impressive win to date, over a juggernaut Kentucky team, will roll into Neyland to destroy the Vols. This on top of every radio show here having the James Franklin Fellatio Hour somewhere in their schedule to replace their breathtaking 5 hour discussions of the back-up TE for the Titans. Nothing is more riveting than sports radio shows with Vandy fans expressing decades-long pent up excitement for a series of almost wins against teams that could give a shit about playing them followed by their "media savvy" head coach calling the fawning radio hosts like a middle child in need of attention. It's almost unbearable. And, the worst part of it all being that I can't actively dismiss them without fear of blowback come Saturday. What is the world coming to that I am stuck in the epitome of a mediocre cosmopolitan city while subjected to the condescension of junior high level program, then have that gnawing sensation in my head that they may be right about the fate of the game this weekend? The horror, really. I can hear Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now running amongst these panicked thoughts. Dooley better bring the thunder Saturday because I may be forced to knife one of those smug pricks on Monday. So, to all that, I say [uck fay] you Vandy. Here's to me reviving the old Will Ferrell SNL dog training skit come Monday by noting to these uppity folk to, "Just remember, you're [uck fay]ing Vandy."