And other proposals for the state's first pro football team

by Jack Neely

Tennessee's having a hard time renaming its pro football team, and no one should be surprised. Tennessee may well be the least coherent, least consistent, least nameable state in the Union.

Years ago, I was watching some sort of live show in Ohio or somewhere, and the master of ceremonies, a comedian desperate to find entertaining things to say, invited a volunteer up from the audience. I just remember the patter, which for the MC took an ugly turn.

"Say, where are you from?" he said, with a big gameshow grin. "Memphis, Tennessee," the woman said without smiling.

"Tennessee," he said. "Isn't that 'the greenest state in the land of the free'?

She looked puzzled. "No," she said. "I don't think so."

And maybe she was right. Davy Crockett's green hills had nothing to do with her Tennessee.

There's no one flora that's dominant in all sections of the state, no one topography, no one industry, no one political party, no one accent, no one history. Both my grandfathers lived in Bearden when I knew them. However, one was originally from Jellico, Tennessee, and the other was from Franklin, Tennessee. By the time I was four, I'd noticed a distinct difference in their accents; by the time I was six, I'd discerned an equally sharp difference in their political opinions, religious affiliations, and general worldviews. They were both native Tennesseans, sure enough, but that's about all they had in common.

All that's to say that in picking any one name to represent this whole state, the Oilers' management clearly has their work cut out for them. I've got nothing against copperheads. They're one of my favorite venomous snakes. It's probably a more charming name than "the Tennessee Rats" or "the Tennessee Horseflies." As vermin go, copperheads are right up there.

Historically, though, the name Copperheads would have caused some consternation to our East Tennessee ancestors. During the Civil War, Copperhead was a contemptuous nickname for pro-Confederate Northerners. To call someone a copperhead in East Tennessee in 1865 would have been asking for a libel suit.

Also, there's something unimaginative and high-schooly about picking a scary-looking predator as your team mascot. If "copperheads" is not as cliché as, say, wildcats, I still think we can do better. I'll always cheer for the well-named Volunteers, especially when they play Alabama. But no one has ever come up with a better name for a football team than the Crimson Tide. I'm not sure what it means, unless it's an allusion to those protozoan epidemics that kill millions of fish in the Gulf—and that's part of why it's so great. It just has a good, ominous, awe-inspiring, there's nothing you can do sound to it.

So I thought maybe something along the lines of Crimson Tide could work for Tennessee. Our color, I would think, would be a lush green, maybe something having to do with that Greenest State business, even if it would puzzle Memphians. "The Honeysuckle Thicket" doesn't sound quite aggressive enough. How about "the Kudzu Envelopment"?

Or maybe another color altogether. The Utah Jazz started in New Orleans, where the name made a lot more sense, but even in Utah the name has a certain ring to it. Why not name a team after another musical genre? The "Tennessee Country & Western" wouldn't quite suit a pro sports team. But "the Tennessee Blues" might work nicely. I've got a reference book at home that has a map of where the great bluesmen were born. Tennessee has more blues birthplaces than any state except Mississippi. (Several are even in East Tennessee, including four in Knoxville.) So, until Mississippi gets a pro football team, which may be a year or two yet, we should feel free to use the Blues.

The Buffalo Bills are named after a famous celebrity. We could do something similar. If "the Buffalo Bills" make sense, so do "the Tennessee Williams." Or "the Tennessee Ernie Fords." Or "the Tennessee Walts." (Give it some time, win a few games, it might start to sound tough.) On that subject, why not name them after a popular song? Like "the Tennessee Borders"? Or, better yet, "the Tennessee Studs"?

History provides a confounding stew of name possibilities, all of which would offend somebody or other. Volunteers, the most inclusive and least offensive suggestion, is already taken. "The Tennessee Presidents" is one suggestion that made the short list. But all three of our presidents were born in North Carolina, and one of them was Andrew Johnson.

One historical allusion that might work well is "the Tennessee Rivermen"—it sounds tough, and it's applicable to the major cities in the state, especially Nashville, since the stadium's beside the river, even if it is the Cumberland, not the Tennessee. (The Cumberland Encumberers, maybe?)

If you want a name that implies speed, endurance, craftiness, and the ability to deliver the goods—all important qualities in football—plus historical authenticity, you could hardly do better than one historical nickname, famous for its broad application to this otherwise disjointed state. Say it out loud: "the Tennessee Bootleggers." Sure, they're illegal, but so are Buccaneers.

We could even employ some of the insults we've endured over the years, just to show we're big enough to take it, and also because they sound mean. Sociologists might like "the Tennessee Homicidally Retributive Scots-Irish." If you remember that public-service ad of about 20 years ago, "the Tennessee Trash." Or "the Tennessee Big-Haired Ladies." (Not tough-sounding enough? Have you ever crossed one?)

Or the scariest and most notorious of all: "the Tennessee Highway Patrol." On defense, they could flash blue lights from the sidelines and opposing running backs would instinctively slow down and make excuses.