KNOXVILLE — It was as it has been before. “Dixieland Delight” on the speakers. Cigars on lips. Gleeful masses cascading like waterfalls from the seats. Cell phones in hands, everyone capturing their own little slice of collective Big Orange euphoria.
This is what it’s like — still — when Tennessee beats Alabama at Neyland Stadium.
“Now there's an expectation,” Vols coach Josh Heupel said after this 26-10 victory on Oct. 17. “That’s what you do when you're playing these guys.”
If 2022 was historic for the Vols and 2024 was validation, then 2026 was emphatic. This wasn't close. Tennessee pushed around an Alabama program that had spent years pushing around the rest of the SEC, most routinely the rival Vols.
My friend Wes Rucker would’ve loved to see
it.
Wes, as many of you know, died suddenly and tragically in a Feb, 19 auto accident in Knoxville. He was 43. He left behind his lovely wife Lauren, his young son Hank, and a soon-to-be-born daughter, Rose, who has since arrived. I found out via a late-night phone call while I was overseas covering the Winter Olympics in Italy.
It was awful. It's still awful.
You likely heard about this and grieved, too, especially if you are a Vols fan. Wes had a huge following, and for many reasons. He was super talented. A heck of a writer and reporter. Gold on a microphone. Adept at social media. For years, he was beloved as a prominent voice on UT sports. He’ll be cherished and remembered forever by so many.
For me, though, a little different. I lost a very close friend of mine of more than 20 years.
Wes was that loyal, lasting friend you might not call or see regularly, but you knew that you always could. I keep thinking back on so many important moments in my life that included Wes. We took road trips for work. We took road trips as friends. We were at each other's weddings.
Wes had lines. Memorable ones. That was just his way. He’d lead you to places he knew you needed to go without carrying you or being critical. He was always on your side. He was supportive, and he said things in ways that'd stick while making you feel like a stronger person. I can't imagine anyone being a better friend.
Even in recent years, when we both had gotten busy being grown-ups with families, I’d get to press boxes at UT early and seek him out. We’d sit and chat until we had to stop because a game was starting. About pretty much anything, too, from sports to life to whatever else.
I don’t get to do that anymore when I travel to Knoxville for work, and that has been difficult. Life moves on. I can’t say that I have in this instance.
Which is probably why, suddenly, I felt so sad while standing on the field at Neyland Stadium, watching thousands celebrate in this biennial orange chaos. Grief can be sneaky like that. It’ll wait to grab you in moments you least anticipate, though I do anticipate when I'm here. Covering Tennessee games, in any sport, has been difficult this year. A lot of firsts. That first football game at Neyland Stadium after Wes’ death, for instance, wasn't easy for me.
There’s a nice memorial for Wes in the Neyland press box. UT permanently dedicated a seat to him. I’ve gained so much respect for Tennessee coaches, staff members and fans through this terrible experience. Vol Nation has been wonderful to Team Rucker in so many ways. I've appreciated that endlessly. But quietly.
Meanwhile, I hadn’t brought those emotions into this space. Soon after Wes’ accident, an editor asked if I wanted to write a column about him. I thought about it. I figured that I would eventually, but I wasn’t ready.
It wasn’t until I stood on that field, dang near tears, that it occurred to me it might be time.
So here I am, covering a massive Tennessee football win and barely writing a word about the game. If Wes were to read this, he’d probably tell me that I should’ve focused on Jim Knowles’ defense or DeSean Bishop and the run game or what it means, big-picture, for the programs.
This was, after all, my 16th Alabama-Tennessee game in person. You amass a total that high when you’re old and you’ve held multiple jobs covering each program. I’m thinking about No. 8.
In 2007, I was a first-year beat writer covering Alabama, after previously covering Tennessee for the Chattanooga Times Free Press. As that game ended with the Crimson Tide comfortably ahead, their fans’ “Rammer Jammer” chant echoed through Bryant-Denny Stadium.
Next to me on the sideline, Chattanooga’s new Vols beat writer who’d replaced me just before the season looked around: “I’d better get used to that.”
Wes was correct, of course.
With Nick Saban having just arrived in Tuscaloosa, it was easy to sense, even then, which way the winds were blowing for his Crimson Tide. But Wes was right about something else. He knew he wouldn’t be going anywhere. He was home. He was covering the Vols. He always would.
Though he’s not sitting here right now, I do see him, still typing away at some epic, lengthy take that’d mean he was the last reporter in the press box before leaving “General Neyland’s Big Ol’ Damn House of Football.” It has not and will never be the same without him.
While I pondered that in the press box, a UT staffer came over to me and said, "You know who would've enjoyed that one?"
I sure did.
Reach Tennessean sports columnist Gentry Estes at gestes@tennessean.com and hang out with him on Bluesky @gentryestes.bsky.social
This article originally appeared on Nashville Tennessean: For Vols, a game to cherish, and for me, a night to remember my close friend | Estes
