I cannot lie to you. The Tennessee Vols National Signing Day was a resounding success. So much so, that Dooley utter five words that will change Tennessee Football forever:

Total Fucking Victory; Vols, Bitch is a huge hit.

Success was so big, in fact, that anyone using the phrase must not abbreviate or otherwise foreshorten it. No TFVVB, no Total F’in Vic, V,B none of it. The five hottest words in this still fledgling Derek Dooley coaching regime must be allowed to unfurl like the original Stars and Stripes over Fort McHenry in 1814, only this time it flies above the glory is that is Rocky Top. From three thousand feet, an Islamic mosque looks a lot like an antenna. Mark Richt may have to resign after his recruiting fail at the hands of Dooley.

From Chatt free press

Who cares if Florida finished number one? History has taught us all one thing, those fantastically talented Florida recruits will run afoul of the law, drugs, traffic or some violent crime. Anyone that would go to Florida or Southern Cal with all of the weird medical drama (http://www.gatorsports.com/article/2…egins-Thursday) and looming probation (USC) is lacking the requisite intellectual processing skills to wipe their ass.

Such are the costs of Total Fucking Victory; Vols, Bitch.

Dooley’s press conference couldn’t have gone any better even if it had been presided over by John Majors and featured two heavyweights in a choreographed eruption, diving over mic stands and press tables to demonstrate the ferocity of their rivalry. In fact, Majors was in attendance. But without a pair of boxers at weigh-in, he looked a little lost. I’d overheard him trying to convince Phil Fulmer and Athletic Director/Dove Milquetoast Mike Hamilton to just take a fucking run at each other, but Dooley knew that the numbnutness of this martial catchphrase would carry the day on its own. He merely needed to step aside and let Total Fucking Victory, Bitch; Vols do its job.

The event was somber and dignified. A giant plasma TV descended from the Letterman’s press room ceiling, and a PowerPoint slide show displayed a montage of great Tennessee Football triumphs, punctuated with images of a nighttime Tuscaloosa spectacularly aflame. The musical score, led by frequent NFL MVP Peyton Manning (who, sadly, failed to achieve victory of his own over the Florida Gators) rose to a crescendo of sweeping, majestic strings and a chorus of ululating Blue Grass folksingers. Then came a sound effect suggesting a cartoon anvil being dropped onto a baby grand piano, before the otherworldly voice of a non-threatening black man who sounded a lot like James Earl Jones intone, “Total. Fucking. Victory; Vols, Bitch.”

The effect was mesmerizing, so I decided to let the unapproved punctuation slide, for now.

Confetti cannons sprayed the conference room with the “Nick Saban and Herban Meyer Surrender Now!” leaflets that have cascaded over the SEC Stadiums by the millions upon millions, promising a future of sock-hops and jukeboxes filled with SwiperBoy tunes to all who would turn their backs on schools.

A spread featuring Greek Salad laced with Gyro-shit and some pita bread was overturned by a phalanx of heavily-armed members of the 230th ACR from the Tennessee Army National Guard, and a new table featuring cheeseburgers, pizza, and apple pie was set up in its stead.

Yummy

For perhaps the first time in recorded history, the nattering of the press corps was hushed for a full fifteen seconds — until a reporter for the Chattanooga Free Press began to tweet the five words that will continue to turn the tide of recruiting and public opinion towards Tennessee Volunteer football, the soon-to-be-triumphant hyperpower:

“Total Fucking Victory; Vols, Bitch”

Phil Fulmer, who up to this point was stewing at the back of the room, joined the chant. He hastily scribbled “I *Heart*” over the blood-red “Fuck” above an unflattering image of Urban Meyer he’d pasted to the sandwich board that girded his Borscht-belt midsection. His megaphone rang not with the usual country-boy excuses, but with the five words that force the Florida Gator mental disaster from his mental health facility to the surface streets of Gunsville like a stick of dynamite in a Good Ol’ American Fishin’ Hole.

Total Fucking Victory; Vols, Bitch

The t-shirts were silk-screened and of high, Hanes-Beefy-T quality, and there were plenty to go around.

In between mouthfuls of pizza, Mike Hamilton discussed the possibility of formulating five words for an possible home and home series with Southern Cal. A clueless Volquest “reporter” jokingly suggested “Please Give Me a Scoop”, and “they” shared a knowing laugh. ‘They’ were the uber-secret society of the Tennessee Illuminati they all winked at one another, knowing that the cockblock of Volquest would remain in place. Once again, Total Fucking Victory; Vols, Bitch is achieved.

And once Total Fucking Victory; Vols Bitch is deployed to the SEC front lines like a divinely-sanctioned Malestorm, that shouldn’t be long at all.

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