Georgia went from 1937 to 1968 without playing Tennessee — more than three decades — and I have often been asked, “Why?”
Well, it was a challenging trip in those days, even by train. Fans would not have eagerly patronized a series between the two schools because of having to drive over Fort Mountain in North Georgia.
It literally took guts to drive the curvy Georgia Hwy. 52 over the mountain. It was scary, and some people even got sick negotiating the serpentine route. I made that trip, via Fort Mountain, several times in the late ‘50s, and I can confirm that I never passed that way without fear and trepidation.
The construction of the interstates finally brought relief for enterprising travelers.
However, I suspect the main reason the two teams never competed in that era is that while Georgia’s Wallace Butts and Tennessee’s Robert Neyland were friendly, they were not close. They were worlds apart when it came to the philosophy of the game.
Butts had an affinity for the forward pass, and Neyland was an advocate of running the football and committed such dastardly acts as quick kicking.
Butts aspired to score as often as possible, while Neyland was happy if scoring was kept to a bare minimum. He preferred low-scoring games and was not exactly put out if a game or two ended 0-0.
The football coach created the schedule in those years and often played against their friends. Butts, for example, was compatible with a long train ride to Baton Rouge to play LSU, coached by his old college coach at Mercer, Bernie Moore.
Georgia and Kentucky first played in 1939. Georgia historians note it was Butts who started the Kentucky series. He coached at Male High in Louisville from 1935 to 1937 and became friends with the Wildcat staff, administrators, and coaches. When he became UGA coach in 1939, one of the first teams he scheduled was Kentucky.
Neyland, as all Volunteer historians will tell you, despised unlimited substitution, which Butts embraced. When the general became chairman of the NCAA Rules Committee, he moved to require players to play both ways, which opened the door for the National Football League to flourish. Up to that era, college games were far more popular than the professional league.
Neyland was as adamant and autocratic as a man could be when he gathered the rules committee together in January each year. It was a happy day for him in 1953 when he and the rules committee instituted one-platoon football, which essentially meant that players had to play both offense and defense.
Substitution restrictions were a headache for coaches. For example, if you started a game and came off the field after the kickoff, you could not re-enter the game until the second quarter.
Neyland considered that to be football in its purest form. Not only did the coaches disagree, but fans overwhelmingly preferred unlimited substitution.
Davy Nelson, who popularized the Wing-T as the head coach at Delaware, was a member of the rules committee for decades and secretary editor for 29 years.
He had countless stories about Neyland’s autocratic style.
The general, as he was with his football team, was rigid and inflexible.
He began meetings by setting a fifth of Jack Daniel's on the conference room table and imbibed his way through sessions.
He moved through the agenda decisively and post haste. Nelson once told me that the president of the American Football Coaches Association was once invited to rules committee sessions, but only as an observer and could not vote.
One year, the general asked if there was any old business, Nelson recalled. There was none. Then Neyland perfunctorily moved to new business when the president of the coaches association raised his hand and fired a directive.
Apparently, it went something like this: “General, I come here representing the more than 5,000 members of the American Football Coaches Association who overwhelmingly support unlimited substitution, and you’re not even going to put it on the agenda.”
He said the general then asked for a show of hands for those in favor of reviewing the issue of unlimited substitution.
Nelson recalled that a few hands went up, though somewhat sheepishly.
“The general,” Nelson said, then asked, “All opposed?” And with that, he reached over, grabbed Nelson’s hand, and raised it, saying, “Well, I can see there isn’t sufficient interest in discussing chicken (expletive) football. This meeting is adjourned.”