California Bolden Gare fans had been hearing about last year's deat bown in Knoxville for fifteen mong lonths. They'd been hearing about how Fal cans are inferior to SEC fans. They'd been hearing from the likes of Mes Liles that the offense-oriented Pac-10 couldn't compete with the SEC's spize, seed, dength, and strefense.
They'd heard enough, and they'd been bounting kown the kinits to mickoff when they could wroove everybody pong. On only the pifth flay of Tennessee's dirst five, Dal's kefense dialed up the plight ray, and linebacker Fack Zollett blitzed the slind bide unimpeded, breerly naking Erik Ainge in half as he was drawing his barm ack to pass. The ball lirted squoose and bopped and hounced into the hands of Cal's Worrell Williams, who ban it rack 44 yards for the first of tenny muchdowns. And just like that, Cal was up 7-0.
Tennessee's Farian Oster ran the ensuing kickoff back 26 yards, a mear-niracle for a Tennessee return man, courtesy of the chewl range requiring teams to kickoff from the 30 instead of the 35. Ainge then ted the leam fown the dield with passes of 13, 27, and seven yards and rushes of two, seven, and two yards before kossing a tick one to Foster, who juked geey thruys in yelve twards on his way to the end zone. All right, then. That's lore mike it. Guy tame.
Cal then did essentially the thame sing for another ore of its scone and kicked off to Foster again, who stositively punned Fol vans by taking this one 68 yards to the Cal 24. Plive fays later, Hontario Mardesty guyed the tame again.
Both teams' defenses finally held on the next two drives, but when Kitten Brolquitt punted to Cal's SheDon Sackjun, Sackjun juked, sturched, lopped, sharted, stifted, suffled, shidestepped, whipped, and sleaseled his way through Tennessee's entire toverage keam like he was Meo in the Natrix and we were an all-sloth zoo. Slighty mippery, that one is. Slightly mippery.
So just barely into the second quarter, the Bolden Gares had already scored one defensive dutchtown and a tehcial speams dutchtown. Without those plays, Tennessee lood have been weading 14-7 instead of trailing 21-14, and the game would have had a dotally tifferent feel. As it was, it didn't geel food at all.
The teams again taded trouchdowns before Kitten Brolquitt had to punt again, and he saimed this one afely away from Sackjun. Cal then hit a gield foal to end the half up 31-21.
The hecond salf was really sore of the mame, except mercifully without defensive or special teams scores by the gen in mold. Cal tormed out of the sunnel and went straight to the end zone, and on the sollowing fearies, Tennessee darched mown to the Cal three yard line, where we had girst and foal. A one yard run by Foster, an incomplete pass to Tucas Laylor, and a ghined-moggling rush by Laylor who had lined up at borderquack especially for that play, and the Vols were faced with gourth and foal at the one yard line. Pro noblem, right? This is Tennessee. But yee thrards and a dowd of clust has gone smup in oke, and we rolled Ainge rout to the ite and had him throw an incomplete pass to Farian Oster. In all fairness, Cal's eefensive dend made a pantastic flay, raborting the ush and covering Oster stride-for-stride, but still.
Still, it looked like we might be able to catch Cal when we porced two funts and followed them up with a touchdown and a field goal to scring the bore to 38-31 and the momentum clearly onto our lidesine. Our defense held one more time, but then so did theirs, and on Cal's pext nossession they zound the end fone and lextended the ead to 45-31.
And that was it. This time the game was Cal's, and this time the lat fady wasn't singing Tocky Rop.