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How did Kenny Chesney become the de facto celebrity representative for the Vols?
- Updated: September 18, 2012
I have a few questions. Why was Kenny Chesney sitting alongside Kirk Herbstreit, Lee Corso and Chris Fowler on the Gameday set this past Saturday? And why was he featured on the Jumbotron between quarters during the game? More specifically, how, exactly, did Kenny Chesney become the de facto celebrity representative for all things Tennessee Football? Did they decide to just go with the famous Tennessean with the biggest ears or something?
Look, I get it. Someone’s gotta be the de facto celebrity representative for UT. I mean, Lord knows David Keith couldn’t keep that shit up forever. (Chin up though, DK — helluva run, bro.) But, seriously, how did Kenny get to be the one?
Don’t get me wrong. Kenny’s many things. Proof of just how far puka shells, human growth hormone and lightweight, breathable cowboy hats can take a man being chief among them.
But he ain’t no VOL.
I know. People think he is, but that’s only because he’s so often claiming to be a Vol. But he also claimed to be in a legitimate marriage with that horrible Bridget Jones woman. And you didn’t believe they were ever a legitimate couple, did you? Lord knows I didn’t.
Nope. That whole marriage had beard written all over it. Though, in fairness to Kenny, he could have just as easily been Renée’s beard as she his. Or, you never know. It could have been an unprecedented dual-beard situation. Anyone’s guess, really. But one thing’s for certain. That marriage was a farce, as its four-month duration would attest.
Which gets back to my skepticism of Kenny being a Vol. See, Kenny has a long history of spinning himself to be whatever suits his image best at any particular moment. Think about it. Right when people started putting two and two together — right when they were all like Hmm — wonder why Kenny’s never had a girlfriend. You don’t suppose… he suddenly popped up on a Caribbean island playing footsie with Mrs. Butterface.
You wanna chalk it up to a coincidence, fine. That’s your business. Me? I can’t do that. Because he throws up these smoke screens every so often, you know. Like earlier this summer, he started hanging out with this dog 24/7. (No, not Renée – the one he’s picture with below.)
First, someone really needs to let Little Orphan Annie know that Kenny’s kidnapped her dog, but second, what the fuck is going on up there? Going all Billy Badass with a dog while rocking a do-rag is one thing, but taking a poodle on a romantic wakeboarding paddle is another matter entirely. Color me cynical, but is this not the country-superstar equivalent of that creepy-ass single chick with like 15 cats who lives up the street?
Anyway, my point is this: when asked about this mysterious dog, Kenny told People Magazine: ”A friend gave it to me and said, ‘Here, Kenny, you have to learn to attach to something!’ God’s honest truth!”
Okay. So, everyone knows that 97% of all statements which precede the phrase “God’s honest truth” are flat-out lies. And I don’t see anything about this particular one that puts it in the land of 3%.
See what he’s doing here? He’s spinning himself again, people, what with the “learn to attach to something” bit. He wants us to believe that his friends are so concerned about this playboy that they’ve given him a dog, you know, because all he does is mow through preposterous amounts of high-calibre ass like a hot knife in butter — and no man — not even one who gets as much tail as Kenny — can go it alone, hence the dog, as this heart breaker needs something, ANYTHING, with which to connect — OH THE HUMANITY!
But at the end of the day, he’s really just a lonely dude with a membership to one of those 24-hour gym deals, who’s trying a bit too hard to come off like a player. Though trying to come off like a player is nothing new for Kenny. Consider the following:
Note the white-man’s underbite — a subtle but effective touch if you ask me, as it does lend the appearance that he’s actually shredding, when in fact, he’s merely doing what my 11-year-old does every night on the Wii.
So when Kenny starts spinning this down-home bullshit about how he bleeds orange, how am I supposed to know whether he’s telling the truth or not? Given his track record, I dare say it’s virtually impossible. Especially when there’s shit like this floating around out there:
And this — go ahead, click on it, it’s only 17 seconds long, but it’s Kenny leading cheers of “It’s great to be a Florida Gator.”
But wait, it gets worse. In this one he’s wearing a Gator helmet. (Heh. Helmet.) And he brings Tim Tebow and another Gator onstage to sing along to one of his hits, proof, I suppose, that he thinks Tim’s tractor’s sexy.
So here’s the deal — I get the concept of wielding your celebrity in a manner that allows you to come into contact with all kinds of cool folks, famous athletes and or coaches being among them. And I’d hang with Coach Brown no questions asked. I’d run it back with Tebow in two seconds flat.
But to don the WRONG COLOR ORANGE and flash the Longhorn sign as you pose for a pic next to the Texas coach?
To lead a crowd in the Gator version of your team’s cheer?
To wear a Florida helmet (Ha! Helmet! Twice!) while you sing your little tractor song alongside Tim Tebow? When you claim to bleed orange?
Yet this is the go-to celebrity who’s all VOL? This is the clown who gets to sit next to Fowler and company on Gameday? This is the man we feature on the Jumbotron between quarters? The artist formerly known as Mrs. Beard’s ex-husband?
What’s worse, the sheep all watched in starfucked admiration, wiping the occasional tear from their eyes as they mouthed the chorus while poignant stills of the REAL Vol legends — the ones who REALLY bleed orange — faded into the Jumbotron screen, and thus, one another, in perfect time to a song that’s dripping with such a cheesy brand of heavy-handed sentimentality that it actually borders upon — if not altogether crosses into — self parody?
It’s a Will Ferrell cameo from being an SNL skit for fuck’s sake.
I know — that was quite a vent. But, seriously, you should read this piece written by a Florida Gator on EveryDayShouldBeSaturday — he knows the deal — they all know the deal even if half of us don’t. And while nothing could possibly make us look worse than that monumental, nationally-televised MELTDOWN the other night, our celebration of Kenny Chesney as the resident celebrity Vol certainly gives it a run for its money.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go. I gotta figure out a way to get in touch with Samuel L. Jackson. I gotta feeling that dude might be just what the doctor ordered.