Ask anyone. Your ma. Your pa. Your reverend or, even better, your brother-cousin-mechanic. The SEC just means more. It means football. It means tradition. It means having a reason to get out of bed in the morning in places like Florida and Mississippi. All of which leads us to this Tennessee Volunteers fan, who is single and ready to mingle ahead of a new college football season...as long you adhere to his exhaustive list of behavioral guidelines, rigid gameday schedule, are willing to pay your own way, and aren't a filthy "Gator, Dog, Cat, or Dore" looking to take advantage of his selfless generosity, of course. What a catch...
Clearly the SEC means more to this very eligible bachelor than a meaningful/healthy/even moderately dysfunctional relationship as evidenced by A. The fact his previous girlfriend ran for the hills weeks before kickoff and B. Literally everything after that. Then again, he "isn't looking for a relationship," just a woman to pay face value ticket prices to hang out with his old-ass friends who don't drink, smoke, or curse. You really gotta respect to this dickhead's commitment to the SEC stereotype (oblivious egomaniac who thinks season tickets at Rocky Top also work at the ol' Pearly Turnstiles.)
The scariest part of all this, though, is the fact that despite the obvious red (or should we say orange?) flags—despite every fiber of our being telling us that this dude kicks puppies and doesn't tip—someone is going to take him up on his offer all the same. And when they do, it won't have anything with gender norms or cultural conditioning or any of that. It'll be because somewhere, way off over the Great Smoky Mountains, there's a Lady Vol who understands exactly what this broken, husk of a man already does:
That the SEC just means more.