Today, I was thinking about a moment I shared with my son—not once, but twice. A moment so unforgettable, so chaotic and beautiful, it feels like something between a sports documentary and a Southern campmeeting.
It was last October, under the lights of Neyland Stadium, when Tennessee did the unthinkable—beat Alabama. Again.
I was wearing my lucky Columbia Tennessee Vols fishing shirt—the one that’s never let us down. My son stood beside me in his orange-and-white checkered overalls, grinning like he had personally drawn up the winning play. We weren’t just watching a game—we were living a moment. A memory.
And then the clock hit zero.
The stadium didn’t just erupt—it detonated.
People hugged like the altar call had just ended at a county-wide tent revival—full of tears, sweat, and glory. Strangers leaned on each other because sometimes joy knocks the breath out of you, and you’ve got to grab the nearest shoulder to stay upright. Old men were clogging, and their wives were clapping in rhythm as everyone sang “Rocky Top” at the top of their lungs—some so off key, even Smokey the Hound dog, our beloved mascot, started howling.
And then the glorious, orange mass choir, a 100,000-strong crowd, surged onto the field.
We rushed the field like a stampede of caffeinated cattle—wide-eyed, wild, and with zero regard for personal space.
The goalpost didn’t stand a chance. We climbed it like kids on a jungle gym and wrestled it down like it was the last KFC chicken leg at a church picnic. It was hoisted high like a trophy, paraded through the streets of Knoxville like it had just been elected mayor, and finally—yes, finally—laid to rest with a proper burial in the Tennessee River.
It was glorious. It was hilarious.
And it was temporary.
The Next Season Came…
Because the next season, Tennessee played in Tuscaloosa, and Alabama showed up with a memory and a mission.
The field stayed intact. The goalposts stayed up. The scoreboard didn’t smile on us that day.
That’s the thing about earthly victories—they’re sweet, but they don’t stick. The thrill fades. The celebration ends. Eventually, the confetti settles, and the goalpost stays put.
But There’s a Better Victory
“But thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
— 1 Corinthians 15:57
That’s not a win you wait for—it’s a win that’s already been sealed. Jesus didn’t survive the grave. He conquered it. He walked out with the keys to death in His hands and left the enemy in the dust.
So why do we live like we’re defeated?
In the Old Testament, God’s people shouted before the battle. They didn’t wait for the walls to fall—they trusted the One who never fails. Their celebration wasn’t based on the scoreboard—it was rooted in the character of their God.
Live Like It’s Already Won
You don’t need to drag a goalpost into a river to feel the thrill of triumph. If you’re in Christ, the victory is already yours.
That goalpost may be long gone—sunk somewhere in the muddy waters of the Tennessee River—but that was just a moment.
Our true victory? It didn’t get carried off a field. It walked out of a tomb.
And Jesus, the risen King, isn’t just a memory—He’s seated at the right hand of God.
The victory He gives? That one’s eternal. Undefeated. Unshakable. Unchanging.
And as sweet as the sound was—100,000 fans singing “Good Ole Rocky Top” in full throat and full joy—it will never compare to what’s coming.
A countless multitude from every nation, tribe, and generation, lifting one anthem forever:
“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain!”
So live like you’ve already won.
Because in Christ—you have.
A Good Word 