I could use this space to lament the vanishing media access to Tennessee and most other major college football programs across the country. I could complain about the many ways that harms everyone in the process, from us in the media to readers like you and even the coaches and players themselves. I could do that. But there’s no point. Most fans don’t want to hear it, and that’s fine. And I don’t blame Tennessee for that, either. I blame the SEC and NCAA offices for letting these coaches run their fiefdoms like emperors. If Tennessee’s competitors won’t open their doors, why should the Vols have to be any different?

So, no, I’m not going to go there. I think we as reporters spend too much time discussing the sad reality that has become access in this era.

What I will do, though, is tell you the many benefits that an open media policy has given the Tennessee men’s basketball program and its criminally underrated fan base.

Vols coach Rick Barnes, like many of his predecessors, has stopped only just short of having a complete open-door policy to himself and everyone else in his program. Many practices are open for reporters, and reporters can speak with anyone in the program. A freshman? Sure, no problem. An assistant coach? Here you go. A player with something embarrassing like a boys-will-be-boys suspension in his past? Have at him.

Reporters do their part by withholding schemes and other specific information gleaned from practice availability, which is how things should be done. If the Vols are switching their defense or their rotation heading into a specific game against a specific opponent, that’s kept quiet. If a player tweaks an ankle or a hip but looks like he’ll be back to normal in a day or two, there’s no reason to air that. If a player barks back at a coach and gets himself sent to the showers early, and it’s not something that happens frequently with that specific player, let the guys handle that in-house. Simple stuff.

Good, old-fashioned, two-way respect is something we don’t seem to have much as a society these days, but that’s become a ubiquitous approach for those in the Tennessee men’s basketball program and those fortunate enough to cover that program. And it has helped everyone involved.

Tennessee's Admiral Schofield (left) and Derrick Walker

If you’re being honest with yourself as a fan of both the Tennessee football and men’s basketball programs, you probably will admit to knowing more about the average basketball player than the average football player. You know reigning SEC Player of the Year Grant Williams is equal parts super-athlete and super-nerd, and that he never boards the bus or the plane for a road trip without The Settlers of Catan tucked securely under his arm, and that he and several of his teammates are just as competitive with those road-trip board games as they are the basketball games themselves.

You know star wing Admiral Schofield is comfortable discussing exactly what he believes on any topic, even sensitive subjects such as his concern that SEC athletes — particularly African-American SEC athletes — are not given the respect they deserve for their off-field talents.

You know Barnes is quick to respect his role as a prominent figure at a secular institution and doesn’t stand on the street corner proselytizing, but you also know that his office has Bibles stacked nearly floor-to-ceiling and that he’s happy to hand them to anyone who wants one.

You know Schofield and reigning SEC Sixth Man of the Year Lamonte Turner are obsessive workers who occasionally have to be begged to leave the facility and get some rest. You know Jordan Bowden seems like the quiet type to strangers but is known to those closest to him as one of the funniest people they know. You know Schofield plays guitar, Yves Pons plays the saxophone, Williams can play multiple instruments and Kyle Alexander can sing.

The list goes on and on and on.

People feel like they know this program, and in many cases they actually do know it. And they love it. At least the past four Tennessee men’s basketball coaches have had at least one team the fan base grew to love because of the way it competed and the personalities it had. The Vols have been blessed in recent history with men’s basketball players who had personalities that made them lovable in the way only quirky people can be loved. And they haven’t been hidden in a bunker, either. They’ve been active, public presences in their community, and they’ve been loved as a result of that. Sure, they wouldn’t be so beloved if they weren’t winners, but their quirkiness brought them closer to those who watched them.

There’s been one more tangible benefit to the access afforded to reporters covering the Tennessee basketball program, though.

You get to see what makes it succeed.

Grant Williams

If you want to know how Barnes and his staff took a roster full of mid-tier prospects and turned them into one of the nation’s best teams, you just have to watch them practice.

Few in media want to admit this, but I will: If I knew as much about these sports as the men coaching them, I’d be coaching them and making a lot more money. But I wouldn’t know how to coach these teams. I wouldn’t know how to manage that much testosterone and that many egos in one locker room. I wouldn't even begin to know how to conform to every ridiculous NCAA rule.

I know more than enough to tell you what makes this Tennessee team better than the sum of its parts, though. It’s the way this team competes every second of every day. It’s the way all the players — from the stars to the walk-ons — are treated the same and held to the same standard.

Watching this team practice as hard as it practices without having it boil over to fisticuffs and tomfoolery is fascinating. These guys get after each other hard enough to know what flavor of Gatorade is on each other’s breaths, but play stops at the whistle, and you still see those players end every practice with bro-hugs and laughs.

Discussing specifics from practice — at least after the first few periods — is generally frowned upon, but I saw something in last Thursday’s practice that perfectly summed up the competitive spirit of this group.

Barnes ended the practice by putting players through one of the more grueling conditioning periods I’ve seen in a while. It was specifically designed for the end of practice to simulate the final few minutes of a game, and the point was clear. Barnes wanted to push this team to hammer home the point that last season’s success wouldn’t make it OK for anyone to be content in the here-and-now. This was a separating-men-from-boys moment, but even a few battle-hardened men couldn’t make it through unscathed. A few players who never get criticized for being out of shape had to tap out for brief moments with cramps.

You don’t have to specifically describe it to relay the point that it was just one of those drills.

Jordan Bowden

Something amazing happened just after the drill ended, though. A few players who’d lasted through the full drill immediately fell to the floor when it ended. More of them started to feel cramps. Anyone in their right mind would have cried uncle and headed for the cold tub.

That’s not how this team is wired, though.

One of the team’s veteran guards — I won’t name him — caught his breath long enough to bet Barnes that he could still, in that exact state, sprint up and down the court in seven seconds. Barnes said the player couldn’t do it. At that exact moment, another veteran — a much larger player — caught his breath long enough to tell Barnes that if the first player couldn’t do it, he could.

Both players tried, and both of them failed. The guard made it back to the line a fraction of a second too late, and the big man hilariously slipped on the far baseline while trying a Michael Phelps-like quick turn.

The point was clear, though. This team shocked the basketball world by winning the SEC last season and will enter this season ranked as high as top-five nationally because of moments like that. That’s how hard these guys compete, and that’s how much they love each other.

Without an open-door policy, that story might never be told.