Back during the 1950s, a certain country music star (I won’t say which one, out of consideration for his niece, who confided the story) was known for his frequent roistering with another well-known country star. Their flamboyant carousing created no small degree of consternation among their wives—particularly before one weekend when the wives were going to be away and unable to check their husbands’ honky-tonking excesses.

Anticipating the worst, the wives executed what they regarded as an inspired pre-emptive strike. Before leaving town, they secretively packed up every stitch of their husbands’ clothing and placed the entire wardrobes in cold storage for the weekend. They departed Nashville with the serene confidence that they had left the menfolk all revved up with no place to go.

Unfortunately for the women, their strategem contained one fatal miscalculation. With no clothes of their own to wear, the boys simply shinnied into a couple of their wives’ outfits, gussied themselves up with lipstick and rouge, hopped into the big Cadillac with the longhorns on the grille, and enjoyed a singularly outrageous Saturday night downtown.

For all of their trouble, the wives returned home to more scandalous reports than they had ever heard after any of their husbands’ ordinary weekend debauches.

The moral of the story—that taking away the old duds won’t necessarily change someone’s nature—should not go unnoticed by fans of the Vanderbilt Commodores and the Tennessee Titans. As their season openers near, both of these hometown squads are ready to unveil the pretty, new packaging for their old, familiar products. Our Little Orphan Oilers, er, Titans, who have played in more dives over the past few years than Roger Clinton, at last have posh new accommodations. (The Adelphia Coliseum pressbox, a veritable Versailles compared to others of the species, is sufficiently opulent to render perk-sensitive reporters into sycophantic suck-ups, no matter how the team performs.) Assuming they can manage to get there and have financed a home equity loan to pay for the parking, Titans fans will flock to the swank new palace, starting this weekend, if only to see what we paid for.

Moreover, the team will have removed one of its chief alibis for mediocrity: the uninspiring venue of Vanderbilt Stadium.

Speaking of Vanderbilt, whose athletic program snatched a few ungobbled crumbs from the gazillion-dollar banquet bestowed on the school by the Ingram family, the Commodores have managed some redecorating of their own—notably, the removal of the antediluvian, injury-conducive artificial turf. (So bereft of other drawing cards is Vandy’s deck that the new sod provides the centerpiece for this year’s football marketing efforts, billed as “Turf Wars.”)

Theoretically, spiffier surroundings should translate into a better record, according to a formula that goes something like this: New/improved stadiums attract more/louder fans, whose exhortations will enhance the all-important self-esteem of the players, who will perform at a higher level and overwhelm opponents, who find that their own all-important self-esteem has been sapped. Sometimes, this theory even works.

However, there’s another well-traveled football theory that follows the principle of Newtonian physics: An inert, momentum-less team tends to stay inert.

Sure, big things are expected of the Oil-, er, Titans this year. (To minimize the verbal miscues, I propose we simply call our squad the “Oitans.”) Bud Adams already decreed that if the team fails to improve on three straight 8-8 records, heads may roll and his won’t be among them.

Certainly there are reasons for optimism that the coaching staff will escape the guillotine this season. The Oitans have matured into an experienced team. They finally hired a blocking fullback, believing (maybe it’s just a hunch) that Eddie George will race into the open more often if he personally doesn’t have to bowl over every would-be tackler.

For its first pick, the team drafted a Tasmanian devil pass rusher, nicknamed “Freak,” who could add to the defense a dimension it has lacked. And now that they have found a stadium and rechristened themselves, Bud’s Boys can finally enjoy the advantages that a home field in the NFL is supposed to confer: a loud, beer-swilled audience from which the team can siphon energy.

Maybe not big things, but at least bigger, are also expected at Vanderbilt, and maybe not by the school’s fatalistic fans but at least by the coaches and players.

After last year’s teens-only campaign, everybody and his dog is back, and the Dores should be much more mature this time around. And with a schedule that’s about as favorable as it ever gets in Vandyland (six home games and two chihuahuas on the road), the true believers can even whisper about a respectable record without being quietly invited down the hall to pee in a cup.

Still, for both the Oitans and the Commodores, the season hasn’t even begun and we’ve already seen a couple of telltale signs that hiding the old wardrobe won’t change the self-destructive old habits.

Oitans Ominous Portent No. 1: During the very first week of camp, DE Pratt Lyons rolls his vehicle on River Road (on the way back to the team hotel from an after-hours players’ party, little birds say), breaks a bone in his neck and is lost for the season.

What, you ask, are players doing gallivanting around so close to curfew, when they’re supposed to be focused entirely on football? That’s a curious question, particularly since the one knock you’ll frequently hear about coach Jeff Fisher—the guy under pressure to shape things up this year, remember—is that he’s too easygoing with the players.

Maybe next year (hey, there’s a familiar phrase!), the team should select a training camp site that offers fewer diversions. Like Parris Island. Or Alcatraz.

Oitans Ominous Portent No. 2: In the team’s first exhibition, QB Steve McNair, twice under pressure in his own end zone, costs his team a safety, then heaves an ill-advised pass that becomes an instant Kansas City touchdown. They’re rookie mistakes, except that McNair is entering his fifth season—by which time successful NFL quarterbacks are usually making their marks.

Vandy Ominous Portent No. 1: The perennial question—“Who’s the starting QB?”—was presumed to be settled. It ain’t. Which means that the Dores’ offense once again has no clear leader around whom to rally. Not exactly the hallmark of a stable team that’s ready to win.

Vandy Ominous Portent No. 2: It took only a few days of contact drills to expose Vandy’s lack of depth. Last week, starting FB Lew Thomas, perhaps the team’s most punishing runner, was lost to an injury. For his replacement, the Commodores have been forced to round up one of the usual suspects: a newly arrived freshman. Contrast Vandy’s options with those of the 1998 Vols, who had so many good used parts on hand when their offensive engine, Jamal Lewis, went down that they hummed along with nary a knock or ping.

In August, everyone can be an optimist. But I have a sneaking suspicion that if we unwrap the fancy packaging, we may find a couple of rounders: Titans 9-7; Vandy 3-8.