First off from the training camp of our Tennessee Oilers, some news on safety Blaine McElmurry.

What, you’ve never heard of Blaine McElmurry? Well, you’re in some surprisingly good company. Even by the third day of camp, not all of the beat reporters who cover the Oilers knew McElmurry’s name. Even one of the team’s own staff seemed a little uncertain when a reporter sought an interview: “McElmurry? What number is he?”

For the record, Blaine McElmurry—Number 38 on the practice field—is an undrafted free agent, a fresh-faced rookie in his first full pro camp. He’s hoping to become a household name among NFL fans. But, right now, he’d be delighted simply to be counted among the 40 players chosen for the team.

Among the Oilers’ ensemble of stars—Eddie George, Steve McNair, Chris Sanders, Bruce Mathews—McElmurry isn’t exactly the guy toward whom fans automatically turn their eyes. But here he is with the big dogs, aspiring to make the most of his twice-a-day shot.

No Oiler in camp this week has ventured farther geographically, or perhaps symbolically. McElmurry hails from Troy, Mont., where the population decreased to 952 when Blaine left for Nashville. “There’s not even a stoplight,” he says, flashing a smile.

In Troy, McElmurry was the big football star in a tiny high school that graduated a class of 60 in his senior year. Later, at the University of Montana, he played only once before a crowd as large as 35,000, when his Grizzlies traveled to Oregon State and routed the Beavers.

McElmurry’s reputation as a hard hitter, and his workouts at the Oilers’ rookie minicamp, earned him an invitation to Nashville. Still, understandably, he wasn’t quite sure what to expect last weekend.

So far, it has been both a dizzying experience and an exhilarating one. “It’s nice to be able to go work out with so many great players,” he says, sounding happy just to be here. “I’m still trying to learn, figuring out where you’re supposed to be [on each play].”

One facet of his football background, McElmurry reckons, may work in his favor as he tries to make the broad, but by no means rare, leap from small college to the NFL. “There’s actually a little less passing here than in the Big Sky Conference,” he says. So he has seen most pro sets before and has a great deal of coverage experience. On the other hand, he adds in the next breath, “the receivers here are so much bigger and faster and quicker.”

On top of everything else, McElmurry must adjust to what seems, to him, like equatorial humidity. At the mere mention of Nashville’s stickiness, he widens his eyes and shakes his head. “There’s nothing like this in Montana.”

In some ways, the Oilers’ camp is less terra incognita for Kris Garrett, another rookie free agent. Because he played football for Brentwood Academy, he at least is acclimated to Middle Tennessee’s stifling summer air.

Every day, hometown friends have turned out to cheer him on. And Garrett, unlike fellow defensive back McElmurry, has been through this before; he was invited to the Oilers camp last year, too, though his career didn’t survive the cutting process.

“I was just glad to be there last year,” says Garrett, who has just yelled greetings to a friend in the stands. “This year I’ve learned to approach [camp] more like a business.”

A very tough, competitive business, he might add. “I’m kind of behind on a lot of things,” Garrett says. By Day Three he had already narrowed his focus, surmising that his best chance of a job with the Oilers is not on defense but on the special teams.

Even with a year’s experience, it seems there is a world’s worth of stuff still to learn. “Right now,” confesses Garrett, “my head’s kind of swimming.”

He wasn’t the only one who was disoriented. For Oilers and onlookers alike, the whole experience, like that of the two rookies in practice, seemed at once sublime and more than a little surreal

On a sweltering Saturday afternoon, for example, better than 3,500 people (some estimates ranged upward to 5,000) poured into TSU’s Hale Stadium—just to watch an unrevealing, feather-light football practice. No one in the stands could recall a precedent for that.

As the Oilers’ inaugural workout in Music City began, they drew roars—even a standing ovation from some fans—simply by jogging onto the field. No one could remember a precedent for that either. Certainly not the Oilers themselves. They’re more accustomed to passive, double-digit audiences at their Texas training camps.

All during the Saturday workout—mostly position group drills—fans bedecked in Oilers shirts and caps cheered caught passes, groaned at drops, and oohed over Reggie Roby’s long, towering punts, almost as if they were watching a real game. Vendors hawked peanuts and soft drinks, and a souvenir stand handled a brisk business for Oilers souvenirs, just as at a real game.

“I’m very excited,” cooed Ina Lane, who sported a Columbia blue Oilers T-shirt and an oil-derrick logo visor bearing autographs from several of the players. Along with her friend Amanda Upshaw (also wearing a blue Oilers shirt), Ina had attended the groundbreaking for the new East Bank stadium. They bought PSLs together, and they say they’ll attend all the Oilers’ games in Memphis—without missing any of the TSU games they’ve long frequented together. “This,” said Ina, “is like a dream.”

Other dreamy precedents were established on Saturday too. Never before had children from TSU’s North Nashville neighborhood been able to stroll into a stadium, free of charge, to see an entire NFL team up close.

Rarely before, if ever, had Hale Stadium hosted such a racially mixed crowd. (It’s a fairly safe bet that many of the whites on hand had never previously set foot in TSU’s stands. What’s more, they probably required a map to to find the stadium.)

Even the shopworn facility, which TSU supporters have begged the state for three decades to replace, seemed transformed. “I’ve been comin’ out here for 19 years,” said one man, “and this is the best this field has ever looked.”

Perhaps caught up in the day’s lovefest spirit, the Oilers themselves added a deft final touch that seemed refreshingly out of character for big-league sports teams. Instead of waiting for a throng of autograph seekers to descend upon them, the Oilers’ veteran players headed up into the seats to meet the fans after practice ended.

Just as the PA announcer promised, the players accommodated everyone who wanted a signature. They even obliged one bystander who, apparently after wandering over from a nearby pickup game, held out a scraggly brown basketball to be signed. “Don’t you have the wrong sport?” another fan chided, smiling.

“Hey,” the man smiled back, “it’s all I got.”