Here's a nightmare for Peyton Manning to ponder:

He comes to line of scrimmage on third-and-11 and looks over the defense. Uh-oh, there's Reggie White pawing the ground at one defensive end.

Double uh-oh, there's Doug Atkins at the other.

Pick your pain.

Manning's career is still fresh in the minds of virtually every Tennessee football fan. If you recall White running amok in Neyland Stadium (1980-83) your hair might be starting to get a little gray around the temples.

Atkins, who on Saturday will become the third UT great to have his number (91) retired this year, was of another time.

He came along at the end of the glorious Gen. Robert Neyland dynasty, starring as an agile, mobile and hostile defensive lineman from 1950-52.

Then Atkins moved on to pro football. For 17 years he was a man among men in an era when the NFL was blossoming into the nation's No. 1 sporting passion.

Only one Volunteer is installed in both the college and pro football halls of fame. Doug Atkins.

At 75, Atkins doesn't get out as much as he used to. All those years of violent collisions caught up with his body. He'll make the ride from his home in East Knoxville to the stadium and wave from a golf cart during the retirement ceremony.

Then he'll head back home.

"I've felt better, buddy,'' Atkins said this week. "After you get 75, you enjoy these things but not like it was when you were well.

"But it's still a great honor and I appreciate it.''

It's our loss, those of us who never got to see Atkins in his prime, when he might decide to pick up a golf cart and toss it as soon as ride in one.

He came to UT from Humboldt, Tenn., and at 6-foot-7 had designs on a basketball career rather than the gridiron. He scored 38 points in a freshman game.

"I think he thought he came here for basketball,'' said UT teammate Pat Shires, "but Neyland didn't.''

A natural and powerful athlete, Atkins also dabbled impressively at track and field. But Neyland didn't bring him here to high jump either.

"He was one of the taller people we'd ever seen and he was pretty well put together,'' said Andy Kozar, another UT teammate.

"I think by his own description as a college player he was on a learning curve. Early in his career it was fun to block him. After he learned how to play, it was a chore.''

Gus Manning was Neyland's publicity man. He still marvels at both Atkins' prowess and his hard-headedness.

"Doug wasn't much for practice,'' Manning said. "And he was always in some kind of mischief. Not anything really bad, but little things to antagonize Neyland.''

Added Shires, "I'd say he was hard to coach, but on the days he wanted to play, he was a great player.''

About that, there's no doubt.

In 1975, some 23 years after he'd left college, the Birmingham Quarterback Club named Atkins the SEC player of the quarter-century from 1950-74.

"The most-courageous thing I saw him do,'' said Kozar, "was at Duke he played with about 15 stitches in his hand.

"Most mortal players take that game off. He was as good with one arm as most people with two.''

The Cleveland Browns drafted Atkins in the first round. The story goes he was on a barnstorming basketball junket when Weeb Eubank caught up with him in Moultrie, Ga.

His signing bonus was a couple of cheeseburgers and eight bottles of beer.

After two years, Atkins was traded to Chicago and for 12 seasons with the Bears was as good as any defensive linemen in the game -- then and maybe ever.

He went to eight Pro Bowls in a nine-year span, then finished his career with the New Orleans Saints in 1969.

When he walked away, his 205 games were the most ever by a defensive lineman.

"Johnny Unitas was down here for something or other,'' Gus Manning recalled with a cackle, "and he had a big scar on his face.

"I asked him where he got it and he said, 'From that son of a (gun) right there.'

"Unitas said it was always good on the first play of the game to see if Atkins was going to play or whether he was going to mess around.

"If he came to play, by God, you're in trouble.''