What an amazing chance for all of Carolina to come together. There we all were, filling the Smith Center, the bars on Franklin Street and the residence hall rooms fortunately furnished with big-screen televisions. I cannot help but remark on the strength with which this basketball game unites so many different people.
Not since the Vietnam War have so many Heels been mobilized around a struggle like this contest between the troops of coaches Doherty and Krzyzewski.
Most importantly, it was every senior's capstone experience. We've all been going to school here for four years, pining for a chance to earn those tickets. Because of our class status, we surely deserved to be in those bleachers more than anyone else, to participate directly in the culmination of our involvement in this community.
I sat sipping my Coca-Cola and watched the teams and crowd prepare for battle. The audience seemed fairly normal. There were lots of middle-aged, white, business-type alumni in sweater vests with their wives and beer-drinking buddies down by the court. The student section also appeared per form, a unified mass in standard uniform: "Doherty's Disciples."
I was somewhat puzzled, however, as to how a sky-blue piece of apparel could not include our beloved swoosh, the symbol of UNC athletics.
From the tip off, the players amazed me. I mean, I'd seen Brendan Haywood and Julius Peppers around campus, but I'd never actually been able to talk to them, or even make eye contact. I had no idea B could send one back to the third row like that or that Peps could throw down hard enough to get thousands of fans on their feet yelling. These guys are already deserving of all the money they're going to get later in life! And you know, I've never seen one Carolina guy cry in my four years here, and the whole row in front of me was sobbing excitedly over Forte's sweet touch.
All the television timeouts, though, did get frustrating. But those of us at the game were lucky enough to have better entertainment than 30-second messages from a bunch of corporations trying to sell us stuff. At least we got to see our Carolina cheerleaders and the dance squad. My friend Peter, mouth hung wide, exclaimed, "Wow! You could do a load of laundry on that girl's stomach!" It was then that I noticed that my popcorn was a little too buttery for my taste. I put it down on the floor at my feet -- somebody gets paid to pick it up.
It was also really great to see the big male cheerleaders supporting the girls as they swooshed through the air and collapsed in their arms. We've come a long way since the days when only girls were allowed to be cheerleaders.
But even the cheerleaders got old after a few minutes, and I got antsy to see the real action again. Our men soon retook the court, ready to go. They had rested a bit and looked so impressive in their baggy Carolina uniforms and matching Nike shoes. I started to think to myself, "That's some good-looking gear they've got on! I wonder if the people who made the UNC uniforms were lined up outside the factory doors, hoping to be able to sew 'Haywood' onto a jersey? I would be!"
