I learned everything I know about basketball from ”One Tree Hill.” My only understanding of the game stems from its relation to whatever family drama is happening at the time: the divorce of a murderous father from a pill-popping mother or the discovery of a life-threatening heart condition.
Sports outside of teen dramas on the CW Network don’t interest me. Without the glossiness of television, organized athletics are boring and inconsequential. If the high school championship game doesn’t determine whether the star player (portrayed by a gorgeous 30-year-old model/actor) wins the college scholarship he so desperately needs in order to feed his teenage wife and newborn child, why should I care?
I am not an athlete. I am not sports-minded. The one season I played tennis during high school was really an excuse for me to sit in the bleachers and watch my teammates play as I worked on AP Chemistry homework and read ”Fight Club” for the sixth time. When my coach coerced me into playing matches, I would scoff my way through them. The silence interrupted by primal grunting, the weird score-keeping language of “love” and “deuce” — it was laughable.
I respect athletes. I appreciate the intense effort that goes into being an athlete at the University of North Carolina. What I hate, though, is the elevation of athleticism and sports culture over equally valuable traits and pursuits.
My experience as someone who would rather watch a “Sex and the City” marathon on the E! Network than the March Madness NCAA Tournament has affected my Carolina experience. I once attempted to feign passion but, realizing this is an impossibility, acknowledged my true apathy for sports. Rather than attending yet another football game I found impossible to follow, I would take advantage of the empty laundry room and complete much-needed domestic tasks.
Family members and friends from other schools always ask: “How many games have you been to this year?” My response of zero always elicits gasps. I am who I am.
Watching (from the comfort of my apartment) my fellow students jumping to the heavens and chanting in unison during the Duke game reminded me of my concert-going experiences.
The looks on their faces, of uncontrollable jubilee and sincere excitement, made me reconsider my aversion to all things athletic. If basketball helps these fans achieve nirvana the same way Nirvana helps me do so, I can’t judge them.
I know I’m not alone. There are, no doubt, plenty of Tar Heels who forget to register for the ticket lottery and could not care less. I don’t feel as if being an un-athletic Tar Heel has made me less of a Carolina student. I’m just writing my own college story.
