Five years ago, I walked into the Smith Center to see Duke and Carolina play. Eight days earlier my wife and I and our friends, Adam and Sara, had gambled and bought tickets in the lower level for face value. We hoped and prayed the game would get rescheduled due to the snow and ice that began to blanket much of North Carolina that afternoon. We attempted to make the trek from Greenville, NC to Chapel Hill for the game on February 12, 2014, but it was no use. A slight cheer erupted in Adam's truck when social media broadcasted that the game would be postponed. We turned around and slowly made our way back home, relieved that we hadn't wasted our money but would get to see the best rivalry in sports, in person, after all.
Two days later, on Valentine's Day, all the joy and anticipation of attending the game on February 20th was stripped away. As I was heading to work that morning, my dad called to deliver the news I dreaded, my Grandpaw Ray had died that morning. Along the same highway, where 48 hours earlier, cheers had erupted in Adam's truck, now deep cries of grief filled my car. In an instant, all of the excitement about the week ahead was brought to an abrupt stop. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to go to the game anymore.
As we drove from Greenville, NC to Sawmills, NC to celebrate the life of the man who had the single greatest impact on my life, I thought of how much he enjoyed Tar Heel basketball. I thought about all of the team posters that hung in our family's hardware store that served as a yearly reminder of when fall had inevitably given way to winter. I thought about all of the old, yellowing sports pages from The Charlotte Observer that he kept in his office at work that chronicled the achievements of Coach Smith and the Tar Heels. I thought about how much he respected Coach Smith and how I'm sure if Dean E. Smith had ever made his way to Sawmills, he would have become fast friends with Paw Ray. I thought about all of the small things that I had picked up from Grandpaw Ray and now do without thinking, more from muscle memory than anything else. It was the Wilson version of "pointing to the passer."
Friday night as my grandparents house filled with family and friends stopping by to offer condolences, we joked that Paw Ray decided to sneak on out once he heard the Duke and Carolina game was postponed. It felt good, in the midst of soul crushing grief, to talk Tar Heel basketball and laugh, just like Paw Ray would have wanted it to be. Then on Saturday, as the house seemed to shrink and the hours stretched the afternoon to a breaking point, we found relief in watching the Tar Heels beat Pittsburgh in the Smith Center. For a few hours, the sound of squeaking shoes, cheering fans, and the ball being pounded on the court in its own peculiar metronome provided relief and escape for our family.
After what to this point has been the longest eight days of my life, it was finally time to head to the Smith Center on February 20th for the Duke and Carolina game. As we left the Rosemary Street deck to make our walk across campus, you could feel the electricity in the air. Eight days in the making. Eight days of memes roasting Duke's inability to drive the vaunted 8 miles of Tobacco Road. Seven wins in the rearview and an eighth straight ahead should the Heels get through Duke.
As we made our way to our seats, in the lower level mind you, I had trouble taking it all in. The week prior had left me spiritually, emotionally, physically, and mentally drained. I almost felt as if I was cheating the grieving process by being there for the game. However, I was in the Smith Center for Duke and Carolina and just before tipoff, I realized with absolute certainty that Grandpaw Ray would want me to enjoy the game and soak in every moment. So I did along with our Carolina Family!
From the introduction of the starting lineup through the final horn, we stood as one. We cheered and screamed until our voices were shot. We pled for defensive stops. We clapped until our hands were sore and blood-red. We kept believing we would win, even down 11 with 15 minutes left, we all knew Carolina would win if they could just get the lead. We, as the Carolina Family, were committed to willing this team to a much needed victory over a much hated rival.
As the clock ticked towards the end of the game, with the outcome secured, the whole building began to reverberate in celebration of the Tar Heel's win. We, along with 21,000+ of our closest friends, jumped around in delirium. As we left the Smith Center, we floated across campus, carried along by the cheers of fans both in front of and behind us. When we got back to our car at the Rosemary Street deck to drive back to Greenville, I collapsed into the drivers seat, smiled, laughed and knew Paw Ray would've loved to see the game! It was a cathartic experience that only sports can provide. It was a reminder that the Carolina Family extends beyond the players and coaches. The Carolina Family extends to us, the fans. As we stood, as we cheered, as we celebrated, we did so surrounded by our Carolina Family. The weight of the burden we were carrying in the wake of my Grandpaw Ray's death was eased momentarily by our Carolina Family in the friendly, familial confines of the Smith Center. I don't know that I'll ever get the chance to be back in the Smith Center for another Duke/Carolina game, but I do know that the one time I got the chance to go -- it was dadgum perfect!
So, tomorrow night, Go Heels! Beat Duke! Your family is cheering for you!
Two days later, on Valentine's Day, all the joy and anticipation of attending the game on February 20th was stripped away. As I was heading to work that morning, my dad called to deliver the news I dreaded, my Grandpaw Ray had died that morning. Along the same highway, where 48 hours earlier, cheers had erupted in Adam's truck, now deep cries of grief filled my car. In an instant, all of the excitement about the week ahead was brought to an abrupt stop. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to go to the game anymore.
As we drove from Greenville, NC to Sawmills, NC to celebrate the life of the man who had the single greatest impact on my life, I thought of how much he enjoyed Tar Heel basketball. I thought about all of the team posters that hung in our family's hardware store that served as a yearly reminder of when fall had inevitably given way to winter. I thought about all of the old, yellowing sports pages from The Charlotte Observer that he kept in his office at work that chronicled the achievements of Coach Smith and the Tar Heels. I thought about how much he respected Coach Smith and how I'm sure if Dean E. Smith had ever made his way to Sawmills, he would have become fast friends with Paw Ray. I thought about all of the small things that I had picked up from Grandpaw Ray and now do without thinking, more from muscle memory than anything else. It was the Wilson version of "pointing to the passer."
Friday night as my grandparents house filled with family and friends stopping by to offer condolences, we joked that Paw Ray decided to sneak on out once he heard the Duke and Carolina game was postponed. It felt good, in the midst of soul crushing grief, to talk Tar Heel basketball and laugh, just like Paw Ray would have wanted it to be. Then on Saturday, as the house seemed to shrink and the hours stretched the afternoon to a breaking point, we found relief in watching the Tar Heels beat Pittsburgh in the Smith Center. For a few hours, the sound of squeaking shoes, cheering fans, and the ball being pounded on the court in its own peculiar metronome provided relief and escape for our family.
After what to this point has been the longest eight days of my life, it was finally time to head to the Smith Center on February 20th for the Duke and Carolina game. As we left the Rosemary Street deck to make our walk across campus, you could feel the electricity in the air. Eight days in the making. Eight days of memes roasting Duke's inability to drive the vaunted 8 miles of Tobacco Road. Seven wins in the rearview and an eighth straight ahead should the Heels get through Duke.
As we made our way to our seats, in the lower level mind you, I had trouble taking it all in. The week prior had left me spiritually, emotionally, physically, and mentally drained. I almost felt as if I was cheating the grieving process by being there for the game. However, I was in the Smith Center for Duke and Carolina and just before tipoff, I realized with absolute certainty that Grandpaw Ray would want me to enjoy the game and soak in every moment. So I did along with our Carolina Family!
From the introduction of the starting lineup through the final horn, we stood as one. We cheered and screamed until our voices were shot. We pled for defensive stops. We clapped until our hands were sore and blood-red. We kept believing we would win, even down 11 with 15 minutes left, we all knew Carolina would win if they could just get the lead. We, as the Carolina Family, were committed to willing this team to a much needed victory over a much hated rival.
As the clock ticked towards the end of the game, with the outcome secured, the whole building began to reverberate in celebration of the Tar Heel's win. We, along with 21,000+ of our closest friends, jumped around in delirium. As we left the Smith Center, we floated across campus, carried along by the cheers of fans both in front of and behind us. When we got back to our car at the Rosemary Street deck to drive back to Greenville, I collapsed into the drivers seat, smiled, laughed and knew Paw Ray would've loved to see the game! It was a cathartic experience that only sports can provide. It was a reminder that the Carolina Family extends beyond the players and coaches. The Carolina Family extends to us, the fans. As we stood, as we cheered, as we celebrated, we did so surrounded by our Carolina Family. The weight of the burden we were carrying in the wake of my Grandpaw Ray's death was eased momentarily by our Carolina Family in the friendly, familial confines of the Smith Center. I don't know that I'll ever get the chance to be back in the Smith Center for another Duke/Carolina game, but I do know that the one time I got the chance to go -- it was dadgum perfect!
So, tomorrow night, Go Heels! Beat Duke! Your family is cheering for you!
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