I will get over driving eight hours to watch the Tar Heels end an impossible historic losing streak only to see them lose in the final minute to Virginia. Here's how.
I will drive eight hours in 2010 to watch us end an impossible historic losing streak by an embarrassing number of stab-in-the-heart touchdowns. You will go too. Gas will cost a fortune, so sign up for the carpool list now.
Go to hell Virginia.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Three guys in a car
I am in a carpool to save the environment. No, I am in it to save money. Or maybe I need the company of two other guys who do the same hard job for a few bills more than minimum wage. They are good guys.
Seth came to North Carolina by way of Indiana University. He is laid back and tall and wears blue jeans and sandals to work. Underneath his shirt he has a small pi tattoo. He is polite, but he'll defend the Indiana Pacers like a rabid dog. He is the antithesis of a first-year teacher but admits he lost weight. His short 'a' sounds like that of a tongue-depressed Southerner. My consistent lateness does not bother him yet.
"It's OK," he said. "I like saving money on gaaaas." Me too, Seth.
Montgomery is an energetic disc jockey for the college radio station. He anguishes over things like Cormac McCarthy's unusual sentence structure and the 2004 presidential election with a thoughtful Southern drawl.
"No smokin' on campus!" he lamented as we drove past a sign on South Columbia. "I don't smoke."
Montgomery and I stopped at a thrift store a couple days ago to browse books, clothes and barbershop chairs.
"I found a book for ya," he said, thrusting a copy of Living with Herpes in my direction. He did the same thing to Seth the next day. I laughed harder than I did the first time.
I called his radio show last week to hear a reasonably popular song. His enthusiasm would have followed any request. I have an idea for next week.
"Big balls!" he'll say. "AC/DC rocktoberfest!"
Seth came to North Carolina by way of Indiana University. He is laid back and tall and wears blue jeans and sandals to work. Underneath his shirt he has a small pi tattoo. He is polite, but he'll defend the Indiana Pacers like a rabid dog. He is the antithesis of a first-year teacher but admits he lost weight. His short 'a' sounds like that of a tongue-depressed Southerner. My consistent lateness does not bother him yet.
"It's OK," he said. "I like saving money on gaaaas." Me too, Seth.
Montgomery is an energetic disc jockey for the college radio station. He anguishes over things like Cormac McCarthy's unusual sentence structure and the 2004 presidential election with a thoughtful Southern drawl.
"No smokin' on campus!" he lamented as we drove past a sign on South Columbia. "I don't smoke."
Montgomery and I stopped at a thrift store a couple days ago to browse books, clothes and barbershop chairs.
"I found a book for ya," he said, thrusting a copy of Living with Herpes in my direction. He did the same thing to Seth the next day. I laughed harder than I did the first time.
I called his radio show last week to hear a reasonably popular song. His enthusiasm would have followed any request. I have an idea for next week.
"Big balls!" he'll say. "AC/DC rocktoberfest!"
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Notre Dame clarifications
Carolina continued to win last weekend against Notre Dame, but this time they won amid two controversial calls. The Brooks Foster overturned reception actually was a reception as the field officials initially called. The replay officials did not look at any angles that you cannot see in this video, which clearly shows Foster putting down two feet before the ground caused the fumble.
I cannot understand how the replay officials called this an incomplete pass. If you do, tell me so I will stop shaking when I watch it. The subsequent Irish drive and second bunchy-underwear review would not have happened if they got Foster's catch right.
Notre Dame receiver Michael Floyd fumbled the ball before he touched the ground because a Tar Heel was underneath him when he fell on his back. This was also evident from a highlight video; click on the game highlights feature. You will have to pause the video at the point of the fumble to convince yourself that Floyd was not down.
Go Tar Heels. Beat Wahoos.
I cannot understand how the replay officials called this an incomplete pass. If you do, tell me so I will stop shaking when I watch it. The subsequent Irish drive and second bunchy-underwear review would not have happened if they got Foster's catch right.
Notre Dame receiver Michael Floyd fumbled the ball before he touched the ground because a Tar Heel was underneath him when he fell on his back. This was also evident from a highlight video; click on the game highlights feature. You will have to pause the video at the point of the fumble to convince yourself that Floyd was not down.
Go Tar Heels. Beat Wahoos.
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Knock knock
My boys arrived two weeks later than I predicted, but they arrived. Say hello to the No. 22 Carolina Tar Heels. Say what's up to all-time NCAA career return yards leader Brandon Tate. Say hola to Bruce Carter, who blocked four consecutive punts against Miami and ranked Connecticut. Take a look at a defensive secondary that leads the NCAA in interceptions and a Shaun Draughn running game that balances the most talented receiving trio in the nation. Heed our three-headed quarterback that has proven perseverance in a time of doubt. Beware our sense of humor . . .
Knock knock.
Who's there?
The bell.
We've been waiting for you to call again. We're here.
Knock knock.
Who's there?
The bell.
We've been waiting for you to call again. We're here.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Two stories of a grain
I struggled to eat my dinner as a 6-year-old. I didn't like vegetables, and Looney Tunes distracted me a room and a half away. I didn't sit on my butt, preferring instead to fold my legs underneath a restless, skinny body. I took several trips to the bathroom, but I doubt I peed each time.
I anxiously awaited a call from athletic Patrick, gorgeous Lindsay, dorky Doug or even punk Nick from across the street. He took MC Hammer dance classes. Even as 6-year-olds we knew that was a plea for attention.
"Come out and play baseball," the caller would say, and I'd ask my parents if I could without waiting for an answer. Off I went to smack a tennis ball around a suburban backyard until one of us got pissed off enough to call it off.
"Go home!" Doug would say after Nick knocked off his spectacles. We would scatter back to our parents and anxiously await the next night's call to action.
____________________________________________________________________
I got home last night after a long week of work. I had plenty of cleaning to do around the house since my parents would arrive in a few days. I couldn't focus on the task at hand. I browsed Internet news and read a random page from The Catcher in the Rye. I took a shower. I heard my phone buzzing in my bedroom while I dried myself. It was a voicemail from Ryan. He wanted to talk football and drink with the boys.
I called Daniel. He told me he was already throwing a football at the field. I left the house 30 seconds later and sped to campus.
We threw until Daniel and Ryan wore sweat stains and I messed up my pants. Then it was off to Franklin Street for sports, girl and family talk over $2 well drinks at Carolina Coffee Shop.
"Let's go home," I said a little after 1 a.m. We went back to our places and anxiously awaited the next day's festivities: family, hot dogs, beer and Carolina vs. Connecticut on a sunny, crisp October Saturday.
I anxiously awaited a call from athletic Patrick, gorgeous Lindsay, dorky Doug or even punk Nick from across the street. He took MC Hammer dance classes. Even as 6-year-olds we knew that was a plea for attention.
"Come out and play baseball," the caller would say, and I'd ask my parents if I could without waiting for an answer. Off I went to smack a tennis ball around a suburban backyard until one of us got pissed off enough to call it off.
"Go home!" Doug would say after Nick knocked off his spectacles. We would scatter back to our parents and anxiously await the next night's call to action.
____________________________________________________________________
I got home last night after a long week of work. I had plenty of cleaning to do around the house since my parents would arrive in a few days. I couldn't focus on the task at hand. I browsed Internet news and read a random page from The Catcher in the Rye. I took a shower. I heard my phone buzzing in my bedroom while I dried myself. It was a voicemail from Ryan. He wanted to talk football and drink with the boys.
I called Daniel. He told me he was already throwing a football at the field. I left the house 30 seconds later and sped to campus.
We threw until Daniel and Ryan wore sweat stains and I messed up my pants. Then it was off to Franklin Street for sports, girl and family talk over $2 well drinks at Carolina Coffee Shop.
"Let's go home," I said a little after 1 a.m. We went back to our places and anxiously awaited the next day's festivities: family, hot dogs, beer and Carolina vs. Connecticut on a sunny, crisp October Saturday.
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