A whole cottage industry has since grown out of the UNC/Dook rivalry; two big-selling books, endless coverage on ESPN, and gigabytes of Photoshopped files featuring Mike Kryshwqhskdi. What used to be private disgust is now a public phenomenon, and it raises the question: is Dook still worth hating?
I assumed, like everyone does, three things would happen to me once I graduated. My views would become more conservative, I wouldn’t be allowed to sleep past 10 a.m. anymore, and my passion for beating Dook would gradually drift away. I would grow hair on my ears and suddenly think sitcoms were funny.
I’m here to tell you these things don’t necessarily happen. I grew more obnoxiously liberal, I got a writing gig with flexible mornings, and my eye-twitching contempt of Dook’s basketball team grew even more intense. They seem to manufacture loathsome jerks year after year.
How can you watch any random press conference of Koach K and not feel this man is a modern-day Narcissus so fixated on success that he’s happy to throw his own players under the bus? A tightly-wound mess of resentment and profanity, the toxic combination of a control freak with a thinly-veiled persecution complex?
Yes, I was a psych major.
And believe me, I wouldn’t bet three cups of snot there isn’t some person just like me in the other camp, the Dook fan who has his own dime-store theories on why Carolina is a blight on the athletic world. But I wouldn’t trade places if the Buddha himself showed up wearing a navy blue unitard.
I’ll tell you why: I got to choose my church. Having grown up without an organized religion, I adopted the Carolina Way. I adhered to the Dean-Gut-Roy belief system, and incorporated it everywhere: doing things the right way; playing hard, smart and together; valuing your family above all.
We all burst from Chapel Hill in a plume of gorgeous blue smoke, wafting to all corners of the globe where other like-minded souls await. The “sky-blue mafia” has beds for you in Manhattan, an internship in Hollywood, a coffee in Prague, and we’ll let you get in front of us in line at the K&W in Rocky Mount.
There is no old boy’s network, no secret handshake. All we share is an affection for a town on a hill, and this: when we see Dookies clogging our TV, our lips curl and we seethe a little inside. The week of the big game, we find ourselves canceling appointments.
Is Dook still worth hating? Take a look at Sean Dockery slugging Tyler in the mouth. Spend a Saturday night next door to a Dook fraternity. Find yourself in the midst of the Kameron Krazies, a numbnut group of ravenously twee dorks who shellac their nipples with blue food coloring, scream cruel and deeply unfunny crap at opposing teams, then jump up and down with the mindless lockstep of the Communist military.
There’s just so much to despise! Every religion must have its Devil, and ours are Blue. Dook is the gift that keeps on giving, and whether you’re in an 8 a.m. Econ class trying to stay awake, or in your nursery trying to get your daughter to sleep, we’re in it together. Break his ankles, Ty! Punch it home, Rey! God bless them Tar Heel boys!