TO THE EDITOR:
We all knew exactly what would happen when Butch came to town — the good ole boys wanted to run around like they’re still fraternity pledges, hoot and holler and get out of suburbia for an afternoon while having an excuse to get drunk and ogle the undergraduate set for a few hours.
And how could they justify doing so to watch their Tar Heels get trounced on the field? For a few weekends of fun, they sold the University’s honor. Mr. Baddour gladly accepted their cash, and the empty promises from Coach Davis. They sold out the stadium — once one of the most beautiful in college football — and are installing luxury suites and an enclosed end zone to feel like big shots.
We all knew how this story would end — and now UNC’s spotless legacy has been sullied for a few frivolous afternoons, for men who have yet to reach adulthood and pin their social lives to the oddly dark blue jerseys of 18 year-olds.
We’re a joke — a punch line as the school’s logo sits ominously in the corner of the screen when, each night, an ESPN anchor reads the list of transgressions. Yet, unlike The University of Southern California, we don’t even have a Heisman or national championship to give back. Leave the cheating to the professionals, and perhaps your last donation can be a 42 cent stamp for Coach Davis to mail back those Meineke Car Care Bowl invitation letters.
Class of ’10