February 8, 2006 -- My Most Memorable Experience

I go to The University of North Carolina.  I’m in the band.  And I’m a Tar Heel.  So,
every spring, a small part of my world begins to revolve around Carolina basketball.
Now, of course, the entire basketball season is exciting, from the very first games (when we tend to figure out who was underestimated), to the trying NCAA tournament, which Carolina has visited a few times.  No games, however, are bigger than two that we play every year against our perpetual athletic rival: Duke University.

Trust me when I say that few places are louder than the Dean E. Smith Center at 9:00 PM when everyone on the court is wearing blue.  But do not be mistaken.  There are two shades of blue, and the one you prefer determines whether you run to Franklin Street at 11:00 or return solemnly to your dorm.

On February 8, 2006, I could not pay attention in class.  My appetite was gone.  My hands shook, and my stomach would not stop doing backflips.  That night, I would stand in an arena filled with screaming fans as UNC took on Duke and attempt to play the fight song.  I was running on pure adrenaline.  After exchanging a fifteen minute instant message conversation with one of my band friends about how incredibly excited we were (we only used capital letters), I took a few pictures of my suitemates as they prepared to watch the game on TV and headed out the door.

When I got to my seat, it was all I could do not to scream hysterically.  I was about to
watch a game that was being covered on about four different channels, and everything about that place told me that this night - this setting - was playing host to an age-old tradition that many would only see once in person.

As the game began and the lead was tossed back and forth unbearably, I screamed, squealed, threw my hands in the air, and clung to the people around me as each free throw seemed to give or take away a little bit of hope.  The clock began to wind down and Duke began to pull away.  I tried to remain calm and pray that I would witness a miracle, but, alas, that night I returned to my little corner of campus only with the hope that March 4 would bring a different ending (which it did).

We may have lost that game, but, had we won, I would have taken much more from that game than the satisfaction of a big victory.  I shared a thrilling two hours with thousands of exuberant fans that were all overwhelmed by the common love that they share for this university.  That night, I felt a sense of community and solidarity that centered around something much bigger than myself - exactly what it means to be a Tar Heel.