(Ed’s Note: Don’t miss the first Tobacco Road Blues podcast, previewing tonight’s game.)
“My best friend is a Duke fan.”
Shudder.
About twice a year (sometimes three), I think these words to myself and physically recoil. How could I be associated with such a being? How could I justify my fandom as a Tar Heel when treason runs so close to home?
In short? I rationalize. Sam and I were friends before I went off to UNC and he went off to Duke. We shared social circles, experiences, friends. We’ve traveled abroad together. Once, we almost got murdered in a Greek soccer riot (true story). We are both hyper-competitive people: Sam crushed his ex in mini-golf on their first date. I once forced my dad to drink a “Cup of Shame” of milk and lemon juice from a sippy cup because I had just defeated him in a game of chess. We are very similar.
Yet twice a year, I mentally lump Sam in with the rest of… those dark blue people. Sam becomes an dookie. I dredge up my anemic highlight reel of dookies fulfilling their stereotype: