As of late, the Duke-UNC rivalry has been somewhat one-sided. Droopy Dog Williams has been snagging top recruits, many who end up leaving early, winning a championship or two and maintaining his general douchebagginess all the while masquerading as a great coach and good person.
While our hero did derive some sadistic pleasure from watching UNC’s struggles this season, it certainly did not help boost the argument of the greatest rivalry in sports. The fact that the two schools, separated by a mere 9 mile stretch of road, now have each won a championship in the last two years speaks a great deal about both programs and the competitiveness between them.
Blue Devil supporters have long been aware of what makes the Duke program so special; quality players and individuals, dribble penetration and ball movement, in your face defense and full court pressure- the foundations of good team basketball.
Duke no longer plays second fiddle to anyone in the ACC or the country. After capturing their fourth national title, Blue Devil nation breathed a sigh of relief after years of struggle and underachievement in the Dance. Toss it up to a weak year in conference or the emergence of leadership on the court. It could be due to the fact that the Devils had a deeper bench than they’ve had in years and finally have gone back to recruiting big men. Some even said it was destiny.
Heartbreakers dropped to the Wisconsin Badgers and the ugly loss to Georgetown in front of President Obama had supporters wondering how tough the team really was.
Despite these blemishes on the record, fans felt a tangible excitement all season. Our hero spent the majority of the season watching the games with top notch whisky and top notch company at the split level on Anderson Street.
Together we watched Scheyer become a true ball handler with a staggering assist to turn over ratio. Singler pushed through his midseason slump, exploding through the final four and finally becoming comfortable in his new position. Nolan Smith slashed to the basket and solidified his range while Lance Thomas did everything that doesn’t make the highlight reel.
Perhaps the most intriguing story of the year was the emergence of the Zoub, from goofy, stumbling, bringing his rebounds down, cringe when he gets the ball, space occupying efficiency inverse, lame excuse for a 7’1 center to confident inside player with good vision and the ability to finish. Amazing what a beard can do for a man.
The brothers Plumlee provided some thundering dunks, fouls and muscles on the interior.
Our hero pushed through the evenings, staying up for the 3:30am local time tip-offs. Packed in the highlander for the final, he found himself the enemy as varied European accents and English dialects screamed for the Butler Bulldogs, booing the Blue Devils every chance they got.
A well-played game by both sides, the bar, the world and our hero held their breath as Gordon Hayward tossed up a half court prayer that seemed destined to fall. Alas, it was not to be and the Devils emerged from the flames unscathed. Our hero, misty eyed with pride, exited the bar quietly after shaking some hands and let out his victory cry. He hopped on his metal steed, gliding through the empty, centuries old streets, cool breeze on his face, reminded how good it is to be young, alive and winning championships.
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