Generally speaking, I don’t give a rat’s ass about sport stuff. For example, I know that there are two football teams up here that both play in New Jersey, but I really couldn’t say for certain if they’re both NY teams. I’m pretty sure the Jets are NY. I can’t remember what the other one is nor their geographical affiliation. I could Google it but that would be cheating.
I know more about baseball, but that’s just because my husband would eagerly service the entire Yankee payroll (ground staff included) for those boys to win the World Series each year. Fortunately for him (and the people on the Yankee payroll) they seem to win fairly often without his help.
THE GIANTS! The other team is the Giants. The New Blankity Giants.
I paid attention to golf for 4.3 seconds when all the Tiger Woods Skankathon stuff started. How could I not? He was on the cover of my most trusted news source – Us Weekly. (I still say Elin should score a sweet ass sponsorship deal with Titlist. That girl has a wicked swing.) That was more about following the scandal rather than the sport, I suppose. I don’t think I could name a single other golfer. Oh wait! Does Arnold Palmer count? I like his drink – even if it isn’t alcoholic.
I do care about basketball, though. That statement is still too broad to be true. I should probably be more specific. I care about college basketball. When a team from North Carolina is playing. Specifically Duke. Coach K, hallowed be thy name, high be thy players GPA, ohhhmmm.
It’s hard to explain. When they hear about my fierce devotion to my Blue Devils, people always ask if I’m a Duke alumnus. Have you seen my grammar skillz in action? What about my fierce recall for important details? (I’m leaning towards the New York Giants, FYI. I’d say I’m at least eleventy percent sure it’s the New York Giants.) No, Interwebz. This *waves hands up and down body Vanna White style but with less sequins and hairspray* is not the product of a Duke education.
Dad went to Duke. My oldest brother went to Duke. I have a Duke sweatshirt. I mean, that’s basically the same, right? It’s much more convenient to sport your team hoodie than drape your framed diploma around your neck. Then again, if I’d gone to Duke, I’d have probably engineered some world improving device that would cure cancer, end global warming, and generally flaunt my Duke-ness with style and panache.
But I am from North Carolina. I never really had a choice, you see. If you are born and raised in the fairest of these United States, there are certain things that are inbred into your very DNA. Here’s a quick list:
- You drink Cheerwine.
- You smoke.
- You appreciate a basket of hot hush puppies.
- You don’t buy furniture outside of High Point.
- You accept the nick name tar heel proudly (so long as you aren’t implying we’re UNC fans. ‘Cause that’s just crazy talk.)
- You recognize “fried” as it’s own food group.
- You drop peanuts into your bottle of cola.
- You prefer your pork pulled. (Sadly I can’t even insert a “that’s what she said” joke here for fear of having my Carolina status rejected.)
- Your jeans all have the imprint of a round can of dip permanently worn into the back pocket.
- You know that the “Hot Now” sign shouldn’t be illuminated 24/7.
- You laugh openly when you see an Ohio license plate that says “Birthplace of Aviation.” (Hello! Heard of a little place called Kitty Hawk?)
- You care about college basketball. Like a lot. Like A LOT a lot.
If you don’t click off at least eight of those items, you can’t qualify as a quality North Carolinian. I don’t smoke or dip tobacco, so I HAVE to get all riled up when March Madness begins. It’s a moral imperative.
My brother Mike (the Duke alumnus) now lives in a hippie town in upstate New York. Ninety percent of the year, he doesn’t have cable or watch any TV – not even the rabbit ear kind of TV. But come February of each and every year, he calls up his local cable company and sits and wait through that eight hour appointment window so some technician can come out and turn back on his cable, just to watch the ACC and the NCAA. I’m telling you – we’re hardwired for this shit.
Funny, I really intended to write about this weekend’s “Meat Off” but I guess that will have to wait until tomorrow when I’m no longer basking in the sweet, devilish blue glow of the Duke victory.
Sorry to Kentucky fan Wicked Shawn and those boys at Butler…but not really.