Want to know my dirtiest little secret?
I used to be a Duke fan.
I know. I KNOW. Me, a two-time UNC alum. A fan so deep into Tar Heel basketball that her favorite player is a guy you’ve never heard of. A woman who has seriously tried to convince her husband to name an offspring after Dean Smith.
But somewhere in rural East Tennessee, in the depths of my grandmother’s photo albums documenting Baird family vacations, there lives a photo of young Pressley. I’m on the beach, collecting shells, back to the camera. My shirt bears three phrases and three logos:
The Good: Duke
The Bad: NC State
The Ugly: UNC
Lo, I can barely type it for the shame.
But — in honor of the season’s first UNC vs. Duke game this Saturday — let me explain.
I am a native North Carolinian. But I was born in the Tar Heel State to transplants from Tennessee. They knew Phil Fulmer. They knew Pat Summitt. They knew orange. They did not yet know how to distinguish between shades of blue.
Now, listen, they caught on quick to the power and the glory that is ACC basketball. My mother has always loved college basketball and was delighted to live in the land of the ACC’s Big Four. But she watched all of the North Carolina teams equally, never fully cheering for one squad over the other.
When I was old enough to start paying attention — around seventh grade, in 2001-02 — it was The Era That Shall Not Be Named at UNC. Bill Guthridge had just retired. Matt Doherty had led (well, “led” like you’d lead a lamb to slaughter) the Heels to miss the postseason for the first time since the 60s. Their record was 8-20.
Lo, I can barely type it for the shame.
So … I began to pull for Duke. They had Carlos Boozer. They had Mike Dunleavy. They had Jay Williams! They trounced the Heels that year! Twice!
But my heart wasn’t in it.
I’d like to say it was fated, my love for the Heels, and that’s why I turned away from Duke. That God, in his plan for my life, orchestrated a series of events that opened my eyes like Paul on the road to Damascus.
But it’s not as dramatic as that. Two seniors on my tennis team whom I idolized as a freshman went to UNC. I learned about UNC’s stellar journalism program. My dad, when I asked him which school he liked better, repeatedly said, “Carolina, because it’s cheaper.”
And let’s be honest: I never could have gotten into Duke, anyway.
The basketball tides turned, too. UNC hired a guy named Roy Williams – he was pretty dadgum good – in 2003. He won a national championship (with guys who Matt Doherty recruited, in fairness to Matt Doherty) in 2005. He won another national championship in 2009. And then another in 2017.
(He also lost one in 2016, but lo, I actually can’t type about that one for the shame. I was teaching a journalism class at UNC that semester, and I emailed my students as soon as the game ended to cancel class the next morning. Who can learn about commas and inverted pyramids while mourning a loss so heartbreaking?)
I know this makes me sound like a fair weather fan. I did say this was my dirtiest secret, after all.
But, as the psalmist says, do not remember the sins of my youth. I cheered for Duke for a mere two years. I corrected course in due time.
Despite my treason, I’ve come to see the light. To quote Tar Heel patron saint Ian Williams: “When I see those Dookie boneheads shoe-polishing their faces navy blue on television, squandering their parents' money with their fratty elitist bad sportsmanship antics and Saab stories, I want to puke all over Durham.
God bless them Tar Heel boys!”
Editor’s note: I wrote this while watching UNC stomp all over NC State. You’ll notice I never considered becoming a State fan. I have standards.
I remember those glory Duke years!! Shane Battier was my favorite. 😍
As a die hard Duke fan- that did name my child after the stadium-I can appreciate your passion. :)