One thing about having a blog with actual readers is that you find yourself becoming uncomfortably aware of your audience. Back in the beginning of my online diary life, I didn't post any pictures, I waxed rhapsodic about the sexual problems Celexa was giving me, and I was occasionally content to fall asleep half-way through writing it. I'm humbled and stunned by the fabulous people that show up here, but you realize that it has made it a lot harder to talk about shoving suppositories up my ass while driving, don't you?
I ask these questions because occasionally you're going to hear me squawk on about the University of North Carolina Men's Basketball Team, and to many of you, it's a subject that you
a) don't understand
b) understand, but don't care
c) understand, and root for another team
d) don't understand and don't care
...which I totally grok, dudes. Sure, my boys Andy, Andrew, Jon, Tanya, Chip, Steph and Greg will probably not skip paragraphs – but if you are going to keep coming back into this literary rumpus room, you're going to have to accept that you will be randomly hit on the head with a sky-blue-colored basketball. Yes, that means YOU, Garrity!
"Well, okay, Ian, but could you bother to make it interesting?"
Yes, yes, fucking all right. But to get it, you'll have to read my Dean Smith Manifesto, which will take me a few more weeks.
In the meantime, I went to downtown Atlanta tonight to see my beloved Tar Heels get waxed by the Georgia Tech Yellow Jackets. It was another miserable loss in a season that has plenty of them, and I did something I never do: I left early. Sure, it was about 120 seconds early, but there was no way I was going to sit in my seat, watch them storm the court at my emotional expense, and then endure taunts from the Wramblin' Wreck Sig Eps on the way back to the car.
I have been to about 150 games in person, but never in hostile territory. Being ensconced in another man's tribe is a fascinating bit of social anthropology that I highly recommend. The language is a little different, the songs are warped, and the colors are foreign. It reminded me of the last scene in that Ray Bradbury short story "A Sound of Thunder" when the guy in the time machine steps on a butterfly, and when he gets back to the present day, everything is slightly askew.
Apparently they're making that into a movie. Must all of my favorite things from childhood be co-opted by the Man?
Anyway, if I'm going to talk about my Celexa and years of anxiety disorders and rage, rage against the chowderheaded simians currently running my country, I suppose I should also get to the bottom of why these basketball losses still put a dagger in my heart. Dean Smith said "If you live or die by winning and losing, you're going to do an awful lot of dying." I'm all ears as to how I can keep from dying every time.Posted by irw at February 10, 2004 11:02 PM