I consider myself a thinker. I am rational. I am intellectual and not a slave to my emotions.
Of course, none of the above will be true this Wednesday.
Carolina plays Duke for the first time this season in a few days. At 7pm on Wednesday I will become an emotional wreck. I will scream. I will commiserate. I will stress the f*ck out... even if we are up twenty points.
How? How did it happen? When did it all change? I am a loving and open-hearted man but I harbor real hate for the Duke basketball team. Real hate. When we thought the Duke Lacrosse team were rapists with sticks I still hated the basketball team more.
Sometimes I can take a step back and look at it rationally. I can acknowledge that Couch K is a great coach. I can tip my hat to a small school that has become a Division One powerhouse. It does not last long, though. Soon afterwards I regress back to the dark place where I know, in my heart, that Couch K eats baby feet for his pre-game meal.
You see five kids hit the court in the dark blue. I see five bastard children of puppy-blood drinking whores. I see five kids hit the court in sky blue. I see five golden boys who read Socrates after working all day at the homeless shelter where they healed the lepers with a touch.
Mike Krzyzewski has something to do with the death of one of your loved ones. Roy Williams personally escorts our relatives to Heaven when they die. I know this.
Driving to get coffee this morning I asked myself when this all manifested itself in me. When did I drink the Kool-Aid? I didn't hate Duke when I was in High School. I didn't hate them after I got my acceptance letter. I don't think I hated them my freshmen year at Carolina.
I sure as hell hate them now. I mean hate... as in Hate. Hate.