Edgy Mama

(This B4B entry came in, at 11:57, from Ash. Way to work to deadline, guy).

That’s perhaps the best name of a comic book shop I’ve ever heard, and it’s
true. Especially in my case. That’s because I’m a fan of the North Carolina
Tar Heels. I guess it’s somewhat fitting that the Charlotte comic shop is
now the home of two of the most recent graduates of the university’s hero
factory, its men’s basketball program.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Summer’s almost gone. Autumn and its
midnight madness will be here before we know it. With a rare national
championship under the belt, it’s time to look back and savor.

The UNC hero factory, until this past year, has had a rough run. It has
stumbled, badly, with a record of nine-and-21 just three years ago. That’s a
lifetime in sports. Like steel and textiles and autos, once mighty forces of
the United States, the legion of do-gooders at UNC has been depleted. The
team has been Superman on cryptonite, withered. They’ve heard the enemy’s
sermon of death. They’ve even been cowed by it.

It hasn’t always been like that.

I’m not trying to boast here. Just trying to be honest. But look at the
lineage, and you’ll find enough greats to fill any heroes’ hall. Phil Ford.
Mike O’Koren. James Worthy. Charlie Scott. Sam Perkins. And, of course,
Michael Jordan. Always Dean Smith.

They, and many others, made winning look easy. They wove winning into the
fabric of the university (dare I say the state?), so that whether you
stumbled down funky Franklin Street or sipped at the revered Old Well or
collapsed on the quad in a blissful kiss with your sweetheart, you felt like
a winner. Just being in Chapel Hill made you a winner.

When Smith retired, that all changed. His goodbye came unexpectedly. It
shook the establishment. When Roy Williams, the heir apparent, turned father
Dean down, a blue nation cried out.

Green with desire, fans watched a hulk of a team move with the whims of
teen-aged emotion, all rage and power one night and lethargic detachment the
next. Rumors swirled. Boosters screamed. Players pouted. Losing seasons,
unheard of in nearly three decades previous, ensued. Forget about a national
championship.

But fate turned, and the favored son returned. Roy Williams came back. And
with him came that old familiar magic. It’s a mix of family bonds and stern
respect and brotherly love and harsh criticism found in just about every
comic book I’ve ever read. Schmatzly, but it works.

Roy the jedi inherited a team of skywalkers. They just needed a little
coaching. There was Ray Felton, court wizard. Rashad McCants, a sleek black
panther. Sean May, monster in the middle. Jackie Manuel, the stretch man.
And Jawad Williams, Clark Kent in the clutch, a man who could transform.

So at the end of the march to victory, just six mad months ago, it was
Carolina vs. Illinois. A clash of the titans. The two best in the nation all
year long finally facing off. The media built it up as team, in Illinois,
versus Carolina’s talent. Can’t you see “Team v. Talent” chiseled in granite
outside the stadium walls?

In the end, the talent played most like a team. Individual strengths were
sacrificed for the common good. Ego took a back seat. Everything meshed.

Now it’s over. On to the next. May and Felton will remain in the Tar Heel
state, playing for Charlotte’s professional basketball team. The others have
scattered to the four winds.

But the North Carolina Tar Heels were super for a night. Heroes in my eyes,
forever.