Lucas: A Football Town
October 31, 2004 | Football
Oct. 31, 2004
By Adam Lucas
I went to a game at a football school on Saturday night.
It was a crackling atmosphere. Pulled up to my parking space about 90 minutes before the game and there were numerous tailgate parties in progress. The weather was so perfect you felt like you were in a dome, that the temperature had to be artificially controlled. Across the parking lot, one guy had a two-man band playing Jimmy Buffett songs. There was a throng of people gathered around, eating wings, drinking cold beverages, having fun.
It seemed like a decent football atmosphere.
Got to my seat, saw thousands of people already in the stands and wearing blue. They sang the alma mater with the alumni band, shouting out, "Priceless gem!" at just the right time. The homecoming king and queen were crowned. The video board in one end zone came to life and played an entrance video for the team that featured, as its crowning moment, Khalif Mitchell stuffing some guy wearing red, who promptly fumbled the football. The crowd enjoyed seeing that play again, even though most were watching it for roughly the 62nd time. The guy in front of me ate a couple pieces of fried chicken.
Then the game started. Apparently the home team was a big underdog, because everyone sitting around me kept saying, "If we can just stay in this game..." And something crazy happened: they did.
Carolina had this guy at tailback who was channeling Amos Lawrence. Most people didn't know Chad Scott from Charlie Scott before the game started. They know him now. Playing with a hip pointer, he merely delivered two touchdowns and 175 rushing yards.
About the same time the Tar Heels seemed to be realizing that this was a legitimately winnable game, the crowd seemed to realize the same thing. Fingernails were bitten. Seats went unused. No cries of "Down in front!" were heard.
It seemed like an above-average football atmosphere.
Second half, and the Miami explosion never came. The guy in front of me says, "Well, at least we're not getting blown out." Tar Heels were making tackles, making runs, making passes, converting third downs all over the field. End of the third quarter, 21-21, tied with the big bad Hurricanes, the winningest program in college football since 1990.
There was no frame of reference for this. You tried to compare it to something, maybe mentioned the Florida State game in 2001, but quickly dismissed it. This was Miami. Check it. This was Miami.
At the end of the quarter, the jumbotron blared "Hell's Bells" by AC/DC, the perfect accompaniment to a montage of helmet-rattling Tar Heel hits. I was now on a first-name basis with the guy on the row in front of me. We slapped high fives.
Sometimes, the players on the field had to ask the crowd to be quiet. The night had become so raucous that Carolina's offense couldn't hear the plays.
Sure, some of the crowd should know better. But honestly, when's the last time a Kenan crowd had to be told to be quiet?
It seemed like a good football atmosphere.
With five minutes left in the fourth quarter of every home game, I walk from my seats on the visitors side around the perimeter of the concourse to the press box. Usually, it is a congested walk. Students are out there socializing, fans are grabbing some shade, drinks are being purchased.
On this night, I was completely alone. People were standing on their tiptoes at the portals to the lower deck, trying desperately to get a glimpse of the action on the field. Guys carried their girlfriends--whose pointy-toed stiletto heels were no longer comfortable--on their shoulders. The concourse was a wasteland. Walking along the outside, you heard the crowd get ear-splittingly loud between plays, suck in their breath when Miami snapped the ball, and then either gasp or roar depending on the outcome of the play. You didn't have to see it. You could feel it.
With under a minute left, the surge began. Students began pushing toward the edges of the student section, swarming the front row and preparing to overtake the field. Even before Greg Warren made the final snap of the game, some were already standing on the edges of the grass.
The next 60 seconds went like this: snap, kick, good. Mass hysteria. Flashbulbs went off all over the stadium, and Kenan became one big glittery disco ball. Most times, it takes goalposts several minutes to be severed. Students have to bob on them, sway back and forth. This night was different. Snap, one goalpost down. Crack, other goalpost down. The end.
Roy Williams stood at the window of his private box soaking in the atmosphere. He rode down in the elevator and told his wife he'd be home in a few minutes. She asked where he was going.
"I'm going to see John," he said. Good luck finding him: the Carolina head coach might still be buried under well-wishers at midfield.
As this is being written, the goalposts are piled in a heap nearest the old fieldhouse. At the Kenan Football Center end, they are completely demolished--not even a stump remains.
The bell tower chimed. On Franklin Street, horns honked and fans shouted. Passengers hung out of cars just to slap high fives with pedestrians. Students streamed toward Franklin in packs, headed for a night they'll remember many years from now. At reunions, they'll ask each other, "Remember what we did that night we beat Miami?"
For Chapel Hill, it was a remarkable evening of football.
That's not right. For anywhere, it was a remarkable evening of football. You can take me to Knoxville, take me to Ann Arbor, take me to South Bend, take me to Austin.
I'll take Chapel Hill. A football town.
Adam Lucas is the publisher of Tar Heel Monthly and can be reached at alucas@tarheelmonthly.com. His book on Roy Williams's first season at Carolina, Going Home Again, is now available in bookstores. To subscribe to Tar Heel Monthly or learn more about the book, click here.
