2017 NATIONAL CHAMPIONS
I WAS THERE:
PHOENIX
“
BY DAVID STALEY, HILLSBOROUGH, N.C.
When Carolina beat Notre Dame to advance to the 2016 Final Four, one of my college friends (who now has a sibling at UNC) posted a social media poll asking whether his sister should go to Houston or stay in Chapel Hill for a potential party on Franklin Street. I had a simple reply: “Stay in Chapel Hill. If you’re a student, there’s no better place to be than Franklin Street. Attending in person is for adults.” Not until that moment had I contemplated going to Houston. But as I typed that reply, I came to the realization that, at age 31, I was an adult. So I booked a flight and set to work convincing friends to go with me. Several agreed. But slowly, they all backed out, citing how expensive it would be. They weren’t wrong. The flight alone was $900, but I was willing to pay that plus tickets plus a hotel room split 2-4 ways in exchange for potentially seeing a national championship in person. Once everyone had bailed, though, I couldn’t justify spending all that times two so that my wife and I could go together. So I cancelled my flight and resigned myself to watching on TV. Until Thursday. That’s when I started the process of trying to convince my wife to drive to Houston (yes, from Chapel Hill). She was not on board. Through the sheer power of
20
BORN & BRED
June 2017
persistence - some may call it annoyance - I finally got her to make me a deal. If Carolina beat Syracuse Saturday night, we’d drive to Houston for just the championship game. And we did. The entire round trip lasted 72 hours, and we were in the car for approximately 34 of them. Sandwiched in between two 17 hour drives was “the shot.” Phoenix wasn’t just redemption for Joel Berry and Justin Jackson and Kennedy Meeks, it was redemption for Tar Heel fans all over. Whether you had your heart ripped out sitting at home on your couch or drove 2,300 miles to see it in person. And I’m sure redemption would have taken place whether I’d watched the Gonzaga game from my couch or Top of the Hill or any other location. But it seemed most appropriate for it to occur in Phoenix. So on December 20, 2016, I planned in advance and booked flights for my wife and I to go to Phoenix. Arrive Saturday morning, leave Tuesday morning. In search of redemption. A Luke Maye buzzer beater sent our house into pandemonium. Until that moment, I don’t think my wife had ever really believed we’d be going to Phoenix. The flights I booked three months in advance were refundable on Southwest. To her it was just some idiotic hair-brained idea that would no doubt be proven unnecessary against Arkansas or Butler or Kentucky. But to me, it was redemption.
