8 minute read
Franklin Street
2017 NATIONAL CHAMPIONS
I WAS THERE: FRANKLIN STREET
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We were absolutely frantic the day of April 2. A year earlier, my wife and I were prepared to watch the national championship game with a group of friends at the Hampton Inn, just off Franklin Street. Needless to say, that game did not end as intended. This year, we had booked the same location a week prior to the championship game, just in case the Heels made it to Monday night. However, the words of Woody Durham kept ringing in my head: “Go where you go, and do what you do.” In 2005, we were students and watched the game from Granville Towers. In 2009, we made our way back to Granville Towers, through the help of a friend. This year, it wasn’t going to be possible to get into Granville...but we could get as close as possible. At the last second, I decided the risk was too great to frequent the same location as 2016. We cancelled our reservation and frantically began searching for a restaurant on Franklin that could accommodate our party of six. Top of the Hill? Booked. Mellow Mushroom? The line began forming at 8 a.m. that morning. The classic pull of collegiate loyalty and employer obligation began their tug of war as Monday morning dragged on. Finally, I received a text message from my wife that West End Wine Bar would begin taking individual reservations at noon. I hustled over on my lunch break.
Then the waiting game began. The re-run of the CavaliersPacers game from Sunday night was on the television, and there was time spent in debate over whether Kyrie Irving’s appearance on the screen was an ominous sign for UNC. Ultimately, the decision was made that JR Smith’s inclusion on the Cavaliers roster was enough to counteract the side effects of Kyrie’s Dukie-ness.
The rest of the time until 9 p.m. flew by--a blur of nervousness and text messages to assure that everyone was in their correct place. Go where you go, and do what you do.
Just before tip off, another UNC fan entered the bar with a friend decked out completely in Duke gear. I still wonder to this moment what kind of mental state one would have to be in to 1) have a Duke friend and 2) feel it appropriate to bring them to Franklin Street on the night of a national championship game.
As the game tipped off, every UNC basket was a wave, covering the bar with new hope and much needed oxygen. Every Gonzaga basket drew back toward the horizon of 2016, and the inevitable “not again” feeling we had all been trying to ignore.
At halftime, the score stood at Gonzaga 35, UNC 32. The Duke fan in a sea of Carolina Blue was elated, and let everyone know it. In the immortal words of Billy Madison, “At no point in (his) rambling, incoherent response was he even close to anything that could be considered a rational thought. Everyone in this room is dumber for having listened
to it. I award you no points, and may God have mercy on your soul.”
Halftime periods always seem to go by in the blink of an eye when UNC is winning, and drag on forever when the team is down. Likewise, it felt like the second half would not tip off until well after midnight. But once it did, a boxing match ensued. UNC goes on an 8-0 run: left hook. Gonzaga retakes the lead by 3: punch to the gut. UNC back up by two: counter punch. And then, more whistles than a circus ringmaster.
After what felt like a few short breaths, the final sequences that solidify any championship occurred: Meeks’ jump ball. Hicks’ jump shot. Meeks’ block. And then I’m hugging my friend Kyle, who I watched the championships with in 2005 and 2009. Go where you go, and do what you do.
And then we’re sprinting to the intersection of Franklin and Columbia, totally oblivious to being at work in seven hours. Go where you go, and do what you do. And there are not other thoughts in our mind, other than that Roy Williams is the greatest coach on the face of the Earth, and that somewhere Dean Smith, Bill Guthridge, and Stuart Scott are all smiling. Because we’re Tar Heels, and we go where we go, and do what we do. “BY FRED PEARLMAN, GREENSBORO, N.C.
I graduated from UNC in 1982, so of course I was on Franklin Street just minutes after Michael Jordan hit the shot to give us the national championship. On April 3 (into the morning of April 4!), I was fortunate enough to be on Franklin Street celebrating a UNC national title for the FIFTH time. I watched the game in Chapel Hill, with my friends Robert Hooke and Richard Schneiderman. Richard and I headed to Franklin Street right after the game. We had the usual incredible time, celebrating with 25,000 of our closest friends. As I told someone while watching the national semifinal on Saturday, this never, ever gets old.
2017 NATIONAL CHAMPIONS
BY NEIL WELBORNE, CORNELIUS, N.C.
“Boy, the ride home last year was REALLY a bummer.Occasional moans, sighs, and “what ifs” were all that broke the silence during the two hour commute from Chapel Hill back to our residence in the Lake Norman area. I had packed the boys into the truck and driven up to watch the game with their sister Madison in the Dean Dome in hopes of witnessing history and experiencing the Franklin frenzy with my kids. I had been there in 1993 and knew what a once in a lifetime memory I had made. And I wanted to make another priceless Tar Heel memory…this time with my kids! But it wasn’t to be. And who knew when another shot at championship number six would come. My parents, Barry and Joanne Welborne, both graduated from UNC in 1963, then finished medical school and nursing school at “Blue Heaven” thereafter. I finished dental school at Carolina in 1992. My daughter, Madison, is a senior majoring in English. My oldest son, William, is a junior majoring in biology. Jack is a senior in high school who has been accepted to UNC in the fall. The two youngest boys, Josh and Jacob, bleed serious light blue. I have even succeeded in converting my Appalachian State wife, Mary Lynn, into at least a lukewarm Carolina girl. Having survived multiple close games to advance to the finals again this year, the Welborne contingent was back on highway 85 with our fingers crossed hoping once again to be a part of Tar Heel history. Between the officiating and our poor play, it was not the prettiest game we’ve ever played. I had a knot in my stomach as time ticked away. The miniscule lead felt precarious at best. In the back of my mind I couldn’t help but think of the potential long, quiet, gut-wrenching late night ride home again.
And then it happened. An awesome inside move and bank shot by Hicks. Meeks on the rejection and fast break slam by Justin Jackson.Steal by Meeks and now Berry is at the line with a five point lead and mere seconds on the clock!
A Tar Heel explosion. The game is over and it’s going to be a sixth banner hanging from the rafters. My kids and I are going crazy just like the other two hundred or so other people watching the game at Granville. I feel like I’m twenty years old again.
I don’t recall my feet touching the ground during the run out to Franklin. And before you know it we are reliving the scene I’ve told my kids about for years. Students in the trees. A crazy guy on top of the power pole. Thousands of students yelling, dancing, and whooping it up. A couple couches out in the middle on fire. A new cover for the menu at TOPO is surely coming soon. Tens of thousands of ecstatic Carolina fans. One incredibly happy father who is lucky enough to share such a moment with his kids.
The drive home was a little different than last year. The party continued all the way back to Cornelius.We climbed in bed around four.Alarm went off at six.But I woke up with the biggest smile on my face, put on my UNC tie and went to work living on adrenaline.
The kids were all up for class (like Luke) because that was part of the deal. But we didn’t care. The Heels are ‘17 champs and life is good. Redemption indeed.
PHOTO BY MICHAEL ZULAUF
“BY KATELYN GLASSMAN, CHAPEL HILL, N.C.
While the win against Oregon in the Final Four brought much joy, it also came with a very hard decision. Our core group of friends had watched the 2005 championship game from a dorm room in Grimes Hall, the 2009 game from the Station in Carrboro, and last year’s heartbreaking loss at Carolina Brewery on Franklin. So what to do this year? Could we overcome our superstitions? Could we return to Carolina Brewery to face our fears? After some debate, we decided to summon our courage and purchased tickets to watch Monday night’s game. As diehard Tar Heel fans, we struggled through the trials and tribulations of Championship Monday: the butterflies in our stomachs, the complete lack of focus as we tried to do our jobs. We were all nagged by thoughts of how we could have done things differently last year. Then it hit us. Five of us had been together for both the ‘05 and ‘09 championships. But last year someone was missing. There were only four. We needed our fifth man. Quickly our friend Pete jumped into action. We had an extra ticket, and we all knew who it belonged to. Our friend Larry showed up ten minutes before the jump ball. I wish I could say his appearance calmed our collective nerves, but the tension at our table was palpable. Throughout the game we remained relatively silent, short of breath and hearts fluttering. But when Kennedy blocked the shot and Justin ran down the court to dunk the ball with 11.4 seconds left, we knew... we were whole again.
