South Carolina rolled up in Greensboro and beat our team. That happened, and we recognize it and move on. What this UNC team did this year has been maybe the most joyful, pure thing of my entire sports fan life. They played free and loose and maniacally beautiful offense and absolutely operated on a defensive string on the other end of the court. They fought to the buzzer, always. They loved and scrapped and played together, always. They were a beautiful, almost telepathic collective force of hooping wonder at all times, ALWAYS.
They kicked ass last night. Not enough to pull the dub, but damn well clear enough to put the rest of the nation on notice. South Carolina is, by any sane observance, the best team in the country, and the Heels stood toe to toe with them for four quarters in a Sweet Sixteen game and did not flinch. Even in significant foul trouble, they were aggressive and focused and played the game the way they wanted to play it. There were some trips to the stripe where they could've put the ball in more consistently (this has been a thing all year) and I don't even want to think about the second quarter shooting splits, but even playing an uneven, janky game, Carolina hung with the best in the land.
And here's the thing: This is very much a beginning and not at all a one-off fluke. Deja Kelly went nuclear last night and that's not going to change. Toddy and 'Lys played slightly below their offensive peaks but were killer-murder-velociraptors on defense, like they always are. Carlie and Eva were uneven but brilliant in stretches, and Alex and Anya played their tails off trying to contain the force of nature that is Aliyah Boston.
UNC hadn't been this far in The Dance in a good while, and last night they proved they belong not just in the conversation, but as a main talking point. And the whole world saw and recognized it. This squad put everyone on notice this season. Next year will be transcendent.
A few other notes from my experience last night:
1. Ags was not feeling well so I went to the game solo. I wound up sitting in a sea of South Carolina fans, and I totally get why Dawn calls them "Fams" now. They were delightful, kind, lovely folks who talked hoops and shot the shit with me all game like we'd known each other forever. At the half, I got up to go get a beer and a hotdog, and the woman on the end of the row letting me by said "y'all have a great team, I feel a little bad you're in the middle of all of us by yourself." I told her they were way more pleasant than most of the NC State fans who come to Carmichael once a year and that I was happy to be sitting with them. Her response: "Oh honey, we have to deal with Clemson fans, I get it." That woman is a national treasure.
2. Sports are f***ed up and we all know it. For the most recent example, you need only Google Deshaun Watson. College sports in particular exist on the far end of the horrific, exploitative spectrum. We compromise daily by loving our teams, none of whom are blameless or without flaws, no matter how much we want to tell ourselves otherwise. But when the game ended last night, something really cool happened: The arena staff put then end of the Saint Peter's/Purdue men's game on the jumbotron and every TV in the concourse. Two fan bases who had just spent the past two hours rooting against each other dropped their respective heartbreak and elation in a heartbeat and the whole place was suddenly screaming their lungs raw for a small New Jersey school none of us had heard of two weeks ago. When the Peacocks pulled out that win, we all, collectively, went bonkers. That was a MOMENT, y'all.
And that's why me and every other Tar Heel was in that barn last night. Not for the Saint Pete's thing, but to watch UNC Women's Basketball sweat and grind and work and to watch Deja Kelly become a goddess on a national stage and to watch this amazing team stand tall and take every punch South Carolina threw and to answer, right to the end of the horn. We were there for the MOMENT, and even though the final score didn't end favorably, the MOMENT was special.
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