This excerpt is from an email that a friend drafted chronicling a most glorious day back in the winter of 1997. It involves the annual Clemson/UNC matchup in Chapel Hill. Names have been altered for anonymity.
Enjoy.
“…In 1997, I drove down from DC or Va, wherever I was that late winter. I
met up with David I think it was his cousin Rocky (or was it
Jeff?!), and of course, our lead character – Johny “Lube You”
Smith. Johny, if you dont recall, never wore anything other
than the color black from 1985 – 2002 ( I havent seen him since
2002…) and mostly in the form of black leather. And black
hair. And spikes and whatnot. Point is – no one in the history
of Chapel Hell’s wine and cheese storied history has ever set foot
in town that resembles Johny. Nothing close.
First hour of the day, we are driving around the Chapel Hell
campus near the frat houses. John leans out the window in full
black garb and eyeliner and screams at the tops of this lungs:
F*** YOU YOU F****ING FRAT MOTHER F*****S!!!! David looks over
to John and says, “Greg is in a frat at UVa”. I recoil in the
back seat.
We get to the Sniff Center and James Taylor, elevator track style,
is strumming over the loudspeakers. Teems of sweater-round-the-
neck wearing country club douches along with their never-worked-
aminute-in-their-lives wives saunter the outer concourse. They
are obviously expecting an easy win, despite Rick Barnes Clemson
team of scrappers is ranked higher than their sacred Tar Holes.
We of course are relegated to the upper deck. We have some room
around us but it was pretty packed. As we took our seats, several
nervous looks of “dear lord, honey, that looks like a bad man in
our section” are directed our way. Parents snuggle closer to
their children in their seats.
The game starts out as expected. By the first tv timeout the
Heels are up something like 11-2 and Clemson has 6 team fouls, UNC
none. The cause: Dick Papparo. I have never seen any official
in any sport have the combination of the LOVE for one team and the
HATE for one team as Dick did for UNC and Clemson, respectively.
By the second TV timeout, Papparo had hopped around on one foot
and made his theatrically dramatic foul calls nearly a dozen
times. I believe it was 12 for Clemson and 0 for UNC. By then we
are down somthing like 27-8 and we know it is over…and the game
has just begun.
As the PA guy was just starting up “Carolina on My Mind” for the
TV timeout, Johnny has had enough. Everyone in our section is
sitting. Johnny stands up, his black attire, hair and eyeshadow
in full effect in contrast to the sea of 24,000 + baby blue
sweaters. The Sniff Center is basically silent except for James
Taylor’s cooing. Johnny, leaning over the family of 4 in the row in
front of us, yells at the most deep and booming volume I’ve ever
heard in any indoor venue: “DICK PAPPARO!!!!!!
CALL…..A…….F*********************INNNNNNGGGG…….FOUL!”
I believe David and I are halfing dying laughing, half cringing
as the entire section looks around to see what they must consider
the devil incarnate in their midst. I’ve never seen one person
have that much immediate effect on such a large number of people
in such little time.
The game continues as expected – we get like 38 fouls and they get
6 or 7. Their scrubs finish up the game on our starters and we
end up with like a 30 point loss. The beginning of their end of
the year run and our annual end of the year swoon. As we are
walking out of the Sniff Center, we are moving in the direction
against the crowd. Some Tar Hole pushes David and says “See
ya’ll in the NIT”. Johnny, still fired up, interjects for his
younger brother and gets in the Sweater’s face and barks “SEE YOU
IN HELL MOTHER F****R!!!”
