Where Were You When First Shunned The Baby Blue ?

Stop right there. Yes. I know. You’ve most likely read this before. I’m also well aware that the way this year’s season has gone, it’s unlikely the story would build a crescendo of anything more than a gaping yawn with most of y’all.

However, I received a request from a teammie off that ’72 club for the story, so in lieu of some ridiculous poll post inquiry about “feelings” going into this game, Friday…Sure. Why not put it up ?
…And besides, you’re not indentured to read on. Oh…And p**s on Carolina ‘lina…

Here’s to you 1972. 8-3-1 #17 AP

( No…my mug is not in there. Lowly Frosh would never get a sniff of a Big Club shot, and shame on the library for a lousy crop.)


Everybody has a time and reason for making a life-long decision. I thought it might be fun to fire you up and get you recalling what it was that made you put the X in UNX and loathe the pastel blue.

I know where I was when it came to me, and if you feel like listening, I’ll tell you the story.

OK then…

I was in Kenan Stadium on the third Saturday afternoon of September 1972. This 18 yr. old freshman from Western New York was completely healthy, dressed out, and on the depth charts for the first time as a football player for the Red and White from NC STATE!

Actually, that day, it was white over white with red lids and trim, white wristbands to the elbow and white spats. (Modified to go no higher than the ankles. Holtz rules on spats. )
Dressed to impress!

The Heels were ranked. We had tied Maryland in the opener and beaten Syracuse, and were on exactly nobody’s radar. There I was, with a couple hundred Monarch butterflies ingested at pre game meal, or so I supposed. I was surrounded in light blue, with a fair share of red.

Crap, I’m getting ahead of myself. The question to the lead was…” first shunned.”

Let’s back up.

Midway through gearing up for practice on the first Monday before Carolina, in the bowels of Reynolds Coliseum, I noted a lack of jocularity coming from the upperclassmen side of the locker room. The familiar, often loud, good natured insults, and tales from Saturday night’s post game exploits, were missing.

We freshman never cut up, reserving the smarts to not draw undo attention upon our rookie dumbasses. Well, we sort’a did, in whisper-tone, amongst ourselves, but we mostly wanted to hear what was goin’ on a couple of rows over. There was not much to pick up this day. Not for me anyway, until we hit the practice field.

After quick drills, which were Lou’s form of calisthenics…hands to the helmet, hands to the thigh pads in 100 man unison, we broke into positional units like we always did prior to game plan practice. For us wideouts, it pretty much consisted of pairing up and throwing the ball to each other for about ten minutes with the frustratrated QB in us, doing his best to make the partner try and come up with the most ridiculous sideline catch ever.

On this day Steve Lester was my partner. Steve Lester was the  “other” starting senior wideout in 1972. It was Lester who taught me how to recognize and take out a pitch man. It was his voice that was particularly missing back in the dressing room earlier, too.

Before I threw my first pass to him that day, I heard him say, “Angelo.”

I kinda looked at him funny, like I expected more to follow.

“Lou Angelo,” as he snatched my quite less than perfect spiral.

When I asked him what heck he was talking about, I received no answer, just a nifty little bullet about 3 inches off the ground. The rest of the drill went pretty much silent, and Holtz’s whistle blew, signaling us to “line it up!”

Practice was routine that day, getting the package for Saturday’s gamer installed. After dinner, the offense watched a little film of the Carolina defense versus Maryland’s from the past weekend.

The thing about film was that for us wideouts, there really wasn’t a whole lot of information to be gathered. Very few teams ran the Twin Veer, so it was tough picking up tendencies watching a future opponent defend an I-formation. The best you could do is try and find the pitchman in zone and man coverage. The problem is, sometimes the outside LB was it, sometimes the strong safety, and even the DE. You never really knew until the play was in motion against the Veer.

Maybe midway through the session, I saw a safety, # 11, put a wicked hit on a back that had lined up as a flanker. A bunch of “oohs” followed the play from the room.

Someone muffled, “there’s your boy, Pat.” That didn’ t seem to go over very well.

“Fuck him.” That came from Lester. I looked over at Pat Kenney for a reaction.

Nope. Nothin’. Maybe a squint. The session soon ended, and for the second time that day, I was left with this question mark balloon over my noggin. I wanted to ask what just happened back there, but as a freshman dressing out for the first time, I felt that if they don’t tell ya straight off, ya don’t ask.

Tuesday’s practice was quite remarkable. The guys were really getting at it with each other. It was a mean practice, filled with plenty of expletive adjectives and verbs being tossed around, usually describing Carolina. I was beginning to think that this might not be just another game to win. 

Over dinner, Don Buckey broke a silence at our freshman round table. “Hey. Who is Lou Angelo? ” I looked up and asked him where he had heard that name. “Steve Lester said it to me today. He wouldn’t tell me who it was.” I told Buckey about hearing the name from Steve the day before, but knew nothing either.

As we walked out of Case for the evening, I spied Lester. I had to know. I gave Buck a head twitch and we caught up to the guy with the answer. Buck said it first.

” Who is Lou Angelo? ”

Lester looked at us like we had leprosy or sumpthin’.

” He broke his jaw! On a cheap hit! ” Lester was pointing, pointing up ahead at Pat Kenney. He what? Pat? Pat Kenney, our all everything? The player I had hoped to emulate? Broke his jaw on a cheap hit?

 Angelo, now I got it. Number 11.

Boys and girls, by Thursday, I had a whole new take on Saturday’s game. I not only was flushed by the prospects of playing in my first college game, but understood that I was now involved in some thick subplots. I was beginning to catch the current of utter despise for the coming opposition. Should I play Saturday, I was going to find a way to make Lou Angelo look bad. If the situation were to present itself, even make him pay without doing something cheap.

Midway in the third quarter, Carolina went up by 14. We came right back with a TD of our own. That’s the way the game had been going all afternoon. They’d pull ahead; we’d come back within striking distance. We played from behind, but we played with confidence. I had managed to play two complete series by the end of the third quarter. They were very unremarkable minutes. Nothing really came my way. Most of the plays were spent running off the corner or just chasing to get a pad on someone across the field.

At the outset of the 4th quarter, Carolina had punted and we took possession. Holtz threw up two fingers, meaning I was about to get another series. We moved the ball pretty well, with Roland Hooks picking up most of those yards out to about midfield. We stalled though. In fact on 3rd and long, I finally had a chance to make a play. I ran a sharp 7-yard slant and had no one in front of me. It just wasn’t meant to be, as Dave Buckey’s pass got batted down at the line of scrimmage. Down 7, we had to punt.

I held my block until the thud and headed downfield, one eye on the ball, the other on anything in pastel. Pat Korsnick had kicked a beauty. It was high, deep, and to my side.

At around the 10 yrd line I picked up the ball again. The return man was backing off, this one was gonna’ be mine baby! Inside the 5! At that moment, I got lambasted. Hit from the side and behind my knees, my arms stretched forward while my legs were planted several inches into the sod. The ball trickled into the end zone.

I was pissed! As I reached behind me to pull the sonofabitch that just got me off, I saw two things at once. On the shoulder pads of the player was numeral 11. On the ground next to me was a pretty, little, yellow hankie. We untangled and I got up first on shell-shocked pins. I extended a hand to pull #11 up along with the words,  “helluva play Lou.” Something else was uttered about cheap shot, maybe his mother, too. 

Clipping…Half the distance to the goal line.

The defense kept ’em right down there and on 4th down, Mike Stultz did what he did best that year. He took their punt to the house, man, 27-27 with 6 and change to go.

The Tar Heels mounted a time consuming drive and with under 2 minutes left, punched it in for the go ahead score. Lou collected the offense and exclaimed, “hey! hey! we’re gonna’ score!” And down the field the O went, with a Bruce Shaw bullet here and a Bruce Shaw bullet there. I think we had a big gainer on a draw by Willie Burden, too. With 00:02 and the ball resting on Carolina’s 26, we used our last time out.

Shaw came over to the sideline, and we listened to the call. Of course the guys on the sideline were a wreck, with the Baptist boys praying and the Catholic boys trying to cut deals, and the rest of the faiths putting theirs on the offense.

” Right 86″ .  Lou released his grip on Shaw. The play put Lester split wide to the left on the line of scrimmage. Pat Kenney would be flanked wide right. Steve would run a skinny post. Pat would be off to the races on a fly.

It…seemed… like…the… ball… hung… in… space… forever, near the back corner of the endzone. To my line of sight, there was nothing but that baby blue in the area. Then superman sans cape, but with a big red 25 on his chest, flew from nowhere, over the corner, and over # 11.

Touchdown. Pat Kenney. With the clock at 00:00 and the scoreboard at 34-33 and the crowd in anguish mixed with holy glee, Holtz managed to get the entire team together on the sidelines. “Men, its up to you. Go for the tie or go for two? ” You probably already know the answer to that question. Lou did, too. We were going for the win!

Lou called for a middle screen for Charley Young , and then added an odd twist. He put Buck in at QB.

The play failed, miserably.

Later in the locker room, Lou would tell us that the play was the worst he’d ever called.

Yeah, we were hurt, but we were also fiercely proud heading off the grid to the field house.

As we made our way on the cinder track to that field house, the Carolina band’s horn section was lined up on the edge of that track serenading us with a mocking rendition of “Old MacDonald.” As I passed in front of the tubas, one blasted off a note not 12 inches from my ear hole. I don’t know what possessed me, but I bent over, grabbed a handful of gravel, and rammed it right down that fat bastard’s horn…game on…forever.

I never looked back and I’ve never looked at THAT color, that awful Carolina blue, with the same eyes since.


Multiple ACC Championship ring bearer...If they had given us rings back then, that is. Famous for being Lou Holtz's favorite target...of flying clipboards, and responsible for the creation of wholey new obscenities off the tongue of Sam Esposito, between and outside the white lines. Son of a HoF basketball coach.

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    Stop right there. Yes. I know. You’ve most likely read this before. I’m also well aware that the way this year’s season has gone, it’s unlikely the st
    [See the full post at: Where Were You When First Shunned The Baby Blue ?]


    Fine story, enjoyed it again.

    Piedmont North Carolina folks know the unc types. Typically it breaks out into about three groups:

    1) Graduate, typically kind and decent. Some could care less about sports and don’t hold their noses and heads high, generally they can be dealt with in most any matter. Generally very conservative, disdainful of the Marxism, multiculturalism and general anti-southern disposition of the chapel hill culture. This crowd makes up about 10% of the uncers. Low church crowd with a mild sprinkling of Methodists and Presbyterians. They would step out on the edge by reading Erskine Caldwell novels.

    2) Graduate, typically arrogant and conceited. Historically seen as the local loud mouth lawyer, a loyal Democrat, mildly progressive, borderline alcoholic, and trend toward very high church. They hold a strong dislike for white working class North Carolinians, rednecks one and all in their book. Very attached to the dean smith myth and each holds a copy of the Krazy tar heal fact book (every odd statistic in the history of the school whereby unc claims any and all significant credit for anything in sports, example would be citing that Joe Montana’s first come back in football as taking place in Kenna in 1975). Extremely vocal about the “Carolina way” and use it to bolster their very healthy self esteem. When watching “their heals” they would turn the volume down on the tv and turn up woody durham on the radio.

    A real bunch of pricks and they are about 25% of the uncers.

    3) The bandwagon. You know them and you love them, no link to the school in any measure. There is usually the antiquated claim that since they live in North Carolina they can lay claim to the bounty. They also have a copy of the Krazy tar heal fact book and they follow the same pattern of number 2 when it comes to watching “their heals” on tv. Largely uneducated but each school in North Carolina has a small cell of these types, Appalachian State and unc-Greensboro have the largest percentage. They speak about “their heals” on a very consistent basis, moody and hateful when “their heals” lose, boasting and bragging when “their heals” win. They know nothing about the school, could care less but they have absorbed a lesson from number 2. By linking themselves to unc they can entrench themselves in a hierarchy whereby their lives have some importance and value through “their heals”. Very keen on almost wins and had “so and so not gone pro” excuses which mythically become wins “if”. Typical foot wear is high top Reboks.

    I’ve pounded this bunch in the ground for 30 plus years and they make up about 70% of the uncers*.

    To wrap, native North Carolinians know these folks. Grew up hating 2&3, an inherent right I say.


    *I know that is 105% but I did so to honor Curry Math.


    That’s awesome. I wish this website would have a cook out and meet some of you. Even McCallum. ? The stories would be ridiculous and the liquor consummed would be criminal. I am glad you are sharing some of these good stories.



    That is one Helluva story or tale. Twould be interesting if DD posted it on ever locker door.

    I probably do not “HATE” a Carolina Team or a player or a coach…But I SURE have a big dislike for them. My wrath (and my wife is WAY WORSE….more on that later) is directed at the Carolina Way. It probably came after the Valvano massacre as the Snooty UNC folks (and the UNC dominated BOG and Legislature) crucified our hero. Now, did our Hero walk on water and always gave his last mite to the poor? NOPE, but how he was vilified (as in a certain President Elect was and is) and unjustly destroyed by the likes of Claude Sitton (who DIED on V’s Birthday….how about THAT for revenge from the grave?).

    I noticed a shift in my wardrobe. I used to be a kahki and light blue preppy type of guy. I probably own ONE light blue shirt and it is older than the hills….as it never gets worn. I would NOT wear it for fear of being affiliated with the Hautsy Tautsy Light Blue supporting crowd.

    I don’t begrudge Michael Jordon getting a Medal of Freedom….but, like the “Order of the Long Leaf Pine” award, it is handed out like the promises of leaving the USA if….

    I CAN relate to one incident. Many years ago, the WPC offered tickets to Kennan. OK, as a ST holder, I got one. Me and DW (51 Years + 1 day) went to the game. Our seats were nothing to write home about….but we were surrounded by RED….except for ONE mouthy woman behind me. Everytime the Ref dropped his Hanky on a UNC Player, it was “Ref is in that GD Amato’s pocket….probably some dumb Catholic parishenor that goes to church with him…” and THAT was the one I could print.

    I left for a pee break and also to get the DW a coke and a snack as it was hot. When I got back, my wife and some of the Red Fans next to us were turned around and the looks, as well as words, were getting tense.

    The mouthy lady was starting to spew again….her hubby stood up and almost did a fireman’s carry and removed her from the area. I looked at DW and gave her the “what did I miss….” look? She explained that she got TIRED of hearing the B$%^ch curse and mouth off. She simply stood up and turned around and said…

      You know why our fight song has the line…”Go To Hell, Carolina?”. It is because of obnoxious Carolina Fans like you. This is the WP Section….and I am tired of your mouth….

    It gets fuzzy here, but apparently the lady stood up and maybe struck a Kick Boxer pose….and the fans on either side of us stood up and seemed to be “ready to rumble”. Our standing joke is that I was not there to defend her outburst as I was getting her a drink to cool her off.

    SO, maybe THAT day cemented my hatred…

    It will be interesting to see if your experiences are emulated by the team on Friday. I hope so….but you already know what I have some questions about.

    I guess, either way the game goes, if Debbie asks Doeren to come by for coffee after Church on Sunday, he will know that it is NOT for another contract extension and his wife will be on the phone with the Realtor that sold them their house….


    I dearly enjoyed my old fraternity heading out at the end of hell night for a trip to chapel hill.

    What a haul, eventually had to stop it or the local news would have been filled with stories. But Lord knows the haul brought back to Raleigh since no university locks a door:

    paintings, Armani suits, framed copies of the bill of rights and Declaration of Independence, home plate, 3rd base, filling cabinets full of Graduate school work tossed in the trash (all hard copy days<—–my personal directive) signs, fraternity composite pictures, etc……the list just goes on and on.

    I’m so ashamed.

    But finally, sneaking into the bathroom and noticing a pair of hush puppies in the last stall. So I think, “ah ha!! A lefty law school professor, I’ll show him!” and slowly, slowly walking out of the bathroom and silently reaching for the light switch. The last sound after flicking out the lights was the moan of dread coming from the hush puppies as they realized they’d be finishing their crap in the dark.



    Mc. That’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout, boy. We can pissandmoan about how State seems to lack that…IT, and it does, but WE don’t. We don’t.


    Cowdog – story does not get old. It should be required reading for any state fan. It should be required reading for freshmen orientation.

    Amazing. Thank you for posting and getting the fire burning in the belly again


    There are certain pieces of furniture that disappeared when I went to the Ghim Ghoul castle. Don’t know where they ended up but I’m sure they don’t have them.


    My hatred of UNX is, well inbred in me. My grandmother, God rest her sole, was a die hard college basketball fan. She would site and watch any basketball game that was on TV. Meals would be late, she would stay up late, we would be neglected if a good game was on. I remember the first time we were watching a basketball game and Dean smith went into the four corners. She was mad, down east farm women type of mad, in her opinion he ruined the game with that crap (about the worst words coming out of her mouth).

    Fast forward many many years of me sitting with her watching games. It was time for me to choose what college I wanted to go to. We had finished a long day in the tobacco field and dinner the summer between my junior and senior year of high school. She had that we need to talk look, my cousin looked at me and left. You should also understand, we were the two ‘chosen’ grandchildren, you know the ones, we get whatever we want from grandma. She looks at me and tells me that I need to think long and hard before I chose a college. I need to find one that will give me an education that will serve me well the rest of the life, do not chose it based on which team I liked. However, if I go to UNX that I should never bring my worthless A$$ back into her house ever again.

    You have to understand this was a lady who went to church every Sunday and until that day I had never heard a harsh word from. Well, from that conversation I learned that UNX was not the school I should like.

    On a side note, we did have to buy her a new TV when Dean decided to run the four corners for the entire half of the ACC tournament game, she threw something at it and broke the picture tube. So my dislike for UNX is bred into me.


    Chops, gotta tell ya. You’ve been around from the time I started posting in here. What…your first born has to be about 13 by now ?

    This repost has reconnected a bunch of peeps that I had no preconceptions of. Not in SFN, per say. I have been humbled, and at the same time humanified by a bunch of folks over the last few hours. Wanted to tell you, that.

    Go Pack.


    Not quite 13. Almost 9 now, but like his Daddy, much less mature than age would indicate.

    Well, I can see why your post has such a strong impact. It’s written with the vividness of a Johnny Cash song – and well, if you are a state grad or even – you know what ctit’s all about. We know it’s about the fight. That spirit is what unites us. We aint frontrunners.

    It also harkens back to a time when a freshman wouldn’t have known about a dirty starter for the other team and life had more obvious “unknowns”.


    CD, I know a few ole’ timers who shoved some gravel down a horn or two. You sure that was impromptu and not a tradition passed along?…A few years ago, I had to restrain the ole’ man from getting into it with some drunk UNC college kid yelling insults as we left Carter-Finley. Had I been a few years younger, I’d have punched the kid myself.

    And Mac…I want to hear more about these thefts. You sure those were copies ya’ll plucked?

    For what it’s worth, I was raised red and white. My pops was raised in Raleigh and wore the red and white under Edwards. He was recruited by the blues. I also had plenty of family members on my mom’s side who graduated from UNC, and my uncle wore the baby blue under Dooley. Arrogance..That’s what crawls me. I could care less about the bandwagon faithful, but for every 1 UNC fan who I get along with on a personal level, there are 9 others I despise. Cannot tolerate them. Holier than thou, smarter than thou, better than thou, richer than thou…Lived in NC most of my life, and no matter where I’ve lived all over the state, that’s the honest truth. The place breeds this sort.

    I almost wore the baby blue. Had the opportunity to walk on there, with some help from Johnny Swoff, but in the end, I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I loathe them.


    I’ll impart my tale, though bereft of the style, muscle-memory and allure of CD’s. My formative years were spent in High Point; my father was a furniture factory worker and a life-long State fan. He played football at Grimsley, finished in ’67 and Extra-E Earle and Lispy Lou were his favorites, though his real affinity lay with Stormin’ Norman and the State roundballers.

    David Thompson and Tommy Burleson were the heroes of my bedtime stories. Hardly a baseball game went by without the mention of Tim Stoddard (another star of the ’74 team) and my father reminding me of his days as a Power Forward under Sloan. So the stories are what made me a State fan. My contempt for blue was built much later, in adolescence and in maturity.

    I got to Raleigh, living my father’s dream, in ’95 staying in the left ‘L’ for two years before getting re-located to AFC. Most of my anger and vitriol was made during the Sendek/O’Cain years with wonderful memories like: the Charlotte horse-collar, Kevin Matier (whom I knew personally) and the worst no-call prior to TA’s TD, the ESPN/Local Media ‘Know-your-Regional-Role’ campaign, Luke Buffum’s in-bound pass stolen away twice, etc.

    After graduating, I got into media and broadcasting, and found much of State fan’s anger with equal representation much more accurate than they knew. Local radio was in fact the worst, and remains so to this day in every market in NC. As much as a story defines a culture, never has this been more true than for the tale of baby blue. What’s worse, and what continues to stoke the coals of my ire, is Blue’s successes are still regarded equally with other schools’ successes and/or failures. Despite public record proving that much of the blue’s victories came on the backs of ineligible players or coaches/administrators/staff/faculty that knowingly defied the rules, the full ramifications of those revelations have received very little honest discussion or debate in the local media. Now that I reside in GA, their local media provides a pleasant break from the white noise of “Carolina’s top-5” and “Marcus Paige is smarter than other basketball players.”

    Geography isn’t enough (I know that MJ knows this to be true) to separate me from my dislike, distrust, disassociation with The Asterisk. I cannot tell you what my speed record is of correcting someone who attempts to congratulate ‘my Tarheels’ on a victory. I usually can stop them from finishing their sentence, but sometimes, I just retort “Congratulate someone else, like Charles Manson for teaching knife-wielding.”


    Once my friends and I found ourselves inebriated very late one Friday night in Chapel Hill. We were walking by Kenan Stadium and it was open, so we decided to go in. There were a few people in there – couples making out on the field, etc. We noticed that a concession stand was wide open.
    Looking further, we found there were cases of the plastic UNC drink cups and fortune smiled on us as we also found a magic marker. So we felt it was our duty to unpack the cups and write “SUCKS” under “UNC” on all of them and then repack them for the game the next day. I can only hope there were some pissed off fans at the game.
    Hopefully there is a statute of limitations in case I get tracked down, but we also took one of those gigantic bags of popcorn, which caught the seat belt hook as we threw it in the car. The bag opened and popcorn filled the car. It was a joyous ride back to Raleigh sitting waist-deep in popcorn. Wherever that car is today, I will bet there is still popcorn in every crevice.


    I remember listening to that game on the big brown box radio that my Dad used to listen to State games. My Mom said the only station it would pick up was WPTF.

    For me it was the finals of the 1968 ACC Tournament in Charlotte. A friend of ours who was a Duke graduate had tickets and my Dad and I got to go with him. This was the night after the famous 12-10 State victory over Duke. The Cheats featured Larry Miller and a team that eventually lost to UCLA in the National Finals. The robust booing from the entire arena, not in baby blew stuck with me forever.

    May they all rot


    Me? Lifelong shunner of the baby blue (Dad was Class of ’60, I am class of ’91 and ’95), which remains difficult seeing as how I married a Tarheel.

    Isn’t it amazing what you can find online? I am too stupid to figure out how to post the picture inline (can someone with more skillz figure out how to do that? I could copy and rotate it, just not post it here). Go to page 17.

    1972 Peach Bowl Program

    CD, I have about got you narrowed down to 2 names based on the roster…


    Haha. I had some kin on that team.


    Mr. Dog, you corrected a misconception I’ve had about that game. I thought the bustards held Willie and he couldn’t get out for the pass. Didn’t know (or have any way of knowing) it was intended for Charlie Young. Willie was held, he just wasn’t the intended receiver.

    I’ve been a State fan for a little over 70 years and can’t remember when I first “shunned” the Handicapped blue. I’ve always heard that North Carolina was a valley of humility between 2 mountains of conceit — South Carolina and Virginia. I never realized that Chapel Hill had sucked all the arrogance out of the rest of the state.

    Anyone who has ever been to a game in Kenan knows the standard yell when the holes gain more than 3 yards: How ’bout dem heels!’ Took my 9 year old daughter to a game there when Ralph Stringer was moved to CB from RB after he lost an eye. The holes were whipping up on us pretty good when Ralph intercepted and took it to the house.

    In the ensuing quiet, Margot stood and in her inimitable 9 y.o. falsetto, let out one of those “How ’bout dem heels.” I’m not sure where she learned to mock the holes, but I have a pretty good idea. It sure made my day and my memory of it is crystal clear 40 years later.

    Thanks for your story and the nudging to remember some of my own, Mr. Dog.


    Just read the opening story, I was there with my gf at the time,and her parents. Ugh. Red and white forever!


    Thanks for writing this up and sharing, CD. It was an excellent read.

    I’m probably one of the younger generation around here, but I think the first time I actually HATED Carolina came back in 2004. I was in school at State at the time and we traveled over to Kenan for the game. It was the infamous TA McClendon fumble game where the refs actually took the 7 points off the board (this was BEFORE instant replay) several minutes laters. I had NEVER seen anything like it.

    Well, that’s all well and good I guess… sh!tty, but fine whatever.. but as we were exiting that game a drunken frat boy in a sweater vest apparently sees me in my NC State gear, and with several of his buddies, and screams at me completely unprovoked: “One day you’ll be mowing my lawn!!”. After witnessing that kind of loss that behavior from that fellow just burned me up. It’s a rage I felt that I cannot describe, and I was unfortunately too young and bull headed to know to just laught in his face and let it go.

    Honestly though, that’s just one of many stories fueling the fire. I guess that’s one of the first I can think of.


    I’ve always heard that North Carolina was a valley of humility between 2 mountains of conceit — South Carolina and Virginia. I never realized that Chapel Hill had sucked all the arrogance out of the rest of the state.

    In a nutshell… ^This

    Across North Carolina, we do the work.
    They try to take the credit.


    I answered the OP’s question the last time…
    so I’m going to tell a another story…

    I graduated from State.
    Went to Business School… got that paper.
    Went to Atlanta… 1st job worked for a old national Consulting Company.
    Ten years later — move back to the Piedmont, not the Triangle proper, but 45 minutes my driveway to Delta at RDU – Terminal B.

    For 2-3 years, people kept asking me…
    “What year I graduated from Carowhinna?”

    Duh… like nobody worth a sh#t EVER graduated from STATE.

    Must have been the buttondown collar shirts and the wool suits.
    Idiots (their own – UN* grads) fooled by a F’ing shirt.


    and I’m damned sure… I’m NOT the only one….

    #NCSU-North Carolina's #1 FOOTBALL school!

    It has taken me a little while to divine the original source of my disgust with those in baby blue. While I can’t really pin it down to one event and the entire process of developing full on unx hate was more akin to Chinese water torture, this particular scenario is representative of more than one encounter I’ve had with the enemy.

    I moved from Chattanooga, TN to Cary, NC in the summer of ’69 (really). In TN there was Volunteer football on TV – The Doug Dickey Show! – but I was way more into the Cardinals and the Packers. In NC, college sports ruled the airwaves and the talk in schools and neighborhoods, and being so close to State I naturally followed the Pack. Of course there were a few mini-unxers in the neighborhood, but for the most part it was cordial ribbing. We moved to Gastonia in the summer of ’72, next door to a kid my age, a rabid unxer who had no association with the Holes. And so it began. Of course State bball went undefeated in the 72-73 season, including beating unx three times. State destroyed all in their path, only to be denied the opportunity to compete in the post season due to so-called violations. Well, the kid never let me hear the end of it. He was an a** to begin with, and his douchiness knew no bounds – unx was a better school, a better team, you know the drill. That said, I gave as good as I got, and the hate began to catalyze.

    We moved away in the summer of ’73, back to Cary, so I was able to bask in the glory of ’74 on home ground. Fast forward to the late 70’s early 80’s when I attended State, and who did I bump in to on campus? Yep. His dad was a vet, and the kid wanted to follow in his footsteps. Imagine my glee when I found out a year or two later that karma bit him in the ass and he had unceremoniously flunked out of NC State. He couldn’t handle the academics. Go figure.


    CD, great story of which I never tire of reading. Thanks for sharing your memories with us. I went to school with Roland Hooks’ little brother Robert; he was always talking about his big brother Roland!

    Since I come from a lineage of tobacco farmers here in Eastern North Carolina, I had an affinity for the Red and White from an early age. My hatred extends back to when I was in third grade, and this prissy boy was asking everyone who their favorite team was. When I responded “State”, he started laughing and said “They’re just a bunch of farmers!” Oh, if only I had been holding a tobacco stick that day…

    john of sparta

    Where Were You When First Shunned The Baby Blue ?
    sooo….not WHEN, nor HOW, but WHERE.
    face down after getting creamed
    by the UNX bullies in 3rd grade.
    that’s WHERE. in the dirt.


    Great stories. I wish I could say my disdain of all things blue happened in utero but I came to it a bit later. Mine is a bit of a cutters vs. townies story. My brother was living in Chatham County in the 70’s and I moved in with him while trying to find myself or female companionship, whichever came first. I figured to fit in, I’d buy a pulpwood truck and make my living out in the fresh air. So that’s what I did. My little business grew to three trucks. One fall day it was too wet for the woods, so the crew and my brother decided to head up to what the CBers called Hippie Hill. We set out to drank it dry. I drove my 1953 Ford pickup that we had dropped a 460 T-bird motor into. After a day of carousing we saw this basement bar (perhaps called The Rathskeller?). Nasty little dive. Just outside the hole was one of those heavy duty water hoses. Kinda like a mini fire hose. Attached to the spigot. With the little wrench thing right there. My crazy bro picks up the hose, has it between his legs and instructs us to turn it on in exactly 10 seconds. He heads in. He screams something and proceeds to soak the place mercilessly. He comes hauling up the steps with a bunch of holes hot in pursuit. The look on those seedy students when they chased him around a corner right into the midst of 8 or 9 Chatham County pulpwooders. After a brief skirmish, we took flight back to our people. Ah, youth.

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