A Little Stitious

DAD! (Only my dad, if you're a dad to someone then you can else ignore this) DO NOT READ THIS POST. IT'S ABOUT BOYS AND MUSICALS AND THE PATRIOTS AND EVERYTHING YOU HATE.

Okay. Now we're among friends. 

Now that I've had a solid 10 hours of sleep since Monday night, I'd like to reflect on the third time I have rushed Franklin Street in past month, a journey that has made me feel nervous, hungry, thirsty, excited and very, very old.

Our story begins Saturday afternoon over a combo basket at Linda's. My friend Shakeia asks me where I plan to watch the game Monday, should there be a game on Monday that we are personally invested in, knock on wood. I told her I was going to watch the game in Raleigh. Last year we watched the game in the Dean Dome and you all know how that went. 

My plans to watch the game at home in Raleigh took a nosedive when Brendan's plane didn't. He texted me after Saturday's victory to let me know he would be in Chapel Hill within 24 hours. So apparently I would be watching the game in Southern Heaven after all.

This year we attempted watching the game on Franklin Street. After several plans were considered and abandoned, we decided to wait in line at a location that will remain nameless due to many reasons that will also go unmentioned.

We were planning to park across from the Dean Dome but when I went to pick Brendan up I happened upon a free parking space on Rosemary Street. The message was clear. God wanted us to watch the game on Franklin Street. Amen.

So we met Shakeia and stood in line (in the rain) for only a little over an hour although we managed to compare the experience to Dance Marathon several times. We got a spot right between two huge awnings where we would have loved a ceiling or a roof. After we got our (super cute) wristbands I bought new, dry socks and they changed my life.

Thanks to Brendan's quick thinking, we got the last booth at Artisan Pizza Kitchen for dinner. Yet another sign that God (and pizza) was on our side. After visiting our favorite screenprinter Liz at UGP and getting temporary tatted up, we settled in to watch the game.

The first half was SCRESSFUL. I thoroughly enjoyed the commentary from the guys behind us who were furious at Roy's decision making. They shouted absurd things like "Roy should be fired for that!" and "take a time out!" At halftime we of course had to find a new, luckier location so we walked around in search of some serious juju.

Quick(ish) rant. Let me just say that every business with a television on Franklin Street is essentially at capacity on a game day like Monday. So you can imagine how well it went over when our location had an entire area reserved by a handful of 60-somethings. If you want to reserve a section of an establishment while thousands of undergrads (and alumni who have trouble letting go) wait in lines for hours to get a spot to watch the national championship, in my opinion, you are the worst. There were some younger people in the reserved area, one girl in particular who was taking a Snapchat video of the insane crowd there because it's cool to show social media that you're watching the game with a ton of people. Except she wasn't with a ton of people. She was with her rich aunt or whatever completely separated from the rest of us she recorded for her followers. Am I the only one irrationally angered by this? Comment below.

Speaking of me being really annoyed at people, when the camera and announcers focused on Adam Morrison everyone booed him and that made me sad. I love Adam Morrison and that's not just because I am weirdly obsessed with guys named Adam. Gonzaga has waited so long to be relevant again in his absence. And he's so nice to look at. And I love his man bun. LEAVE ADAM ALONE!

I am inhaling joy and exhaling anxiety. Now, as I write this. In the moment I wanted to black out or be sedated for an hour but the second half went much better no matter how well Joel Berry's understudy played. Everyone around me kept saying in hushed tones "this is so bad" although we maintained at least a 2 point lead for most of the final 20 minutes. Numerous people also expressed concerns of "this can't happen to us again" not appreciating the irony that we're complaining about playing for the NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP 2 years in a row.

For years and years I hated Carolina, especially UNC basketball. For those years I swear it seemed like Carolina got every call. But when I'm pulling for UNC I feel like the refs are against us. So I may have a bit of a blame problem. After several free throws, too many fouls, what felt like infinite Gonzaga possessions and 1 chokehold, it was over. We did it. 

I was so happy I ran down Franklin Street. Actual cardio of joy. Redemption.

The best thing about April 3, 2017 to me wasn't the basketball, the parking miracle or even the pizza. It was, and always will be, the people. I got to see so many of my former classmates who are scattered around the globe now. People I went to high school and college with. Former committee members. Various other Dance Marathoners. And the one friend I made in my 2 and a half years of journalism school. I got to see and celebrate with them all Monday night. So even though I still love my Pack...

My name is Rachel and I think, after 6 years, I'm finally a Tar Heel.