Q

I love the game. I love the excitement, but seriously, something happens to my manners and decorum as I watch.



Perhaps it is the bouncing ball. The constant thud on the hardwood flooring causes me to leak I.Q. points and forces my sensibilities as a southern gentleman to ebb.

At the ACC tournament three years ago my dear friend and fellow big mouth Dee taught me how to scream, “Sit down coach.”

Dee directed her howl at a well known and respected ladies coach from Chapel Hill.

Oooo, I loved the way it sounded as it echoed off the hardwood floors at Greensboro. “Sit down Sylvia!” Oh my, it had such a ring to it. Perhaps I loose so many I.Q. points during games that I lack original thought or the ability to adequately filter.

So in Raleigh, last night watching my team play Old Dominion University, I tried my version, “Sit down coach.”


She didn’t and I doubt that she heard me. Ten minutes later and in the second half, I bellowed again. Bear in mind that we were now some thirty minutes into play and I’d leaked a whole lot of I.Q. points and my sense of decorum and manners was all but gone. Why I’d venture to guess that perhaps I was half a generation out of a cave.



Similarly, it would never occur to me that my mouth, petite as it is, might bother a fellow fan and especially one pulling for my beloved Wolf Pack Ladies.
But oh the agony, Super Mike was wrong, I know perish the thought, Super Mike ruffle feathers, no way; especially not a kindred spirit, a fellow woolfie; a pack follower. Alas I was wrong or perhaps she was just a witch who’d infiltrated our ranks; a woolfie who turned and scolded me with the look and demeanor of an angry third grade teacher.


“Are you serious?” she asked.


Holding my gaze with a very accusatory look and repeating her question with a look of disgust and disdain. Just like my third grade teacher.

She went on, pointing at our beloved coach and stating, “She stands the whole game. So, are you serious?”

I weakly apologized stating that I didn’t mean to offend. Still her look of disgust held until she turned to her companion and related to her what an uncultured, oaf and buffoon I was and that I was in fact lower than a one eyed snake belly.


I was cut to the quick, mortified and humiliated by the fact that I’d caused a fellow fan distress and angst. I remained silent for the rest of the game. I clapped and I threw my arms up in the air, when we finally pulled it out at the end, but alas there was no more bellowing in Historic Reynolds Coliseum; well there was bellowing but my voice didn’t join the chorus. Lesson Learned.