“Not light red or dark red. This is behaving like a pack of wolves. It’s where Torry first went deep and where Lorenzo made the shot. This is never giving up, not ever giving up. No, this is much more than red.”
I wish I could claim the credit for that. Alas, I cannot. I recently bought a T-shirt, and that’s the slogan on the shirt. I got the shirt from a guy named Greg. I found out about the shirts on The Wolf Web.
Greg sells the shirts for only $10. He could sell them for more, but he said he just wants people to have them.
It makes you think, though. I didn’t grow up a State fan. I didn’t even move to North Carolina until I was 12. I didn’t grow up a Carolina fan or a Duke fan.
The only college sports team I cared about growing up was Seton Hall basketball, and that’s only because my aunt coaches the women’s team.
I didn’t become a State fan until I started school here way back in August 2000. Lucky for me, that was Chuck Amato’s first year. It also coincided with Philip Rivers’ freshman year.
I say it makes you think because that shirt means something to me now. Prior to six years ago, I’m not sure it would have meant the same. Now I’m back for graduate school, and the meaning grows.
It makes you think because those words — the few simple words Greg decided to put on the back of his T-shirt — are the very essence of what makes a child decide to become an N.C. State fan when, undoubtedly, he or she is surrounded by fans of our two neighbors down the road.
In my six years of State fandom, one of the biggest complaints I have heard is about the “Wal-Mart” contingency that belongs to UNC.
In case you aren’t familiar with that, it refers to the unaffiliated fan walking into Wal-Mart (or a similar store), seeing the Carolina-blue hat sitting on the rack and deciding, “Hey, you know what? I didn’t go to college, and Carolina seems to be pretty good at basketball. I think I’ll buy that hat and become a die-hard Tar Heel.”
Of course, there are real die-hard Tar Heel fans, I’m sure. But that’s the crux of the complaint.
But why are we complaining about that?
My first experience as a State fan came in 2000. I attended the State vs. Georgia Tech football game that went to overtime and ended with the aforementioned Rivers finding a receiver in the corner of the end zone.
The insanity that ensued — fans storming the field, tearing down the goal posts, marching them out of the stadium and down Hillsborough Street, before abandoning the post in the middle of the street — was enough to make me sure of my decision to come to State (not that I needed convincing on the subject, but you get my drift).
The point is things like that Georgia Tech game, the Boston College football game a few weeks ago and the Florida State game two weeks ago are what makes State fans.
Sure, the football team lost to Wake Forest this past weekend. Yes, it would have been nice to win that game and push our record to 3-0 in the ACC. But, oh well. It happens. Five more conference games remain.
The Wake Forest loss notwithstanding, the two games before it happened. Boston College was the answered prayer. At the Florida State game, State fans were challenged. The Pack came back and took the lead. But we gave Florida State another chance. State fans everywhere can sympathize with the thoughts that went through my head that night. “Uh-oh; here we go again.”
And then DaJuan Morgan came up with the interception that sealed the game. Our passionate and frenzied love for our team was renewed. We believed; 10-year-old kids watching the games believed.
Do we really want our own “Wal-Mart” fans? I don’t think so. I’m happy with the passionate, here-because-we-belong fans we have.
Things like what Greg mentioned on his T-shirts (Torry Holt’s amazing catches, Lorenzo Charles’ title-clinching dunk and the gregarious Jim Valvano’s emotional speech) cement passion and die-hard commitment to our teams.
Because of things like that, State fans cling to the notion of hope. “Hey, it happened once. It can happen again; why not tonight?”
As the stands emptied at the Boston College game, those of us who stayed were saying that, if not out loud, in our heads. And then it happened. It actually happened. How many 10-year-old kids were at the game with their parents? How many of them saw what happened and understood what so many of us understand?
How many of them really get wearing red shirts to the game? And that it isn’t just red. Not light red or dark red. This is behaving like a pack of wolves. It’s where Torry first went deep and where Lorenzo made the shot. This is never giving up, not ever giving up.
No, it’s much more than red.
