Ed and I weren't one minute in North Carolina before we started annoying the hell out of people. Check that. I think we hadn't even left New York before we started annoying the hell out of people. We boarded the plane at LaGuardia in full Catz gear, leaving 13B to mutter something about 'traveling with class,' while my brother and I -- separated by two rows -- discussed what the Catz needed to do to win.
As we waited on the tarmac in Raleigh for our carry on luggage, I started taking video while loudly announcing I wanted to document "our conquest of this one-pony state." Cue fellow travelers seething.
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And who was there to pick us up and provide accommodations for the weekend? Why, none other than Daddy. Now granted Daddy lives in Durham, so he drove all of us 18 minutes to pick us up, but if there is one thing you should know about Daddy it's that he might be the most gracious man alive. He would have picked us up in Charleston, SC if we asked, with nary a question. He got married this October and was nice enough to have me as a groomsman. I was nice enough to hit on his cousin. You scratch my back, I'll scratch your....cousin's.
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After a nice dinner with Daddy, his lovely wife, my brother and I, we headed to Chapel Hill fixture Top of the Hill. Located right on the main drag, Franklin Street, Top of the Hill still rocks the brewpub motif that went out about ten years ago, but whatever, college towns are clueless like that. It's part of the charm.
No sooner had we grabbed some beers then a couple co-eds came over to make cozy. Within minutes I was signing (for authenticity purposes only!) their chesticles. Not to bore you, but I swear I am money on college campuses. How money? So money, I can actually use the term "money" in front of college girls and look cool. What is even more amazing is that my skillz with college girls is inversely proportional to my luck in college. I don't think I hooked up in college until the spring of my Senior year, and even that had 'mercy hookup' all over it. It was like the sororities compared notes and helped out all those celibate seniors about to graduate. Now, I'm not two sips into my lager and I'm getting hit up for chest signatures. I was matriculating all over myself.
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(As for the actual game, I have no comment, other than I didn't fly to that one-pony state to see what I saw. Unreal. It was like one of those 1980's WWF wrestling matches: one wrestler holds out his arm in a gesture of goodwill. The other feigns an equal gesture and kicks him in the balls. The wrestler drops like an anvil to the mat, looks at the referee. The referee signals for the bell to be rung to start the match. Kentucky was the wrestler with the balls in his stomach. It was over before it began. Disgusting.)
There is nothing that better than going to ANY UK game - I don't care if we are playing Alaska-Anchorage away - and seeing Catz fans. I mean, NO FANS travel better than UK fans. Nebraska football fans are close, but they still don't compare to Catz fans. So despite losing the game, it was no surprise to go to Top of the Hill after the game and find a posse of Kentucky fans...like these two girls.
These girls are sisters grew up a few miles from my brother and me in Louisville. The one on the right was nearly kicked out of the Dean Dome for getting into it with some oh-so-gentile Tar Heel fans. At one point, a Tar Heel fan looked at her and said "How dare you be drunk at his hour!" (Ed. Note: 1pm), to which she replied "And...!". I think I love her.
The girl on the left had a conversation with her father before the game where she was expressly warned to "not over-do it with Kickin' Chicken." 'Kickin' Chicken?" you ask? That's Kentucky-speak for Wild Turkey. I think I love her too.
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It was pretty hilarious to be in the main bar in Chapel Hill right after a basketball game that WE lost and the bar was still overrun by UK fans.
Aside: Rick Bozich wrote a great column recently on why UK v. UL is still the greatest basketball game, not UNC v. Duke. Sure, the Tobacco Road rivalry has commentators' panties in a wad, but have you ever been to a UNC or Duke game?
While Duke does have its dorky-ass "Cameron Crazies", the rest of the Duke and UNC fans couldn't be any tamer. It's like one big meeting of the country club where they sit around and compare whose tobacco fortune gave more to what endowment. Weak. And if you lose a game, there is always a rematch. The UK v. UL is one game per year. You lose, you suck it up for a year...believe me, I've done it.
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The highlight of the day was seeing this group of UK fans from Charlotte who had rented a stretch limo (as if there was another other way to travel. The color? White, naturally). They were so banged up by 6pm that one of them started to freak out that no one was there to drive his car home to Charlotte. Finally one of his buddies talked him off the ledge and explained that they had been driven to Chapel Hill in a limo. Oh.
Then another Kentucky fan, on the sly, ordered a coffee. When the bartender came back with a coffee and said "one coffee" in front of his friends, the guy exploded, "Hell no, I didn't order no coffee! Get me a whiskey!" The bartender was utterly confused. Finally, the UK fan went around bar and explained he couldn't have a coffee in front of his buddies, so the bartender was to put the coffee in a plastic cup. Disaster averted.
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Also in the house, was Pookie, a rabid UNC fan I met in NYC. She has since moved back to North Carolina, but that didn't stop the Kentucky fans from sticking to her like white on rice. Oh by way, see the guy holding the cup talking to Pookie. He's the one drinking coffee. To quote GlenGarry Glen Ross, "Coffee is for closers!" Indeed.
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By 8pm, the Catz fans started to take off, and quite frankly, having not signed a boob in over 18 hours, I was sick of Top of the Hill, so my brother and I decided to leave. But not before we ran into another gaggle of UK fans outside the bar. They wouldn't take "No" for answer. The question? "Will you let me sit on your lap?" My brother, freshly matrimonied, of course obliged (and by looking at the photos, with a bit too much gusto).
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So after taking the photo, they DEMANDED a photo with me. So my brother grabbed the camera and readied for the photo. As were stood waiting, the lady to my right, who was a middle-school principal according to her friends, asked me who my favorite Tar Heel player ever was. I said I couldn't give a crap. She said, "Ask me who mine is." So I did.
"Who is your favorite Tar Heel player ever?"
Then she grabbed my crotch. It was a cup check indeed.
My brother, too busy laughing, took a horrible photo.