Got the Tar Beat out of their Heels

We started at JB’s Stout, where it breathed as a multi-cellular existence and the patrons roared with a single voice when a rubber ball was passed through a hoop. Alcohol fueled anxieties and joys brought out the screaming lunatic in otherwise settled individuals as I pondered nationalism in its many faces. I sipped coffee that confused nostrils with expectations of beer reek.

The night found us across L-town deep in the heart of matters. It was pandemonium clothed in a sea of blue. Hands outstretched slap slap slapping all night long. The streets clogged with a procession of entourages that moved at an inchworm’s pace, of truck beds choked with drunken revelers, of overflowing cars breasting a tide of humanity. A kaleidoscope of triumph, of humanity’s many varieties re-enacting a macrocosm of comedies and tragedies. My retinas drank it all in: the angry upraised fist, a failed punch, scared scatterings; the wet-lipped wild abandon of lust on a bench play of dry congress unmindful of sopping drinks in hand; jittery children wired with the enthusiasm of their parents; a girl weeping into her cell phone while cries of joy and delight echoed above her head; the bemused expressions of helpless police officers who could do nothing but stand and watch, for the press of people is too much to moderate; the crunch of beer cans and water bottles underfoot; countless high fives that I imagine the owners of these hands waking up in the morning to find them swollen.

I wish I could do the scene justice with my words. Kansas fans are hardcore. Too hardcore for my tastes, really. Better sports than wars I say, but doesn’t seem to be working too well these days.


2 responses to “Got the Tar Beat out of their Heels

  1. I’d say Roy Williams, because he never brought the Jayhawks this far, and the Tarheels failed him. As for that block party, I don’t think anyone short of a death wish was stupid enough to wear an UNC shirt that night.

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