MARCH MADNESS...means UNC Basketball to me!

It's that time of year again...yes, it's spring. FINALLY! 
But that's not what I'm talking about. Every March, since I was a kid, has always been much more than sunshine, daffodils and spring break. Where I'm from and in our household it always meant: UNC Basketball and heading to the NCAA tournament. As the Carolina fight song states; "I'm a Tarheel born" and with that birth comes a love for basketball, especially UNC basketball which is somehow programmed into our DNA. So, as my family will attest, there is definitely a little madness in March where we live. A lot of nail-biting, hair-pulling and F-bombing. When my poor kids were young, they were always sent to their rooms and told to hide under the bed while UNC played and Mommy watched on the tube. Not a pretty sight. (plus, I wanted to avoid scarring their ears forever with the colorful expletives that would fly.) Michael Jordan, probably the most famous Tarheel to play for UNC was a classmate of mine. Yep. We took French 40 together. Initially, I didn't recognize him; we sat several rows apart and lets face it, he was super cool personified and I...was not. But one day, out of the blue, he called and asked to borrow my notes. Sweet! Right? Actually, I couldn't figure out why he had phoned me except that the professor took great pleasure in calling out my name in a loud, booming voice every class. But my brothers (also attending UNC with me) were over the moon! My cool factor had shot through the roof with this new, unexpected development. Not only would Michael borrow my notes, but he used to stop and speak to me on campus and when I jogged my five miles (which was every day...back then I was thin and in shape!) he'd slow his car and keep me company for a few labored steps as I trudged up some god-awful hill. What a nice guy. Very unassuming. And I thank him to this day for giving me my small claim to fame. I knew him when.  So, as the madness kicks off tonight, remember if UNC is playing, don't call, text, or email as I will be glued to the TV with my son (a Tarheel down to his light blue blood) rooting/screaming (and yes, a little cursing) for the Heels to bring home another victory. 






Unfortunately, I can't promise the calm part. 


GO HEELS!!