I spent most of Sunday morning crying.
Now, that’s not something many men would readily confess, but the tears were streaming down my face as I read about the death of Dean Smith. It has been nearly 18 years since Dean retired as head basketball coach of my alma mater, the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, and he had been in declining health in recent years. So, it wasn’t much of a shocker that he died Saturday night. In fact, this was something all us faithful Tar Heels had come to expect.
My tears began flowing because it hit me very hard how Dean
had been a very integral part of my life growing up and in many ways defined who I
am today. Passions always run deep, and none run deeper for me than my love for
UNC and the Tar Heels. And with Dean’s death, that lighter blue part of my
heart and soul now grieves.
This grief is so palpable to me, because I know that I will
never again experience the passion, the love and excitement I had for the Tar
Heels during the 36 years Dean was head coach. Some of the longest and most
enduring friendships of my life are completely intertwined with those years,
and my mind is filled with so many memories of those years that are still vivid
and filled with joy. And that’s why I cried, because in many ways Dean had
always been at the core of it all, and the constant denominator that I came to depend
upon, and sadly, I now admit took for granted too.
When Dean retired in 1997, I have to say that my passion for
the Tar Heels began to flag and has continued to fade a bit through the years. Now, I don’t
exult in every win or mope with each loss as I once did. I don’t even watch
every game, which 25 years ago, I would’ve considered blasphemy. Lately, I have attributed my ebbing passion to age. I was “maturing,”
and my diminished interest was just a natural result of being more removed from
my youth and years in Chapel Hill.