Light Blue Tears on a Sunday

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.

That is until I read of Dean’s passing. My tears quickly formed as the passion once again welled up within me. I was reminded that for 36 years I had been a small part of something that transcended the sport of basketball and went to the very core of what it means to live with passion, respect, integrity, determination and above all love. I can only hope in some small way Dean knew what he meant to me and meant to so many of my very best and lifelong friends. And as I write these thoughts down, the tears have just begun to flow a little bit harder.