The Calm Before the Storm...

In advance of tomorrow night's game, I feel it necessary to give a pre-game pep talk not to the team, but to fellow Heels fans. I hope you're sitting down. If not, go ahead, I'll give you a second. There, that's better. Let us begin.

We are Carolina.

So as you settle in to watch Saturday night's game, whether in Seattle or Shanghai, Wake County or West Jefferson, Los Angeles or New York City, keep in mind that still now, as ever, we are in this thing together; we're bound across the miles between us by that which outsiders simply cannot comprehend: a deep, profound, fiery, intense, spitting hatred of all things dook. And yes, dook is the proper spelling. They're not even worthy of capitalization.

Start now, this morning, and begin preparing yourself for victory. Begin to focus. Rearrange your schedule if you must, but resolve to get to your chosen game venue in plenty of time. Drink fluids - lots of them. And start building your outrage:

Think about ratface and how it's all about him.

Think about how the soulless son-of-a-bitch had a "center of leadership and ethics" named after him. Think about how the administration is actually proud of this fact.

Think about Paulus' off-arm push off on every drive to the basket. Think about how dook Vitale and Mike Patrick will sing his praises to the highest heavens.

Think about Gerald Henderson and the fouls they won't call on him, no matter how many purposeful elbows he throws and noses he breaks. Think about how he'll be allowed to assault Hansbrough, and how he won't be made to pay for it by the referees. Think about how vulgar ratface's outburts are any time something doesn't go his way, yet the officials will never "T" him up for them.

Think about how dook will be allowed to slap, bump, and flop on ever defensive possession.

Think about how dook wil be allowed to slap, bump, and dive on every offensive possession.

Tihnk about how Demarcus Nelson will go flying across the court to "save" a loose ball that's thirty-five feet away, that he has no chance to get to. Think about how hard, and with what primal enthusiasm, his teammates will subsequently embrace him.

Think about how the students will greet the Carolina starters with "Hi __________, you suck!" - and not only does ratface or the university condone this classless act, they actually encourage it, as do dookie V and his suck-up Dan Patrick.

Think about how ratface has a team full of McDonald's All-Americans, yet the annoucers will make such a big deal out of how well is doing this year with a team of lesser talented individuals, as if the cupboard is bare.

Think about the bloody Montross game.

Think about the bloody Hansbrough game.

Think about Jerry Stackhouse's baseline wrap-around dunk in 1995.

Think about Dahntay Jones' uncalled, three-stictch-producing face scrape on the great Raymond Felton in 2003. Think bout how, following that incident, dook scrub Andre Buckner PUSHED OUR COACH WITH TWO HANDS, ON TELEVISION, IN FRONT OF MILLIONS OF VIEWERS, and not only did he not receive a technical foul and ejection from the game, but was PRAISED afterwards by ratface for being a "peacemaker." (Leadership and ethics my @*(&#%(*^#@$ ass!)

Think about Wojo. Think about his pansy ass slapping the floor at "Coack K Court."

And think about Chris Collins. Mother. @*(&#&!$. Chris. Collins.

Think about Dockery face-shoving Tyler his freshman year in the game's final seconds, yet nothing was done.

Think about Tyler coolly hitting a huge three pointer in that same game when the dookies were making a run..

More than anything, begin this fine morning and start remembering how much you hate dook. Get yourself into a gnarled, throbbing, full-rolling boil of hate. Tell your dookie co-workers to eat $&#%^ and die. Sit some place dark for a while if you can, to organize your tangled hatred into a single coherent mantra. Let it guide you. Let the hate permeate every cell in your Carolina blue soul until you are one giant biomass of I hate dook.

It should feel good. No, it should feel great.

And on Saturday night, take that to the game/bar/living room, yell like you mean it, and get ready to win.

Because it's "the game", and we are Carolina.