I could almost hear the slow, sad music in the background as I handed over my DukeCard and the guy asked, "Large or extra large?"
The last free t-shirt of my college career. One of the greatest perks of university life, forever gone. I'll leave Duke with a heavy suitcase stuffed with all the free shirts I've accumulated in my four years.
Many of my free t-shirts came from basketball games, though I don't remember getting any my freshman year. For the first round of the preseason NIT at Cameron, they decided to give students flimsy white hats from Chase, which was sponsoring the tournament.
Someone had forgotten to explain to my friends and me that "Doors open 90 minutes before game time" means "Get there at least 90 minutes before game time if you want a decent seat." So we wandered in about half an hour before tip-off and ended up standing on the TV side behind the far basket. That's when I learned that most of the seats in the student section are obstructed view.
But when Duke went on a run in the second half, I also learned that the best part about cheering in Cameron is not the clever chants. It's the moment a Blue Devil hits a back-breaking three and 1,400 sweaty students start jumping up and down and into each other, high-fiving anyone within reach and screaming as loud as their lungs will let them.
One of my earliest free t-shirts was long-sleeved, came from my freshman dorm and said in big blue letters, BACK IN BLACKwell. Back in Black was the basketball team's slogan that year, because Nike had decided black was the in color, even for a team called the Blue Devils. And because a little more than three years ago, Duke felt it needed to convince the basketball world it was back.
As a freshman, though, I don't think I quite appreciated what the team had to come back from. That year's juniors had never seen Duke win more ACC games than it lost. That's year's seniors had never seen the Blue Devils beat Carolina.
So the real moment Duke came back in black (or in this case white-it was in Cameron) was around 11 p.m., Jan. 29, 1997, when Trajan Langdon hit the three to put away those Tar Heels. The bonfire afterwards was easily the best of my four years, proving that a good bench-burning requires too much spontaneity and too little restraint. If no one got hurt, it probably wasn't a very fun bonfire.
In October of sophomore year came the black t-shirt with the blue No. 6 on the front, handed out at Midnight Madness. In a sign of campouts to come, bracelets were distributed at some ungodly hour that morning, and I remember arriving quite a bit earlier. The line already snaked along most the parking lot.
I wore the black sixth-man t-shirt to the Carolina game that year. I remember the horror as each minute passed and the Tar Heel lead grew. We'd suffered through six weeks of camping out. Six weeks of cold and rain and wind and puddles creeping into the tent. Six weeks of disorganized tent checks and fitful nights in sleeping bags.
But we were doing it to see Carolina humiliated in a battle of top-ranked teams. It never occurred to us we'd be trailing by 17 with under 12 minutes to go.
We all know what happened. Maybe more than any game in my four years, the Cameron Crazies charged the court that afternoon feeling like we helped determine the outcome. Maybe it was because we had so convinced ourselves we deserved to win. But maybe our screaming and jumping, the noise and the heat, made a difference.
Right around that time sophomore year the trail of t-shirts gets hazy. There were two Duke blue March Madness t-shirts last season, plus the "Turning the Sweet 16" one I got at the Devil's Den during the away UNC game. All year long, that team walked, talked and blocked shots like one that would win a national championship. We all believed it, and I'll never forget the silence in Cameron when Langdon lost the ball for the final time.
One t-shirt I wanted but didn't get commemorated the 1999 women's Final Four; Duke gave them out to little kids at a game this year. I'm still annoyed that a couple of my colleagues on the sports staff, who were handing out shirts, wouldn't give me one.
Without a doubt, the second best basketball game I attended in my four years was last season's regional final in Greensboro when Duke shocked Tennessee. When the Blue Devils led by 11 at halftime, I remember thinking, If they can just hold onto the lead for a while, they have a shot. Well, the first TV timeout came and the three-time defending national champs had already erased most of the deficit. Oh well, I thought. They gave them a game for a half.
But when the next timeout came, and the next and the next, I'd look up at the scoreboard to see Duke still holding a lead. And when it was over, the Blue Devils had reminded everyone that there's nothing in sports like a good upset.
Then there are my three, soon to be four, Chronicle t-shirts. I admit I've never worn one in public. Sometimes I wonder why I spend so much time here; though I've certainly covered my share of cool events, I would never have put in so many hours if the only rewards had been a few big basketball games.
In a bizarre way, that's what I like about The Chronicle, that it's rarely easy. I think back to when I received my first free staff t-shirt, and what the paper has done for two people whose columns will appear tomorrow. Neal, who didn't speak for the first seven months of freshman year, then ate a full pound of beef and hasn't shut up since. And my former neighbor Kate, who used to make her roommate lie to Chronicle editors and say she wasn't home, but whose voice mail now explains she can be reached at 684-2663.
So because this is a senior column and has to end on a cheesy note, I'd like to thank all my colleagues who have made these four years bearable, from the self-proclaimed best class in Chronicle sports history to my editors (especially Joel, who I know will read this and likes having his name mentioned). As we like to say, this column wrote itself.
Rachel Cohen is a Trinity senior and associate sports editor of The Chronicle.
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