Column: Ending up a Duke fan

I hate to admit this in public, but here goes: I became obsessed with Duke basketball because I was already obsessed with some blonde guy.

Well, not just any blonde guy. Steve Wojciechowski. I discovered Duke basketball in 11th grade when I walked into the family TV room and saw him hurtling across the court. I already knew I wanted to go to Duke, and I already liked basketball-my high school was tops in the AA circuit-but here was yet another reason to cheer for the team. Within five minutes, I was a full-fledged groupie. (I know I'm not alone. You wouldn't believe how many of us there were.)

That summer, I came to Duke for PreCollege and lo and behold, the basketball team was here. My new best friend Bernie had a thing for Trajan Langdon. My other new best friend Becky was a fan of Jay Heaps. (Bear in mind, we weren't basing our preferences on skill alone.) We proceeded to spend the next six weeks more or less stalking the team. Becky saw Jay on campus and ran after him blowing kisses. He saw her. It was a disaster. Bernie never did spot Trajan, but hanging out in Cameron one day, she picked up a loose ball and passed it to Ricky Price. Unfortunately, he didn't see it coming. It clocked him in the back. "Nice pass," he said.

I saw Wojo several times that summer, but I never did bother to say anything to him. I figured, correctly, that I'd look like a teenage idiot. Anyway, the next year, my senior year of high school, I stopped caring so much about one particular player and started caring about the team. I taped all the games. I entered the high school NCAA tournament pool-and won! And just a few months later, I was a freshman at Duke.

I guess as a freshman I still harbored hopes of running into Wojo, but there were other basketball players to fawn over. I met all four freshman phenoms before class even started. Trajan sat in front of me in Greek History, when he came to class. Roshown McLeod dated my roommate for a month or two. And when basketball season started, I really fell in love with the game itself. I became a tent leader and camped out for a miserable rainy six weeks to get into the Carolina game. We won 77-75. Until this past Saturday, I thought it was the best game I'd ever seen. I painted my face. I touched Dickie V's bald head. I was-and here's something I'm not ashamed to admit-a Cameron Crazy. I was in it, finally, for love of the game.

Wojo, and most of the other things I obsessed over in high school, had become a faded memory by this time. Then, one night during the fall of sophomore year, the man himself walked into the Hideaway and, omigod, looked straight at me from across the crowded room and smiled. Talk about "One Shining Moment." The redheaded Pi Phi standing next to me swore he was looking at her, but I knew better.

Paralyzed with panic, I took a deep breath and... did absolutely nothing. I don't even think I smiled back at him. What could I have said? "Hi, you're the reason I got into Duke basketball." Too typical. "Hi, I used to be obsessed with you." Definitely not. "Hi." Just plain "hi." I guess that might have worked.

To be honest, I didn't need to say anything. I was over it. I could officially call myself a Duke fan-not a Wojo fan-and say it with an iota of self-respect. I was too old for mindless celebrity crushes, and for that matter, probably too old to be at the Hideaway.