What’s a Wade Wacko?

I have no concept of what a big Duke-UNC football game looks like. Will there be a buzz on campus? Will Duke fans actually travel well?

There isn’t a point of reference to compare a “big game” like this one to because, well, Duke hasn’t played in a “big game” against a rival for a pretty long time.

And yet, this is the great thing about following the Blue Devils this year: There is no blueprint, no fake, media-created idea of what this football rivalry means and certainly no cheer sheets. Fans who will only now start following Duke Football because they hear rumblings of a bowl game have missed the point. Making a bowl game would be a tangible symbol that this team has finally made it, but the more valuable experience is to have watched everything come together to make such a run possible.

On Saturday, in place of the “Fire Ted Roof” cries of the past, fans will—maybe, if the Blue Devils actually win—have the chance to chant something at the end of the game boasting the victory. The real mystery is what they might chant: There isn’t really a precedent in the near past for celebrating a win that would put the Blue Devils a victory away from bowl eligibility.

Duke Football’s lack of a glorious history accounts for perhaps the greatest difference between following Duke Football and Duke Basketball. The idea of the Cameron Crazies is established; incoming students don’t necessarily have an impact on defining what a Cameron Crazie acts like.

Rather, they mold their own behavior and chants at games to imitate the historical idea of what a Cameron Crazie is.

Freshmen learn to jump up and down while shaking their hands and screaming “Ohhhhhhh…” as Duke plays defense, call for the Crazy Towel guy to do his shtick and bow in adoration of Coach K as soon as he steps foot on the court. They do it because, well, that’s what Cameron Crazies have always done and so they keep that ball rolling.

Cutcliffe’s program just doesn’t work that way. Who can really say what a “Wade Wacko” is other than Tailgate-going or costume-wearing? The idea of widespread, passionate student support for football at Duke is, at best, wishful thinking.

The basketball experience on this campus isn’t worse, but it is certainly different. The inherent risk in being a fan of a team with as much history as Duke Basketball is to let those tangible signs of the program’s identity—those banners and jerseys that hang from the rafters—become the only things that matter, or to completely embrace the idea of being a Cameron Crazie the way the national media portrays it rather than to continue to be creative (which is, of course, what made the fans infamous in the first place).

It’s no wonder that head coach Mike Krzyzewski is giving out tickets to the students who hold up the best signs at home games this season. It’s about encouraging the spontaneity of the student section. When tradition becomes habit, it’s time to mix it up.

Last Saturday, I was sitting in the press box at Virginia’s Scott Stadium when Thad Lewis threw that pass to Conner Vernon for 42 yards, a touchdown and the lead with less than four minutes remaining. At the very moment that nearly the entire stadium seemed to go silent, I heard a small group of grown men screaming at the top of their lungs about thirty yards away. My initial reaction was that a pack of Duke fans had infiltrated the nearby Cavaliers’ stands, but as I turned my head to the left, I realized who it was: part of the Blue Devils’ coaching staff watching their vision of Duke Football become a reality on the field. Certainly, that sort of frantic screaming wasn’t a part of any plan.

A quieter group of nearby Duke fans—glad the team’s bowl chances were still alive—looked over at them with a smile. They didn’t expect that sort of cheering, but they liked it. They too were a part of watching the program turn around.