Local opinion: Smith's passing brings back memories of Saturday afternoons, 1982 title game

By Rudy Coggins
Published in Sports on February 12, 2015 1:48 PM

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Saturday afternoons, in my house, were reserved for two things during the winter -- burgers with melted cheese and dripping with chili from Ms. Lucy's diner and ACC men's basketball.

I'd grab my glass of tea and hustle into the living room.

Dad settled into his recliner.

"It's channel 5, I think," dad said.

I'd turn the dial, yeah dial, -- there were no remotes in those days -- to the station carrying the game. Soon that familiar introductory music filled the air and the announcer welcomed you to the ACC "game of the week" sponsored by C.D. Chesley.

Usually my dad didn't care for the commentators, which were usually the legendary Bones McKinney and Billy Packer. A die-hard North Carolina fan, dad always felt the two had a bias toward other teams when they played those boys in powder blue.

Once the game started, silence filled the room.

Dad, on occasion, would voice his disapproval over a call as he'd spit a wad of tobacco into a nearby can. He'd get up out of his recliner a couple of times and pace the floor, or threaten to turn off the TV if the Tar Heels couldn't get their act together.

"Come on Dean, get your boys to play some ball," said dad, who'd talk about the days when the Heels were difficult to beat when Billy Cunningham and his teammates controlled the hardwood.

That was WAY before my time.

So, I'd just listen.

As a 7-year-old, I really didn't understand the game all that well. I just knew my dad liked the Tar Heels and the way Dean Smith coached his players. Dad always considered him a class act and said he knew how to push his players' buttons.

It's no surprise that Smith's passing stunned my dad Sunday.

It kind of caught me off guard, too. As I watched ESPN throughout the morning, I became amazed at the number of lives that Smith touched during his three-plus decades as coach. Each person interviewed recalled either a specific meeting with Smith or offered his condolences to his family and the Tar Heel nation.

For some reason, my mind drifted back to 1982.

I was a freshman in high school. (Just dated myself, didn't I?)

Dad and I helped mom clear the table and wash the dishes so we wouldn't miss the tip-off between North Carolina and Georgetown in the national championship game. Dressed in her night clothes, mom grabbed a book, kissed me on the cheek and said she was going to read in bed for a while.

True to his self, dad dropped into his rickety old recliner, dipped into his pack of tobacco and soon started to argue with every call the referees made against the Heels.

I just watched and hoped UNC, somehow, would beat Georgetown. Then Michael Jordan hit a jump shot from the corner to put the Heels ahead, 63-62.

Dad jumped out of his recliner, which flipped over backwards.

He never noticed.

Mom heard the thud of the recliner as it the wall and rushed into the living room.

"What in the world?" she asked.

Mere seconds later, Georgetown's Fred Brown -- inexplicably -- threw the ball into James Worthy's hands.

Game over.

The Tar Heels won.

Dad grabbed me in a big bear hug and said "they did it!"

"Mom, they did it, they did it. Carolina won!" I shouted.

As I glanced back toward the TV, I listened to Smith not only gush over his players' efforts, but offer praise to the Hoyas, who were led by shot-blocking giant Patrick Ewing.

"Bed time," dad said.

I yawned.

I fell asleep wearing my Carolina blue T-shirt and proudly wore it to school the next day.

I wasn't the only one dressed in powder blue.

Everyone talked about Jordan's shot and the pass to Worthy.

Luck or not, it was one of many memorable moments created by a team coached by one of the game's legends.

R.I.P. Coach Smith.