At first, when times were good, my love was pure-as most new loves are; it didn't question or harbor reservations.
I was in the sixth grade, and I was head-over-heels in love with Duke basketball. I watched the Blue Devils play in the national championship game and I cringed as Duke lost to Louisville. The affair which began that night has blossomed and matured over the past decade.
I spent most of my childhood lost in a realm of athletics-watching sports on television and absorbing useless statistics. Any smidgen of news about the team I could glean from the Southeastern Conference-biased newspapers in my area I would devour with eagerness. I worshiped the players and Coach K.
Whenever ESPN broadcast a Duke game, I automatically claimed one of the televisions in my house. My obsession eventually progressed to the point where I would get so nervous that I refused to watch the game with other family members; I preferred to cheer the Blue Devils on in solitude. The thought of someone else interfering with my concentration on the game was too much to bear.
When I entered high school, Duke was still making it to the Final Four almost every year, but the team could never quite manage a championship. Yet I still had faith in my Blue Devils. My sophomore year in high school was an infamous one for Duke basketball. The weekend of the Final Four, I was stuck in Owensboro, Kentucky, at a tennis camp with our high school team. Because I live in western Tennessee, most of the others on the trip were cheering for Arkansas in the semifinal matchup. But much to my delight, Duke downed the Razorbacks. You can imagine my dismay, however, when I had to face those other people at school following the 103-73 thrashing that Duke received at the hands of UNLV in the final game that year.
This love was so deep that I partially based my college choice on a single athletic team. Granted, the renowned academics and generally pleasant weather are nice benefits, but my love of the Blue Devils probably counted more in my choice to attend Duke than either my parents or I would like to admit.
My junior and senior years of high school were spent in basketball heaven because of the team's back-to-back national championships. I finally had absolute boasting rights. The team that I had loved for so long finally came through. During the interim between those championships, though, my love took on a new form. When I received my acceptance letter from Duke on Dec. 12, 1991, all my hoop dreams came true. I would no longer be restricted to watching the team from afar. No more of this long-distance stuff. I would finally get to be a Cameron Crazy. I could see those stars-Bobby Hurley, Thomas Hill and Grant Hill-in person. And just think, one day I might even run into Coach K and speak to him.
I remained faithful to the Blue Devils throughout my freshman year of college. For example, when I returned from winter break, I did not go back to my dorm room but instead moved into tent number seven for the first 23 days of the semester (I knew I wasn't meant to be in a sorority when rush events conflicted with my camping-out schedule).
And those 23 days were all worth it. The 14-point victory over the Tar Heels gave me enough gratification to make up for those cold winter nights that I endured; I had helped them win that game by jumping around and screaming my lungs out in the front row.
Something else also drew my attention during those 23 days, however. I started cheating on my one and only by joining The Chronicle's sports staff-an entity that has not always been on the best of terms with the basketball team or Krzyzewski. Several years ago, The Chronicle had a run-in with Krzyzewski about a series of pieces which graded the players and the coaches. Coach K became enraged that a group of young guys would attempt to judge their peers so blatantly and he voiced his anger with several choice phrases. It is safe to say that the sports staff has maintained some distance from the basketball office over the years, sometimes being as harsh (or more so) on the program than professional newspapers.
At first I didn't realize the ramifications that working for the paper would have on my love for the team. Yet as I became more and more involved with The Chronicle, I became less enchanted with the Blue Devils. Sure, I watched the Final Four my sophomore year on the big screens in Cameron and even celebrated by seeing a few benches burn after the semifinal win. The final-game loss still upset me, but for some reason, I was able to take it in stride. I became more interested in the clinical aspects of basketball-the runs, plays, varying defenses, shot selections and thousands of technical parts of the game.
At some point during my junior year, I officially fell out of love with the Blue Devils. Unlike other fans, I didn't just drop them because they were doing so badly. No, it was my continued involvement with The Chronicle that opened a chasm between the men's basketball team and myself. I couldn't write about the team objectively if I was blinded by my love for it. So instead of continuing the adoring, unquestioning faith that I used to have, I chose to take the unbiased, journalistic route.
During that season of disaster, I wrote several commentaries and game stories that were anything but complimentary. I sought the truth, and if that truth meant that the team screwed up an assignment or missed easy shots, then that needed to be said, regardless of any feelings I had had for them in the past.
While journalists need to have an interest in whatever they are covering, there is often a very fine line that we must walk. After all, political reporters need to keep their personal beliefs out of the commentary and stories about other people's opinions and actions.
While covering a team might not have the same ramifications of tracing the presidential campaign, a good journalist still needs to be able to be knowledgeable enough without letting his or her feelings get in the way.
Most sports writers start out as fans, but in order to maintain their integrity and be objective, they should be able to put away their feelings when the truth needs to be written. The sports writer needs to be able to appeal to the general reader, not just the die-hard fans. If the media merely cater to the wishes of coaches and players, one of the important means to keep the teams in check can be lost. Writers are often instrumental players in the challenge to keep all levels of sports fair.
That does not mean, however, that a totally impartial observer who has no knowledge of the situation is the best person to cover a story. Sometimes those beat writers for newspapers know more about the ins and outs of their respective teams, and will be able to grasp what is happening more readily than a journalist who is viewing the team for the first time. Writers should learn to balance their feelings as fans with a commitment to the true story.
It is hard for me to be a fan in Cameron Indoor Stadium now. My mind automatically drifts into "let's be critical because I'm a journalist" mode. I can't even bring myself to shout the cheers anymore. I'm too busy wondering what play we should run next or what the team could be doing differently to keep itself in the game. Instead of enjoying big runs, I am too busy calculating how many points and how many minutes the run lasted.
The relationship has most definitely matured, but in the process, it changed so much that it is no longer love. I still respect the Blue Devils and hope they do well, yet it is the wish of a former friend instead of a personally involved spectator. It's like two people who, at one point in their lives, had a meaningful relationship with each other, but now find themselves wanting and needing different things than the relationship can provide.
At one point, I needed and wanted nothing more than to be Duke's number one fan. Now my wants and desires have changed, and they have exceeded the level of what the basketball team can provide for me. I no longer need to be an obsessed fanatic.
I wish to use my old love of basketball and the Blue Devils to another end-to become as objective as possible about the team and carry that objectivity into my other writing.
Strangely, I am comforted by this distance now. I am no longer bound to the ties of being Duke's most important fan. My commitment is now to present the most realistic picture of whatever event I cover, even if that means writing a critical piece about the team I once loved. But at the same time, it's as if a part of my childhood has been lost. A passion has come and gone from my life, although I will never forget those days of bliss before I stopped letting my heart overrule my mind.
Allison Creekmore is a Trinity senior and sports editor (she's using the title for as long as possible) of The Chronicle. Since she has said she would write this column all year long, there's nothing like procrastinating and getting things done "at the buzzer." She would like to credit a wanna-be country father and awesome mom for introducing her to sports in the first place.
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