In every lifetime, there are a few moments that bring a nation together and define a generation. In 1969, man walked on the moon. In 1972, man walked on the moon again. Then for a while, nothing happened.
Until today.
No doubt you've been unable to sleep. When you do, your dreams have been troubled with anxious anticipation of one of this year's most momentous events. But now it's here: my senior column. It tracks the highs and lows of four years of blood, sweat and beers. It is also a blatant rip-off of Recess, but if there's one thing my time at The Chronicle has proven, I'm against creative and original ideas.
Best inside box anally censored by my editor: After a close win against the Florida State Seminoles, "The Little Injuns that Couldn't."
Favorite article: It was in search of that next piece of hard-hitting, investigative journalism that brought me to that small bar and had me face-to-face with one of North Carolina's most respected and feared individuals. Charles Mackintosh, aka Mr. Fooz, aka North Carolina's top foosball player, stood across the foosball table, wrapping tennis racquet grips on his rods. When he was done, it was just a matter of minutes before I lost 5-1, and to this day I know that my lone goal was handed to me out of pity.
Mackintosh explained to me the inner workings of the pro foos tour, telling me that "[Pro foosers] are like Dead Heads in the way they go from tournament to tournament. Foos isn't their god or anything, but it's almost like a cult following."
Best decision The Chronicle ever made: Running headshots with columns. Duke's female population erupted in applause when they learned that on a semi-regular basis they would get to see my handsome mug in the paper.
Best headline that ran in The Daily Tar Heel but would have been censored if I wanted to run it: "Details still coming in masturbator case."
Athletic accomplishment I'm most proud of: It was freshman year, and I sat there, staring down my opponent. He was an intimidating brute, known only as "The Bear." "The Bear" was a daunting foe, an enemy of great size and strength. With Rocky music playing in the background, I mustered up every last ounce of courage in me and slew the mighty beast, and in the process became a man.
"The Bear" was the largest hamburger I'd ever seen. It was a whopping whole pound of Black Angus beef served on a large bun with fries. After I finished it off, I ordered apple pie, thus setting a new standard in eating. When I called my dad to tell him about my feat, he shed a tear and for the first time in my life he said that he loved me.
Athletic failure I'm most ashamed of: I was on a cross-country road trip, and one of the destinations was The Big Texan Steak House in Amarillo, Texas. The deal was this: eat a 72-ounce steak, get it free. It was the type of thing I'd want in my obituary.
"Neal Morgan, age 32, died last night of a massive heart attack. Although he had survived four previous heart attacks and a sextuple bypass surgery, his fifth heart attack proved too much for the man. But he was certainly a man, for he once ate 72 ounces of beef in one sitting."
But when I got to the restaurant, there was a catch. They made you sit up at a table in the middle of the restaurant where customers were encouraged to take pictures. You also had to eat a baked potato, a salad, bread and a shrimp cocktail, all under an hour. If you failed, it cost $55 and your dignity.
In the weakest moment of my life, I chickened out and ordered a 22-ouncer.
I guess in the end, the stakes were just too big.
Worst pun in a story: That one up there about stakes.
Second-worst athletic failure: My junior year, the sports staff played a grudge match against the national runner-up women's basketball team. We came in as heavy underdogs, but on the game's first play, I made a beautiful cut, blowing past the ever-speedy Janee Hayes. I got wide open underneath the basket, and a perfect pass came right into my hands. But recalling memories of my Pee-Wee football days where I was the worst tight end ever, I proceeded to drop the pass, setting the tone for one of the single most lopsided games in the history of basketball.
But in my mind, the game was played under protest because the referee was none other than Georgia Schweitzer.
Best letter to the editor: After I wrote a column surveying 15 random Duke students about their knowledge of Duke football, one of my fans wrote: "I was inspired to take a random poll asking 15 people if they knew who Neal Morgan was. Surprisingly enough, 14 people had never heard the name...."
I can only assume his survey didn't include any women.
Best way to pick up a woman on an airplane: If a pretty woman is sitting next to you, start complimenting her in a bizarre, high-pitched voice. Try to move your lips as little as possible, and when she turns and gives you a strange look, nod toward the bag of peanuts on your tray and say, "Oh, don't mind the peanuts, they're complementary."
Most satisfying thing about working for The Chronicle: Those rare days when you walk into the bathroom and see that lying on the stall floor is a copy of The Chronicle opened up to one of your stories. Because when you see that, you know that some guy has spent his most private of times reading what you have to say. Nothing in this world can be more gratifying.
Well, there you have it. I know it wasn't profound, but when I read this in 10 years, it should bring back a flood of memories about my time here. And I guess that's what college is really all about-the good times. I'd like to thank all my boys (and surprisingly few women) for all the memories, as well as the entire sports staff, especially the seniors who've been there through it all. And to the Dude Committee, I know what I did that fateful night in November is unforgivable, but thanks for making The Chronicle all that is it for me.
Ladies and gentlemen, Neal has left the building.
Neal Morgan is a Trinity senior and sports editor of The Chronicle.
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