Columnist and basketball beat writer Tom Gieryn attended his last Duke home game Tuesday in the student section at Cameron Indoor Stadium. The Blue Devils played Virginia Tech. This ballad reflects on his memories and experience.
Walking into the rain after our last home game,
It was hard to know quite how to feel.
The season’s not over, the best not done, no sir,
But the last one at home’s a big deal.
Couldn’t help but be thankful for a memory bank full
Of wins and 3-pointers galore.
So as I stood there,
I said a quick prayer
In honor of Cameron Indoor.
I’ve oft stood in those bleachers in spite of my teachers
And too many papers to write.
Nearly shed a few tears looking back on four years
That began with those loud freshman nights
We’d head out to Club Cameron, hoped to see Zoubek slam one
But still I’m not sure he can dunk it.
But those offensive rebounds, and a beard world-renowned
Led us on to the ‘ship—who’d have thunk it?
‘Twas 61-59, Zoubek missed from the line,
With 3.6 still on the clock.
Howard’s illegal screen, Hayward’s look, it was clean.
To this day I can’t watch that last shot.
But it banked off the glass, rimmed out and at last
Blue Devils were champions once more.
Benches ne’er burned so bright as that warm April night
When Cameron saw Order Restored.
Here’s to Nolan—he’s rollin’, dunks imported from Poland
To opponents we’d say, you got Czyz’d on
And man, who could stop that old pick-and-pop
When Andre (all day) got his biz on?
Here’s to Ludacris rapping and lots of floor-slapping,
With hats off to Steve Wojciechowski.
And when Singler gets buckets, there’s cause for a ruckus
His shots from the stands, they yet wow me.
To Kyrie, one-man show, just don’t step on his toe,
To Chris Collins in three-button suits.
For our star walk-on Todd, we will always applaud
And go nuts every time that he shoots.
Here’s to 82-50, Quinn Cook’s dimes—oh so nifty!
All the trophies won’t fit on one shelf.
Rivers shoots over Zeller, UNC, go to hell or
Else Austin will send you himself.
Here’s to Miles and to Mason—raised in the same basement!
To Marshall saying, “Make it a trio!”
To Seth driving hard with his flailing mouthguard
And ice in his veins—¡qué frío!
When my soul needed savin’, there arose a White Raven
And our crowd chanting “Fly, Raven, Fly.”
Used his whole bag of tricks to throw down thirty-six
To delight of a Crazy Towel Guy.
Here’s to Michael Krzyzewski, yelling at the ref, “See,
To call that a foul is a crime!”
Here’s to win 903, and 45 draftees
For the greatest head coach of all time.
I’m already sorry I won’t see Jabari
Unless I turn on CBS,
But o’er my first fireplace I’ll hang a Scheyer face
And dream of K’s feared full-court press.
Go to hell Carolina, there ain’t nothing finer
Than six weeks in a tent—I won’t grouse!
And as we leave we can say we were lucky those days
That we got to call Cameron our house.
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