September 15, 2006
Everything was perfect until it wasn’t.
This has been a great year. A cross-country road trip from Denver to New York City and back via Memphis. My first visit to Yankee Stadium. Biking in Central Park and throughout Manhattan. Biking down Pennsylvania Avenue from the Capitol to the White House, then to all the monuments in Washington, DC.
I attended baseball games in Denver, Detroit, Cleveland, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, DC, and New York.
I recall a few parts of my not-so-sober walk down Beale Street in Memphis, followed by a peek inside Elvis Presley’s life at Graceland.
My part-time hobby as a youth hockey coach led me back to Toronto in the spring.
Items on my sporting bucket list had been checked — some re-checked —but an item never present on my list left an impression unsurpassed by any of the others. After all, none of those other adventures presented the real possibility of getting arrested. My bad intentions and subsequent behavior in Raleigh/Durham, North Carolina, certainly did.
Tobacco Road
As you probably know, this area is home to three major universities—the University of North Carolina, Duke University, and North Carolina State.
On Monday evening, I stopped by the RBC Center—home of the Stanley Cup champions, the Carolina Hurricanes. How did a team from North Carolina win the Stanley Cup before a team from my home state of Minnesota? This makes me angry. Just across the parking lot was the football field of the NC State Wolfpack. It’s a nice stadium, including honors to former Minnesota Viking, Ted Brown.
Upon returning to my hotel in Chapel Hill, I decided to drive a couple of miles to the North Carolina campus. Their athletic complex is beautiful. Fancy people would call it “idyllic.” I better stick with beautiful.
Many flag football and soccer games were being played on their artificial turf fields. I’ve never seen so many “powder blue” shorts and t-shirts. The campus truly felt like Mayberry.
On Thursday night, at approximately 7:00 pm, I decided to drive 11 miles to the legendary Cameron Indoor Stadium on the campus of Duke University. The Blue Devils are one of basketball’s elite programs, and Cameron has a status of its own as one of America’s great sporting venues.
I parked nearby and walked over to the building, which looked like every other on campus. I was shocked by how small it was. I was even questioning whether the “Cameron Indoor Stadium” sign had been placed in front of the wrong building. It looked more like a church or library than basketball court. But I had to be sure.
I tried entering through the doors at the back of the building. Pro tip—trespassers like me always try the less conspicuous back doors first. Unfortunately, they were all locked. So, I walked to the building’s main entrance.
Damn. The first door is locked. There are seven more.
Locked.
Locked.
Locked.
Locked.
Locked.
Locked.
It appeared I’d traveled all this way for nothing. There was only one more door to try before resorting to desperate measures. There may be some truth to the rumor that I’ve broken a few trespassing laws while previously accessing famous sports venues. Most notably, scaled a few fences and followed a few delivery trucks through open gates—my apologies to Georgia Tech, Ole Miss, and Stanford. I only do that as a last resort.
The moment of truth had arrived. This final door—the one furthest on the right in the above picture—was either going to provide easy entry, or I’d have to slide through a rooftop air conditioning vent. I put my right hand on the door handle, then started to turn away in frustrated resignation even before I pulled. With one leg stepping back towards the car and one arm attached to the door, something extraordinary happened—the door opened.
Bingo!
I walked into the lobby and was surrounded by pictures and memorials to the great Duke teams of the past. I then walked a few feet to an open door and laid eyes on the famous court upon which Duke basketball games are played. The lights above the court were all on, but there was NOBODY in the building. It was a surreal experience. I’ve seen this place on TV many times—it was incomprehensible to have the entire basketball court to myself.
I stood there and surveyed the venue. The floor had recently been waxed and buffed–not a scrape-mark anywhere to be seen. Pristine. I absorbed the vibe, tried to process how this venue could be so intimate. It felt more like an oversized high school gymnasium than the home of such a legendary program.
My small town values initially kept me anchored near the doorway. But my inner voices activated–a cartoon angel engaged in debate with a pitchfork carrying demon.
“I don’t belong here. Be a good boy. Don’t walk out there. I saw Cameron Indoor. Leave right now. Go back to the car.”
“Are you kidding me? You will NEVER have an opportunity like this again. Get yourself out onto that court right now!”
“Nope, I can’t. Not here.“
“There’s nobody else here. Just do it. Get out there! If it makes you feel better, take your shoes off.”
“Hmmm. Take my shoes off. I hadn’t thought of that. It’s a reasonable suggestion. I always take my shoes off when I enter someone else’s house. It demonstrates respect. It shows that I’m a good person. If I take my shoes off before walking onto the court, it clearly signals my reverence for this place. When I’m inevitably apprehended, I can insist that the officer note my stocking feet in the arrest report so the judge will offer a lenient sentence.“
And with that, the cloud of guilt that had hovered over all my previous trespassing activities was starting to darken above me.
I always take my left shoe off first. There it now sat behind the baseline of Cameron Indoor Stadium. My left foot wasn’t in it.
What the heck. It’s go-time.
I stared at the white DUKE lettering on the Duke Blue background. Duke Blue. That’s what they call it. This place is so important that they even have their own shade of a primary color. I placed my left foot between the U and the K, like right through the heart of this prestigious university. I kicked the right shoe from my foot, then officially crossed the threshold. There was no going back. A zillion young basketball players dreamed of being on this court. I wasn’t one of them. But I did enjoy watching John Wooden coach Duke to all those national championships.
Or was it Bobby Knight?
PANIC
While standing on center court, I called two of my basketball-loving friends. They didn’t answer. I impatiently waited for their seemingly never-ending voicemail messages to end.
Beep.
I then whispered.
“You won’t believe this, but I’m standing at center court of Cameron Indoor Stadium. Call me!”
I made a third call to another buddy, Mitch Ekstrom. I was now walking down toward one of the baskets—the one on the left side of the television screen if you were watching a game on TV. I told him that I couldn’t see any basketballs and was tempted to drive to the nearest Walmart to buy one, then break back in and start shooting around until I was apprehended. He agreed with the idea and insisted that I had to put something through the hoop.
“Find an empty soda can, or use your shoe, or something.”
...Or Something
Brilliant idea, I thought.
So, I stood there imagining myself in a game-ending situation. CBS’s Jim Nance and Billy Packer pick up the call.
Nance: “Welcome back from yet another TV timeout in the final minutes of this epic contest. Billy, Duke is leading 87-86 with 4.2 seconds remaining. What can we expect to see?”
Packer: “Jim, I’m shocked. The players are on the floor, and it looks like the 6-foot-11, Christian Laettner, is guarding the 5-foot-9-inch, Tommy Smith for the inbound pass.”
Nance: “Quite a mismatch, huh, Billy?”
Packer: “Yes, Jim, but not in the same manner that our viewers might be thinking. Duke has been unable to stop Smith all night long. He’s already scored 47 points in the first basketball game of his life. Duke has tried everyone but Laettner to no avail. Smith is tubby, but sneaky fast. I don’t think Laettner can stay with him, Jim.”
Nance: “Well, Billy, we’re about to find out. The Cameron Crazies are in hysterics as the Blue Devils are moments away from completing another undefeated season. Here comes the inbounds pass. As expected, Smith has the ball. He starts at the top of the key, Laettner at his side, he drives towards the hoop, puts up a left-handed shot, Laettner leaps to block the shot, but it gets by him. Smith has banked the shot off the glass, it’s dropping towards the hoop, and…”
Nance: “and…”
Nance: “and…”
Nance: “I can’t believe it, folks, but Smith’s shot has lodged on the small bracket between the backboard and the hoop.”
Packer: “I’ve never seen anything like it. Duke’s unbeaten season is on the line, Smith’s brilliant effort hangs in the balance.”
Next time, I’ll shoot my shoe...
Well, folks, unfortunately, the ball Smith shot wasn’t a ball. Rather than using the empty pop can or my shoe, as my buddy had suggested, I opted to shoot my freaking wallet at the basket. And there it was—suspended 10 feet above the floor of Cameron Indoor Stadium.
Panic attack commences.
First thought—I have a flight back to Denver tomorrow. I’ll need my driver’s license to get on the plane.
Second thought—shit!!!
Part of the pleasure of this unique experience is that nobody else seemed to be in the building. The ultimate double-edged sword has struck. Now, there’s nobody in sight, and I have no chance of getting my wallet. In my youth (and dreams), I could slam with the best of them. But I’m not quite the leaper I once was.
Panic attack intensifying.
I start looking around for either a ladder or a maintenance worker. But even finding a ladder might not be the best option. I’m imagining myself setting up the ladder upon the beautifully polished floor—scratching it all to hell, then climbing to the top to retrieve the wallet, only to be shot by Barney Fife as he suspects me of trying to cut down the net.
I’m now sweating as if I’d really just played the first basketball game of my life. I decide to expand my search beyond the courtside to find help. “Authorized Personnel Only” signs abound on most doors I try to open. Some are locked. Some aren’t. I broke into one exclusive club, surely where the most prominent Duke boosters meet before and after games. I checked every cabinet door, hoping to find a whiskey bottle and a shot glass. Unfortunately, unlike the exterior of Cameron, all of these liquor cabinet doors were locked.
I continued my search. Brain set to “desperation mode.” See a door. Try to open the door. I wasn’t paying attention to where the doors might lead. I needed help.
The next unlocked door I found seemed promising. I even heard voices inside.
“Finally! Someone in there will be able to help, and this nightmare will end.”
But before I took a single step inside, I became acutely aware that this room was off limits even to a gatecrasher like me. My next thought is straightforward, obvious, and very frightening:
“If I take even a single step across this threshold, the footprint I left on the Duke Blue floor separating the U and K will seem trivial compared to the fingerprints I’ll soon be surrendering. This place above all others was sacred—a no-go zone of the highest order, even for a gatecrasher like me.”
This place had a sign.
“WOMEN’S LOCKER ROOM”
Oh shit.
If someone finds me here, I am in big trouble. Thoughts flash through my mind. Andy Griffith and Barney will soon arrive with that single red light on top of their car flashing and the siren blaring. Barney’s gun will be drawn, and his eyes will be bugging out of his head. Andy will throw the cuffs on me, and I’ll spend the night in the Mayberry jail in the same cell as Otis, the town drunk. Aunt Bea and Opie will be bringing me breakfast in the morning. I’ll have to explain my antics to Andy, though I’m pretty sure he’ll give me the key to my own cell just in case I want to go for a walk around town.
But before I get busted, my moral compass found its true north, and I spun a 180 away from depravity and towards virtue.
Whew. Mom raised a good boy, after all.
I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, settled, and found a long-absent moment of inner peace. Then I heard voices. No, not the angel and demon–the demon knew he’d best stay silent for the rest of this evening. These voices were resonating from the other end of the hallway. I opened my eyes and saw two women walking in the opposite direction.
Could I blame them?
I started following them. Even this felt awkward. Even creepy. One of them is really tall—like 6’8″ tall, and the other is closer to my height, though at least 100 pounds lighter.
I approached them, hoping they wouldn’t pummel me. I told them I was enduring one of my life’s most embarrassing moments and needed their help. I asked if they knew where I could find a maintenance guy who might have access to a ladder.
No luck.
Then I looked at the tall one again.
“Maybe you can help me,” I sheepishly stated.
I presented my plan to have her stand on a chair and reach up to grab my wallet. She agreed that it might work.
Next problem. The only chairs at courtside were the 15 chairs where the Duke players sit during games. Unfortunately, they were all locked/chained together. My first thought was that we could drag them across the floor to the basket, but then I looked down at the perfectly polished floor and abandoned the idea. Then, one of them suggested I might find some loose chairs tucked behind the bleachers at the other end of the court.
I walked down there, found a loose chair, turned around, and saw the taller woman slowly lifting the other woman. It was like an Apollo rocket slowly clearing the tower after launch. First, lift-off; then her hands were even with the bottom of the net, then nearing the top of the rim; then she balanced herself by placing her left hand on the backboard while reaching for the bracket with her right hand, where she pulled down the most critical rebound in basketball history.
My wallet had been rescued!
Moments later, it descended back to earth, having never swished through the hoop. My lifelong shooting percentage at Cameron Indoor Stadium will eternally be 0.0%.
But that’s OK, the bigger mission was accomplished. But I was feeling like such a moron. Like, what the heck did I just do?
Of course, I commenced with the small talk. I asked them if they played basketball for Duke. “60 Minutes” will not likely be impressed with my interviewing skills. Suppose I someday encounter Tiger Woods leaving the clubhouse at Pebble Beach. In that case, I’ll probably impress him by asking, “Are you a golfer?”
It was no big surprise when they said “yes.” Then I asked for their names. One said “Abby,” the other “Allison.” I offered them some money for dinner, but they kindly refused. Afterwards, I thought it would be an NCAA violation had they accepted my cash, and they could have been suspended for the year if Barney caught them.
Imagine the headlines. I may have been mentioned on ESPN’s SportsCenter.
I returned to the hotel and accessed the Duke Women’s Basketball team website via “goduke.com” and discovered that Allison was Allison Bales from Dayton, Ohio, and that Abby is Abby Waner from, of all places, Highlands Ranch, Colorado—not far from where I live in Aurora, CO.
Under Surveillance
This morning (Friday), I didn’t need to be in the office until 10:00 am, so I went back to the North Carolina campus. I headed straight for “the Dean Dome”—the legendary home court of the North Carolina Tar Heels. Again, there were very few people around, but I was allowed to walk around the building with no hassles.
Just as with Cameron Indoor, seeing the court for the first time gave me goose bumps, even though I’ve never been mistaken for “Mr. Basketball.” I looked around the concourse, seeing the pictures of all past North Carolina teams. I then saw all of the banners hanging from the ceiling, and the retired jerseys of guys like Michael Jordan, James Worthy, Rasheed Wallace, Phil Ford, and many others.
I would have loved to spend more time, but I had to get to work. I returned to the rental car, which I’d illegally parked in the student’s lot. I wasn’t in the Dean Dome for more than 15 minutes, but there, waiting for me on my windshield, was a $25 parking ticket. I escaped arrest last night, but clearly, Barney must have me under surveillance today. I’ll have to keep looking over my shoulder until I’ve boarded the plane and we roll away from the gate later this afternoon.
Only then will I be able to sit back, relax, and smile about my adventures on Tobacco Road.
Postcript: 2025 / 19 YEARS LATER
Allison and Abby had rescued but failed to reform me. Weeks later, I snuck onto the football field at Vanderbilt. Then Cal. Then Arizona, Wisconsin, Princeton, Harvard, Texas Tech, Pauley Pavillion at UCLA, among many others. That little demon hasn’t completely lost its influential voice. But Allison and Abby played a crucial role in what will always be one of the funniest days of my life. Nineteen years later, the moment that wallet landed on the bracket is as vivid in my mind as when it happened back in 2006.
And yes, this indeed is a true story.
NOTE: I do not own any of the photos in this story. All were found on the internet. If I’d known how this night would play out, I’d have hired someone to video everything.
Thomas,
You never told me about that. I thought I was the trouble maker in the family. It appears you were just as bad. Nice work on the story.
Brother Larry
I grew up with good teachers for trouble making.
Great story. I sat courtside at Cameron at the scorers table for Temple / Duke in the early 1990s. Temple had a player who had recently been charged with stealing a car / carjacking. He really didn’t do either. He was sitting in this person’s car on campus and when the person returned got scared seeing this giant person in his car, called police and the player was arrested. Temple lost the game but what was remarkable was before the game – very close to tip, in fact – Coach K came out of the locker room and took the mic and told the Cameron Crazies to leave the player alone and leave coach Chaney alone. No keys jingling … no words … nothing. And they left Coach and the player alone.
Never been on UNC’s campus.
This is stuff of legends right here. I have never stepped foot in the state of North Carolina, much less have any stories that rival this. What an experience this must’ve been. Thanks for sharing Tom. Go Duke!