Bottom Three and Fine With It: Why I Keep Running at the Football

Every fall, Lucy holds the football out for Charlie Brown. Every fall, he takes the running start. And every single time, right before contact, she pulls it away and he ends up on his back staring at the sky. And somehow, every fall, he comes running back the next year.

I bring that up because it is probably the best explanation I have for why I am still going to watch every Saturday of a season that most of college football has already decided is over before it even starts.

Let’s be honest about where things are. ACC media have North Carolina picked at 15th out of 17 teams this season. CBS Sports has Belichick’s Tar Heels finishing dead last in the ACC. USA Today has them 14th. Pretty much every preseason prediction has North Carolina sitting somewhere near the bottom of the conference, and nobody is making that pick because they are trying to be dramatic. They are looking at the same things everybody else is looking at.

The frustrating part is the numbers do not exactly argue back. UNC went 4-8 in year one, finishing 2-6 in the ACC. The schedule was not exactly a murderer’s row, either. It was ranked around 80th nationally in difficulty, and even with that the Tar Heels could not get to .500. This year the schedule jumps into the top 30 nationally. More challenges. More questions. Somehow the expectations managed to get even lower.

Then came another distraction. Michael Lombardi, the guy Bill Belichick brought in to help run this whole operation, is on paid administrative leave after an HR complaint from a former staff member. We do not know the details, and we probably should not pretend we do. But the timing could hardly be worse. Right before fall camp, one of the people hired to help build this thing is not even in the building.

None of that makes anyone feel better about the season. I am certainly not going to pretend it does. So why do I keep coming back?

Because if winning was the only reason I watched, I would have quit a long time ago.

Charlie Brown does not run at that football because he studied the odds and decided this was finally the year Lucy would hold it steady. He runs because that is what Charlie Brown does. The moment he stops running is the moment the whole thing changes. The running is the point.

Being a Tar Heel fan was never a deal where I trade Saturdays for guaranteed wins. If that was the arrangement, I would have found another hobby years ago. Anybody can show up when things are good. Anybody can wear Carolina blue when the team is ranked, the stadium is packed, and everyone is talking about Drake or Sam Howell leading to an ACC championship. Showing up when your team is picked to finish last before a single snap is played is a different kind of commitment. That is when you find out whether you are really a fan or just someone who enjoys winning.

Every August feels about the same to me. I know the questions. I know the concerns. I know the schedule is brutal. I also know there will probably be a Saturday this fall when I shake my head, wonder why I let myself believe again, and then turn the game on the following week anyway.

Because here is the thing people forget about Charlie Brown. Lucy always pulls the football away, but she does not have to. Nothing says UNC is destined to fail either. If the defense takes another step, if Bobby Petrino works a miracle on offense, and if a couple of those one-score games finally bounce Carolina’s way, there is a path to a season that surprises people. It is not the path most analysts expect, and I would not tell anyone to bet on it. But it exists, and for a fan, sometimes that is enough.

The smart money says this probably is not the year. Maybe it isn’t. But when that ball is sitting there on opening weekend, I know exactly what I am going to do.

I am going to take the running start.

If I end up flat on my back again, so be it. That has never been the reason I showed up. The running has always been the point. Charlie Brown always got back up. He dusted himself off, walked back to the mound, and convinced himself maybe this time would be different.

Maybe the media gets it right. Maybe they don’t.

After all, if we already knew how every season was going to end, would we even bother watching the games?