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Shall I compare Heels to a summer day?

I’ve got next to nothing; I hope someone likes sonnets

Appalachian State v North Carolina Photo by Grant Halverson/Getty Images

I always enjoyed English Lit class in high school. I loved reading, and creative writing assignments always got the creative part of my brain activated in ways few other things could. I was lucky to have great teachers who allowed me to indulge my bent for writing more outside-of-the-box things, and I’m even more lucky to have editors today who are willing to do the same.

I sat down this evening to write something for this blog, and came up absolutely empty. Sporting news is sparse, and better served being written about by writers here that are far more talented than myself. There are also far bigger things than sports going on in the world, but my voice is not one that’s needed at the moment (Akil has covered everything that needs saying more eloquently and correctly than I could have hoped to). I found myself at a loss for words, something I talked about tangentially in a piece last month, in which I wished for the gift of speech that the inimitable Woody Durham had.

My wish was not granted, but my musings on writing and literature classes did eventually lead me to Shakespeare, and I thought to myself “How hard could it be to write a sonnet or two about the Heels?”

Turns out, very hard. Read on to find out for yourself.

On my dwindling hope for football this fall:

Shall I compare thee to a season past?

Thou art less likely, yet more desired:

Rough times do make each similar day drag,

In grocery stores where cloth masks are requir’d.

The season dims as numbers steady climb,

As illness spreads through teams like wildfire,

And “normal life” seems to be lost to time

Like dinosaurs or letters sent by wire.

The dream to watch a third-ranked Tar Heel class

This fall, to once more answer to the bell,

Depends on us to wear a frickin’ mask,

So we may sooner cheer them Heels like hell.

Can we behave like I’m hopeful we will?

If so, there’s room for hope in Chapel Hill.

On Chapel Hill at large:

My hometown’s bars don’t boast the same finesse

Of city clubs with lines around the block;

My hometown’s roads lead mostly east and west

No nonsense, just some restaurants and shops.

Her buildings are all built of homely brick,

Excepting parking decks and newer things,

Finding parking has never been too quick,

Lo, even in the quiet summer brings.

Each person has a fondness for their home—

I know that I am biased in these thoughts.

I also know that I am not alone;

And may one day be just one she forgot.

And yet I feel I’m bound to her this way,

This campus has my heart—I’m here to stay.

Thanks for reading, and tune in next week for some haikus!

(Just kidding).