CHAPEL HILL, NC — Standing outside the Library on Franklin Street at 7:00 am, Clifford Teraz, a UNC-CH graduate who currently works for an IT company in Hillsborough, NC, was still yelling “TAR” at all passers-by.

Screaming at students and Chapel Hill residents on their way to breakfast, Teraz, still visibly intoxicated, reportedly approached groups of pedestrians by jumping up and down, waiting for a response, then moving his arm back and forth to indicate the small crowd should respond.

“Woooooo,” said Teraz, who’s soot-stained Carolina blue windbreaker reeked of alcohol and body odor. “Let’s go Heels. Let’s fucking go. I’m out here right now, WOO, graduated in goddamn, I don’t know ’99, I’m out here; WOO I’m feeling it! Man, this place ain’t changed, love this place, WOOO, love UNC. Let’s go Heels. TARRRR!”

Susie Timmons, a runner who encountered Teraz, said that the man’s appetite for revelry seemed insatiable.

“At first, sure, I played along and I said ‘HEELS.’ I’m excited too,” she said. “But he tried to follow me and keep it going, and there’s always a point where you kind of start clapping because you can’t just yell ‘HEELS’ forever.”

At press time Teraz was seen trying to climb over the counter of Sutton’s to sing “Hark The Sound” with the employees.

UNC’s men’s basketball beat Duke 74 to 66 in the Smith Center last night. What’s your take?

“I accidentally burned a man alive.”

Drom Caldwell, Economics, ’14

“Doctors say I will be unable to move my arms from this position for two to three weeks.”

Brice Johnson, Undecided, ’16

“It’s hard because I always get what I want.”

Thayden Richards, Duke University, ’15

Last week, the Duke University men’s basketball team canceled their game in the Smith Center at UNC because the roads to Chapel Hill were impassable due to a winter storm. The snow only picked up through the night, and the team spent the next 24 hours trapped in Cameron Indoor Stadium. Today, The Minor uncovered Duke forward Jabari Parker’s firsthand account of that time.

Warning: Dustribing descriptions follow

Jabari Parker | The Minor

5:00 pm, February 12th: “He” said that we can’t get the bus out, and that we have to cancel the game. I don’t know how to feel. I’m relieved we don’t have to play–it would have been all students over there–but I don’t know what will happen if we stay here tonight. “He” is always watching us. The snow has to let up soon.

7:00 pm, February 12th: It looks like we are trapped in here for the night. I heard “He” ask [Steve] Wojciehowski to take stock of what supplies we have in Cameron Indoor. We are sprinting. Sprints and sprints. “He” keeps yelling, saying we can’t slip, we can’t mess up. Plumlee is fucking up as usual, that big buffoon. He keeps trying to joke about it, too. Plumlee can’t feel how much “He” hates it. I don’t know how that’s possible.

7:30 pm, February 12th: Wojo told “He” that the concession stand had big gas grills with plenty of fuel, but it wasn’t stocked with food. That meant we only had the cereal and protein powder in the locker room. “He” didn’t say anything. Quinn [Cook] asked for a break from lay-ups to call his mother to let her know he was okay. They made him run sprints until he threw up. “He” had the rest of us doing lay-up drills. [Assistant Coach Jon] Scheyer is always following close behind him, a snarling and barking echo. “He” gains power from his disciples, [Assistant Coach Jeff] Capel, [Nate] James and most of all Wojo, his prince. I fear them more than him sometimes. They would do anything to gain his approval. Rodney [Hood] talks about that one time he heard Wojo through the door, screaming in convulsed pain and pleasure in his private meeting with “He.” I don’t want to think about that.

8:30 pm, February 12th: We are going to sleep in the locker room tonight, “He” said. I only want to get through this. They can’t keep us in here forever. I know a lot of other guys are as scared as I am, but no one is saying anything. A few minutes ago Plumlee asked how we would practice if there was no food. “He” almost destroyed him. Before I knew what had happened, “He” had him backed into a locker, saying we are going to practice no matter what happens. That we will never stop practicing and we should thank him for his service to us. We began the daily ceremony, bowing down before him, telling him of his greatness and our appreciation of his knowledge. We kissed his feet. The walk-ons, his minions, do the ritual best of all. This appeased him, but it did not pleasure him as usual.

11:30 pm, February 12th: I’m sleeping on the ground near my locker. I put an old sweatshirt under my head to make it a bit more comfortable. Some of the walk-ons were laughing earlier when “He” came in. “He” told them to shut the fuck up. We all have heard the stories of these nights, but we never thought it would be us. [Rasheed] Sulaimon and I talked a bit before I began writing. He is scared too. He sometimes says, and I agree, that he wishes he had gone to UNC and enjoyed his life. But we cannot change the past. Sulaimon said he still worries that “He” has not forgiven him for his slump. He’s right.

6:00 am, February 13th: When we woke up, there was a piece of paper tacked to the bulletin board. It was a list of our names. Plumlee first, then Sulaimon, then some walk-ons, on and on. I’m last. I am not going to think about it, I am just going to sprint.

7:30 am, February 13th: Our breakfast was cereal and protein powder. We ate the last of it. We worked on foul shots all morning. Sulaimon was struggling. “He” was pacing the baseline, pouncing on any error, but mainly murmuring to himself that, “we have to stay strong…we have to stay sharp.”

12:00 pm, February 13th: “He” finally mentioned the list during the last water break. He said that, to keep everyone sharp, “He” was going to have a “personal development conference” with each of us, going in the order on the list. “He” said it was the only way to make it through all of this as a good team. “He” told Plumlee it was time for his conference, and to follow “He” to his office. Plumlee didn’t say anything. He swallowed hard and blinked, then got up and followed “He.” Wojo was right behind them. I’ve never seen his eyes like that. Whatever was going to happen, he was ready for it. Wanted it even.

1:30 pm, February 13th: Scheyer had us running layup drills while they were gone. He was doing a bad impersonation of  “He,” with the baseline pacing and critiques. There is only one “He.” I am continually reminded of that. When “He” finally returned, his eyes were bulging, and I couldn’t tell if “He” was snarling or smiling. His hair was wild and matted, and his shirt was drenched in sweat. “He” said it was time to eat, to follow him into the locker room. We did as “He” said. Inside was a large aluminum tray on one of the benches. A huge, rare roast was perfectly placed in the middle of it. “He” said to eat it, but no one moved a muscle. Wojo came out of the shower area, wearing different clothes. “He” said we will eat. The walk-ons began tearing into the meal, grease covering their face like animals. I knew he was watching me, and I swallowed a couple of bites. I don’t want to remember how it tasted. “He,” was saying we must stay sharp, we must stay sharp. Plumlee wasn’t there.

2:00 pm, February 13th: The walk-ons asked if we could start practicing again. I was leaving the locker room when “He” pulled me aside. “He” said he saw my reluctance, but that I should not worry. That I was last on the list for a reason. “He” said “He” loves me, that I can be the heart of this team, that everything “He” does is for Duke basketball. “He” said he hoped I understood that. I just nodded. It can’t snow forever.

5:15 pm, February 13th: Sulaimon missed a layup and “He” was all over him. It was brutal. Sulaimon dropped to the floor, crying and yelling that he could not go to his personal development conference, that he could not do it anymore, that he was trying his hardest. As “He” was about to respond, Thornton interrupted, saying that “he would take Sulaimon’s place,” that, he wasn’t afraid, he would do anything for Duke basketball. Thornton walked past Sulaimon toward “He,” looking down in disgust. Thornton said that Sulaimon did not deserve the conference, but that he would cherish and learn from his. Rodney, never to be outdone, began offering himself instead of Thornton. The walk-ons all ran towards “He” and began the ritual again, kissing his feet. “He” was unhappy. “He” kicked a walk-on and screamed, “Do you doubt that I know why the list is this way? DO YOU DOUBT ME OR DO YOU PRAISE ME!?” I was completely afraid and  alone. “He” told Sulaimon to get up and follow him. Sulaimon was sobbing, but he did what he was instructed, walking slowly behind “He.”

When they were almost off the court, Sulaimon fell to his knees again. He was blubbering, begging “He” for mercy.

Then, light came pouring in on him. A security guard was standing in the open door. He said that the snow around Cameron was cleared, that we could leave the gym.

“He” starred at the man for a second. The only thing punctuating silence were the dry heaves of Sulaimon. “He” looked down at Sulaimon. The security guard asked if we were going to be ready for, “the big game.” I could only think of Plumlee.

“He” said we were going for a team dinner at Au Bon Pain.

Saturday, February 15th: We beat Maryland today, barely. Plumlee was not on the roster. We were not sharp, and “He” said we would have to be sharper for UNC. In the locker room, the list is still on the bulletin board.

CARRBORO, NC — Chatting with a friend earlier today in Open Eye Café, Elliot Fisher, sophomore classics major and Carrboro resident, made it known that he does not “really care about basketball.”

Fisher balanced aloof indifference with seething rage as he explained his qualms regarding UNC’s basketball program and the sport itself, pausing only to brush crumbs off of his orange-juice-stained Elvis Costello t-shirt.

“Ooh, the gladiators from UNC play those from Duke this week? I have better things to care about,” said Fisher, as he idly tore pages from James Joyce’s Finnegan’s Wake so that he could glue them to the bottom of a Dole fruit box for an art project. “Basketball is nothing more than a baroque regression into man’s primitivity.”

Fisher reportedly moved to Carrboro after his freshman year in Hinton James Residence Hall, severing all ties with the few friends he had made on South Campus. Fisher’s new apartment, located behind Gourmet Kingdom on Lloyd Street, has since served as home for his post-structuralist creative projects, occasional kombucha experiments, and languishing contempt for Carolina basketball.

When asked to defend his position on the sport, Fisher responded by quoting Werner Herzog, saying that basketball players and fans frighten him because their stupidity is so flat.

“’You look into the eyes of a chicken and you lose yourself in a completely flat, frightening stupidity,” said Fisher. “That’s Herzog.”

Growing uncomfortable in the stagnant coffee shop air, he removed the rust-colored circle scarf from around his neck, took a shallow sip of his coffee, and adjusted his glasses before continuing.

“I refuse to become one of the thousands of light-blue-wearing, vulgarity-chanting corporate puppets jumping through hoops to escape the infinite emptiness of their lives,” said Fisher, crossing his legs. “Where is the truth in basketball?”

Thursday night, during the UNC-Duke game, Fisher said that he will burn matches in a lawn chair as a “silent, existential protest.”

by Bobbi Wood and Carly Burns | The Minor

Quotes

“It’s not like I decided to be gay and undocumented so I would have a chance to win the student body president election. I decided I would have a chance to win the student body president election because I’m gay and undocumented.” – Emilio Vicente

“76 percent of students said they enjoyed lecture style more when surveyed before a flipped classroom course, but 100 percent of them had to suck it the fuck up.” – Andrew Powell

“To truly understand why flipped classrooms worked for me you have to understand opportunity cost. Let’s put it in terms of beer and wine.” – Rita Balaban

“I’m here for class.” – Journalism Major

The Minor’s Index

Number of candidates expected to come to tonight’s debate: 2

Number who did: 1

Percentage of students who understood Economics 101 after classroom flip: 11

Percentage who understand the world better after Economics 101: 0

Number of emojis sent to Andrew Powell by Coursera CEO during debate: 17

Number of times that Emilio said “great question”: 12

Times that he meant it: 2

Number of people at the debate: 120

Of Chi Psi brothers: 20

Value of their haircuts: $400

Decibel level of Emilio supporters’ snaps: 60

Of Powell supporters’ whoops: 84

Number of furtive glances at the old man sitting in the front row: 6

At Hetali’s arms: 15

Headlines from Around the World

Powell and Vicente Agree Ideal Executive Branch Member Would Be “Undocumented, Chi Psi, Gay, Morehead-Cain Scholar”

Manoj Attends Debate

Blind Lemon Jefferson Skips Debate to “Wonder Why They Electrocute a Man at the One O’Clock Hour of Night”

• Oh Lord

In New Debate Format, Moderators Encourage Candidates to “Play House”

• “Getting food, doing chores, fixing things, going places, taking care of the baby, feeding the cat: you have to figure out how all that is going to get done.”

CHAPEL HILL, NC–Luxuriating in a loose-fitting white shirt and sandals in a dim, hazy corner of the Chi Psi lodge, student body president candidate Andrew Powell told a small gathering of invited press that his visions for the future of UNC are “stronger and more real” than ever before. Powell credited his invigorated imagination to recent visitations with Gary Waterfall, a Huichol medicine man based in Carrboro.

“The only way to lead this university into the 21st century is with a bold, fearless vision, and that’s exactly what I offer as a candidate for student body president,” said Powell, his eyes fixed on a distant horizon. “The colors are bolder than mere photons. How can one fear without edges?”

Powell’s campaign managers said that, after the excitement of narrowly making a run-off election with Emilio Vicente last Tuesday, their candidate experienced a period of deep mental and emotional fatigue. Feeling disoriented and losing confidence in his ideas, Powell came on a desperate and sleepless night to the fold-down doorstep of Gary Waterfall’s Winnebago, where the 54 year-old indigenous healer lives in an alley near the Burger King restaurant on Jones Ferry Road.

Seeing the distraught Powell, the medicine man wordlessly donned a beaded sombrero symbolic of his mystical powers and led the prep school graduate into the tarp-covered sweat lodge adjacent to his mobile home. Waterfall instructed Powell to remove his zip-neck sweater as he heated ceremonial coals and prepared a dark, pungent tea, commencing a sacred and mysterious Huichol ritual. At sunrise, Powell emerged from the hut with serenity in his heart and a neoteric vision for UNC’s future in his mind.

“Last week we were deep in the river. This week is just the runoff,” Powell said to reporters as he ran his hands back through his hair, leaning his head against the Huichol yarn painting on the wall behind him and lowering his eyelids. “Oh, recursive regularity of the elective. Same, same, year after year, until eternity. Infinity plus one is still infinity – am I the insignificant one?”

Powell said that, since his first encounter with Waterfall, he has returned several times to seek the medicine man’s transcendental wisdom, and that Waterfall has also provided him with the necessary ingredients to “take spirit excursions of [his] own guidance.” He expounded upon the visions that he said have inspired his platform anew.

“Tuition is skyrocketing up, the sky is a rocket in blue indigo, but I have seen where the sky is a void below, and the sky cost rockets down, down, down,” he said. “We only liberate our perspective and flip the reference frame. When we flip the classroom, lecture time is free and lectures are a jaguar that is free to be an eagle soaring on the jet stream of time, ex-panding concepts through students’ perspectives which take flight of their own through the digital. The eagle whispered it in dancing colors. Face-to-face innovates, and creates, but the faces change shapes and melt inward, so that students’ and professors’ senses sense their own sense of reality, but connected, their face features stay on the skull outward and thats the key, connected, skeleton keys to the infinite. We flip ten courses, and then 100, 1000–UNC leads the model geometrically on the domain of all UNC system schools. We proactivate the first step and step through the plane of the finite sphere to the Riemann space, thriving from change over suffering, 72% on average. Registration in a deeper register. The meta-analysis is streaming, and the lectures.”

“God, I could see it,” he said.

After pausing to stare blankly at his palms and ask one reporter if she “would take his shoes as payment,” Powell  smiled and slowly nodded, adding that he has also experienced a vision for the intended organization of his executive cabinet.

Asked about his plans for the remainder of his campaign, Powell said that he would focus on “becoming one” with the student body, a process he described as nearly complete. He added that, if he is elected, Gary Waterfall will be his first choice for vice president.

“‘Warden’ is ‘Andrew’ rearranged,” he added. “I am the Warden of Change.”

With more than six inches of snow and ice covering much of the East Coast, UNC is shut down for the week, along with many Triangle institutions and businesses. What’s your take?

“My photojournalism professor canceled our assignment for this week. Yes!”

–Garth Gilmore, Communications, ’14

“Help! I’m still snowed in!”

Mike Krzyzewski, Durham resident

“Blerghhh! Screeeeeeghlrh!”

Meshkoul, Demon of Carolina