This would never have happened in the media room at Cameron, I thought glumly as the second ice cube hit my head. Two more landed on the bar, clattering over the ledge and leaving wet streaks on the wood.

The moment the clock on the television read zero, "Sweet Caroline" played over the loudspeakers at Four Corners in Chapel Hill, a sports bar just a few feet from North Carolina's campus. Tar Heels fans had packed it to the gills, and the story was the same up and down Franklin Street. This was one of the two biggest nights of the year for them, and the first had ended in disaster. The Carolina faithful were out for revenge, spring break and bad memories be damned. I was one of four Duke fans in a crowd of at least 250, and though I came in semi-disguise (Eli Manning jersey, Yankees hat), my cover had long since been blown.

A little less than a month ago, Duke's Austin Rivers buried a glorious 3 at the buzzer to deal Carolina a stunning 85-84 defeat at the Dean Dome. Tar Heels fans, believing rightly that they had the stronger team, had been dreaming of the rematch ever since. The world had to right itself, and one devastating loss deserved another. They had their satisfaction and then some, as Carolina dominated Duke at Cameron Indoor Stadium to beat the Blue Devils 88-70 and win the ACC regular-season championship. Elation for them, misery for me.

Sports fans can be a savage lot. When it comes to cruelty, is there any group more relentlessly inventive? Chanting in unison, they pick at the heart of the enemy. But in my book, there's one chant more brutal than any other. It's worse than insulting someone's family, worse than hurling the most unspeakable epithet, and worse than mocking a personal handicap. This one cuts the deepest.