You spot a friend from your dorm, one of the aforementioned cruel Line Monitors. She is proud you are there. She shoos you into the writhing mass of students that must stand always.

You identify some people you know well enough to stand with. You make your way to them and wedge your body into the line and glare at the person you have displaced, even though he is clearly in the right and there was no room for you.

The opposing team comes out. They are from Virginia Tech, which you hear is a nice place, but your sheet says it is not. “Virginia Tech’s only national title is for bass fishing.” The players from the Other Team are introduced and you must chant the ritual welcome: “HI, JUSTIN … YOU SUCK!” We do that for each new player. Ah. This is why people hate us.

Now us! You recognize Alex O’Connell. He was in your documentary studies class last semester. He is very, very tall but you only saw him sitting and he slouches so you thought he was a normal-size person for a while.

Then the Man Himself emerges. Mike Krzyzewski. Coach K. He is our short angry Polish-American man and we revere him as a god. As with many gods, you almost never hear him talk and you see him even less. We pay him $9 million a year to be our short angry man and he has a tower where he keeps his athletes. And he is so short you can’t see him now, but you know he is there because everyone is bowing over and over again.

It is Valentine’s Day today, but it was Coach K’s birthday yesterday, so the Line Monitors gave everyone birthday hats. Why didn’t they give you a birthday hat? Maybe they could tell you are a fraud. You are not a Cameron Crazie. You are a Cameron Reasonable. You are ashamed.