To: The Cameron Crazies

From: Satan

Re: Stop Chanting Please

Dear Esteemed Devils,

I greet you in the name of myself. While you may be surprised to receive a missive directly from the Lord of the Underworld, I want to assure you that I mean you no harm. People get really skittish around me sometimes. I mean, if I was coming to claim your soul, do you think I would send a memo to be posted on a third-rate satire blog?

Anyway: I was down in my man-cave recently, and I flipped on ESPN to see a sea of blue-painted students chanting “Let’s Go Devils!” This pleased me immensely, and I soon found myself chanting right along with you. (I don’t know what happens when you chant those words, but when I do it the very depths of Hell heave with the agonized cries of reprobate souls.) However, there is another of your favored chants which I simply cannot join, and this is the reason for my writing.

Please, for the sake of my sanity, stop yelling “Go to Hell, Carolina, Go to Hell!” I cannot emphasize this point strongly enough. I know it’s just an idle turn of phrase for you, gleefully deployed in the spirit of a rivalry. I understand that many of you (students and professors alike) don’t even believe that Hell exists, or has inhabitants. But in my capacity as the sovereign of Hell and chief arbiter of eternal damnation, I must do everything within my power to ensure that the UNC Men’s Basketball team does not spend eternity down here. The truth is, that would just be too much punishment for my fellow residents.

It is not widely known, but the Tar Heels have actually been down here before. In the summer of 2008, a delegation of players and coaches traveled from Chapel Hill to the gates of Hell in order to negotiate the terms of their 2009 national championship. It took us over two weeks to come to an agreement about what they would give me in exchange for a guarantee of a Final Four victory. Now, I can’t divulge the specifics of that deal. But I can tell you this: those guys are insufferable. All day long, they whine: they’re hungry, they’re too hot, they can’t get a cell signal. Although I am not a corporeal being, I eventually had to take a physical form, just so that I could plug up my ears and get some peace and quiet.

The worst was when we let them play in our summer basketball league. First of all, kudos on another appropriate cheer: as it turns out, Tyler does travel every time. However, Mr. Hansbrough also managed to win the hearts of our referees, even though their souls are my eternal property. (How he managed that, I’ll never know.) The bottom line is, I was here on “Holy Saturday,” when Jesus showed up, and I’ve got to tell you, nothing was as harrowing as having to spend time with the 2009 UNC Tar Heels.

The 2010 Tar Heels, as you know, are quite a different matter altogether. While they do not smack of entitlement like last year’s squad, it is my opinion that if they arrived in Hell, they’d bring down the caliber of play in our league too much. They are clearly more suited for the NIT, and perhaps your future chants could direct them to that destination instead of to Hell.

Although it seems to go against the spirit of the place, the bottom line is this: I am concerned that the Tar Heels will make Hell too unbearable of a place to live, even for me. You know, the greatest trick I ever pulled was convincing the world I didn’t exist; if Roy Williams shows up down here again, I’m turning off the lights and hiding behind the sofa until he’s convinced that nobody is home.

I appreciate your consideration of this matter.

Sincerely,

The Evil One