Russian Roulette and Werewolves: The Make Up of Will Graves

The truth is important, but the truth isn't always the full story. Often, it is the perception of truth that we're really after, really discussing, and really impacted by. If you want the truth about Will Graves, then click here for an excellent piece by Greg Barnes. If you want the perception of truth, which is just as useful, then keep reading.

A coworker of mine, who teaches art, is an avid Carolina fan, and his description of Will Graves is that of a rabid dog, not yet foaming at the mouth, but definitely altered by a virus flowing through his veins. His comments on Graves usually fall in accordance to the following lines: "Look into his eyes. There's something just not right upstairs. He's crazy." As he says this, my coworker makes a peace sign with his fingers and points to his own eyes to emphasize just how off kilter Will Graves is. Then he points to my eyes with those same two fingers and says, "Just watch him, Bryan. You'll see what I mean." I nod, and he says one more time, "Just watch." Well, I've watched Will Graves, and, yes, he is crazy.

Now, let me make it clear that this art teacher believed Will Graves to be mad before Graves missed 14 games year due to a suspension for not upholding "the standards we expect from a Carolina basketball player," which means that there may have been something to the art teacher's premise. Will Graves was crazy long before a suspension made the public service announcement.

Perhaps there was something hidden underneath Graves' eyes waiting to reveal itself, that only a high school art teacher could read. Perhaps it was always there, or maybe the transformation from Carolina fan to Carolina player pushed Graves' ego off the brink, making him all id and unable to live life off the basketball court. In other words, Will Graves put on a Carolina blue jersey, complete with the unlucky number 13, stepped onto the floor of the Dean Dome and left everything else behind him. Tongue wagging and eyes bulging, Will Graves is the basketball manifestation of Christopher Walkin's character in The Deer Hunter--so scarred by the experiences of war that he can no longer exist anywhere other than at the end of a gun barrel. Will Graves is no longer a fan or a player so much as he is humanity given way to an avalanche of raw passion--social graces and acts of conscience be damned.

"So practice starts and he makes just a sensational play, in my opinion,” Williams said. “[Some others] probably did not appreciate it as much as I did: ‘Atta boy, Will. That’s what I want you to do. That’s great.’ And then three possessions later it’s like he’s out in an Eskimo village."

Roy Williams can blame the erratic play of Will Graves on geographical circumstances, but as stated earlier, this problem flows through Graves' very veins. Graves does not sink a three-pointer from eight feet outside the arc one play, get stripped in a lane full of defenders the next, come back down the court to hit another deep three, and then shoot consecutive air balls because the man spends his time ice fishing and hunting seals, when he should be learning inbounds plays and how to play within the offense.

No, Will Graves grew up watching Jerry Stackhouse go baseline against Duke and come out the other side with his head bobbing, as if a reverse dunk could grow fur on one's chest and bless one with wolf-like claws and canines. Will Graves saw Stackhouse at midnight, cloaked in moonlight, and thought: why not me too?

Will Graves is no Inuit, or walker of land bridges--Will Graves was bitten, and when the moon is right, as it was when Carolina played Georgia Tech, he stalks the basket as a werewolf; and on the nights when the moon is only a sliver, Graves shrinks from the basket, as he did against Wake Forest, shooting only 2 for 8 from downtown. For William Graves, everything from the size of the basket to his instincts as a hunter are tied to the moon's glow.

The problem for North Carolina is that the success of their season now hinges on three things: getting healthy, eliminating turnovers, and whether or not a full moon corresponds with the remaining games on their schedule, which makes every Tar Heel game a round of Russian Roulette....

And no matter how dire the season gets, #13 must continue to pull the trigger and dare the rest of his teammates to do the same, and while this mad game revolves chamber after chamber, all UNC fans will hold a collective breath; and when the ball goes in the hoop, all UNC fans will let out a sigh of relief and wait for Graves to begin the game again, hoping to God the bullet's not made from silver because this crazed lunatic turned wild beast is our only hope for making the Tournament.

And as the season marches on, fully expect Carolina fan after Carolina fan to drop from the ranks, citing the words: "This is madness. This world of werewolves and Vietnamese betting dens is too unhinged from morality and let loose from judgement that we can no longer reside in it." And they'll retreat to their quiet hunting cabins, drink their whiskey slow, and go on long deer hunts alone, hesitating to pull the trigger on a 12-point buck and recall, as if they were a fantasy, the days of Phil Ford, Bob McAdoo, Billy Cunningham, and Lennie Rosenbluth, when players stayed for four years of duty and fans were not left whispering, "The horror. The horror," as freshmen and werewolves are left to fend for themselves in the woods of the ACC.