Raderman: A house divided

Twice a year, my house becomes a battleground. My father glares at the TV, occasionally yelling "bullshit!" and my mother forgoes real words and just screams. For two hours they try their best not to talk to each other - the exception being when the referee makes a call that causes my dad to mumble, "Carolina ref" and my mom to respond, "Oh please - he was practically punched" - and every conversation ends abruptly when someone inbounds the ball. Twice a year my parents watch the Maryland vs. Duke game; my dad in red and my mom in blue.

My trip into this world of craziness began in my prenatal days at Cole Field House. I don't remember much from this era of my life, but this was the time immediately following the death of Len Bias, so there were better times to be a Terps fan. There are hardly words to describe how bad the Terps were back then. Bob Wade was the coach, and we had a perfect conference record of 0-14. But don't worry, we got better. By the time Wade left, we were 1-13. Meanwhile, Duke was only in year four of their seven-consecutive NCAA Sweet Sixteen appearances (six Final Fours, four championship games, and two titles). Needless to say, my mother was feeling rather smug. Born into such a world, how could her firstborn child become anything other than a Duke fan? But then came Gary Williams.

We were extremely lucky to get Gary to come here. Our program was terrible, and he was doing well for himself as the coach of the Ohio State Buckeyes. Still, he wanted to coach at his alma mater, and he was hired. After being forced to deal with various sanctions imposed on the team as a result of mistakes made during Bob Wade's stint with the Terps, Gary, with a little help from Walt Williams, began to bring the team back into national prominence yet again.

I cheered for both schools in my younger days. Forgive me, I didn't know any better. At that point I thought of basketball games as little more than opportunities to eat soft pretzels and drink soda. Then, in 1994, the hand of fate intervened and three things all happened at once: I became interested in basketball, Duke was terrible, and Joe Smith was dominating. Say what you want about Smith's professional career, but he's the first Terp I can remember specifically - and for good reason. He was big, he was strong, he could shoot, he could block and he was unstoppable. If it weren't for him and Keith Booth, I might have become a Duke fan, or never become interested in basketball at all.

Even so, I still cheered for Duke when they weren't playing the Terps - I was far too scared of my mother to do otherwise - but following the 2000 win at Cameron Indoor Stadium, that became increasingly difficult. After that game, Duke was our rival, and liking them was unacceptable. The rivalry made perfect sense to me. In fact, I was surprised people were only just then picking up on it. After all, the tension in my house during Terps vs Blue Devils games was tangible. The hatred of Duke, however, put me in a more awkward position. With championships won by both teams over the next two years and awe-inspiring games played at Comcast, Cole and Cameron, the rivalry grew, and with it the necessary hatred of all things Blue Devil.

My sympathy for Duke was causing me all kinds of problems, so I made a an ultimatum my senior year of high school: I would apply to both Duke and Maryland, and whichever school I attended would receive my exclusive support. Needless to say, both schools fought over me viciously, but in the end, I was persuaded by some scholarship money. I guess that makes me a whore. Anyway, here's to another twenty years of the most notorious rivalry in college basketball, or at least in my house.

John Raderman is a sophomore journalism major. He can be reached at raderman@umd.edu.