Close to midnight in March 2025, my plane touched down in Charlotte. I shuffled out and appraised my surroundings. The terminal was sleek, clean, and in a deep slumber. Only a few people were up and stirring, zombie-like and begrudgingly awake. I saw a couple of those generic News and Gifts stores, but they were closed, safely stowed in their upright and locked positions, their security gates deployed to protect treasures like airplane neck pillows and turquoise hoodies that exclaim "North Carolina!" over a state outline. Despite some elegant floor-to-ceiling bay windows, my view was made opaque by the jet black night. I felt like I was staring at the backs of closed eyelids. I made a stop at a lone vending machine, waited for my Uber, hurtled down the highway, and walked into the AC Hotel Charlotte City Center and a double queen room, awaiting the ACC Men's Basketball Tournament the next day.
Close to midnight in March 2024, my plane touches down in Las Vegas. Next, a fabulous onslaught of stimuli: Slot machines of all kinds—Wild Buffalo! Game of Thrones! Young Sheldon (for some reason)! They blink hello as I stroll past. Passengers pound pre-flight Heinekens and Coronas while waiting in line at the McDonalds, still kicking, still serving up cholesterolic smiles. Hungover moms scavenge for tacky bottle opener magnets and Viva Las Vegas t-shirts, white and screen-printed and dumb and always the wrong size and therefore utterly perfect. Through the windows, the Strip twinkles in the distance like a colorful constellation. I'm adventuring through the terminal and then I'm Ubering to New York-New York Hotel and Casino, ready to launch my bags into our room just in time to watch The Big Apple Coaster and its accompanying screams roar down the track outside my window. I see the Excalibur's castle turrets resplendent in the distance. I smile. The Pac-12 Men's Basketball Tournament is tomorrow!
* * *
Earlier this month, Grant and I traveled to Charlotte for the ACC Men's Basketball Tournament. If you can believe it, this was Grant's 9th consecutive conference tournament following Stanford Men's Basketball. Having missed the 2019 tourney for work, I can only boast 8 of the last 9 (making me a failure and a no-good bandwagoner), but hey in my defense, I'm technically tied with Jerod Haase over the period 2017-2025!
First impressions aren't everything. Often they're not anything. But from my first step off the plane at CLT, I clocked an undeniable truth: this ACC Tournament wouldn't be quite as special as our last 8 Pac-12 Tournaments. As we explored the city around the Charlotte Hornet's Spectrum Center, as we watched game after game from the corner of the arena with other media members, as we chowed down on barbeque sandwiches and burgers from concessions, as we reunited with and chatted up the current Tree... I just couldn't quite put my finger on it.
Was it that these ACC teams weren't as good by comparison? The ACC was having a down year... but no that wasn't it. We were watching a generational draft prospect in Cooper Flagg and the ACC had 4 teams in the KenPom top 32—twice as many as the last year's Pac-12.
Was it that it's hard to get excited about teams like Virginia Tech and Syracuse? Good basketball or not, there's merit to the theory that games between teams for which you have no historical context are less interesting. I have a decade of memories tied to Oregon State, Colorado, Utah, and Wazzu. I'd take a bad Oregon State v. Utah game any day over half the matchups we saw, if for no other reason than it would give me an excuse to say "Wayne Tinkle" out loud with impunity. (Man, remember their 2021 Elite Eight run? Electric).
But no, even that wasn't quite the 'something missing' I was trying to identify.
At halftime during maybe our third game of the day, I found my answer. The buzzer sounded and two nameless emcees meandered center court. They each escorted a fan of one of the teams playing. Our halftime entertainment? The fans would compete to see who could make a layup, free throw, and three-pointer first.
Wait, what?
Where was the pageantry? Where was the artistry? Where was the passion?
You see, at the Pac-12 Tournament, halftime shows were sourced directly from the illustrious Las Vegas Strip. The Cirque du Soleil cast of Mad Apple would be performing insane acrobatic and body-torturing stunts! The Strat's iLUMINATE would shut down the overhead lights and erupt in hypnotic and hiphop-ic dances while decked out in LED outfits! DJ Roueche would be pumping up the crowd with 80% hype music and 20% songs that use the word "win" in them a lot to stay on theme! Elite emcee Armon Newton would be talking to fans, introducing acts, and radiating with the spirit of the Pac-12—that is, weird and wonderful. At the Pac-12 Men's Basketball Tournament, a fan shooting competition might earn a timeout spot... but halftime? They wouldn't dream of settling for timer fillers.
Yes, the ACC did pony up for legendary unicyclist and plate balancer Red Panda later in the week (who no doubt deserves first ballot Hall of Fame considerations). And yes the ACC did give me acrobatic dogs, which will always earn an A+ from me. But this isn't just about halftime entertainment.
It's about heart.
And intention.
Every nanosecond of the Pac-12 tournament was crafted with immense care. Their goal? To entertain and amaze. Just as Vegas is about awe and spectacle, so was the Pac-12 Men's Basketball Tournament.
The ACC Men's Basketball Tournament is about... well... basketball.
Taking a step back, these differences in philosophy are easily explained. The ACC is a basketball conference. Kyle Smith said as much himself in one of our postgame press conferences. Since 1954, the ACC Tournament has existed to crown the league's best team, and they take it seriously. Whereas some conferences (like the Pac-12) recognize both a regular season and tournament champion, the ACC in its bylaws explicitly state that the tournament winner takes the conference. End of story. The tournament we attended this month reflects these principles.
The Pac-12—infused with west coast values and west coast priorities—has always been about innovation and authenticity, including to some extent the admission that sports are something we can take seriously without taking ourselves too seriously. The tournament born from these principles was the one I grew to love. The one Grant grew to love. The one Bill Walton adored and embodied. The one that's been left behind in realignment's wake.
In the end, we had a lovely time in Charlotte. I treated myself to barrels and barrels of Cheerwine (the most delicious soda in the Carolinas), and we checked out the NASCAR Hall of Fame, which was without hyperbole one of the most best museums I've ever been to, despite knowing nothing about the sport except that there's a guy named Jeff Gordon who seems pretty good. We also walked through the bowels of the Spectrum Center looking at monuments to Charlotte Hornet legends like Kemba Walker and... well... it's really just Kemba Walker. We watched some great basketball games, including a thrilling takedown of Kal and a heart-eviscerating buzzer-beater loss to Louisville.
Naturally, we'll be back again next year. And while the basketball atmosphere was truly impressive (Duke vs. UNC in the semis was like listening to two Arizonas play each other), it's still incredibly difficult coming to terms with Leaving Las Vegas.
--Fear The Me.