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On the eve of the college baseball post-season, we Carolina fans are forced to confront a sobering reality: there exists a strong chance that, in a few weeks, we'll no longer be the defending National Champions. I don't mean to say we can't repeat, because we all know this team is just capable of doing so. But, statistically speaking, there's probably a larger likelihood that we won't (which is the case for any team, of course.)

So I thought it'd be rewarding to wax nostalgic a bit, and get us in the right mindset for the playoffs. Let's all share, in as much or little detail as you choose, where you were when Whit slapped one into right field. Mine's after the jump.

June 29th, 2010. My girlfriend and I went over to my folks' house in Mt. Pleasant to watch part of the game, and about halfway through drove to my beloved Moe's Crosstown, the best neighborhood pub in downtown Charleston which is tragically closed for rennovations right now. Boo!

Anyway, it was a lot quieter than I would have expected. I imagine the downtown bars were jam packed, but Moe's is uptown and doesn't draw quite the sports crowd. There were probably 25 people in there. Mostly Carolina fans. A few ambivalent. One Clemson fan who, tongue-in-cheek, was outwardly pulling for UCLA, although eventually admitted he wanted us to win.

I didn't know anyone in there except one bartender (Carolina fan) and my girlfriend, but it didn't take long for the Carolina fans to exchange high fives as needed, buy each other drinks--even a "Game, Cocks" chant arose now and then. I'll jump ahead to the bottom of the eleventh. When Wingo walked, the mercury started to rise in there. It was such a breakthrough in that point in the game, as you all remember. We finally got something going. No one said anything, but I think everyone could feel it. Wingo was going to stomp on that plate any minute. When Whit stepped in the box with Wingo on third, no one in garnet was on a stool. We all stood, slapping the bar, hopping in place, noisily urging Whit to come through, like we were in the dugout with the rest of the team.

I don't think I ever saw Scott Wingo cross the plate. The last thing I remember was Whit raising his arms. I screamed so loud, I was hoarse within a minute. I think I bear-hugged every garnet-clad person in that tavern. I planted a smooch on my girlfriend (I'm pretty sure it was her--honestly don't remember. We're still together so, probably was her.) A "GAME, COCK" cheer emerged and lasted for minutes without losing an ounce of steam. Someone ran out front of the bar and howled into the night. Shots were purchased, thrown back, and refilled. At some point I called my best Carolina buddy and left him a message that went something like, "AMHAGHAH NASHACHAMP NASHACHAMP OHMAHGOD I CANT F*@& BELIEVE AHHHHH!" Even the Clemson guy in attendance was having a great time.

(That's one thing I'll say, at least in my experience, my orange leaning friends were rather gracious, and took a lot of pride in an SC school beating up on an ESPN-favorite like UCLA.)

Anyway, there's my story. I still get excited thinking about that night...one of the most memorable experiences of my life.

What about you guys?