I'm from Texas, where college sports by and large begin and end with football. Sure, the Longhorns and the rest occasionally make some noise in the NCAA basketball tournament, and the Rice Owls seem to perennially challenge for the College World Series title, but ask 100 Texans what college sport they follow and 95 of them will say football. The other five won't reply because they've painted their bodies in their school colors and are too incoherent from strong drink to form words.

So my relocation to North Carolina five years ago was something of a culture shock. Here, college basketball is almost a religion, with devotees following their teams with an obsession truly awe-inspiring in its scope. Marriages are made and unmade over the issue of basketball fandom, and babies of couples who haven't yet declared support for a specific team will be gifted with all manner of child-sized fan regalia in hopes of swaying the parents.

The two focal points of fandom here are Duke and the University of North Carolina, the Blue Devils and the Tar Heels. Not for Carolinians are simple mascots like tigers or bears, no sir.

My true baptism into basketball culture here came one night two years ago when I went to my favorite watering hole, The Blvd., immortalized in "Munching At The Bar." I had gone in for the weekly free Texas Hold 'Em tournament, and was startled to find the parking lot packed. Inside were men and women I'd met several times and shared drinks with who had been transformed into blue-painted maniacs wearing the colors of (mostly) the Tar Heels. There was a Duke contingent, but they occupied a tight group of bar stools and didn't venture out alone.

It was the night of a Duke-UNC basketball game, and no full moon ever brought forth such lunacy. As the game seesawed back and forth, the crowd grew ever more boisterous. The taunts thrown between the groups grew increasingly personal and impressively creative. Not knowing much of the history of the rivalry, I didn't get much of the chatter, but I could tell that there was serious bad blood flowing.

But the only blood that flowed that night was metaphorical. No matter how much verbal rancor transpired, no punches were thrown and, when the final buzzer sounded on a UNC win, beers were bought back and forth and everyone remained friends.

This year, feeling a bit more settled in the community and having made some good friends, I decided it was time for me to pick a team. While the Tar Heels have more championships to their name, and certainly looked more impressive this year, I found myself leaning toward Duke. The battle of small private school vs. massive state-funded university is one with which I was well familiar, having rooted for Rice for many years when the school shared membership in the Southwest Conference with the University of Texas and Texas A&M and was routinely tossed like a dishrag by both.

I even went and bought myself a Duke ball cap. The gods of baseball must find it terribly amusing that fans of other sports wear the most recognizable piece of baseball attire. You don't see Yankees fans wearing basketball jerseys with a big "Y" embroidered on them or Red Sox fans wearing football helmets in the bleachers.

I wore the cap for the first time to The Blvd., and quickly learned why the "Dukies" had kept to a small group on game night. Gastonia, my new hometown, is officially ABD (Anybody But Duke) territory. Within a few minutes, I had sincere offers from no less than a dozen chums to swap my hat for a Tar Heels chapeau so that the Blue Devils hat could be properly burned. I'm not sure, but I could almost swear the poker dealer that night purposely gave me nothing but off-suit low cards.

I kept the hat, and moaned with my fellow Dukies when Villanova handed the Blue Devils a thumping loss in the Sweet Sixteen. We offered heartfelt congratulations to the Tar Heels fans when their team went to the Final Four, and will all likely gather on Saturday to root for the remaining Carolina team to defend the state's honor in the tournament.

But I'll be wearing my Duke hat, no matter what I'm offered in trade.