I’ve been a Duke fan for as long as I can remember. Coming of age in the 90’s, that wasn’t a popular position, especially as a young Black kid. The cultural posture towards Duke was one of disgust, as most Black people felt head coach Mike Krzyzewski only recruited White players, limiting his Black players to those from privileged backgrounds. I won’t belabor the point, as many publications and documentaries have hashed it out hundreds of times. Here’s the bottom line – you either love Duke or hate Duke, and there is no in-between.

I’m a lover of all things Duke basketball, so when I realized last May that the East Regional of the Men’s NCAA tournament was going to be held in Washington D.C., I felt compelled to get tickets. I knew the star-studded recruiting class, headlined by the presumptive number one overall pick in Zion Williamson, was going to make the team good enough to warrant placement in a region close to the campus in Durham. Still, I held off, wanting to think twice about whether or not the committee would place them in the South Regional in Louisville.

When the brackets were announced on Selection Sunday, I got elated. Seeing the potential match-ups, I had little to no reservation that Duke would at least make the Sweet 16, and I would have a chance to finally see my favorite team play in-person. I splurged and purchased the tickets. Aubrey Dawkins had two chances to ruin my night in paradse. Luckily, his hands, and the rim, respectively, preserved my momentary dream.

I made my way down to Capitol One Arena late in the afternoon on Friday, anticipating delays on the Metro in D.C. (because it’s the Metro). I decided to get off a few stops early. It was a 70-degree day, and I wanted to enjoy the walk. One of the best things about actually attending a sporting event is the atmosphere, both in and outside the arena. This time was no different.

Plenty of D.C. faithful were out and about, most enjoying the weather, others already too intoxicated with next to no shot to last five hours watching basketball games. Every single bar in the immediate vicinity was packed, ransacked by folks sporting merchandise of the college they came to represent. It didn’t take too long, however, for me to notice the prevalence of player specific jerseys, particularly for Duke’s two-star freshmen – Williamson and R.J. Barrett.

With all due respect to every player on Michigan State, LSU, and Virginia Tech, their supporters dawned generic merchandise, a mere reflection of the school’s mascots and color, in an assortment of hoodies, t-shirts, pullovers and hats. The Duke superstars were different. In the 45 minutes I spent walking around the arena before making my way in, I saw at least two dozen Williamson jerseys, and another handful replica jerseys representing Barrett. I couldn’t help but think to myself “how in the world is this legal?”

The conversation around player compensation in college athletics, particularly men’s basketball and football players, seems to have reached a fever pitch lately. In full disclosure, I believe college football and men’s basketball players should be paid. I have felt that way for quite some time, and my venture to the East Regional semi-finals only stood to reaffirm that belief. I entered Capitol One Arena, and once inside, I purchased a Bud Light Lime. During breaks in the game, I looked down at my phone and kept an eye on other games, where I was obnoxiously bombarded by banking commercials from Capitol One, reminded that it’s harder than ever to retire by Fidelity, inundated with ads about this slick new sports drink called BodyArmor, and brought back to remembrance of just how disgusting Buffalo Wild Wings is.

I absorbed the all-consuming fire of million dollar sponsorships and advertisement buys, all while sitting behind two people wearing authentic Zion Williamson and R.J. Barrett jerseys, and knowing the two guys on the court that had carried Duke to this point would have to wait until late June to cash in on a single dime of their very lucrative abilities. Being at the game was exhilarating, but in a way, it all felt disgustingly wrong.

The Blue Devils won on a missed alley-oop by Ahmed Hill of Virginia Tech, yet another miracle of sorts in a tournament of second and third chances for Duke. In the process, they set-up a date with Michigan State in the Elite Eight. I glanced down at my watch as I began the trek back to the Metro station. It was midnight as the final buzzer rang. For the hundreds of professional sporting events I have attended in my life, I can’t recall a single one ending this late. I guess you have to maximize the number of television sets that can watch on the east coast, and with a very firm hunch that advertising dollars are the driving force behind “amateur athletes” finishing a game well into the next day, my biggest takeaway from the night had nothing to do with Zion or R.J., and everything to do with the belief that Alex O’Connell and Jack White will probably never make the NBA, but right now, as they play in a billion dollar tournament in front of 20,000 fans, they’re professionals too – and should be compensated as such.

I Seent It – The Dukies Go to Washington

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