April 5, 2005

By Adam Lucas

Marvin Williams's time began when he wasn't even looking.

He was fielding questions from the media after Carolina's win--no, after Carolina's national championship--and suddenly the trophy was being passed to him.

"I don't know why they brought it to me," he was saying as he sat in a folding chair, the trophy safely stationed behind him. "But I'll hold on to it for a little while."

Charlie Everett's time began last October when he got a phone call from the Carolina coaching staff. "Can you be at practice today?" they asked him. That is how six months that you'll never forget begins.

It ends almost as unexpectedly. One day the whole season stretches out in front of you, the next you're pulling on the jersey for the very last time and you're watching the seconds tick away on college basketball's biggest stage.

"Words can't even describe it," he said. "It hasn't really even set in yet. You always hope, maybe you can win some games, see what happens. But we ended on a win. We're the national champions. I can't even begin to believe it."

Wanda Williams's time began when her husband walked away from his team and towards Section 101F of the Edward Jones Dome. She'd been offered the opportunity to come down and join him on the floor, soak in the celebration first-hand, but she declined. She had to descend about eight rows to meet Roy A. Williams. And then he hugged her the way you see in the movies, one of those hugs that makes you a little misty just to watch it. All those Final Four nights past that ended in disappointment, with a shoulder to cry on somewhere deep in some concrete dome somewhere. All of them poured out in that embrace.

Roy Williams has never been one to shy away from showing emotion with his children, so their time came next. First Kimberly, then Scott. Hundreds of Carolina fans were standing right there, shouting "We love you Roy!" and "Congratulations Roy!" and "You're the man Roy!" at their basketball coach. You got the feeling that none of it mattered, that in that moment there was Roy Williams and there was his family and the rest of the world had stopped turning for just a second.

You'll be telling people about your time for years. Maybe it began when Raymond Felton made that steal or when Sean May grabbed that rebound or when Felton sank those free throws. Maybe you watched the game from the Edward Jones Dome or on Franklin Street or with your family. Wherever it was, it was immediately seared into your brain. It is now the eternal answer to the question, "Where were you when the Heels took it in 2005?"

Do not forget your time. A national championship is not just about what you saw or how you saw it, but who you saw it with. And whenever you bump into those people at any time the rest of your lives, talk will always turn back to April 4, 2005. We didn't all get a piece of the net. But we're all touching a piece of the title.

David Noel's time began when the NCAA organizers told the Tar Heels to climb back onto the podium at center court. The Edward Jones Dome screens came to life with the sounds of "One Shining Moment," and suddenly all the high-fiving stopped. There sat Melvin Scott, one arm draped around Rashad McCants, the other around Everett. Their championship hats were pointed frontward, backward, sideways, and their eyes were locked on the big video screens. And there stood David Noel and Roy Williams, shoulder to shoulder, watching the images move across the screen.

"That was amazing," Noel said. "I heard that first part begin and we were all standing up there as a team, and it almost brought tears to my eyes. One Shining Moment. And that's us up there. I can't believe it."

Jackie Manuel's time began with a simple question. Over the past couple of years, he's been adamant that he and his teammates don't need to take a day off until they've won a national championship. Summer, fall, winter, his message has been the same: "No days off until we win a national championship."

In a corner of the locker room, he was sitting almost inside his locker. You approach him, let the smile start to cross your face, and watch as his face is completely enveloped by the full Jackie Manuel grin.

"So, Jackie, day off tomorrow?"

"Day off tomorrow," he says. "Day off the rest of this week."

Jawad Williams's time began when the clock finally hit zeroes, when he, as he said, "lost his mind."

For so long, he has been associated with one of the worst times in Carolina basketball history. Now he is part of the best. Now he is a 2005 national champion.

"I like the sound of those numbers a lot better than 8-20," he said. "2005 national champions. That's something no one can ever take away from us."

Melvin Scott's time began as soon as they handed him one of the championship nets. He draped it around his neck, but it was just a temporary home. It's earmarked for his mother, for the way she guided him out of the mean streets of Baltimore. For three years he and his senior classmates have endured being known as "those guys from 8-20." Now they'll be known as "those guys from the '05 championship team."

But Scott isn't ready to give away all his old memories just yet.

"I'm glad I have those memories," he says. "Without pain how would you know what joy feels like? How would you know what this feels like?"

This team's time began when Roy Williams brought them back into the locker room after their 75-70 victory. Waiting for them were Dean Smith and Michael Jordan. Williams pointed to both men. "These guys are Carolina basketball," he said.

Then he looked at every face staring back at him, looked at his team. Looked at the 2005 national champions.

"But this is your time."

Adam Lucas is the publisher of Tar Heel Monthly and can be reached at alucas@tarheelmonthly.com. His book on Roy Williams's first season at Carolina, Going Home Again, is now available in bookstores. To subscribe to Tar Heel Monthly or learn more about the book, click here.