Back to Carter-Finley: 26 Years and One Press Pass Later

Back to Carter-Finley: 26 Years and One Press Pass Later
By Jay Ballard

It was the fall of 1999, and Jeff and I were 20-year-old college kids at ODU with just enough gas money, zero planning skills, and a whole lot of Wahoo faith.

The mission? Get from Norfolk to Raleigh to watch Virginia take on NC State.

We got up at the crack of dawn — and I mean college kid crack of dawn, so somewhere around 5:30 a.m. — and made the long drive down I-95 with nothing but a couple sodas, a bag of Combos, and blind optimism. Google Maps didn’t exist, and we sure weren’t browsing Ticketmaster. It was a different time.

We had MapQuest directions printed out, page after page, sitting on Jeff’s dashboard like sacred scrolls. If we missed a turn? That was it. No rerouting. No little blue dot to save us. Just two guys arguing over whether “merge” meant “take the exit or not.” Also: no cell phones. If we got lost, we were just lost.

We passed the time listening to Mase, Warren G, and Notorious B.I.G.—and while Biggie might’ve warned about getting “Hypnotized,” we kept our eyes on the road and minds on the mission.

About five hours and a few wrong turns later, we hit Raleigh. And that’s when we learned something: the North Carolina State Fair was happening. In the same parking lot. Because, of course it was.

Traffic was a mess, parking was worse, and I’m pretty sure we ended up leaving the car somewhere in the general vicinity of livestock. But we didn’t care. We didn’t even have tickets. We just started walking toward the stadium, looking for the first scalper we could find — and sure enough, there he was, like a beacon of sketchy hope. We each paid $20 for a ticket that may or may not have been printed during the Clinton administration.

By the time we got through the gates, there were about ten minutes left in the first quarter. We heard a roar from inside as we made our way in — NC State had just made a big play, and the place was rocking. At halftime, Virginia trailed 19–10, and things weren’t looking great. The Wolfpack fans were loud, confident, and probably still full of funnel cake from the fair.

But then came the third quarter.

And what a third quarter it was. Thomas Jones — an absolute force of nature that day — ran wild. I mean, unstoppable. The kind of performance where everyone in the stadium knows he’s getting the ball, and it doesn’t matter. And while Jones was steamrolling defenders, our favorite wideout and future radio color commentary legend Ahmad “Ballhawk” Hawkins hauled in a couple touchdowns of his own.

It was the most dominant quarter I’ve ever seen from a Virginia team — against a quality opponent, in their house, in front of 50,000 fans. The Hoos dropped 30 points in that one quarter alone. Thirty!

By the time the clock hit zero and the final score read Virginia 47, NC State 26, we didn’t want to leave. No one in orange and blue did. We hung out in the stands for a while, just soaking it in — and then the team came over to the UVA section, clapping, celebrating, showing love to the fans who made the trip.

That moment? That’s the kind of thing that stays with you. Twenty-six years later, I can still see it like it was yesterday.

And now?

Young Jack — Jeff’s son, 19 years old and full of that same fire — is making the very same drive from the 757 down to Raleigh this weekend. Different generation, same mission. He’s heading into a game not many outside of Charlottesville think Virginia will win. But Jack? He believes. He’s got it in his blood.

They say you want better for your children. And while Jack isn’t mine, I was there in the hospital the day he was born. And I couldn’t be prouder to know that when he walks into Carter-Finley Stadium this time, he’ll be doing it with a press pass around his neck.

He’s chasing the story — but I hope he catches a memory. One like the one Jeff and I still talk about every fall.

Here’s to Jack. Here’s to the Hoos. And here’s to a little magic in Raleigh.

GO HOOS.