The team that won my daughter over: the Blue Devils

For years, I tried to nudge my daughter toward my favorite team. Saturdays in our house were sacred, dominated by tailgate-style breakfasts, jerseys, and replays of historic games I had memorized like poetry. I spoke in stats, recited lineages of greats, and did my best to pass down the fandom that defined my own upbringing. But despite my best efforts, my daughter’s heart found its own team — and to my surprise, it wasn’t mine. It belonged to the Blue Devils.

Not just any team. The Blue Devils. Duke University’s storied basketball program, with its championship banners, Cameron Crazies, and blue-blood legacy. I’ll admit it wasn’t love at first sight — not for her, not even for me. But over time, I watched something special unfold between my daughter and a team that came to symbolize more than just a school or a scoreboard. It became about identity, resilience, and joy. It became a shared language between us, even as it rewrote the one I’d hoped she would learn.

The First Spark

It all began innocently enough. A snowy Saturday in February. My alma mater was set to play in the late slot, so we were flipping channels in the early evening when Duke tipped off against North Carolina. I barely registered it at the time. But she did.

“Who’s that?” she asked, eyes glued to the screen.

“That’s Duke,” I replied casually. “And the ones in light blue are UNC. Big rivalry.”

She didn’t say much after that, but she didn’t leave the room, either. She sat, entranced. Maybe it was the pace. Maybe it was the crowd. Maybe it was the way the ball moved like it had a mind of its own. But something in that game captivated her.

By the end of the night, she was asking questions. Who’s their coach? Do they always play like this? Do they ever lose?

I chuckled at the last one. “Oh, they lose. But not often.”

March Madness and Magic

That season, Duke made a deep run in the NCAA Tournament. My daughter, only 10 at the time, filled out a bracket for the first time — and, of course, picked Duke to win it all. Her school held a bracket challenge, and to everyone’s shock, she won.

She wore her victory like a badge of honor, but what mattered more than bragging rights was that her connection to Duke deepened. I found her researching player bios, reading about Mike Krzyzewski, and drawing their mascot in the margins of her notebooks.

In our house, she started requesting to watch games even when I was busy. She cheered with passion. She critiqued with insight. And yes — she cried when they lost in the Elite Eight.

A Father’s Hesitation

I wish I could say I embraced it immediately, but I didn’t. I felt like I’d lost a battle. This wasn’t the path I’d envisioned. I’d pictured matching hats, shared chants, and a generational bond over my team. Instead, she’d gone rogue — chosen Duke, of all teams, one of the most polarizing in all of college basketball.

They were winners, sure, but they were also villains in the eyes of many. Too successful. Too confident. Too… Duke.

But as I watched her fandom grow, something shifted in me. I started seeing Duke through her eyes — not as a threat to my traditions, but as the birth of her own.

Why Duke? Her Own Words

I finally asked her one day. “Why Duke?”

She thought for a moment, then answered with sincerity.

“They play like they trust each other. They move like they’re dancing. And they never give up, even when the crowd is against them. Plus… they just seem like good guys.”

It was an answer more profound than I expected. She wasn’t choosing Duke because of trophies or hype. She saw values in their play — trust, unity, persistence. Things I’d tried to teach her in life, she’d found mirrored in basketball.

From that point forward, I let go of my pride. I leaned into it. I became, if not a Duke fan, at least a supporter of her love for them.

The Road to Cameron

The ultimate test came the following season. For her 12th birthday, I surprised her with a trip to Durham, North Carolina. Two tickets to see Duke play live at Cameron Indoor Stadium. The expression on her face when she opened the envelope was one I’ll never forget. Pure, stunned joy.

We made the pilgrimage together. Blue paint. Matching shirts. A pregame dinner where she rattled off stats like a seasoned analyst. As we walked toward the arena, I could feel her energy buzz with anticipation.

Cameron did not disappoint. It was loud. It was electric. It was intimate in a way most big-time venues aren’t. Every play felt personal. Every cheer was a wall of sound. And my daughter? She was in heaven.

During a timeout, I looked over and saw her eyes glistening. “Are you okay?” I asked.

“I’ve never been happier,” she whispered.

A New Tradition

That trip started a new tradition for us. Each year, we try to catch at least one Duke game — sometimes on the road, sometimes back in Durham. We’ve watched them win big, lose heartbreakers, and rally from behind. And every time, I see the same sparkle in her eyes.

It’s no longer about my team or her team. It’s about our experience.

We analyze games together now. She tells me about recruits, NIL deals, coaching strategies. She knows the difference between a 2-3 zone and a pack-line defense. I’ve watched her become not just a fan but a student of the game — all because of the Blue Devils.

Lessons Learned from the Blue and White

It’s funny how sports teach us things we didn’t even know we needed to learn. For my daughter, Duke became a gateway to confidence and connection. She’s found her voice — not just in talking basketball, but in defending her opinions, explaining her logic, and believing in her choices.

She’s learned loyalty, too. Through injuries, upsets, and rebuilding seasons, she’s stuck by her team. She’s seen how greatness requires patience. How success doesn’t happen in a vacuum. How leadership evolves.

I’ve learned, too. I’ve learned that fandom isn’t inherited — it’s discovered. That letting go of my expectations created space for something far more meaningful. And that sometimes, the best thing a parent can do is step back and cheer from the sidelines.

From Scheyer to Shire

One of the most fascinating things to witness has been her transition from the Coach K era to the Jon Scheyer era. She was nervous, of course. Coach K had been the face of Duke for decades. His retirement felt like the end of an era — and it was.

But she gave Scheyer a chance. And now, two seasons in, she defends him like a seasoned pundit.

“He’s growing,” she says. “He listens to his players. He recruits differently. And he’s not trying to be Coach K — he’s trying to be the best version of himself.”

Again, her insights surprise me. She’s learning about leadership through this team. About transition. About authenticity.

Beyond the Game

In many ways, the Blue Devils have become more than just a basketball team to her. They’ve become a model. A metaphor. A symbol of perseverance, change, and community.

She joined her school’s basketball team this year — not to be the next Caitlin Clark or Paige Bueckers, but just to be part of something. She’s a pass-first point guard, a tireless defender, and a positive voice on the bench. She credits Duke for her love of the game. She even wears a small blue wristband to practice, a quiet tribute to her heroes.

And I, the once-stubborn fan of a different team, find myself cheering right alongside her.

A Fan Reborn

The team that won my daughter over didn’t just capture her heart. They opened mine.

Duke may not be my team in the traditional sense, but they are now our team in spirit. Through them, I’ve seen my daughter grow, blossom, and find a passion that’s all her own. I’ve seen her confidence rise with each season, her knowledge deepen with each game, and her voice emerge through every win and loss.

She may never wear the colors of my alma mater, but I wouldn’t change a thing. The Blue Devils gave her joy. They gave her inspiration. They gave us a new way to connect.

So now, when March rolls around, we sit side by side — bracket sheets in hand, snacks on the table, and hearts racing with every possession. And if Duke wins? My daughter jumps, dances, and beams with pride. If they lose? She shrugs, smiles, and says, “We’ll get ‘em next year.”

And no matter the outcome, I look at her and think — the Blue Devils didn’t just win her over. In a way, they won me over too.