There’s a specific kind of heat in the center of the calendar and the middle of North Carolina, a heat that settles in the bones of anyone who lives in the piedmont middle ground in any of a handful of southeastern states. “Singin’ hot,” some would call it; my dad often opts to rightfully identify it as “hotter than fish grease.” Either way, triple digits on the dashboard of your car give the lie to a real feel that is often seven-to-ten degrees higher in that brutal summer sun. The heat and humidity will bring the water out of you on the walk from the car to the grocery store, so imagine running sprints in it.
UNC Football: Hot Work
