I really hate Duke.

I hate their uniforms, home and road. I hate their warm-ups. I hate the way they carry themselves, with that smugness that says, “We don’t talk trash. We dispose of it.” I hate their fans and wish they would find something more productive to do with their lives than paint their faces blue and white. And while I don’t hate their coach per se, I hate the fact that he hasn’t bit on the NBA bait yet and opened the door for the Blue Devils program to be run by the ACC equivalent of Steve Lavin.

These feelings weren’t always inside me. They have been slowly percolating over the years as Mike Krzyzewski and his henchmen have taken Duke from respected team to college basketball’s version of Time-Warner. The Dukies aren’t a scrappy bunch of athletes, they’re a board meeting on hardwood. When I want to find out how Duke is doing lately, I’m tempted to turn on Maria Bartiromo or Ron Insana.

Every year around this time, Duke becomes even more intolerable. During the regular season, they compete for attention with the likes of Kentucky, Stanford, UConn, Pittsburgh, Texas, Arizona, Cincinnati, Kansas, North Carolina and many other elite assemblages.

But then comes Selection Sunday, the unofficial day in which geeks who know nothing about basketball suddenly perk up and declare that their pick in the office pool to win the NCAA tournament is Duke. These are the kinds of living-on-the-edge daredevils who will argue that John Wooden DOES SO belong in the Hall of Fame, and that if LeBron James had played college ball, he would have excelled.

So much of my antipathy toward Duke has to do with its basketball alumni. Consider Christian Laettner for a moment. He is a poster boy for Blue Devil arrogance. Somewhere along his lineage, I believe there is a link to Simon Cowell. After basketball, I could imagine him foreclosing mortgages for a bank.

But Duke seems to put out a Laettner almost every year. Recently it’s been J.J. Redick, who like Laettner has all the coeds swooning. He’s fundamentally sound, a great shooter, former Mr. Basketball in Virginia, McDonald’s All-American, blah blah blah. Don’t they recruit any fat skinheads at that school?

And what about Elton Brand? He was considered an outlaw at Duke because he defied tradition and declared early for the NBA draft. Rather than turn into a pot-smoking referee-abuser or a total bust, Brand is one of the finest guys you’ll ever want to meet, as well as a great player. See? Even when Duke produces a delinquent member of the family, he turns out to be a credit to the university. Sometimes it just makes me want to hurl.

Carlos Boozer? Underrated coming out of Duke, now rounding into an All-Star caliber player. Shane Battier? Leading the resurgence of the Memphis Grizzlies. Mike Dunleavy? Playing well for the Golden State Warriors. Danny Ferry? Lasted longer in the NBA than anyone could have dreamed. Grant Hill? Set for life.

Duke players rarely bounce around the European bush leagues, or struggle to make a USBL roster. They either go right from Durham to the NBA, or they get a high-salaried job in a business run by a obsessive Duke alum who wants them to just sit in an office from 9 to 5 and sign autographs. Just once I would like to pull up at the Taco Bell drive-thru window and be waited on by Bobby Hurley or Cherokee Parks.

Just once I would like to pull up at the Taco Bell drive-thru window and be waited on by Bobby Hurley or Cherokee Parks.

Then there are the Cameron Crazies. They have been known to camp out for tickets to Duke home games for months at a time. This raises the question about the quality of education these kids are getting. It seems to me that if students go to class, then they would lose their places in line. That means the ones who remain, obtain tickets and attend games must be the dumbest ones on campus. This explains a lot.

When the Crazies get inside Cameron Indoor Stadium, they pride themselves on being superior hecklers. They supposedly are adept at coming up with all sorts of creative chants and stunts. But they’re really living off their reputations lately. The students haven’t come up with any new material since Jay Bilas was in uniform. Even when North Carolina comes to visit, I notice some of the Tar Heels mouthing the words to the insults along with the Duke fans. Sometimes its so dull inside Cameron these days, Dick Vitale keeps his voice down for fear of disturbing anyone.

And, of course, there is Krzyzewski. Again, I can’t go negative on Coach K. It’s like ridiculing your favorite uncle. The man exudes class and excellence. He graduates his players. He gets his pick of the nation’s top high school prospects. He dresses well. He even deals with the media without retching. He is the closest thing we have to royalty in college basketball.

But just once I would like to see him finish last in the ACC. Just once I would like to hear about a recruiting scandal under his nose — nothing serious, you understand, maybe something involving blue-and-white painted strippers running amok at a recruiting party. Just once I would like to see him throw a chair, even for just a couple of feet. Just once I would like to see him pound on the scorer’s table in anger. Just once I would like to see Coach K on the sidelines wearing a sweater,  sporting a pot belly, displaying a bald spot and nervously sucking on a towel.

Then I wouldn’t hate Duke anymore. Until then, I’m going to root against the Blue Devils, even though I have them winning it all on my tournament bracket.

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