I am an unapologetic and unabashed fan of Roy Williams, the basketball coach at the University of North Carolina for 18 years. The fact that he resurrected a floundering program, pumping blue back into its veins, and led the Tar Heels to a 485-163 record and three national championships are large and obvious reasons why.

But I have always been a fan of Roy Williams, the human being, as well. Why was in full bloom on Tuesday, when Williams spoke on his own dime to an overflow crowd of 148 at the annual Boy Scouts banquet at First Presbyterian Church in Lumberton, helping to raise $81,000 that will be used to create badly needed leaders for tomorrow.

I had the honor of hosting a table, and putting fannies in the seats brought the same challenges as selling lemonade on the corner of Elm Street on a muggy mid-August day.

I also had no intent on using this space to write about Williams and that banquet, knowing that many of you had zero interest in hearing me slobber on about Ol’ Roy, so I am working without notes. But my mind was changed about halfway through his presentation when a buddy at my table, one of a few N.C. State fans who turned out – and they had at least 38 reasons not to – tapped me on the shoulder and encouraged me to do so.

Williams’ message was in no way provocative, and perhaps even cliche, but what he said cannot be said enough, especially in Robeson County, where so many of our young people are abandoned at an early age on a path to nowhere with very few exits.

Before Williams delivered his message, however, he stood smiling a few feet from the door, greeting each person as they walked in and providing an opportunity for a photograph and an autograph. Seldom have I seen a person more comfortable in their own skin.

Williams’ message was simple: He shared that the best way to add meaning to your own life is to lift up another’s, especially that of a young person in need of a mentor and a restorative dose of self-esteem.

But it was the delivery that seduced and unified a crowd of varied allegiances.

Williams, without looking at a note or burning a timeout, spun yarn after yarn, doing so in his folksy, self-deprecating manner, stacking anecdotes to make the point and entertain the crowd.

Williams spoke of his childhood and an alcoholic father who was never around, a doting mother who insisted he get educated, his favorite teacher who was a stern disciplinarian, his high school basketball coach who made him believe in himself for the first time, and his adulation of Dean Smith, all the while emphasizing the importance not only of relationships, but the need to continually nourish them.

He evoked laughter when he said wife Wanda was not into buying clothes and jewelry, but preferred houses, that playing golf with Michael Jordan was “no big deal,” that his inability to shoot his age was bugging him and that he was close recently until “something went wrong” on No. 18.

He poked fun at his evil twin, the Rev. David Ruth, the pastor of First Presbyterian who as a Duke fan is in need of salvation.

He detoured slightly to acknowledge that except for Lumberton and Robeson County, his life’s script might not have included 903 wins, national championships, the hall of fame and fortune.

He explained, saying that while working as a full-time assistant for Coach Smith in the late 1970s, he earned a part-time salary of about $2,700 a year. In order to stay the course, he had to sell calendars across the state and drove more than 500 miles on 31 Sundays during the year delivering tapes of the Dean Smith and Dick Crum shows.

He specifically mentioned the support he received from the late Bob Osterneck and John Barker as well as Bob Caton, seated a few feet away, all of whom he could count on to buy calendars so he could chase his dream of coaching.

What he mentioned hardly at all was coaching the Tar Heels in basketball.

There have been three prevailing criticisms of Williams over the years, two that primarily came from UNC fans.

Roy banked too many timeouts.

He didn’t play zone.

And that Roy Williams’ persona was too good to be true, that he was a phony.

Phony? Baloney.

Those who were there on Tuesday know what they saw and heard was the real deal.