Hark the Sound of Basketball (and Rugby) Season

I know for some of you out there, it's still football season (hi Dad!). But this Carolina girl has already moved on to basketball. The Tar Heels played (and won) their first game on Monday night -- okay, so it was only Florida International, but it still feels good to know the blue and white are back on the court.

In honor of the start of my favorite sports season, I'll share one of the first pieces I wrote for my magazine course while I was studying in Cardiff. We were assigned to cover the local reaction to the start of the Rugby World Cup, hosted in Cardiff that year. Given that I knew absolutely nothing about rugby, I had to take a different approach than traditional sports reporting.

In Chapel Hill, North Carolina, we celebrate March Madness, a month devoted to the great sport of college basketball. As college teams from across the United States compete for the NCAA title, Carolina fans flock to arenas and television sets, decorating their bodies, their homes, their cars, even their pets in support of the Tar Heels.

The enthusiasm reaches a fever pitch during the first weekend in April, when the last teams standing compete the The Final Four. If the Tar Heels have survived from the original field, every bar on Franklin Street, Chapel Hill's main street, welcomes a standing-room-only crowd of blue face paint and Carolina cheers.

In Cardiff, Wales, they celebrate the World Rugby Cup. And althought it's quite some distance across the proverbial pond, the enthusiasm of openting day, as Wales hosted Argentina, felt just like home for this Tar Heel alum.

On Friday, 1 October 1999, I was amazed to see the usually drab, grey Colum Road awash in a vibrant shade of red. Bright red rugby jerseys boasting the WRU [Welsh Rugby Union] logo had replaced the typical full-black European ensemble. Cabs flew Welsh flags from their antennae. Even the bank clerk at Barclay's sported a temporary face tattoo in support of her team. The trains passed by, filled to capacity with more red jerseys to spill into the city. Students wearing Welsh flags as sarongs cheered in the streets. And there were still six hours until kick-off.

By the time the opening ceremony began, every pub in the City Centre fortunate enough to possess even one television was bursting with rugby enthusiasts. The pub crowds joined with fans inside the newly built 72,500-seat Millennium Stadium singing anthems and folk songs, cheering for celebrities and waving their inflated daffodils and red-and-green scarves.

When Welsh performer Max Boyce took the stage, even the rowdy crowd at O'Neill's Pub hushed each other to hear the original verses in his song, then erupted with the familiar refrain in his obvious crowd-pleaser.

The volume of enthusiasm only increased when the players took the field. The crowd around me began chanting, "Wa-les! Wa-les!" But another hush came over the group at the sounds of the Welsh anthem, a patriotic tear trickling down the televised face of one of them team members.

Although it seemed impossible, the start of the game brought even louder and rowdier cheers, But as the game progressed, not all of the cheers were friendly. At the sight of an injured Argentinian player on the field, one pub fan shouted, "Let 'im die!"

As the WRU fought for their 23-18 win and their ninth-straight victory, the cans at O'Neill's never stopped their energetic support of "Henry's Army." And although I understood little of the game of rugby, I did understand the sense of pride felt by the crowds there and throughout the city of Cardiff.

The face painted and jester hats, the radio station ticket-giveaway contests and the closed-off city streets are all symbols of something that every Chapel Hill fan recognises: a true love and loyalty for a sporting team that serves to unite the community. Whether young or old, male or female, city professional or country worker, everyone who cheered for the WRU on Friday enjoyed equal status: victor.

Cardiff: First Week

I was hoping to have another Cardiff post for you by now, but two things have slowed me down:

1. My journal entries are fascinating. To me. But to you, maybe not so much. I'm reliving moments I had long forgotten, but not sure how much is worth sharing. Culling through for good stories to share, but I keep getting lost in the flood of memories.

2. My articles and e-pistles home are all trapped on the hard drive of my old laptop. It was cutting edge when I took it to Cardiff, but now I can't get it to access the internet and it won't read my new flash drives. Hopefully my IT department (aka, my husband) will remedy that problem soon.

In the meantime, here are a few choice lines from my journal from the first week overseas:

• "Tonight I am courage on Xanax." [It had been prescribed before I left to help manage my extreme anxiety.]
  
  
• "Today one of the old ladies in the International Office told me I have a very British face. I hope that's a compliment."
  
  
• "Later that same day, an Indian student told me I look like a slimmer version of Gillian Anderson [I wish!]. Then a Japanese girl told me I look like an American. Do I say 'thank you'?"
  
  
• "Heard a radio ad today for a used car lot. Just didn't have the same effect as used-car dealers in the U.S. With a British accent, the "200 cars that MUST SELL NOW" sounds strangely polite and formal."

The rest of the journal entries from those early days are consumed with pitiful homesickness and tedious logistics as I tried desperately to get settled. Hope to have a better post for you soon...

Image from Fused Film.

Floyd, Fear and Flying Far

Ten years ago tomorrow, I boarded a plane at the Greensboro airport en route to Cardiff, Wales.

I was terrified. I don't like to fly under the best of circumstances, but my connector flight to D.C. was to be the last (tiny) plane out before the airport closed due storms from Hurricane Floyd. The turbulence from bad weather alone would have been enough to tie my stomach in knots.

But my fear of going halfway around the world to live for a year -- without my family, friends or even a passing acquaintance -- meant I hadn't eaten or slept much for the few days preceding the flight, leaving me a weak, sniffling disaster with a passport and a whole lot of luggage. If not for the support of one of my dearest friends who waited with me at the D.C. airport and another BFF who made a care package to keep me entertained on the flight to London, I might not have survived the trip.

When I arrived at my flat in Cardiff the next day, alone and exhausted, I was certain I had made the biggest mistake of my life. That night, I began my first journal entry with these words:

"I am courage. At least that's what Mom said when I called her from my host Rotarian's house sobbing at 5 p.m. She said that courage isn't being unafraid; it's being afraid, but still facing your fears. So, here I am, facing them."

She was right, of course (moms usually are), although it took several weeks before I believed her. And the year, spent studying magazine journalism at Cardiff University as a Rotary Ambassadorial Scholar, was one of the best decisions I ever made.

In celebration of that decision and in thanks to my parents for helping me find the courage I needed a decade ago, I'll be posting excepts from my year abroad over the next month -- some snippets from my journals, but also copy from feature articles I wrote while I was there. Since I wasn't tech-savvy enough to be on the forefront of blogging in 1999, I'm taking this opportunity to relive the experience now -- hope you don't mind coming along on the trip.