Pro Patria

If you ever want to feel a fierce pride for the place of your birth, move away. Some say that distance makes the heart grow fonder, and I would agree with that statement but take it even further. I would venture to say that distance makes the heart a fierce and proud lion.

I live very far away from my birth land right now so I have experienced this phenomenon personally. I have also, however, lived in a state bordering my home state, and I experienced the same feelings there. It's a feeling that's somewhat difficult to describe. During my formative years in Wisconsin, I appreciated the quirks and unique traits that defined the state but I never felt attached to them in the way I did after I moved away. Living in Illinois, surrounded by new quirks and traditions, I began to latch onto my cheesehead roots. And "latch" may be too weak of a word. It was more like a vice grip, holding on for dear life. Suddenly, cheese and brats became way cooler than they ever were before. The Brewers and the Packers rocketed into sports heaven (I purposefully leave out the Bucks because they are one thing about Wisconsin not worth cheering for), and the Wisconsin accent became almost endearing.

Not too long ago, a series of advertisements championed the superior quality of California dairy, and this was the first time I experienced the anger associated with wounded state pride. By this time, I was living in North Carolina and about five years removed from Wisconsin, but the ads stung stronger than if I had actually still been a resident of Wisconsin. I realized then that moving away from Wisconsin had developed in me a pride that went beyond the fondness of distance. The longer I lived away from my birth state, the more I adamantly defended its traditions and quirks and expected other people to respect and appreciate them too. In fact, I might even try to fight you if you slander my dear old cheeseheads. At least, that's how I felt about the entire state of California.

As I get ready to move across states again, I believe that my pride will only grow stronger. Although I may not live in Wisconsin again, I will always associate myself in part with its unique qualities. Recently, I even considered buying myself a cheesehead. And that was something I swore I'd never do when I lived there!

Virtual Fanatic

The Dean Smith Center was filled with shouts and cheers. The band and cheerleaders led a raucous chant of "Tar-Heels" and "U-N-C." A sea of powder blue washed over the seats in anticipation of tip-off. Then the moment finally came and the game kicked into high gear. The arena was so loud you couldn't even hear the announcer. But something was missing. There were no players or coaches. There wasn't even a basketball court, just a large screen hanging from the ceiling broadcasting the Final Four game in San Antonio.

This was our last and only chance to experience the famous "Dean Dome," home of the North Carolina Tar Heels. As a part-time student the past couple years, I haven't had the fortune of being a part of the ticket lottery, so I sadly never made it to a UNC basketball game. When we found out that last night's game would be broadcast at the Dean Dome, we jumped at the chance to at least sit inside. The experience was like none I have ever had before.

If I had closed my eyes, it would have been as if I was actually at a real basketball game. The pep band was playing, the cheerleaders were cheering, and fans were screaming and clapping all around us. At first I was a little cynical about the whole experience. Why should I get so excited and cheer like there were real players when none of us had any impact on the game. It didn't take long, however, to get caught up in the spirit and start screaming along with everyone. They couldn't hear us in San Antonio, but who cared?

Unfortunately, that spirit was blasted to pieces in the first five minutes. What had started as jubilant excitement quickly free-fell to angry shouts and then to complete silence. All around the arena, people were slouched back or holding their head in their hands. It was turning into a pretty miserable experience. Fortunately, the Heels weren't going down without a fight, and at the start of the second half, we were on our feet and yelling once again. And it only got louder. As the Heels whittled Kansas' lead to four, the Dean Dome started to shake in its foundations. Everyone was out of their seats, jumping, screaming, clapping and chanting like an actual game. It didn't matter that the game was on TV, we were sure that we were going to change the course of the game while hundreds of miles away.

Despite our concerted efforts, the game ended very unfortunately, and once again the crowd whimpered like a wounded animal. People all around us were crying and cursing and just looking generally neglected. We all trudged back to our cars and made the miserable trek home, contemplating every possible "if only" situation. And I truly believe that if all of us crazy fans at the Dean Dome had been there, the game would have turned out differently.

I will never forget my experience at the famous Dean Dome, even though no real players set foot on the court. As far as I'm concerned, this experience was as close as I'll ever get to watching a real UNC basketball game, and if they had won, it would have been perfect.