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Ever since I was a kid I’ve been fascinated with stadiums – the places teams play, the venues fans call “home,” where heartbreak and triumph occur on a daily basis.
Looking back I cherish childhood memories of snacking on peanuts and Coke while watching the old Charleston Rainbows lose at the dilapidated-even-for-the-1980’s College Park. Johnson Hagood Stadium saw my Gamecock fandom solidified after watching the 1992 soccer team rout the Citadel. Vacations with my dad always included visits to stadiums. Our summer 1997 road trip through the Midwest included a Cubs game at Wrigley* and stops at Michigan and Notre Dame Stadiums. Our 1995 Gulf Coast trip saw us argue in front of the Louisiana Superdome after a convention shut us out from taking a tour.
For quite a while I’ve been most fascinated with college football stadiums, notably because it’s my favorite sport to follow. I appreciate their variance in architecture and atmosphere, whether sitting empty or roaring on gameday. I appreciate stadiums with great scenery, whether of the mountains (App State’s Kidd Brewer, UTEP’s Sun Bowl, BYU’s Lavell Edwards) or of the the city (Georgia Tech’s Bobby Dodd in Atlanta and Minnesota’s new TCF Bank Stadium in Minneapolis).
Right now I’m itching for road trips to cheer on my South Carolina Gamecocks at NC State and Alabama almost as much as I am for being at Williams-Brice Stadium on Saturdays this fall. I look forward to the hostile environment of these away games as much as I do seeing the stadiums Wolfpack and Tide fans call “home.”
Home stadiums are where a passionate part of the sports fan’s life is lived out for better and worse. Home stadiums are where life-lessons are learned (shake your opponent’s hand after the game, always give your best, the urinal rules). I’ve had my share of memories made and lessons learned at Williams-Brice over the years. Sports reflect life – the ups and downs, great comeback wins and painfully crushing defeats, the memories we embrace and the unknown moments to come.
See you in Raleigh Thursday night!
*Cubs lost 7-4 to the Giants. It was Harry Caray’s last season before passing away, Ryne Sandburg’s last before retiring for good, and the year before Sammy Sosa became a household name.
Sunday after the Storm
The image above is 20 years old. This image, of fallen plaster and standing pulpit, of proclamation and prayer, comes from Second Presbyterian Church in Charleston, South Carolina. This image, of hurt and healing, confusion and crying, brokenness and grace alone, is part of my story.
My dad stands, head bowed, in the green and yellow rugby shirt. Dr. Walter Cook, one of my mentors in the faith, stands in stole and robe to the right of the pulpit. I was just down the aisle out of picture range, close by my mother’s side.
I haven’t seen this picture in roughly 10 years, but it has been etched in my mind from the day it was printed in the Post and Courier in the wake of Hurricane Hugo’s wrath. I’ll never forget that moment: plaster still falling, prayers and tears being shared, God’s presence alive and known in a scary and confusing time and place.
20 years – a lot has changed. In that time I’ve crossed the line between innocence and adulthood, lost my mom to cancer, graduated everything from elementary school to college, worked in the church 7 years, found gifts, loved, lost, made my share of mistakes, and learned invaluable life lessons. 20 years later and I’ll never forget… To God be the glory.
