A Letter in Honor of Jonathan's Birthday

The second time I took a boda boda - motorcycle taxis - the driver turned to me and said, "You look really scared." I was. Nevertheless, on Saturday, I hopped back on one to go to the Kampala Rugby Park. For the first time, I relaxed and really enjoyed my ride. There is no better way to see the city of Kampala than in the open air with a driver who takes you through little used side roads. Also, as long as I ask the driver to go slow and be careful, I will be safe. Over and over again, other bodas passed us - a clear sign the driver was taking my direction.

We were meeting another of Aggie's cool friends, Patrick, to watch Uganda take on Zimbabwe in rugby. This is where my blog takes a turn. Instead of writing for everyone I have a note for a particular person. . .

Dear Jerry,

Last year, you opened the most expensive stadium in the world. I haven't been. Yet, the jealously I felt toward my brother Jeffrey for having the chance to see my favorite team play in their new palace washed away at the Kampala Rugby Park - a venue less sophisticated than many of America's high school stadiums. A bar, some stands, chairs, grills and a score board controlled by person with a stick-like thing (forgot the technical word) was the extent of the physical structures needed for people to be spirited and have fun. The spectators didn't even need a clock to keep time. They kept it themselves.

In terms of the game, I had no idea what was going on. Uganda won. How? I don't really know except that somehow they scored touchdowns and extra points (terms you and I understand, but again probably not the technical terms). What went on in between teams scoring seemed chaotic with men grabbing, tackling, and shoving each other while a ball was being kicked or thrown for no apparent purpose.

The good news is that not knowing what was going on really didn't matter. I had the best time because the people at the game were having the best time. There were chants, playful arguments, high fives, horns (the annoying kind plaguing the World Cup) creatively used by Ugandans, waves, and yells at the referee ("Referee, Who is your mother?" or something like that). All of this happened between complete strangers. At the end of the game, the crowd did not rush out of the stadium as they do yours. Instead, they stayed to continue having fun. I went to games at the old, now demolished Texas Stadium, which was more complex than the Kampala Rugby Park, and the spirit was never as high.

I learned something very important on Saturday. Structure is less important than passion. Next season, I think one of the Cowboys' games should be re-located to a field with makeshift stands, score boards, and not even a 1 yard screen. I am sure there are many fields in Arlington like this. If that is too extreme, simply move your team back to its city at the Cotton Bowl for a game, make the parking and tickets cheap. I think you will find true fans who don't need a 60 yard screen to watch their team and might be able to match the spirit of Ugandan Rugby fans.

Send my regards to your favorite "bum" - Wade, and please return to my blog in the next few days for an update on Sunday - one of if not my favorite day since arriving in Kampala.

Best,

Feldman