SMITH: Scotland has ignited my love for rugby

In high school, I had a dumb boyfriend. No, I take that statement back. He wasn’t so much dumb as he was singularly obsessed with football. In my self-consumed 15-year-old mind, this obviously translated to the fact that he did not care for me at all and that I was doomed to die alone. After all, who would opt to throw a stupid ball around with other boys when you could be spending time with such a fantastic individual like me?

I thought I could like football. Tailgates seemed fun. I thought I’d give it a few years and perhaps revisit the sport.

Like any good New Englander, I recognized the supreme reign of Tom Brady, but did so based on his affiliation with his wife, Gisele Bündchen, more than anything else. The New England Patriots did not have any sort of gravitational pull on me, nor did the sport grow to become anything more than a vague social activity to which I was occasionally dragged to. Though I’ve attempted to cultivate some sort of respect for the sport, I would say that is where my acknowledgement ends. It just isn’t that exciting for me.

However, being abroad and adventurous, I thought I’d give a new sport a chance.

Last week, a group of study abroad friends here presented the possibility of attending a rugby match, held between the University of St. Andrews and our rival Scottish school, the University of Edinburgh.

Now, I should clarify that while I hate the sport of football, I do enjoy the social activities surrounding it. So, when faced with the opportunity of getting to know my little circle of study abroad allies better, I took it.

Walking to the pitch (not the field), I felt very collegiate. My first observation was how nicely dressed the students in attendance were — smart jackets, coordinated scarves and even dress shoes. I’m used to face paint, obnoxious colors and a smuggled vuvuzela or two. A posh change. I approved.

Once the match began, the excitement seemed endless. Unlike football, which seemed to pause at every moment, with a whistle and a flurry of flag-throwing, rugby was an endless eruption of screams and cheers, then nervous waiting and more screams and cheers until the ball went out of play. For the first time, while watching sports, I was engaged.

It didn’t hurt that we were standing next to a group of very rowdy and very intoxicated students supporting the opposite club. The more rambunctious their cheers grew, the more we felt compelled to match their excitement. When either side scored, celebrations would erupt, beer would be sprayed and everyone was on their feet. No offense to Boston University’s own Dog Pound, but this student section did not mess around.

Beyond the obvious bystander experience, I actually enjoyed watching the brutish yet contradictorily graceful sport. Athletes are flung in the air, grasping for a ball that hurdles overhead, then dropped to the ground and promptly tackled. Unlike football, which can be seen as predictable, there is no telling where the ball will go next. It forces you to watch and remain engaged.

Beyond the sport itself, I found a sense of camaraderie whilst cheering on my adopted little school. It was a comforting, if not new, experience that I was embracing wholeheartedly.

This last Saturday, following my newfound hobby, two of my fellow study abroad friends, one Dutch and one Kiwi, invited me to watch Scotland’s national rugby team play from the pub. I jumped on the idea, then sort of laughed at myself. If two friends from home had asked if I’d like to watch the New York Giants play, I don’t think I would have even responded to the request.

Even if my relationship with Scottish rugby is not extremely long-lived, at least I know that I still hate football.