Flu KOs trip to South Africa

By Ashley Judd

Actress Ashley Judd, UK's most famous basketball fan, will write periodic columns on the Cats for the Herald-Leader during the NCAA Tournament.

I didn't go to South Africa. I'm crushed. I was felled by the flu, the nasty one that has closed whole county school systems here in Tennessee, with a totally gross sinus infection on top of it to make me even more miserable.

I could have been having tea with President Nelson Mandela, hosting a dinner with him and becoming his new best friend.

Oh, well. Things happen for a reason and I'll surrender my heart without disappointment. It's better for my health (and his, for crying out loud, he's 87 and doesn't need my flu), and I'll trust that God will find other wonderful ways to allow me to be of service, which is such an exciting new joy in my life. And, I suppose, if I were that kind of person, I could think it was all meant to be so that I can attend a certain ball game in Indianapolis on Saturday. I am available, aren't I?

Tournament time used to see me running around the country following my team with neither cares nor constraints. Nothing could keep me away from Dallas, San Jose, Minneapolis, St. Louis, St. Petersburg, San Antonio, Indianapolis, and the Meadowlands, to name just a few of the places where I've seen the Cats dance in the Madness. Then, one day in 1999, as one might say over yonder in Boyd County, I got me a husband. Oh, dear.

Now, that's a good "Oh, dear," because he's fine, he's brilliant, he's Scottish, he loves animals, he's tender-hearted and he reads more than I do. But, it's also a very-complicated "Oh, dear," because he likes to drive his race car really fast (really, really fast) on weekends. In March. And he likes for me to be there. On weekends. In March. Oh, dear.

Dario's first race of the season coincided with the last game of the regular season. His first race was in Florida. The game was in Florida. Green flag at 2 p.m. Tip-off at noon. I could hitch a ride on a private plane that was going to the game, and get back over to the track in time for the checkered flag, shew doggie, and act all relaxed walking up pit row like I'd been there for hours. Then I found out that CBS is, in fact, boss and tip-off was pushed back to 2 p.m. My mother has always tried to tell me that choices are sacred, but that kind of choice is diabolical for a girl like me. How do I choose between my Cats and my husband, for crying out loud? But time and again, I've had to choose, and time and again, I've chosen him. Over them. I know it's hard to believe, and quite painful, but true.

Our next game is yet another case in point. Technically, I could be in Indianapolis and I could fly to Phoenix for Dario's race on Sunday. But I have to think about how sick I've been. And I have to consider that I return to filming soon, during which time I will spend a minuscule amount of time at home and none at races, and that maybe it means something to him to have me there when I can be.

It's the burden of queens, isn't it? To love a sweet boy with a special, unusual career and to love a team that perennially grows special seasons. To cherish every moment on the track, proud and beaming as my husband goes about his unique business, and to cry at the start of every game in Rupp Arena. To watch a race, learning with each lap about the depth of Dario's talent, courage and grace. And to watch awkward young men come in like young thoroughbreds, frisky but barely aware of their true potential, and follow them for four years (well, most of them) as they come into their own. To celebrate good days on the track and moan over the bad, to feel elated (mmm, OK, sometimes smug) by victories and think the dynasty hangs on a single loss. All this joy, pride and all for me, all in one life.

If I don't make it on Saturday, I'll have my speaker system on Dario's bus at the track for the radio/Internet broadcast, which I am able to synchronize exactly with the television picture thanks to Tivo. I will wear my T-shirt, hold my pompon, and in spite of the terribly modern set-up, imagine I am like my Papaws listening to Cawood Ledford call the game. You see, it's not that I love my Cats any less, because, oh, love them I do; it's that I now have so much more in my life to love.

SOURCE: Kentucky.com - 03/19/05

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