I’m not new to rivalry. Born in Boston, my hate for the New York Yankees is hereditary. Raised in Charlotte, I couldn’t wear a blue shirt without assuming basketball allegiance to either Duke (dark) or Carolina (light). At Guilford I’ve experienced our version of the classic cross-town football feud with the annually lackluster “Soup Bowl” against Greensboro College. And with the emerging Guilford-Elon contention for D3 club rugby dominance I guess I’ve even helped birth a rivalry.

Perhaps more importantly, last year I cast my very first presidential ballot in one of the most historic additions to American bipartisanism. The nature of rivalry is as natural to me as a burger and fries.

In Europe in late February I’ve landed myself in prime position for the annual Six Nations Rugby Tournament, in which all-star sides from England, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, France, and Italy compete for Northern Hemisphere domination in the sport. Saturday was the ultimate contest as Ireland hosted England at Dublin’s famous Croke Park.

Every year is important in this historic rivalry, but 2009 has afforded Ireland’s first solid chance at completing the rare Grand Slam – by beating every team in the tournament – since their last in 1961. Pregame tensions reached the boiling point over the last two weeks of preparation and the late disclosure of a key line-up change for England at flyhalf (like the quarterback in rugby, see David McKindley-Ward) had Irish fans salivating over the prospect of a home field blow out.

Thrown off by the awkward early evening game time (17:30?), I was lucky to find an open seat three minutes after kickoff in front of the big-screen projection in a pub called The Glimmerman. The place was packed with pint-drinking Irish supporters and one brave lady cheering for England (much to the chagrin of her green-clad husband). I proudly donned my green Irish wool scarf for the occasion and impressed the few who would listen with my knowledge of Ireland’s backline.

From the first whistle Ireland dominated the game, keeping possession in English territory for most of the first half. But missed penalties by Ronan O’Gara’s (have a guess at whose side he plays for) uncharacteristically unsure right foot kept England within reach.

With each passing minute play got rougher and with each big hit a player or two could be seen taking his time to collect the pieces of himself now strewn about the pitch (field). Brian O’Driscoll, Ireland’s captain and star center, took a couple of gruesome blows to the head that left him reeling for minutes, to which The Glimmerman erupted with a chorus of inaudible shouts followed by the “Oh come off it lads, that was clean” from the English woman then followed by a wave of obscenities in response and the heavy sigh of the green-clad husband.

But the man-of-the-match, O’Driscoll, refused to take a sub each time and would eventually score the only Irish try (think touchdown) and the game’s deciding points on an audacious drop-goal (three points, kind of like a field goal but in open play) in the second half. England ended up with a couple of yellow cards (they deserved one more) that proved costly and their kick-and-chase try in the 79th minute of play was not enough to top Ireland at home, the final score 14-13.

The bloody contest Saturday at Croke Park evoked the passion and pride resulting from a thousand years of rivalry between the two nations. On the same ground where swords were once drawn, wars won and lost, the Irish rugby team, with the audible support of an entire nation, prevailed after 80 minutes of fight; another battle between Ireland and England to go down in history, the rivalry even further cemented. The parties in Dublin that night, starting in the pubs and ending in the streets, were in celebration of much more than a single rugby match.

I thought I knew rivalry before that game, but compared to this even the oldest of American feuds falls embarrassingly short. I hate the Yankees, but I don’t think they ever oppressed my Red Sox for hundreds of years, millions of people weren’t killed in the name of the Tarheels, and even the mightiest of Soup Bowl’s can’t really compare with the Irish War of Independence.

In Dublin they know rivalry, and it’s ok to tear up in the pub after your country takes home a one-point win to stay undefeated in the Six Nations Tournament.

Here fries are called ‘chips’ and they’re served with fish, enjoy your burger.