Tag: #wrexham

Postmarked: Pure Delight

Postmarked: Pure Delight

Meg

The other day my 20 pound “guard dog” lost his mind barking at the front door – standard protocol for walkers, cars, other dogs, pretty much anything that threatens his domain (i.e. happens into his view). This time, though, there was actually a bright yellow DHL delivery van idling in the driveway – something was afoot after all! The driver was still standing on my front porch scanning the bar codes and tossing packages to the ground when I opened the door. I was stumped because I couldn’t remember having ordered anything at all recently, let alone 4 things.

“Are you sure those are for me?”

He glanced down at the packages. “Yep, your address but a different name on each package. Have a good one.” And off he went.

I gathered the packages up and brought them inside. I double checked the address labels before he pulled away. Definitely for us. The packaging was all the same gray, plastic bagging but none of the packages were exactly the same shape or size. Some were almost lumpy to the feel, others more regular square shapes inside. And DHL? I was perplexed. A real mail mystery.

I have always loved good, old-fashioned snail mail. The love affair started before email existed, of course, when writing letters by hand was the primary way to stay connected with others. Connection being my driving life force, you can maybe imagine the novels worth of letters I have written across the decades. When I lived in the north Maine woods and only went to town once per week, collecting mail from headquarters was the highlight of the trip. Besides ice cream. That was also a thrill. When my kids were away at summer camp – no tech allowed – I semi-stalked (in the nicest, most sane way) our mail carrier every day to ensure I received any incoming letters at the earliest possible moment.

Back then, the mailbox was a magical portal. You never knew what might show up – postcards, letters, junk mail, packages, absolutely nothing at all. It was all a surprise, every single day. These days, ever since I set up a stop delivery with the postal service while I was on vacation, I get daily email notifications about what’s coming my way. Needless to say, very little arrives in the mail that’s a true surprise.

Which brings me back to those packages…

Remember when I mentioned the force that is the Wrexham AFC marketing department in my prior post about the football club in North Wales featured in the show Welcome to Wrexham? Well, here’s your proof. Just in case all you international fans had forgotten us, here’s a little reminder and shot of goodwill to go with it. Totally brilliant. And a two-fer of a surprise -not only were packages arriving out of the blue, but we also had no idea what was inside. As the Brits say, it was like a lucky dip (in American, that’s a grab bag)! Hats, water bottles, coasters, pins, a stuffed animal of the dragon mascot Rex. The women all got wallets. Why? No idea. But this random gesture sparked so many good feelings. This seems like the marketing equivalent of a random act of kindness. It was this happy little thing that dropped in and brightened our day. It made us all smile and think good thoughts about the football club and the people of Wrexham, Wales. Sometimes small gestures go a very long way.

Crossroads and Goalposts…or Two Roads Converged (at the Racecourse Ground)

Crossroads and Goalposts…or Two Roads Converged (at the Racecourse Ground)

Meg

You know the Robert Frost poem The Road Not Taken, where two roads diverge in a wood and Robert Frost takes “the one less traveled by and that has made all the difference”? It’s one of my favorites. I’ve always been that person taking the road less traveled – and I am certain that those choices have indeed made the biggest differences in my life.

But, lately, I’ve been thinking less about diverging paths and more about what happens when roads converge, when parallel lines inexplicably but inevitably meet at the vanishing point, when connection happens in a place and time that seems to be almost predestined. That’s magic.

I don’t usually write about a TV show. Heck, I barely watch TV. It’s rare to find a show that everyone in the family enjoys, but sometimes a show captures your attention and your heart and doesn’t let go. For our family, that’s been the case with Welcome to Wrexham. If you haven’t watched, here’s the quick version: it’s a docuseries about the Wrexham Association Football Club (AFC) – aka soccer – in North Wales – the oldest club in Wales and third oldest in the world – that was relegated (i.e. demoted) due to poor performance season after season. They got stuck in a low level semi-professional league for almost a decade and a half. The club was bought several years ago by actors Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney, who are attempting a fairytale comeback and documenting it as they go. Kind of a real life Ted Lasso.

It’s not just about football or I would have checked out long ago, I am guessing. What makes the show special is how intrinsically linked the football club is to the community and the community to the club. Wrexham is a hard scrabble community that’s a bit down on its luck, quite like their football club. But they are a people who show up and cheer for (in their own special vitriolic way, as the case may be) their hometown team even when they continue to lose and disappoint. These are fans who live and breathe their team. They are a community that has gone through tough times economically and remain proud of and committed to their town, region, and sense of place. Wrexham is a place where people help each other out and make their own luck because nothing comes easy so they brew a cuppa tea and carry on with it.

If that sounds familiar, that’s because it is.

I grew up in Philadelphia, a city that is equal parts heart, hustle, and heartbreak. It can be tough, resilient, a little rough around the edges, gritty, and always full of character (and characters). Both Philadelphia and Wrexham are towns with deep history and beauty (as well as a touch of piss and vinegar). Both have been underestimated, overlooked and written off too many times. They also both feature crazy (okay, enthusiastic) sports fans, for whom every loss is personal. A guy I went to high school with once said that losing in sport was “the Philly man’s destiny.” Ouch – and also not entirely wrong. The history of sports heartbreak pervades the local consciousness. Still, sometimes, despite ourselves, we actually DO win, and then all hell breaks loose (in Philadelphia, the all hell breaking loose part happens win or loose).

So, yea, Welcome to Wrexham is fun and also it hit a lot of familiar notes.

If this were any other underdog sports story, though, I would have moved on by now. But Wrexham is different and this one stuck. Why? Well, props to the formidable force that is their marketing team, let’s be honest. And, also, of course, the Rob McElhenney/Philadelphia hometown connection is a blast. I get a kick out of the Philadelphia Eagles cameos and the description of the green Wrexham jerseys as “Philadelphia Eagles green.” Plus, would you believe that my neighbor in Boston grew up in Wrexham? You can’t make this stuff up. That’s a lot of roads converging. What do a Philly girl and a girl from North Wales have in common? A lot, it turns out!

The story of Wrexham AFC is not one just about sticking together and overcoming adversity no matter the circumstances, though it is those things, too. It’s about finding hope where and when you least expect it and rewriting the narrative. Welcome to Wrexham is the lens through which this journey is shared. It provides a window into life in North Wales and a proximity to a local football club that Americans don’t typically have access to. It invites viewers to feel part of a storied team that is the beating heart of a historic, resilient community. Wrexham’s magic is in building bridges and forging lasting connections, both of which are bigger and more enduring than the show. And connection, like I said before, is my driving life force.

Up the town!

Diolch (thank you!), as always, for reading.