Strange but true: I made a pilgrimage to Franklin St. and S. Columbia Sts. in Chapel Hill, NC when the men's basketball team won the NCAA championship.
Why is it a pilgrimage? I went to a "holy site," on foot, and met the throng of well-wishers that night. Like my time in every religious holy site around the world, the sense of purposefulness, hopefulness, celebration, a moment that is serendipitous and ethereal, fleeting at best, was the experience of this night. Like reaching Santiago, sitting with the masses in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, traipsing around the adobe structure at Chimayo, this was a holy night.
O.K.: it was a celebratory night.
But was it a pilgrimage of nationalistic fervor?