Confessions of a Football Fan in Training

Earlier this week I did something that I’ve never done before: I followed a live blog of a sporting event online. What’s more, I was interested in it. 

I should start by admitting that sports are not my thing. Not even a little bit. I have distinct memories of watching the NCAA basketball tournament as a kid, wondering why my dad was yelling at the athletes when they obviously couldn’t hear him through the television. I just didn’t get it. I still don’t really get it. So, naturally, I wound up dating a sports fanatic who is on a one-man quest to turn me into a football fan. And by football, I mean soccer, so keep up, fellow Americans. It really is the more logical term, let’s be honest. The 2012 UEFA European Football Championship (Euro 2012) has given him the perfect opportunity.

After learning the roster and being quizzed on all of the players (I failed fairly spectacularly, but I’m still learning), it was time to watch my first match, England versus Sweden (naturally). I made it to Murphy’s, a wonderful Irish pub in Old Town Alexandria, about twenty minutes into the first half. As I walked into the comfortable, dimly lit room, I saw a surprising number of people sitting at the bar, eyes glued to the men in shorts running around on the television screen.

It took me a while to get into the game and to get warmed up to anywhere near the level of the rather vocal English contingent surrounding me. Between the young man next to me who alternated between tearing his hair out and yelling victory cries that would have made Braveheart proud, and the older gentleman behind me who was wheezing, “C’mon, one more! One more – ah, you’re useless,” I was as much swept up in the fans as I was in the football. As I watched the people around me, all hanging onto the action thousands of miles away with bated breath, I began to wonder if it was possible to become a football fan even if you weren’t raised watching “men in shorts kicking a pig’s bladder,” as my boyfriend has so eloquently described it (I mean, how could you resist?). Maybe it was the pint I was nursing, maybe it was the atmosphere, but even as I wondered this I found myself being drawn into the game. I clapped when England scored, I held my breath whenever Ibrahimovic got too close to the goal. I was actually getting into it.

What I learned in that pub is that a huge part of the world is following what’s going on in Poland and Ukraine right now. Rosie Spinks makes a really good point on the Matador Network when she points out that football is the lingua franca of the sports world, so even non-sports fans should try to at least stay on the periphery. Need more convincing? Goal.com has some “alternative” reasons to follow the tournament.

Keeping up with what’s happening at Euro 2012 is keeping up with current events and knowing what’s going on in the world. And it can be addictive, as I found out while I was cringing (quietly) at my desk on Tuesday as BBC Sport (British coverage is delightful because the commentators do things like call the stadium “a cauldron of noise” and characterize a poor showing by saying, “England aren’t on the rack yet, but they are on the steps to the dungeon.”) informed me that John Terry had blocked yet another Ukrainian attempt to get to the goal.

Is it possible to become a football fan? I’m still not sure, but I think that I’m on my way to finding out. See you at the pub on Sunday.

Silence is Golden

“No, you ask. You can get away with anything in this country.”

Fresh from a move to the Metro D.C. area from rural New England a few weeks ago, I was enjoying playing the tourist with my boyfriend, who came to visit and to help me settle into my new surroundings. Travelling with him was both wonderful and very humbling. The thing is, he’s British – we’re talking raised on tea and cricket, has never seen a Disney movie apart from Mary Poppins, can’t pronounce “schedule” British. And his accent is like magic Stateside. Even my mother wants him to record an audiobook for her. Servers in restaurants – both men and women – lingered at our table much longer than necessary, making inane conversation just to keep him talking. Girls would give him an extra big smile whenever he said, “Cheers!” instead of a boring old “Thank you.” Guides took an interest in us and were extra friendly. 

I quickly realized that this could work to our advantage. Whenever we wanted to know about student discounts or ask a touristy question, I sent Chris in first so that he could charm the socks of the woman at the ticket counter. It was great provided I kept my mouth shut to hide my own lacklustre American accent. As long as I let Chris do the talking, doors that I didn’t even know existed were opened to us.

With five minutes to go before the 1:30 tour of the U.S. Capitol began, we could not figure out for the life of us how to navigate the line dividers blocking us from the theatre where the tour started. There was simply no entrance. After triple-checking to make sure that we weren’t missing the obvious, I sent Chris to do his thing.

“Excuse me, but where do we get in the queue for the half-one tour? There doesn’t seem to be an entrance.”

The docent didn’t respond for several seconds, but just stared at Chris, eyebrows raised slightly. I began to worry that he was going to chide us for being complete idiots and point out the very clear entry mere feet from where we were standing. I glanced nervously at Chris.

But then: “Half-one! That’s the best anyone’s ever said that! Did you hear that?” He turned to the docent next to him, positively beaming. “You know what? That was so good that you can just get right into the front of this line here!”

A bit taken aback, we stepped to the front of the queue. The two docents fawned over Chris, asking him where he was from, how he liked the States, the usual. This was familiar territory. Then, one of them turned to me and eagerly asked the fatal question: “So, are you from England, too?”

Sigh. Curse you, inability to fake an accent. “No, I’m from Connecticut.”

Wait for it... A crestfallen, “Oh” was all that ever greeted this statement. Conversation killer extraordinaire. They both quickly lost interest and turned away, disappointed that I was just another American.

Yep. Cheers.

On the Road Again! (kind of)

It's been exactly one year and one week since I left Norwich, England, at the end of my year studying abroad. To celebrate, I'm starting my blog up again. I've learned a lot over the past year - about writing, relationships, the world, time differences, myself, and travelling. Now, fresh out of college with a bit more experience and perspective under my belt than when I started this blog (key phrase there being 'a bit'), I'm taking on Washington, D.C., my new home. That's right, I'm learning how to get a farecard from the ticket machine in the Metro station, wondering who on earth named "Foggy Bottom," and taking in a few monuments, museums, and some free music (trying desperately for the alliteration there) along the way. Ready to join me for more misadventures?