In the spirit of study abroad, let’s get inside the head of an Englishman, which is a scary place, to be honest. Ah, here they are, priorities. Counting down: the Queen, sleep, food, drink, SEX (just teasing, we’ll save that for later) and sport.
The sport that runs in the world’s veins is football — not American, European. We generally don’t even pretend to be part of this community, and just call our sad version soccer. (Note: For the purpose of authenticity I will be calling soccer “football” so try not to get confused.)
Most Americans know English football better for its hooligans than its history, but the roots of the rivalries run deep. It is the national sport of England, and, since the founding of the English Football Association in 1863, it’s arguably the oldest in the world. The English were supposedly the first to even use the word football in the early fifteenth century.
The first footballers weren’t your born and bred Beckhams. They started kicking a ball around at the merging of the First and Second Industrial Revolutions, when the middle class and the concept of leisure rose out of harsh working and living conditions.
Take any of your best-known English clubs: Manchester United was formed in 1878 by laborers for the Lancashire and Yorkshire Railways. Arsenal came in 1886. The top division, currently known as the Premier League, disassociated itself from the Football League in the 90s to the incredible profit of these top teams. Yet, it is the spirit and intensity behind the birth of football that has kept the sport integral to the English identity.
This very night, as I write, the familiar smell of grass is in my nose, the whistle shrills in my ears and the not-so-familiar but beautiful sight of fit (translation: perfectly sculpted) professional footballers maneuvering athletically plays before my eyes (superimposed on the screen I should be focusing on instead).
My first professional football match, the Queen Park Rangers versus Burnley at Loftus Road in West London, was both a nostalgic experience (having played soccer) and a new one.
The grassy scent blended with the hunger-inducing vinegar smell of chips (fries) and the envy and thirst-inducing aroma of many pints. My “subtle” attraction to football players above all athletes was heightened rather than diminished by a defender’s cheeky response to the call of “Wanker!” from the sidelines as he threw the ball in two feet from my adoring eyes. The chants and club songs, passed down through centuries, instead of making me miss the Lynah Faithful, made me slightly embarrassed of them.
But there is no sight or sound to match the roar of a full stadium (yes, a full football stadium) leaping to its feet at the sight of the ball in the back of the net for the home team.
Some point near the half, the ball rolled to a stand still. I followed the heads turning toward the other end of the pitch. Two men had come onto the field. They seemed to be standing steadily, sober, and made no attempts to remove any articles of clothing.
They held a white banner between them, reading, “Alastair Campbell Causes Leukemia,” a statement on Campbell’s (Tony Blair’s Director of Communications and Strategy) dilemma as both the Chairman of Fundraising for Charity Leukemia Research and as a proponent of the invasion of Iraq. According to the Campaign Against Depleted Uranium, the use of these depleted munitions by the allied powers in both the Gulf War and the invasion in ’03 has caused a spike in the number of Iraqi children with leukemia. Campbell is a supporter of Burnley, believed by the protestors to be at the game. The men turned slowly in a circle as the stadium fell silent. The players stood aside as security guards escorted the men off the field, keeping a respectful distance. The game played on, with the incident not altogether forgotten.
Political platform, point of pride, catalyst for community and nationalism — here, football is more than a sport. Skip the red bus and tour guide — this was, and is, England.