Awakening the Patriot Within
It’s been 20 years since I last stood in the driving rain/snow/wind/sleet in a football ground and cheered on my home team, Sheffield Wednesday. Whether due to their sorry demise or my relocation to California, I haven’t followed the team, or football at all, in years. But last week, I nudged my husband’s Stars and Stripes down to the lower flagpole holder on our front porch and hung my brand new England flag (still with the folds in it) proudly in the premier position. I will be donning my England shirt for all to see and hoping no one spots it and decides to launch into a play-by-play analysis with me. The truth is, the only England team members I could name, if pressed, are Sven-Goran Eriksson and Crouch, because he’s six foot seven and has a funny name. Oh, and Becks, of course, but you’d have to be from Mars to be unaware of him.
There’s something about the World Cup that brings out the patriotism in we Brits and somehow being 6,000 miles away from home only exacerbates that. I’m not the only one who’s caught the bug. In recent weeks, I’ve seen fabulous Mexico shirts depicting the Aztec sun god, and Brazilian yellow and green on cars, shirts and faces; my favorite Peruvian restaurant is showing all the games--in exuberant Spanish; and I get my World Cup updates and predictions from my Trinidadian friend in Canada, who is beside himself that his team got as far as they did. Interestingly enough, I’ve seen no evidence of fanatical support for the U.S. team. I’m sure this is partly due to the tepid interest in the sport in this country, and to the somewhat low odds of the U.S. coming home with the cup. And people here are, well, here. They’re immune to the surges of patriotism we transplants feel when our country is playing. We all know the fever that’s gripping our homeland now and we want somehow to be a part of it.
Two World Cups ago, I found myself in Ecuador, a country that all but closes down when their team is playing and where houses with dirt floors and a cooking fire have a small portable TV to watch the game on. There, I shuffled into the British Embassy in Quito with several dozen other ex-pats to watch the England-Romania game—the one where Romania scored in the closing minutes, thus eliminating England. There’s no need to elaborate on the new words I learned that day. It seems that no matter where in the world we find ourselves, when the home team is playing, we all remember where we’re from.
Even though the U.S. Oath of Citizenship requires a declaration to “absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty” and to “bear true faith and allegiance [to the United States],” I’m wondering: does that apply to football?
There’s something about the World Cup that brings out the patriotism in we Brits and somehow being 6,000 miles away from home only exacerbates that. I’m not the only one who’s caught the bug. In recent weeks, I’ve seen fabulous Mexico shirts depicting the Aztec sun god, and Brazilian yellow and green on cars, shirts and faces; my favorite Peruvian restaurant is showing all the games--in exuberant Spanish; and I get my World Cup updates and predictions from my Trinidadian friend in Canada, who is beside himself that his team got as far as they did. Interestingly enough, I’ve seen no evidence of fanatical support for the U.S. team. I’m sure this is partly due to the tepid interest in the sport in this country, and to the somewhat low odds of the U.S. coming home with the cup. And people here are, well, here. They’re immune to the surges of patriotism we transplants feel when our country is playing. We all know the fever that’s gripping our homeland now and we want somehow to be a part of it.
Two World Cups ago, I found myself in Ecuador, a country that all but closes down when their team is playing and where houses with dirt floors and a cooking fire have a small portable TV to watch the game on. There, I shuffled into the British Embassy in Quito with several dozen other ex-pats to watch the England-Romania game—the one where Romania scored in the closing minutes, thus eliminating England. There’s no need to elaborate on the new words I learned that day. It seems that no matter where in the world we find ourselves, when the home team is playing, we all remember where we’re from.
Even though the U.S. Oath of Citizenship requires a declaration to “absolutely and entirely renounce and abjure all allegiance and fidelity to any foreign prince, potentate, state, or sovereignty” and to “bear true faith and allegiance [to the United States],” I’m wondering: does that apply to football?
posted by Lisa at 6:19 PM
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