The Act of Being a Fan

(Warning! Sports-related post ahead. Sonics-Fans-In-Mourning read on.)

So I got my real induction into British culture on Tuesday night - my first football (otherwise known as soccer in the US) match. I was offered a ticket to the Arsenal vs. Porto FC match in Champions League group play. (Explanation: Porto FC is a Portuguese team, and this match was being played as part of the tournament that comprises the best teams from the individual .) Arsenal plays at shiny new Emirates Stadium in Northeast London, and the place is truly massive, say, NFL stadium huge. 60,000 showed up to watch Arsenal dispatch the defending Portuguese league champs by a score of 4-0. And it was great.

We had seats that were way, way up near the top of the stadium. At any American sports venue, you'll need binoculars to even see what's happening at that height. But due to the shape of a soccer field (about as long as an NFL field including the end zones, but much wider - NFL: 120x53yds, Emirates: 114x74yds) and an intelligently constructed stadium, you can see everything, from anywhere.

What really shocked me was the atmosphere as the game went on. Soccer is played over two continuous 45-minute halves, with discretionary time added by the referees at the end of each one. The clock, once started, does not stop at all until it runs out. This completely constant action is completely absent from American sports, which all stop and start with regular frequency. Aside from the occasional rousing chant or insulting (and usually a bit salty) song aimed at the other team, and cheering in reaction to play on the field, the place is otherwise comparitively silent. I go to sports games in the US and carry on conversations and hear the call of beer men walking the aisles, and so on. There's that dull roar of conversation. None of that here - everyone, and I do mean everyone, is totally dialed in to the action on the field. (No beer men either - I didn't even see people drinking in the stands, but I think that might be because it simply isn't allowed.) The tension was palpable, despite the dominating play by the home team. (It may have also been a byproduct of the very embarrassing home loss dealt to Arsenal last Saturday.)

Oh, and everything you hear about English soccer fans having sailors' vocabularies and not being afraid to use them is completely true. (Perhaps this is why there were no traveling beverage salesmen.)

I didn't sing a whole lot during the match - my clearly American accent stuck out like a sore thumb. It would have sounded wrong to me, and everyone else around.

Watching the flow of a well-played soccer match is nothing short of exhilirating. Back and forth, closer and closer, until that gorgeously placed cross into the box gets the diving header and is sent straight past the opposing keeper and into the net. The whole place then erupts. They sing, they cheer, they have merriment. (See: Seahawks' 12th Man for inspiration.) They live and die by their team. It's not unlike being a die-hard for an American sports team, but the act of being a fan in Europe has a slightly different job description.

All in all, loads of fun. More adventures to come.