Expatriot Act

There are few things the Irish enjoy more than a decent pint or an English football team falling from grace ungracefully. Having both at once, now you’ve hit the jackpot. This month, the more worldly local sports bars—or at least Hibernian pubs with DirecTV—will provide dozens of opportunities to tickle the fancy of an Irishman.

Since 1960, Europe’s finest footballing nations have gathered to contest the European Cup. In a pre-arranged location, they do battle in front of thousands in the stadium, and millions in the sports bars. There was a time when Europeans were a bit more barbaric about their entertainment—Christian-munching lions, public head-chopping—but modern football is no less passionate as a way of settling old scores.

The English are fond of saying they invented football. Their contribution since then has not yet been matched. One hundred and fifty years after a pig’s bladder was kicked unceremoniously through the streets of the “empire,” the former colonialists are still struggling to evolve from the “kick and riot” style of the late nineteenth century.

This year’s Euro Cup host nation is Portugal. Since they are playing at home, they’ll be expected to excel. Other superpowers such as Italy, Holland, Spain, Germany, and France (the current champions—mon dieu!) will have their own parochial crosses to bear. Frosh Latvia is just happy to get an invite to the party. Russia is always strong, yet their outdated red kit could be replaced; purple would better symbolize the choking affliction that seems to manifest itself each time they reach a tournament. Likewise with the Danish and Swedish sides, which carry on the tradition of just being cannon fodder. The Greeks have discovered that looking to their past glories is not only painful to the neck muscles, but counter to world domination. Still, they will be satisfied with winning one game, then returning home to get the advertising boards together for the Olympics. Making up the numbers are Croatia, Bulgaria, the Czech Republic, and Switzerland (who qualified at Ireland’s expense and had better bring enough Toblerone for everyone to maintain their neutral status).

In the Twin Cities, the viewing ex-pat community has the opportunity to watch the drama unfold on a daily basis from June 12 until July 4. As the Emerald Isle has no representative, we Irish take up the mantle of ABE (Anyone but England) and can be counted upon to cheer raucously at each inevitable English failure on the field.

Watching a football game in an Irish pub carries with it certain responsibilities. As most games are on at midday, a wide range of work-absent excuses or long lunch meetings will have to be created. On the daily menu, a side salad will accompany the main course of Guinness pints. Dessert will be a whopping England defeat or a small serving of dyspepsia, as the case may be. The alternative to viewing the games in an Irish pub is to stay at home and pay a subscription fee to a satellite company. This, though, is comparable to watching church on TV, that is, without a congregation. Communal faith brings much more than group prayer. With Guinness on the menu, we can all sing from the same hymn sheet.

Russians, Greeks, and Spaniards can mix freely, chat courteously, and exchange pleasantries pre-match. However, when the game kicks off, all European Union alliances are tossed like a haggis at the Highland games. Patriotism reaches new heights. Defeat plumbs unprecedented lows.—John Cosgrove


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