"The referee's a wanker, the referee's a wanker!"
Leave it to British soccer fans to come up with arguably the best cheer I have ever heard at a sporting event. It's loud, it's direct, and the word wanker, when screamed by 50,000 Brits, is extremely funny.
By sheer luck and modern technology, my friend managed to get two tickets online to last Wednesday's sold-out soccer match between Sunderland and Manchester United. Host Sunderland was in third place in the league, ten points behind leading Man U, so this was going to be, as the Sunderland website called it, one of the biggest games in the franchise's history.
We had heard stories about British soccer hooligans and knew our chances of dying at the match were higher than at, say, the ballet. In fact, there used to be a rule banning English football fans from travelling to other countries to watch games because of the destruction they laid on the foreign streets and people.
I knew Manchester's team color was red, so I figured that by donning my usual jeans and a blue shirt, I would fit in.
Wrong.
By dressing in normal clothes, I stuck out like a blue thumb. Turns out, if you're not wearing something to support your club you may as well not show up to the game. We learned all this sitting in the McDonalds near the stadium, where every member of every party that entered the fine hamburger establishment was wearing Sunderland apparel. I was amazed at how many women and children were wearing the same white and red striped jerseys as their husbands and fathers.
And guess what Sunderland's color is? That's right, also red.
I guess there are very few wardrobe problems that 37 dollars can't solve, and soon I was adorned in my very own Sunderland jersey.
Sunderland's stadium - officially called the Stadium of Light, though a fan on our train replaced Light with Shite - is one of the nicest and newest in England. When we arrived at the train station, we could see the lights from the stadium but didn't know exactly where it was. Luckily for us, everyone in town was heading to the stadium, and we were practically dragged with the rest of the walkers. It would have been harder to find if we had a map.
Once at the stadium, I began to read a bit about Manchester United. They are by far the most popular team in the world, and probably the least so in England. They have won their league six out of the past eight years and are almost guaranteed to win it again this year.
About nine of their players play for various national teams, plus midfielder David Beckham is married to Posh Spice, which has to be worth something. They're so good, the manager was knighted by the Queen.
They buy the best and highest paid players from around the world. In fact, all they need are long pants and pinstripes and you could call them the New York Yankees.
As we were waiting for kickoff, it didn't feel any different from an American sporting event. We paid 22 dollars for the tickets and were sitting two rows from the top. We had spent way too much money on concessions and I was still wiping the ketchup off my face from the McDonald's.
But then the singing started.
Out of nowhere, 50,000 people simultaneously struck into a song whose lyrics were so indistinguishable it sounded something like "Ha thra mu Sunlan! Sunlan!" When the players ran on the field, they were met with a deafening standing ovation. The only time a rich businessman in his NBA courtside seats stands up is if his ten-dollar Michelob spills.
The details of the game aren't that important, though I was struck by how much talent and stamina soccer players have. There were a few things I noticed at the match, though, that would never have taken place in America. For one, once play starts people's eyes are glued to the field. They don't have fireworks on the scoreboard or cheerleaders throwing out free T-shirts as diversionary tactics like in the States. I could have pulled an automatic weapon and no one would have noticed.
Also, there were two people who ran on the field, and got almost no reaction from security. The first man calmly walked onto the pitch in the direction of the wanker, who called himself the referee. In America, there would be seventeen cops running after him like he were Barry Sanders. But here, two Sunderland players calmly talked him out of it, and he returned to the stands. Later in the game, a lady wearing nothing but boots and British flag underwear ran on the field, and stayed there for about three minutes. She talked to a few players, shook her British flag a little bit, and after the crowd was fully amused, one security guard covered her up with his jacket and escorted her off.
But at the end of the game, which Sunderland lost 1-0, the 50,000 fans gave another standing ovation, just as loud as the first one, to their team that had battled hard. What I liked the most was that the players lingered on the field and gave us a round of applause for our support. It felt good to know that they acknowledged we were out there, shelling out 37 dollars for their jerseys. It was amazing how polite and professional soccer crowds could be - that is when they're not screaming at the refs, fighting with opposing crowds, or stabbing one another (yes, it still happens).
I wouldn't say I fell in love with soccer, but I now have a great appreciation for the game, which should suit me well next summer, when soccer's all we have to watch because Major League Baseball's on strike, and we don't get to chant "the ump's a wanker."
