Steven Wells, punk rocker acolyte and reconstructed sports hack for the Guardian, writes a middling piece on those middling Americans. Thankfully, it isn’t one more dirge just bitching about them Yanks and their sock-her. Wells wonders about American apathy during their Gold Cup run and claims “what really annoys the rest of the world is the American failure to realise that international sporting competition even exists.” Of course, those idiots don’t care about sock-her—even though most of them played it in some miasmic, suburban state—but, horror of horrors, they’d take the Dallas Cowboys cheerleaders over a Team USA any day. They're passionless when it comes to country, and often club. He has a point—apart from some lagered up New Yorkers, Americans are useless as fans even for their own shit sports. But, when it comes to international football, do we really mind?
Wells conjures up some encounter at a Chivas USA tailgate before their derby with the Galaxy (let’s just say the Home Depot Center isn’t quite the Azteca) and scolds a suburban Galaxy fan for winding up tequila drinking Chivenos. He seems to be saying that since Mexicans care more than you, you shouldn't piss them off... Wait, you're not pissing them off? What a typical American! I don’t really get it. I, for one, am happy that the sporting world is the last redoubt free of belligerent American nationalism. (You English are bad enough.) Then again, for some during the World Cup, militarist, cowboy Team USA already went one bridge too far against those poor, oppressed... Italians.
2 comments:
As a non-American pseudo-American, I have never ever supported America in any sports... except that match against the Italians, which I watched with a gaggle of fellow (not fellow) yanks in Berlin, surrounded by glowering gel-haired Italians who didn't take too kindly to our chants of "Marshall Plan" and "Mooo-soooo-leee-neeee". So mea culpa. American sports fans may be shit, but that's because history is on their side. Or something.
USA!USA!USA! sports are also to blame for the feeble attempts at half-time entertainment. Look, I've got 15 minutes to down a pie and a club endorsed beer. I haven't the time for Michael Ball doing a Phantom Of The Opera medley.
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