EclectEcon

Finally, last Saturday, I found what I was looking for: a rowdy pub to watch football/soccer in, a pub called "The Corn Exchange" in Hailsham, not far from the castle where I am teaching this summer. It looks like an upper end type of pub from the front (not the sort of place I was looking for that afternoon to watch the FA Cup, a soccer game between Liverpool and West Ham United).

The minute I walked in, though, some "gentlemen" (young rowdies), having a pint or two while sitting in the foyer, looked at my shirt from the Eastbourne Boroughs (a football/soccer team from a rival town), made rude noises, told me to leave, etc. (all with a bit of a smile and in good sport).

I knew I had found the place I was looking for.

I went up to them and explained, using as Canadian an accent as I could, that I had just arrived in England 3 weeks ago and that I had bought the shirt at an Eastbourne game, the very first game I had ever been to in England. They sort of groused, again good naturedly.

Knowing full well that there are inter-town rivalries, I asked, "Is there a problem, wearing this shirt in Hailsham?" To which they snorted in derision, and one of them said, "Well, some of the lads here take their football pretty seriously."

To which I asked, "I don't quite understand. Isn't Eastbourne in a slightly higher division than Hailsham?" Which of course I understood full well was a dig at Hailsham, since Eastbourne's team had been promoted to the next higher division only last year or the year before, and which drew forth more rude sounds and comments.

I followed up, quite innocent sounding, with, "Do you think it will be safe for me to watch the game here this afternoon?" One said "Sure, if you take that shirt off!"

So I went into the bar part of the pub, in the back, where the big tv is, still wearing the shirt, at about 1:30 (kick-off wasn't until 3pm). The only people in there then were the old regulars who hang out in the pub during the day. I snagged a seat up near the wide-screen plasma television hanging on the wall, and settled in with a pint of Strongbow cider, which has definitely become my beverage of choice these days, probably surpassing Diet Dr. Pepper.

By about 2:30, the rowdies and others started drifting in, and the place was pretty lively. When West Ham United scored their first goal (put in the net by accident by a Liverpool defender!), I realized that about 2/3 or more of the folks there were West Ham fans.... But I had on a red shirt (the colour for Liverpool), so I had sort of decided I'd be a Liverpool fan. I remained very quiet and very circumspect.

Then West Ham scored another goal on a shot and rebound that the goalie for Liverpool should have stopped. And the West Ham fans all went absolutely crazy, since West Ham was a serious underdog for the match.

When Liverpool finally scored their first goal, a smaller but very loud bunch of fans started cheering wildly, and this bunch included several very large young men, so I felt safe cheering for Liverpool. It turned out that the rowdies who greeted me initially were pretty evenly split in their loyalties, and so I figured it would have been safe to cheer for either (or neither?) team in this environment.

As the game progressed, the cheering became more boisterous on both sides (all pretty good-natured), with singing and hooting, outrageous calls of "hand ball", etc.

As a fringe, wannabe rowdy, I loved it.

The song that the Liverpool fans sang was pretty easy to learn. It was to the trio (the last main section) of Sousa's Stars and Stripes Forever. As kids we used to sing

"Be kind to your web-footed friends,
for a duck may be somebody's mother..."

Maybe that rings a bell and lets you know the tune. Well, the folks cheering for Liverpool sang these words to that tune:

Liverpool, Liverpool, Liverpoooool.
Liverpool, Liverpool, Liverpoooo-oool.

etc. you get the idea. Really hard to learn! 8-)

By the end of regulation play, the game was tied. That called for more drinking to prepare for a 30-minute overtime.

It was still tied after the overtime period, which meant even more drinking as the teams prepared for a shoot-out (alternate turns taking penalty kicks). In the end, Liverpool won, to the great delight of those of us cheering for them. Also, by then I'd met and chatted with a few of the people sitting around me, and we had a great time drinking and swapping stories.

I think I told them I'd meet them there on Wednesday evening for the Arsenal and Barcelona match. I can't recall for sure.

It was exactly the atmosphere I had hoped for. Loud. Rowdy, Boisterous, yet good-natured.

Please note that the distinction between being a football rowdy and being a football hooligan is quite important.