Nationalistic sports events always reminds me of my favourite bit of “Brave New World.” During the orgy, which was the fashion of the time, Bernard chants along in lip service. He wants to be lost and completely devoted the moment but finds himself on the outside, pretending to be as entranced as everyone else. This is how I’ve always felt about sports. Other than the fact that I don’t follow any, when events like the World Cup arise, I’m always at a loss for who to cheer for.
I don’t want to cheer for China and I’m not even sure Canada has a team. And if they do they never qualify. While everyone else in Toronto is driving up and down Bloor Street waving their ancestral flags, I look on in bemusement. During the last World Cup I debated supporting either England or Sweden. Sure, colonial ties to England is reason enough (though not a good one) to root for them, but they have such a strong enough fanbase in Toronto, that they’re never underdogs. And Sweden is just my random Scandophile choice, just to keep things random.
But not this time. Friends, this time I’ve finally I have a team to cheer for. The choice is obvious, my current country of residence: The Netherlands. Today was the first game for the Dutch and I went at it in full-force. I had no intention of dressing in orange, cheering for the Dutch or even watching the game until I biked around town the day of the game. Everywhere there were orange-clad people going about their daily business. It wasn’t like Queen’s Day where they were outlandishly costumed (at least not until near game time.) Mostly people were riding their bikes, buying their groceries and walking around town casually in orange gear.
As far as I have seen the Dutch are pretty reserved. Three goals against Italy later, they were more rowdy than on Queen’s Day. As someone unable to comprehend Dutch, I am now capable of doing the “Van Der Sar” chant to cheer on the goalie. The Dutch were, uncharacteristically, outgoing and making contact with people they didn’t know. They were smiling and hi-fiving all around Havana, the latin-themed dance club we watched the game at. It was all casually happy until we left the club for the streets and witnessed, what I believe, is just the beginning of the chaos to come.
Hundreds of people flooded into Neude, the town square. They clogged the streets and danced in the middle, blocking traffic. Any vehicle with the misfortune of passing by parted the sea of people, only to have their windows banged on and be screamed at them. Of course, these were mostly buses and taxis as the average Dutch person has more sense than to try to drive through the main street after a football victory, unless they are hooligans too. The rabbit statue, a town landmark, was adorned in a Dutch football scarf and subject to being climbed over by overzealous celebrators. Ahem.
I’m a notorious bandwagon jumper when it comes to sports; I won’t deny it. I only watch during during finals. But watching Canada’s favourite sport and trying to root for the Leafs is a lost cause. So I’m going to jump onto the bandwagon of another sport completely. At this moment I am in Europe, during the UEFA Cup and cheering on a winning team, even if it is their first game. And for better or worse, I understand a little better what being lost in a shouty moment is all about.
