C'mon county!

In England, football rules.

I mean, it completely rules. It dominates some peoples' lives. It dictates to them, orders them. I personally never understood it. I mean, I do have passions and loves, don't get me wrong. I'm well known to be one of the biggest Michael Jackson fans in existence (though I've never seen him live) and with Carnival coming up, people in my office are sick of hearing me go on about it all the time. But these are things I can take part in and feel a part of. Football though, I just don't see it.

Don't get me wrong. I like sports. I have a great respect for people who have that talent and are able to display it and earn a living from it. I don't think I could handle that pressure to perform all the time, knowing that my livelihood depended on it. So I tip my hat to all athletes. But this national obsession with football baffles me. And for a country that is so taken in with the sport, they're pretty rubbish. England haven't won the World Cup in over forty years. They didn't even qualify for Euro 2008!

People cry when their team loses. They get upset, they get emotionial. There are statistcs that prove that domestic violence goes up when England perform badly during the World Cup...to the point that some police forces go as far as setting up Domestic Abuse task forces specifically to deal with this increase. Wow!

But I still don't get it. Maybe it's because I don't like football. In the West Indies, cricket used to be the more traditional sport...at least in my house anyway. So that's what I follow, that's what I like, that's what I understand. But I don't cry when West Indies lose. That might be because it happens so much these days I might get dehydrated if I did! ;)

I do like watching football live though. I remember going to InterCol when I was in school. Admittedly, this was mostly for social reasons; you had to be 'seen' at all the 'right' games. Games between certain schools were deemed to be more desireable than others. So you got dressed in your most appealing casual clothes (at that time, usually short denim shorts, the shorter the better, and a cool t-shirt or nice top and pair of trainers) and you'd stand near the pitch or sit in the stands scoping out the crowd. That was the fun. I'm sure the matches were pretty good and we all cheered when goals were scored, but I didn't understand the rules of football- besides the obvious ones pertaining to goals and winning.

I know a couple professional footballers over here, and I must admit that seeing them live puts it into better perspective. I understand it a bit better now and my appreciation has grown. It helps having people you're friends with, out there. It gives it a personal touch. So you cheer harder, you want it more for them. You feel it more strongly. But I know these players. We hang out, we go out dancing. They're friends. Many football supporters don't have that. So why do they care so much?

A couple weeks ago, I went with my husband and a couple of my friends from work to watch Stockport County FC. My friend, let's call him Skyler (for no reason other than I think he'd hate being called Skyler) is a supporter. He has a season ticket. The thought of sitting in the stands at a tiny ground, eating pie and mash and drinking a pint appealed to me somewhat. Especially as my previous football match experiences in this country have involved me drinking vodka and cranberry juice and nibbling on free hors d'oeuvres in the comfort of the players' lounge. So I invited myself along to a match and convinced my friend Martha (once again, not her name) to come along. She is a MASSIVE football fan and supports her local team as well. She's the kind of supporter who comes in to work the next day all bubbly and excited if her team have won the night before. She jizzes herself when she sees her team have bought a new, good player. And yes, she cries when they lose.

Anyway, we decided to go and see SCFC play Scunthorpe Utd. Now, to be honest, these teams are in the lower divisions, so I wasn't expecting quality football. I really went for the craic and the atmosphere, and my word, it was there in droves! There were babies dressed in the team kit, little boys wearing the team socks (which I must admit, are quite cool), adults who looked otherwise normal and sane, wearing County colours and t-shirts. I myself decided to get into the spirit of things and did not wear my usual black, opting for jeans and a halter top...in County colours.

Walking in to the stands was an experience. I was nervous and excited at the same time. Someone was banging a drum and people were chanting. Chants on footbal terraces are legendary in England and it was nice to see that this didn't disappoint. It's amazing as well, that everyone knows what to sing and all join in lustily. I felt like some sort of anthropological observer, sitting there with my mouth open. I probably looked like a simpleton though.

We sat down and the match started. Then a chap walked in and went to sit in the seats in front of us. Martha said he looked like he'd come from a night in the cells, which was the most appropriate description. Fresh number 1 haircut, freshly polished Rockports, requisite track suit. Sigh! He waltzed in, singing a chant set to the tune of 'Chim Chiminee' from that much loved Disney film, Mary Poppins. Of course his version was less um, Disneyfied. Someone sat in our row shouted at him "Oi, shut up ya bastard." Luckily they knew each other, so my fears of pre-match violence didn't materialise.

Things started going downhill (at least for County supporters), about twenty minute from half-time. Someone from Scunthorpe managed to score a goal during one of the brief moments the ball actually touched the turf. One of the chaps in front of us put his head in his hands like his world had just come to an end. I laughed.

At half-time, we went down to the bar where I had a pint of cider and got stared at. It would seem that County doesn't have a lot of black supporters. Ah well... I've heard that there's racism on the football terraces, but to be honest, I experienced none of it. My feeling is black people are too smart to go and sit on a plastic seat in the middle of winter, shouting support for some people they barely know, when they could watch the same match at home, having a nice hot drink and wearing fuzzy slippers. There were also an inordinate amount of people with bruises and broken arms and fingers. Chim Chiminee guy had a mate who came to 'greet' him (and I use the term in the loosest possible context). His arm was in plaster, he had a black eye and one of his front teeth were missing. Birds of a feather and all that.

By the time we went back upstairs, about one minute into the second half, County were 2-0 down and the mood was noticeably grim. The lad with the drum and the obviously super-human lungs and larynx (or a sponsorship deal with Fisherman's Friend) still tried to get things going, but when they scored the third goal, the dream was well and truly lost. People started filing out in disgust and despair. The chaps sat behind us were giving coaching tips from the back of the stands and I was absolutely loving it!

Afterwards, people met at the pub to dissect the match as well as drown their sorrows. Then they trudged home to wallow in misery and maybe even beat their wives.

I didn't have any alleigance to either team but really enjoyed the macth nonetheless. So while I'm probably not the newest convert to the followers of the 'Ball', I'm definitely going back to give my all for the County. Allez le Stockport!