This article was published in The Daily Orange on November 5th.
Tuesday night I took the next step in becoming a true Londoner. I’m not a sports fanatic, and if it weren’t for my freshman roommate I probably still wouldn’t be able to follow a football or basketball game. But a London soccer game has more to offer than pure athletic talent, like hot guys and crazy fans. With tickets as cheap as 15 pounds and games played through May, I just might become a soc- I mean, ‘football’ fan.
The match was between Queen’s Park Rangers (QPR) and Crystal Palace (CP), which are both Championship League teams, one tier below the highest-level Premier League teams and comparable to a less-popular NFL team. Outside the stadium, vendors sold fish and chips. Security searched through bags as fans filed past the fences topped with barbwire. The stadium entryways had sharp spurs on the edges, presumably to prevent people from jumping over.
As I took my seat seven rows up from the field and halfway between midfield and the visitors section, I quickly realized there were two events to watch: the game and the fans. Syracuse v. Pitt would pale in comparison to the rising anger I could see among these Brits. For more than 90 minutes there was a not one second of silence. The weather had dipped to 40 degrees, I could see my breath, I couldn’t feel my toes and fans were taking off their shirts to wave them overhead. The crowd control looked more like a pack of bouncers than ushers. Cheers came like debates with CP hurling insults and QPR sending ones back.
“You’re support is f***ing sh**!” “You’re team is f***ing sh**!” “You’re team is full of rejects!” “They aren’t your rejects!”
With the insults came songs that all the fans, including the grandmother-grandson duo to my right, knew. QPR sang, “Up your arse, up your arse, we’ll stick the blue flag up your arse!” Some of the more rowdy CP fans orchestrated choruses of “We’re the boys in blue, who the f***ing hell are you, and we're out to show the world how to score!” Despite only filling a quarter of the stadium, CP fans dominated spectator response. I don’t think they sat down all game. If Otto’s Army ever wants some new material, they should start watching soccer.
The 20-something QPR fan beyond me was getting frustrated. “They’re rubbish,” he said. “Crystal Palace is usually a wallup team.” Minutes later, QPR scored the first goal and the noise was deafening. The 45-minute half flew by and before I knew it I was sitting dumbfounded during halftime wondering what I’d just witnessed.
CPR scored early on in the second half and the game tensely waged on. In the last few minutes the score was still 1-1 and if I thought fans were nuts before, it was nothing compared to now. People were screaming and pointing, jumping out of their seats as if their whole lives depended on the game. The announcer reported three minutes of time would be added to the game (to make up for pauses in play when the clock hadn’t stopped) but the minutes weren’t added to the scoreboard. As the ball volleyed back and forth between goals, I wondered how much time was left. No goals later, time was up and I couldn’t believe that after all that tension, everyone just came to terms with a tie. Regardless of how many London activities I partake in, there will always be things I don’t understand about the British.
