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An ode to the English fan

Greece is not as football mad as the UK, so although there is coverage of the world cup, the obsession with the sport does not run as deep as it does in other countries. I’m looking at you, England.

When I was in the UK recently, it was like falling into another time portal. Football was everywhere. Nearly every product was being marketed with some sort of football association. It’s easy to forget the love the English have with football, to the point of it being psychotic, when you’ve stopped living there for a few years.

Football in England represents the equivalent of the American Dream. Britain is a class-obsessed society and as much as they don’t like to admit it, certain class barriers are nearly impossible to break even today. Just try and find a major bank CEO with a working class accent, for example.

But football represents a reversal of the class system. This is the one area where a nobody can rise to the top and live the champagne lifestyle through talent alone. You won’t find any of the top footballers speaking in Received Pronunciation, but you will find plenty of men who spent their boyhoods in poverty and have made good. It’s no wonder every little boy dreams of becoming a footballer in Britain.

Football loyalties here are a fragmented mosaic of teams, but where the love of the team to the point of abandoning all logic and reason really shows itself is in the absolute commitment and adoration of the England team football fan.

They hung out their England flags with unflinching pride and plastered their cars with St George’s cross. They chanted ridiculous songs about the World Cup coming home for sure this time, all those years of pain would be worth it, and vindaloo we’ll score one more than you.

They acted shocked and surprised when their team lost, throwing their TVs out of the windows in a rage and hanging effigies of football players from trees.

In the beginning, I would laugh at the complete and unquestioning dedication of the English football fan. Could they honestly not see how bad their team was? They approached every World Cup as if their team was made up entirely of Ronaldos, Christianos and Peles.

But over time I have come to admire them. They will travel halfway across the world to support their team, which everyone else can see is as mediocre as they come except for themselves. They have sat in the heat and humidity of Brazil, sweaty and sunburnt, dressed as knights with their face paint sliding off in the sweltering conditions.

Many of those fans probably spent their life savings on the trip. They could have sat in their own homes and watched England lose, but they chose to be there, hoping that maybe this time things would be different. Where else could you find that sort of dedication?

So here’s to you, English football fan, and your blind fidelity in the face of such great odds. You have to admire that determination to keep going up against disappointment after disappointment and still keep the faith, believing that no one is better than your team no matter what the facts say.

Omaira Gill is a freelance journalist based in Athens