I don’t typically follow soccer. Especially not American soccer. But if I learned nothing else after a year and a half in England, it’s that football is the sport of the world, and it deserves all the pub-going, drinking and screaming you can offer. So combined with my love for good competitive cult-like fun, I have a case of World Cup fever.
Fortunately my competitive streak is genetic so it was easy to talk my family into holding their own bracket with a themed congratulatory party for the winner. (I’ve got Brazil and Germany in the final with Deutschland taking it, JSYK.)
Having learned to appreciate football on the Queen’s Island, I feel I owe the Brits’ team my allegiance.But as much as I love the nation, and intended on rooting for them during their first game, against the states — their first WC game against the US in 60 years — I couldn’t. I wanted to. But every time something good would happen for either team, I’d start to cheer and then freeze up. I wanted them both to succeed; I couldn’t choose when it came down to it.
Today they are both playing again (US vs Slovenia; Eng vs Algeria). With the moral conflict of interest off my plate, I am kitted out in my England jersey and I’ve made sure I’ll be in front of a video stream for both team’s playtime.
I’d LOVE for the US continue on. Just not against the Brits. Because when it comes down to it, if I am ever faced with the opportunity, I’ll excitedly pack my bags and move to the island to spend my Sundays in the pub with a pint and a roast.