Sporting

Consider this just about the one and only time you will see a post on sports on this blog (other than cycling, skiing, adventure racing, and other pure fitness type pursuits). As for cycling--lube your chains, strap on your helmet, and slide into your lycra, because Le Tour is only 2 months away! and an eventful one it will be, as Armstrong preps for retirement in new colours and a less rigourous pre-race workout routine than we've seen since 1999.

But to the subject at hand: whether you call it soccer (you Americans out there) or, like most of the world, some version of "football" (fußball, futbol, etc): football is, essentially, the world's game--played on every continent, probably including Antarctica. With a burgeoning youth league system, America seems set to join the rest of the world in its wild fanaticism for the sport.

Today was my first venture to a football stadium during my time in England. The match? Southampton vs. Norwich. The stakes: a fight between two of the lowest teams in the Premiership brackets struggling to survive. With the bottom 3 teams dropping into the lesser leagues for the season (the top 3 from the next league down are promoted), the very fates of both teams were at stake. After this, only two games remain in the season (and for Southampton, bottom of the bracket going into this game, one of those matches is against perennial powerhouse Manchester United. The other is against another bottom bracket type).

So we find ourselves decked out in the wrong colours in a sea of red and white in a sparkling modern stadium in the middle of a gritty industrial town barely kept alive by military contracting work (or so I'm told--all I can tell you was there was nary a mention of the place in Lonely Planet. Not being a general sports fan, I was a bit worried of complete boredom, but I was in for quite a bit of excitement. As I described, the very fate of both teams lay in the balance. A loss, especially for Southampton, puts the team in a position where one more mess up will drop it down to the lower leagues. At this point, the team will loose its players, possibly its management, thousands or millions of revenues--the list of woes runs long. A grim picture indeed. And so the "pitch" becomes the scene of a life or death battle--the survival of two struggling, gritty teams lusting for the validation of their talent: the right to continue wearing the badge of premiership.

Let me paint a picture. A sparkling sunny day. Modern stadium, awning covering the crowd areas. Only one "level" (no skyboxes or anything) but quite a reasonably sized place--probably about the size of a Division I American football stadium, perhaps nicer/larger. The stadium is packed, and almost everyone is wearing vertical striped red and white jerseys--the home jersey for the Southampton Saints. Meanwhile, in a sliver of a corner of the stadium stand the brave yellow and green Norwich fans, hailing from Northeast coastal England a bit above London. The air is ripe with confetti, balloons, towels, and the ripe positive buzz of excitement and energy, ready for the match.

Kickoff. 5 minutes into the game, there is already a goal on either side. Unheard of. I of course am not knowledgeable enough in these matters to describe to you the talent of these pitch-acrobats, but it was impressive. Halftime. THREE goals for each side. It will be a high scoring, tense game. 10 minutes left. The score remains 3-3. The crowd grows more and more nervous, their songs, louder and more intense. Around 5 to 8 minutes left, the St's bring a goal in for the home side. The crowd erupts in joy. Then, all that pent up nervous energy carries the team and the fans home through the last 5 minutes to victory.

The entire match was filled with a sort of positive optimism... the fans were organised, energetic, cheerful, brotherly. When Norwich scored the first goal (or it's next 2), there was little in the way of negativity... just silence. In a town like this, football is one of the few things that brings excitement--and it looked like the town showed up in force, especially considering that women are usually a rarity at these things from what I hear, yet they represented rather well at today's match. Southampton remains alive, heavy with hope for the next match. Dual victories will hopefully keep them alive to play premiership another day.

After the match, as we are leaving, in a testament to this small town sports atmosphere, several of the players were stopped in their cars, happily signing away autographs. With a little slipped in Russian request to a Latvian player, a friend was able to capture a signature on his programme.

Well I'm about sported out. We also visited Winchester, a town built practically entirely of flint and old Saxon capital of England. Winchester Cathedral was quite grand and airy, soaring in its magnificence and widely different from most cathedrals I have seen in this country or on the continent... but with that I shall call it a night. Au revoir.