In my house, we watch football. Of course, there is no ban on baseball playoff games, or the occasional tennis match during somebody's Open. But really, when you come down to it, football is our sport. Giants football to be exact.
My father, on more than one occasion, has so utterly terrified me with his yelling at the television screen (more accurately yelling at the referree within said screen) that I had to leave the room. I also used to (along with my mother) get so nervous during the last game-deciding field goal of the game that I would hide in my closet. I would say that we, as a family, were a pretty intense sports family.
If I had grown up in Chile, or any Latin American country from what I hear, most people would laugh at that statement. They would say that I know NOTHING of what it means to be devoted to a team, or to show loyalty. Loyalty in sports had always been such a funny concept to me. Really, you would follow a team which you have some geographical connection with, be it your hometown, your college town or the town you currently live in. If you are lucky enough to have TWO teams in your city, you just sort of pick one. The teams are always changing (QBs, coaches, crappy place-kickers, etc.) so the whole loyalty thing seems so arbitrary. Fun, nonetheless. I know a guy who, being from New York and having attended college there, is a Miami Dolphins fan. There is no reason for this. I'm very glad that you liked Dan Marino. Everyone liked Dan Marino. But he doesn't play there anymore and you're a chump.
And I'm the one who gets made fun of for liking the Patriots because they have the same team colors as the Giants!
Seeing true, intrinsic team loyalty is watching fútbol. I went to my first match this past Sunday. I felt like I was cheating on the Giants, but as I can't watch them here anyway, and Eli Manning still managed to pull off one of the greatest fakes I've ever seen, I think that they'll forgive me. I was really nervous going to the game, because it was a big one (think Giants/Eagles with more shirtless angry men and rock throwing), and because I stick out so much. In Chilean fútbol, you sit with your team much like American Football. But that's not all. If you are found out to be a supporter of the opposing team (or any other team for that matter) you are ejected, with force. The stands are a mob of crazy colocolinos, chanting singing and fist pumping for two hours. The 30 minutes before the game begins is spent trading mildly to acutely insulting chants with the fans from the opposing team across the field. If you don't know these songs (as I didn't) you better do something, like wave an article of clothing or shout obscenities. Participation is mandatory. I managed, after hearing one chant fourteen times, to learn the last few lines. Just imagine me punching the air:
Chi- Chi- Chi-
le- le- le-
Colo Colo es Chile!
I really went for the tough one.
I don't know what it is about fútbol that brings out the maniac in all of us. Why does the shirtless man to my left think that his three year old should be shouting "Concha tu madre!" every five seconds? Why do no less than 20 carabinieros stand, in full riot gear, in front of the stands having random shit thrown at them for an hour and a half every week? Why do the referees (brave brave souls if you ask me) have to be escorted onto the field by the carabineros before each half, because they are so universally hated?
The answer, as my observation of one game has led me to believe, is this: The show is in the stands. I'll fully admit that the fútbol players in Latin America are stellar, and that the game itself is fun to watch. I'm no convert, and I still think that I could convince Jeremy Shockey to marry me, but fútbol is enjoyable. But at these games, there's no sideline hullabulloo. There's no zaniness on the big screen. There's no halftime show. What they do have, which is better than any Britnet Spears/Aerosmith/Mary J. Blige monstrosity I've ever seen, is true, die hard loyalty. There is unity and cheers and claps and colors. There is a giant banner covering half the crowd to welcome the team onto the field. There is a man with a drum keeping us all in rhythym. And best of all, there is a flare gun shooting fireworks that turn into little parachutes.
Did you hear me Giants Stadium? Fireworks that turn into parachutes. Works every time.
My father, on more than one occasion, has so utterly terrified me with his yelling at the television screen (more accurately yelling at the referree within said screen) that I had to leave the room. I also used to (along with my mother) get so nervous during the last game-deciding field goal of the game that I would hide in my closet. I would say that we, as a family, were a pretty intense sports family.
If I had grown up in Chile, or any Latin American country from what I hear, most people would laugh at that statement. They would say that I know NOTHING of what it means to be devoted to a team, or to show loyalty. Loyalty in sports had always been such a funny concept to me. Really, you would follow a team which you have some geographical connection with, be it your hometown, your college town or the town you currently live in. If you are lucky enough to have TWO teams in your city, you just sort of pick one. The teams are always changing (QBs, coaches, crappy place-kickers, etc.) so the whole loyalty thing seems so arbitrary. Fun, nonetheless. I know a guy who, being from New York and having attended college there, is a Miami Dolphins fan. There is no reason for this. I'm very glad that you liked Dan Marino. Everyone liked Dan Marino. But he doesn't play there anymore and you're a chump.
And I'm the one who gets made fun of for liking the Patriots because they have the same team colors as the Giants!
Seeing true, intrinsic team loyalty is watching fútbol. I went to my first match this past Sunday. I felt like I was cheating on the Giants, but as I can't watch them here anyway, and Eli Manning still managed to pull off one of the greatest fakes I've ever seen, I think that they'll forgive me. I was really nervous going to the game, because it was a big one (think Giants/Eagles with more shirtless angry men and rock throwing), and because I stick out so much. In Chilean fútbol, you sit with your team much like American Football. But that's not all. If you are found out to be a supporter of the opposing team (or any other team for that matter) you are ejected, with force. The stands are a mob of crazy colocolinos, chanting singing and fist pumping for two hours. The 30 minutes before the game begins is spent trading mildly to acutely insulting chants with the fans from the opposing team across the field. If you don't know these songs (as I didn't) you better do something, like wave an article of clothing or shout obscenities. Participation is mandatory. I managed, after hearing one chant fourteen times, to learn the last few lines. Just imagine me punching the air:
Chi- Chi- Chi-
le- le- le-
Colo Colo es Chile!
I really went for the tough one.
I don't know what it is about fútbol that brings out the maniac in all of us. Why does the shirtless man to my left think that his three year old should be shouting "Concha tu madre!" every five seconds? Why do no less than 20 carabinieros stand, in full riot gear, in front of the stands having random shit thrown at them for an hour and a half every week? Why do the referees (brave brave souls if you ask me) have to be escorted onto the field by the carabineros before each half, because they are so universally hated?
The answer, as my observation of one game has led me to believe, is this: The show is in the stands. I'll fully admit that the fútbol players in Latin America are stellar, and that the game itself is fun to watch. I'm no convert, and I still think that I could convince Jeremy Shockey to marry me, but fútbol is enjoyable. But at these games, there's no sideline hullabulloo. There's no zaniness on the big screen. There's no halftime show. What they do have, which is better than any Britnet Spears/Aerosmith/Mary J. Blige monstrosity I've ever seen, is true, die hard loyalty. There is unity and cheers and claps and colors. There is a giant banner covering half the crowd to welcome the team onto the field. There is a man with a drum keeping us all in rhythym. And best of all, there is a flare gun shooting fireworks that turn into little parachutes.
Did you hear me Giants Stadium? Fireworks that turn into parachutes. Works every time.
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