“White Hart Lane”
Zach Creighton
I had never been to a professional soccer game before, let alone to a match that featured two of the top teams in arguably the best league the sport had to offer. If it were not for the video game FIFA, I would not have had the slightest clue of what the best divisions were, who the best players are or of general popularity of the sport. I would be lying if I said that I chose an abroad program that was centered around going to sporting events, mainly soccer games, because of my love for soccer. To be honest, I chose the program that I did because the very light course load lent itself well to what I was seeking to get out of the trip: the opportunity to travel to as many countries as I could to see and learn as much as possible about life across the pond. Little did I know the impact that two hours could have on me.
London has long been the center of the soccer universe. Everybody who knows soccer, as I quickly found out was just about every single person in Europe, understands London is home to many of the top teams that the world had to offer, making it impossible to talk about London without mentioning the role that soccer has had in shaping the culture of the city. Many of us probably experienced our mother or father passing on some sort of keepsake that was close to their heart like a ring, or a watch. In London, it is not jewelry that gets passed down in the family, it is the team that they cheer for. Many anecdotes from native Londoners about family feuds revolving around what team one favored made it clear to me early on just how passionate these fans were about soccer. One such example came from my professor who was from northern London. His favorite team, Hull City, was also the favorite team of his parents, their parents and essentially the rest of the family. Sometime during his childhood his brother decided that he was to become a Manchester City fan much to the dismay of, well, his entire family. To this day the professor I had and his brother have not enjoyed one single game together since he made the decision to switch his loyalty. Not one.
Even though I thought I had a good idea of just how passionate these fans were about soccer, my first trip to a live game completely exceeded the picture I had in my head painted by the words and stories of those I had talked to.
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Our class was to all meet at White Hart Lane, home of the Tottenham Hotspurs 30 minutes before they were set to kick off against Leicester City, another team in the Premier League. My roommates and I took a short ride on the tube from central London to the stadium and were greeted immediately by thousands of supporters donned from head to toe in their white and blue Tottenham gear singing in unison what appeared to be the teams theme song. I did not know what to think. I had been to many professional sporting events back in the United States, but not one game day experience included fans singing in unison as if they were the teams official choir. It was mind-blowing to see old people and young people, brothers and sisters, dads and daughters, and anyone in between congregated in the streets singing about the team they cheered for with so much enthusiasm and verve behind every word they belted out. One old man was trudging through the street behind his walker, and even though he was not able to keep up physically, he sure as hell made up for his slow speed with his booming voice. The atmosphere radiated intense levels of passion and I immediately begun to question my staunch belief that not one person in this world loves a sports team more than I love the Green Bay Packers. Sure, a Packers loss on a Sunday causes my day to be ruined, and maybe even the next day if it was especially heartbreaking, but these people literally lived and breathed the game and that was glaringly obvious before we had even entered the stadium!
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As we approached the stadium the energy level and volume of the singing only increased even more. We entered the stadium, and although the internal makeup of the stadium consisted of booths selling beer, jerseys, soccer balls, and scarves just like the ones in the U.S., the atmosphere could not have been more different. There was still 10 minutes until the game started and not one person was sitting down, and nearly everyone was either singing or shouting, often a mixture of both. The Tottenham fans were repeatedly chanting “COME ON HOT SPURS. COME ON HOT SPURS. COME ON HOT SPURS” at the top of their lungs. As fans from both teams sang their teams rallying cries back and forth to one another, often accompanied with a flurry of gestures that made the animosity they felt towards one another very apparent, I could not help but smile at my surroundings. I might not know a lick about soccer, but this is the coolest sporting event I have ever been to.
I also could not help but feel a twinge of jealousy because I was witnessing first-hand the power that an authentic love and care for the game has on a game day experience. It made American sporting events look so insignificant since most people in the stands did not give a damn about the teams playing in the game, or the game itself. These “fans” go for entertainment purposes only. In London, the fans went to the game because the outcome truly meant something to them. Who won and who lost was a very serious thing, and the passion in their voices and actions made it clear that these fans believed they played an important role in the outcome of the game.
Not one person at White Hart Lane was there just for the entertainment, they were there to uphold the traditions that had been passed down to them for generations. They were there to will their team to victory, to keep generations of family tradition alive, and to profess their love of the game. Any game that elicits such emotions from their fan base is one that I can appreciate and respect. White Hart Lane turned me into a fan for life.
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