Back when I was working in a corporate environment, I had a surreal water-cooler moment that has stuck with me many years later. I was making a coffee in our office kitchen and two men were in conversation by the water dispenser. They looked serious, their tone intense, each one nodding as the other explained his feelings. I resolved to finish and leave quickly lest I interrupt a deeply personal discussion about health, a death or perhaps a relationship problem. I tried not to listen in, but couldn’t help but hear snatches of their exchange
“It was all wrong from the start’
“Yes, he just got involved too quickly”
“I mean, he’s normally got good judgment, but this was a real mistake”
Ah, right, it was definitely a relationship discussion. I was impressed. These were clearly “new men”, who weren’t afraid to share their feelings. I was just adding the milk to my coffee when one of them said
“Yea, but you’ve got to admit that the goal from Liverpool just before half time was magic”
I realised, at that moment, they were talking about football! I was astonished. They had seemed so earnest, so engrossed, so totally committed. On asking several male friends about it later, I realised that this is not unusual: football, to many, (women as well as men) is a very serious business.
I have never had any interest in sport. I would idly watch the Formula One or Match of the Day if either were playing on the household TV, but I was usually doing something else: reading the paper, sorting washing, looking through a gardening book.
I had lived in Twickenham, a suburb of west London and the home of English rugby, off and on for many years and used to hate match days, when the roads were closed, traffic diverted and the town subsumed by the thousands of supporters thronging towards the stadium, making life inconvenient for the locals.
Then two things happened. Having lived in the countryside for eleven years, I moved back to Twickenham and discovered I was entitled to enter a resident’s ballot to access tickets for the international rugby games. These were offered, I assumed, as a sop to residents to compensate them for the inconvenience on match days.
“I suppose it might be quite interesting to go to a game” I thought, “just to see what it’s like”.
I entered the draw and was surprised to discover I had been allocated two tickets for a game between England and New Zealand as part of the Six Nations Championship. I found someone to accompany me, and went along.
I have to admit the atmosphere was electric. I looked around at the crowd of 80,000- plus people, men, women and children, and could feel the excitement and anticipation rippling around the ground. The noise was phenomenal. I was impressed that Brits and Kiwi fans were mixed in together and the mood was good humoured rather than hostile.
Then the New Zealand All Blacks performed the haka, their traditional pre-match, Māori war chant and the excitement ramped up.
I have to admit, I hadn’t a clue what was happening on the pitch most of the time, it just all seemed so messy, but I was carried along with the enthusiasm of the crowd and began to see what it was about the sparring of two top teams that fans found so intoxicating.
England won and the natives were ecstatic. I learned later that the result was particularly thrilling because the All Blacks were world champions and the fact that England had beaten them was rare and totally unexpected.
Image by James Coleman on Unsplash. Top image by Kato Blackmore on Unsplash
A few years later, I met my husband. He is a rugby addict. He played for most of his life, he has refereed, and he was president of his local club for three years. Some of his closest friends come from playing rugby together. He will watch pretty much any game, either live or on TV. He is Scottish. So there is national pride involved as well.
Where he has always enjoyed most games, it was very different when Scotland played: the mood became sombre and tense. When it was a TV game, he would stand in the sitting room, hand on heart and proudly sing the Scottish rugby anthem “Flower of Scotland” before the game started. Then he would dig in, become focused and alone. He didn’t like watching with anyone else, as he didn’t want to talk or be distracted in any way. He also didn’t want others to be there when Scotland lost, which they invariably did. However much he hoped, and shouted at the television, it was usually a disappointment.
The fact is that Scotland were never really good enough to win much in the past. The whole experience of watching them compete in international games was excruciating. I used to stay well away, working in the garden or going out, anything to not be party to the dismayed and morose character that would appear at the end of the game: wrung out and weary, my husband would take a couple of days to get over the whole dreadful experience of being, beaten, yet again.
These days it is different: Scotland have a great coach, a strong team and they win games more often. Even when they don’t, they put up a good fight. They are entertaining to watch, and my husband doesn’t take losing quite so personally any more. And, guess what? I watch with him and thoroughly enjoy it. I understand the game and the rules more these days and can appreciate the skill, tactics and sheer physical power that goes into every match.
We have become part of a big friendship group all based on rugby and get invited to many events with them. We have been to see Scotland play in Twickenham, Edinburgh and even Rome. Mind you, when Ireland are playing, I switch my allegiance, as I am Irish by birth. But who thought I would be doing any of this? Who thought I would care? I certainly didn’t.
I think back to those men by the water cooler and my mystification. I understand now, how the beautiful game, whether it be football or rugby, or indeed any other competitive sport, can get under the skin. I can appreciate why many people enjoy watching the challenge of skilled human beings pitted against one another in a bid to be the winners. And I can see why the fans celebrate wildly when their side triumphs, and why their day might be ruined when they lose.
On a basic level, sport offers people entertainment and the enjoyment of competing or watching others do so. It also serves as an escape from the routine of everyday life, and gives a sense of camaraderie. Crucially, it allows men a platform on which to express their emotions and empathise with each other when they might otherwise feel uncomfortable doing so. And let’s face it, anything that helps us communicate with one another better has got to be a good thing.
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Agreed. And that so many people go to watch the games. My daughters follows it avidly. I wonder if girls had played when you were young would you have had more interest in playing football with your brothers ?!
No they don’t - you’re absolutely right. How stupid of me - my husband will be in despair🤣. Glad you enjoyed any way.