national team soccer – how it really is

last saturday switzerland – france world cup qualifier here in bern.
everything is fine until …

… the old fart directly behind me, who talks like he was dug up from one of the furthest regions of the bernese oberland, takes the first bite of his sausage and sprays me with hot, stinking pork grease. the old fart and his pals find this highly amusing. i suspect he did it on purpose. and of course he had to pick the one vegetarian in the whole ground. i am fuming. [note to self: remember to take along a raincoat… if there is a next time]

… i have a look around and notice that i am about the only person in the entire stadium who is not wearing at least 5 kinds of swiss-flagged fan items – the hats, belts, suspenders, condoms, tshirts, shoes, garter belts, socks, snorkels, younameits and/or smeary red and white make-up. this rise in neo-patriotic display has occured sneakily over the past few years. the last national game i went to see most people were normal with the odd red-and-white idjut. now it’s red-and-white all around and i stand out like a …errr… green dog wearing my blue jacket (and the pork grease spots don’t help). [note to self: do anything in my power to help make patriotism uncool again]

… the players walk onto the pitch and i can’t see the teams for all the stupid swiss flags people are waving. the sponsors had handed out 20 000 or so of these flags. might look nice on telly, but in the stadium it kills the view. [note to self: a flamethrower would be about the only, yet drastic solution here]

my view of the game:

great view of the players

… i notice that even if the flags were not there i would be too far away from the opposite goal, where all the action is, to see anything. [note to self: damn, i forgot my goggles]

… people keep standing up – as if the flags and the distance were not enough already to kill the view. all it takes is one guy standing up and all others follow suite because they think there might miss some of the action. then it takes at least 5 minutes for everybody to sit down again. which is about the time it takes for the next guy to be ready to stand up, etc. in other words, i paid 60 francs for seat i hardly ever get to sit on.

… i start to sing “reff is a wanker ohiiihoo reff is a wanker” and notice that everybody just looks at me with a puzzled expression. we no speakee engrish? [note to self: next time try “schiri isch a wixer ohihoo schiri isch a wixer”]

… i come home eager to finally watch the game, but i realise that i videotaped the wrong channel. [note to self: RTFM = read the fucking manual]

so in other words i should have had a miserable time, smelling of pork, surrounded by idjuts, not seeing anything, missing all the action.
yet i did not. am i a masochist?
still, i promise myself this was my last national team game! like every time…

About Jan Zuppinger

Jan Zuppinger has been writing this blog since 2002. He likes to grow vegetables. He likes to eat them too. He has opinions on everything, but sadly no one cares. Jan Zuppinger is not joking, just joking, he is joking, just joking, he's not joking. *click.