hellenic Ελλάδα, raining unwashed in Αθήνα

I won't begin English bashing but I wanted to explain the fact that to the untrained, un-indoctrinated American, the English seem like very well travelled, worldly people open to many new cultural experiences. This is true of some, of course. The Irish aren't far behind, in fact they might have done better in some ways. I remember listening to the roll-call of countries an Irish friend had been to many years ago; Thailand, Africa, Sri Lanka, Spain, Croatia, Brazil, India, to name a few. And the un-indoctrinated American woman thinks, "Wow, how cool is that? How expansive is their acceptance of cultures?", because for an American travelling to a place means one would really want to go, to taste their food, to struggle through in spite of the language barrier and to experience how they differ from one's self.

Many Americans wouldn't dream of going to so many places because they A) don't speak the language, B) are afraid of difficulties due to cultural differences and C) it costs so much/is so far away/is so completely different than their own country. Americans need to invest purpose in visiting a foreign country. It is usually called "the trip of a lifetime".

Irish, on the other hand, go anywhere. We Americans admire them for their independence and inquisitiveness, their well-rounded experiences and open-mindedness. But in many cases that is far from the truth because for a large percentage of Irish choosing to go somewhere has nothing to do with wanting to sight see, to taste exotic food or experience a different culture. They go somewhere because it's usually somewhere sunny, they're going because the golf is good, because their mates are going, they're following a sporting event or they got a good deal on a package holiday with their buddy the travel agent. Generally, Irish travel in packs so interaction with the locals in foreign countries is usually on the pack's terms, they do a lot of drinking and they almost always fall in to the nearest Irish pub. The same can be said of the English. The English travel mob tend to stick with their kind, make a lot of noise, and get really drunk. And English football fans are the most difficult for me to reckon with because they are just... totally... naff.

Ok, so I lied. I am going to do a little English bashing. What brought this on, you might wonder, was this week's trip to Athens to take in the Champion's League Final last Wednesday night. I've been to enough football occasions abroad to know what to expect, but I find myself vehemently avoiding the football supporters when I'm along on these trips. As this was a match between Liverpool and Milan, the English supporters were at their finest. They took over public squares and eating establishments in their hundreds to thousands and drank Heineken swill all day, shouting and roaring, polluting and pissing, and making an absolute spectacle.

I asked several football supporters what it is that possesses grown men to come together to a host city wearing the same smelly jersey for the duration, plonk themselves down in a mass and bellow around their beer cans? "It's war... it's tribal," I was told. Yes, tribal. Football fanatics are a modern tribe. But good lord, without anything to contribute to the war themselves, they go around doing destructive things such as ruin foreign relations with the host country, make things rough for the tournament organisers, not to mention the clubs they support, and get into fights fuelled by alcohol. Milan won the Champion's League Final and as is expected of English football fans, somewhere outside the ground Liverpool fans acted up, tear gas was used, it got a mention in the news. Typical.

It's ok, if you're wearing the shirt of an English football club, to walk into a shop in Greece and bellow at the top of your lungs, "HAVE YOU GOT A FUCKEN MARS BAR?! THIS GUY IS DRIVING ME MENTAL IF YOU DON'T GIVE HIM A FUCKEN MARS BAR!!" It's also ok to walk down a street of shops and lift a tee shirt off a rack and take it with you to cover your skinny, pimply torso. It's also proper to find the nearest shop with cases of cans and deliver them to your mates who will eventually go around the corner and piss it on the wall. It's all right to hang flags and home made banners declaring your parish of fandom. It's completely normal to find yourself in a city where you know no one and shout at the top of your lungs,

"We won it five times, we won it five times

In Istanbul we won it five times

"It's only a loan, it's only a loan

In Athens Greece, we'll bring it back home!"

Sadly, they came all that way to make asses of themselves and they didn't win.

As we were boarding our flight home I saw more fresh wounds, butterfly plasters and bloody bandages than I care to count. And I know they just love it, even (or maybe especially) the bloodsport because they continued to shout and make plain their war wounds in a show that reeked of machismo and virility, or whatever they could manage around their gold chains, medallions and watches. It's not a Final, nor a match, if you don't come home broken.

So there, I don't think much of English football fans. I won't say I didn't like Athens, because it had it's moments. The story of not reaching the top of the Acropolis is better than simply saying we went to the top... and I'll relate my Athenian experience anon.