uppity in sofia (a snob's lament)

I'm afraid, as I sit in my hotel room overlooking the outdoor seating of Flannagan's Pub here in Sofia, Bulgaria, that I will never understand football fans. It's 2 AM here and they have been singing football songs for hours. They exhibit no signs of letting up.

In cities larger than Sofia it's easy enough to steer clear of the punters, and our accommodation is usually situated well enough away from them. The handful of fans who do travel with the media charter tend to be more mannerly and dedicated than the average football bloke. There tend to be wives along on the media charter, and more elderly fans. But these Bhoys below us at street level... these are those beer-swilling, fat bellied, red faced, roaring types who would rather engage in their masturbatory, fanatical exercises than head next door to the casino which features buxom women. I mean really, can we talk about priorities?

I'm especially disappointed in the young man I know who is here with a group of lads for a stag weekend away whom I just spotted amongst the sea of bloated, singing Irish. A STAG weekend. Like the last blowout before you get MARRIED. For, like, FOREVER. And they're not groping, shagging and gambling. They're in the closest Irish bar they can find singing with the fat lads, just like they could do at home as married men for the rest of their lives.

Where are their priorities? What's the point of organising a naughty bachelor party if you're not going to make the most of it?!

Ok, so I know I also came here because of a football match, and of that fact I am DEEPLY appreciative. Football has brought me to many places I wouldn't have thought twice about going to off my own bat (or, perhaps, my own right foot is a better analogy), and that is a marvelous thing. But when I visit a city because of a match, I go wandering and try to experience the place. The vital difference between me and... er... them down there in the identical shirts they've been wearing in the hot sun for days on end whilst drinking vats of beers is they came FOR the match. 7000 years of this city's history matters not a whit. It's all about the match tomorrow... and the beer and singing tonight. And tomorrow night.

As I listen to the 18 millionth round of "Come on you boys in green" I'm sending out a little prayer to the Good Lord above to see to it that Ireland qualify for the World Cup next summer, just to make it worth their, and my, while.