I had my very first encounter with honest-to-god Scottish Football last night at the match against (some Ukranian team... we were all very hazy on who they were, but it didn't really matter) it I think I'm a better person for it. My three Norwegian friends and I walked down to the stadium, where we were supposed to meet up with Michael and his roommates. This was a bit of foolishness on our part, as none of us had any idea how big the stadium was or how many thousands of people were going to be there. Needless to say, we never found them. We did meet up with another group that Christine (the girl in the room directly next to mine) had met in her orientation, consisting of an English-born Indian girl, Raj, Raj's boyfriend Jerry, and a German law student, Sabrina.
After finding out seats, the fun truly began. Now, admittedly I'm a big fan of organized sports-- I like the enthusiasm and energy people exhibit for them, I like the loyalty of the fans for their team, I like the feeling of unity in the stands, and I love the instant morality of officiating-- everybody knows the rules and the minute somebody breaks them, there is a set and standard punishment. Perfect. So, anyway, we're settling into our seats, and I look around-- the stadium isn't really packed, but there are a huge number of people there. Lots of families with young kids, college students, grandparents-- the whole lot. And they're all cheering for one team, their team: Aberdeen.
They had songs and chants and unified jeers. It was amazing to find myself absolutely surrounded by a sea of red. And in all this, I realized the difference between Scottish Football and American Soccer; it's not the name, it's the fact that Soccer has too much money and not enough heart, while my steadfast companions in Aberdeen have perhaps too much heart. A man sitting diagonally from us yelled "That's my boy!" when one of the players did something near him, and the player turned and gave a thumbs-up when the actions moved away from him. People yelled all night long to players named Jackie and Jamie, and I kept grinning.
During the half, a bagpipe and drum corps marched around the pitch. I won't deny it-- I giggled.
The second half saw a wide variety of scoring opportunities for Aberdeen, but they just weren't able to convert. It was hard to see a lot of the action, as we were all the way at the other end of the field, but the most shocking thing I did view was the crowd reaction to a man down on the field. Now, I know that players are sometimes prone to falling over and miming serious injury to perhaps get better field placement for a play. However, this one fellow rolled about so much that the field medics came sprinting out for him twice. Did he have a cramp? Did he catch a boot to the face? Who knows. The crowd certainly didn't care-- even I learned some new terms for the devil from their jeers.
Honestly? I was shocked. In the States, everybody on the field takes a knee until the injured player is seen to by the medics, and if he or she gets up and walks off, everybody in the stands cheers. In Aberdeen? Not so much. Even the little old ladies behind us were shouting things at the opposing player as he lay on the edge of the field. And then the ref came over and gestured with both hands to scoot off the field. THE REF. The crowd laughed and then cheered when, as the downed player did not scoot, the ref gave him a yellow card! I'd never seen anything like it before.
I'm not sure what the final score was, maybe 0-1. Aberdeen never scored, I know that much. Regardless, after the game we all walked back to Raj's apartment, where we shared some drinks and some stories. All in all, remarkably good times! They all laughed and said I was the most open-minded and plain-spoken American they had ever met, but, then again, I do respond to the 'Where are you from?' question with the answer, "The US, and I'm sorry."
We walked home from the afterparty quite late, and I'll be the first to admit that I was rather toasted. However, I can't figure out why my throat is killing me this morning.it woke me up twice in the night. I'm drinking lemon and honey water in an effort to shake it, and I'll buy some lozenges later, but that doesn't solve the mystery. I just hope it's gone before the Whiskey and Castle tour tomorrow!
After walking up to campus to pick my Student ID card, I decided to park my butt down my the river for a while. It hadn't been a particularly inspiring morning-- my throat hurt, I found a brand-new blister, I fought and lost with Adobe over how to fill out a form, and my ID is atrocious. I genuinely hope that, should I perish in some tragic tram accident, the officials would be unable to identify me from this picture. Completely wretched.
