I am not a sports fan. It seems to be a fever I never caught growing up. Even though I was born and raised in Los Angeles, home to prolific teams such as the Lakers and the Dodgers, I was never very intrigued.
My disinterest doesn’t mean I don’t get sports, though. There’s something beautiful about having something to rally behind with your friends, family, and even fellow countrymen. Indeed, I’ve always been fascinated by the worldwide obsession with football in particular. To me, it’s always seemed to be an especially patriotic (or nationalistic, depending on how you view it) sport. Sure, most of the season is spent with clubs like Real Madrid and Man City (I had to look them up to confirm I didn’t make them up, so that shows you my general level of knowledge), but when the World Cup comes around, people light up like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Friends of mine who’ve never been interested in soccer tune in. I remember the last World Cup in 2022, when I was still in high school. There wasn’t a single class period where I couldn’t find a classmate watching an ongoing match on their Chromebook instead of listening to the lecture. It’s a real phenomenon!
In many ways, the World Cup brings people together. Everyone’s watching ‘the beautiful game’ while cheering for whoever they may please - their home country, a team with their favorite player, or even whatever country they deem to have committed fewer colonial offenses in their past. So, when I found out that England had made it to the quarterfinals of the World Cup while I would be in London, I was excited! It’s (likely) a once-in-a-lifetime experience for me. I’d get to see what watching football in a proper English pub was like.
My knowledge of English pub culture comes entirely from Ted Lasso.
So, on my first day here, I went straight off my flight from Los Angeles (even though it was delayed by 7 hours) to watch the England v. Norway game at a pub with the rest of the group. It was certainly a fun time! Transparently, while I didn’t fully know what was going on, I got the general gist of the sort of conviviality and fun that these sorts of games brought. And when England won that quarterfinal game, everyone was ecstatic. Going home in high spirits, I thought that it would be quite interesting to see what happened next. I mean, I didn’t have any emotional investment in the game, but come on. England hasn’t won in 60 years! It certainly would be fun to see them have their time.
Cut to Wednesday evening, and it was time for England v. Argentina. A group of us went to the pub, sat to have some drinks and watch the semifinal. The mood in there was joyful the entire time. The first 85 minutes came and went comfortably, with England scoring a goal right before the end of the first half and holding Argentina off. Then, Argentina scored and tied with only five minutes left. 1-1. Some groans, and the bated silence began. Seven minutes later, Argentina scored again. 2-1. The nine-minute extension wasn’t over, but the pub began to clear out. People knew the game was done, and they were right. The mood was certainly down. Of course, it was certainly reasonable to be disappointed.
When we walked out to find a place to sit and chat, I noticed the security presence had increased significantly. As I started to scan the area, I saw some quite intoxicated and belligerent guys outside shouting. While they initially didn’t seem that out of the ordinary, I kept watching and realized just how angry they were. I don’t usually get phased by much, so I was surprised to be put off by what I saw. But there were multiple of them who were gruffly screaming bloody murder at passersby to the point that security had to grab them and order them (somewhat unsuccessfully) to head home.
While I was unsettled, I couldn’t put my finger on why. Then, I opened my phone and saw this.
For lack of a better term: Jesus Christ. I mean, so much to unpack here. In this class, we’ve been reading A Tale of Two Cities and talking a lot about the cruel comedy of the character Jerry Cruncher. He’s a minor character who works as a porter for Tellson’s Bank by day and a grave-robber by night. While he is supposed to demonstrate the plight of the poor in 18th-century London, he’s also supposed to give us something to laugh about.
During our first introduction to Cruncher’s home life, we see him wake up already angry at his wife, who’s silently praying in the corner. He throws a boot at her, demands to know why she’s praying, and when she says she’s praying for him, verbally abuses and mocks her in front of their son. This theme continues throughout the novel, as he takes out his fears about his illegal activities at night by shifting the blame onto her.
Reading this in the 21st century, it’s no longer perceived as funny. I mean, it’s pretty well established that throwing a boot at your wife is abuse. It’s clearly not something anyone should have to put up with. As our norms have shifted, our interpretation of Cruncher has as well. But while we'd like to believe that domestic abuse is a shrinking problem of the past, it’s really not.
A 2022 campaign by Women’s Aid found that cases of domestic abuse increased by 38% when England lost a match and 26% when they won or drew. Thinking about those guys outside the pub, I started to wonder if they had partners or children at home who would face that redirected anger. And my discomfort started to make sense.
Being in London and bookpacking these wonderful novels is truly a gift. Putting myself in the characters' shoes is unlike anything I've ever done before. There is so much rich history down every street and alleyway we wander. Yet, my time here has consistently reminded me that England still suffers from its inability to shed its traditional thinking in basically every way, shape, and form. As much as I would like to believe that things have changed since 1859, some themes still ring true.