Posted on 12/08/2003 10:29:25 PM PST by Prodigal Son
IT WAS like being Moses, save that the sea parted more reluctantly. Not the Red Sea, but the Red and White Sea: an ocean of flag-waving humanity with a single purpose in mind.
They were there to rejoice — three quarters of a million of them — and at times they flowed so thick that they brought the buses to a halt and the police horses had to march ahead and part them, so that once more the England team might go forward.
This was the day the England rugby union team paraded through the West End of London, bearing with them the trophy they won two brief, lifelong weeks back. The World Cup: England, champions of the world. And if you think that means nothing, you should have travelled with me in that three-bus cavalcade (of course there were three — you know how it is with buses).
I won’t have sex except with Jonny. I should point out here that this was one of the banners, rather than a personal statement. Jonny Wilkinson (for it was he), hero of England’s tournament and England’s victory, waved shyly, as uneasy in the limelight as his pal, David Beckham, is at home in it. Jonny, I want your babies; another banner. And a third: Johnno, show us your bum. This being for England’s captain and Easter Island statue, Martin Johnson, at present No 2 in the national heroism charts.
But they did more than wave banners. They climbed up bus stops and perched in crotch-splitting agony for a glimpse and a wave and a cheer. They stood two at a time in precarious embrace on pillar boxes. They gathered, gang-handed, on the roofs of bus shelters and even fire engines. They lined the streets a dozen deep on either side. Only a dozen? There wasn’t room for any more, but every time we passed an intersection there were a hundred more ranks of them.
The shops made a fuss that was part joy and self-promotion: Marks & Spencer incontinently vomited red and white confetti, Hamleys claimed that “the greatest toys salute the greatest boys in the world”. But for once this was no corporate do. This was a spontaneous, democratic and vernacular celebration: a city and a nation united in the rare and considerable pleasures of rejoicing. And every office window was open and many scrambled daringly along the parapets with cameras and blown kisses.
Others were safer, but no less ecstatic, on balconies, another group on a cupola above a neat green dome. Behind the scaffolding on the building sites, working chaps in fluorescent jackets and hard hats gave some tough guy cheers.
And it was freezing: weather more suitable for brass monkeys than golden cups. Those in the best positions had been there for hours — some since the middle of the night — and if, like a brass monkey, they had paid dearly for their place of vantage, they put a good face on it: loud cheers and relentless waving of the flag of St George.
What was it like? First, it was astonishing. That so many people could find so much joy from so few. That sport could really mean that much to people. And no, they weren’t rugby fans, they were just people. People who watch telly and who had their hearts lifted by a sport many of them had never watched before. But everyone understands the language of sporting drama, and especially the language of victory.
Caught up in the drama and the beauty and the joy: especially since it all came down to the last-gasp melodramatics of Wilkinson (he whose babies are so urgently solicited) and his right foot. I had wondered who would turn out for a do such as this one, but the answer was simple.
Everybody. Black, white, brown, male, female, children, teenagers, the fully grown and the ancient: and every one of them in holiday humour.
Because secondly, it was benign. Can you imagine a nationalistic celebration without hatred or bile or bitterness or resentment or defiance or bigotry or boasting? Can you imagine a sweet-natured spontaneous version of the Nuremburg Rally? A sporting version of Woodstock? It was as if patriotism was once again innocent, cleansed of malice. Simply a shared joy in a shared land.
There was very little booze, no laddishness and remarkably few police: just 500 for the 750,000 pilgrims. No arrests. It was, you see, a festival of good vibes. It has, after all, been 37 years since an England team last won a World Cup, when the football boys did it in 1966. A celebration such as this one has been through a long threatening and in the intervening years, between World Cup and World Cup, sport has become vastly more significant, vastly more vivid, greatly more watched and more followed.
And in that time, many an England team has travelled abroad to seek victory and has come home with disappointment and shame. The football World Cup of 1998 ended with the sending-off of David Beckham and riots among the supporters. In the 1980s, English clubs were banned from playing in Europe because they had caused too many deaths.
But now, sport has brought us something unambiguously worth celebrating. A tournament that passed without trouble (as rugby tournaments will) ended with an England victory. And to add sweetness, it was victory over Australia, who had beaten England in three previous World Cup finals in three different sports.
No wonder they turned out to cheer. And no wonder Wilkinson — the hero who kicked the winner with 28 seconds left to play in extra time — was cheered so far beyond the point of embarrassment that he scarcely knew what to do with himself. Except try to win it again. And maybe the victory will inspire the England teams in other sports.
I don’t know. You wait 37 years for a bus like that . .
Well, check it out lefties: As many as 7 times as many people showed up to celebrate the Rugby World Cup victory.
Yeah, I'm not too much into rugby myself. For me, this article was about the anti-Bush protest a couple weeks back. It was supposed to have been a huge protest and a big success but compared to this it was nothing.
You have to understand where he's coming from: patriotism is not viewed the same way in Europe as it is in the US. Since WWII it is frowned upon by a great many people. English soccer hooligans give patriotism a bad name with their brand of flag waving. I found Barnes' comments quite reasonable in their context. His prose is a little over-flowery but again- he's a sports writer. I don't expect a whole lot more from him.
Well, I guess that when a sports writer starts out with the belief that patriotism IS ugly (or as he put it, needing to be cleansed of its intrinsic malice), and that "nationalistic celebrations" are rooted in "hatred or bile or bitterness or resentment or defiance or bigotry or boasting", inevitably evoking the Nuremberg rally he can't help but mention even in a sports article-- I suppose that when such a person admits that patriotism doesn't have to be all bad, it could appear to be quite open-minded and benign to some of his readers.
But not to me. What a miserable puke...
Overt patriotism is not really "in style" in the UK and much of Europe.
OK, he's a miserable puke AND a slave to fashion. Lousy left-leaning metrosexual...
Do I need more than his own words?
Since WWII it is frowned upon by a great many people.
Yes, I know. Patriotism is bad. Turns people into Nazis. Never mind the patriotism of those who fought the Nazis; that's irrelevant.
I find it very sad that this seems to be the lesson Europe took from WWII. If it happens again, there may not be sufficient people who care enough to fight.
It is safer to say his entire nation starts out with that view. Europeans don't have a positive view of patriotism thanks to Hitler. You'd have to live here. Overt patriotism of the kind Americans are used to is not viewed the same at all. It is usually frowned upon as jingoistic. There's a lot of historical baggage you have to look at when trying to understand this.
You have to understand that for many people- even conservatives here- when they think of flag waving nationalism the very first thing that pops into their heads is Nuremburg. When people see flag waving Englanders on the telly, often it is those from those ugly soccer crowds. It is a good thing, I think, for patriotism to be seen in a positive light here and that is exactly what Barnes is saying.
The Times might very well be a Communist rag in disguise and Barnes, I suppose, could very well be a subversive communist but I don't see anything wrong with him putting a positive spin on patriotism.
What a miserable puke...
You don't even know the guy.
OK, he's a miserable puke AND a slave to fashion. Lousy left-leaning metrosexual...
Oh bollocks. You're just being silly now. Unless you know something about Barnes that I don't. I take him at face value here without more info. He is happy England won and he is happy patriotism doesn't have to be ugly. What's wrong with this?
So do I.
If you take his words out of the proper context... Think about what he's referencing here:
In the 1980s, English clubs were banned from playing in Europe because they had caused too many deaths.
This is what he's talking about here. He's contrasting this event in Trafalgar Square with that ugly image. To me it's pretty clear.
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