A combination of nostalgia and familiarity has turned me into a Euro 2020 fan

There is something emotional about supporting your own country’s team from within another. And there’s also something hilarious about it, writes Holly Baxter

Home ground: England manager Gareth Southgate celebrates England’s wining goal against Croatia at Wembley (Reuters)

I’ve never been a sports fan. I was the kid at school who made up more and more elaborate reasons not to go to PE every week, the one who regularly got yelled at to “not run away from the ball, dammit, Baxter!”. Beyond a strange time when collecting football stickers was cool among school friends, I displayed no interest in watching major sporting events either. I’m still not clear on the difference between rugby union and the other rugby. I look blankly at my fiance when he deploys golf or cricket-related metaphors during casual conversation.

Yet during the pandemic, I was sucked into the world of sport, strangely enough because of its absence. While I lamented the loss of brunch and bars, E would sit on the end of the bed and moan about the loss of football and its associated camaraderie. When Arsenal began playing again to pared-down stadia, I became the only sounding-board for his fantasy football team choices (when you live in a studio apartment – and most football fans are across the ocean and several time zones away – you don’t get much choice in the matter).

So now the Euros are here, and a combination of patriotic nostalgia and familiarity with the players has turned me into an active participant. Last weekend, as England geared up for their first game against Croatia, E and I rolled out of bed and straight into the TV room of our building with a couple of Irish coffees for the 9am start. Our other British friend got a Rebel scooter over and joined us, all of us in England shirts and shorts. It was strange to emerge, blinking, into the heat and light of a New York morning after England’s win, but it certainly felt like we’d made the most of the day. Later, we ended up at the local sports bar, positioned between two screens showing two different games: one, another Sunday Euros match and the other, an NBA match between the Brooklyn Nets and the Milwaukee Bucks.

There is something emotional about supporting your own country’s team from within another. And there’s also something hilarious about it. As we watched the cameras train across England fans with piss-poor face paint and their generous stomachs riding over their shorts as they jumped up in celebration of a goal, I remembered what it was like to be in Brixton during the last World Cup, just after England beat Sweden, with people jumping on bus stops and beers being thrown in the air. At that game, someone came up to E at the bar when he was ordering a pint and told him he was “doing God’s work” because he was wearing a Gareth Southgate tribute waistcoat over his England shirt.

Watching it from the outside, it also hit me how dreary and inappropriate our national anthem is. America may not be the country it always thinks it is, but its anthem is sufficiently rousing whenever you hear it belted out at sports games or political ceremonies. Explaining ours to curious Americans always feels embarrassing: yes, it’s about the Queen even though most people don’t support the monarchy; yes, it mentions God even though we have a separation of church and state; no, I don’t know why the tune is so slow; yes, it feels antithetical to everything I stand for to join my fellow countrymen and women in chanting “long to reign over us,” especially after that interview with Oprah.

Now, of course, all eyes are on the England-Scotland game on Friday, which kicks off at 3pm New York time. E has already booked a spot in the pub down the road and informed them he needs them to turn down the music for 15 minutes while he takes a work meeting before kick-off. The owner is opening early so that the English and Scottish fans of Brooklyn have a home to wander into. As for me, the whole thing leaves me feeling a little conflicted. My ancestors are from the borderlands, and I’m gunning for a Scottish passport if they manage to pull off Indyref2 and rejoin the EU. Just in case Nicola Sturgeon’s listening: I promise I won’t cheer too hard. And I have some ideas for alternative national anthems ahead of Friday if you’re looking to differentiate yourselves from England – call me.