Everybody loves an Italian girl?

The World Cup has descended upon Ireland (and the rest of Europe) like a medieval plague...highly contagious and completely incurable. And I admit, I'm feeling a little feverish. It's pretty near impossible not to be at least somewhat interested when every newspaper, television and radio presenter has something to say. The bookies are filled with people considering their odds. It's the talk of every barbecue and presented on the big-screen in every self respecting pub in Dublin. So, okay, I give in. I watched the Poland vs. Ecuador game (rooting for Poland of course as every third person you meet in Dublin is Polish.) I even watched a bit of the England vs. somebody-or-other until I got bored and left Tom and co. at the pub to go shopping. But not until last night, did I actually watch a game that was truly riveting. For that you need to actually care a little bit about the outcome.

I spent yesterday afternoon playing a softball tournament in the blazing sun (no complaints there) except part of our team was missing and we got our asses absolutely kicked. I had a great day personally, stopped some hardcore line-drives that came in my direction but those innings get long when you're standing in the sun and the other team is going through it's batting rotation over and over again. Rough. Anyway, after we picked our sorry selves off the field, we decided to go watch the USA vs. Italy game in the city centre. Italy was predicted to run-over the US like an SUV over a baby-carriage but hey, what's a little more defeat after being the big-time tournament losers.

When we got to the bar, it was absolutely packed. Tom's Italian co-worker estimated that the place was made up of about 50% Italians, 20% Irish and 10% Yanks. Outnumbered once again. Tom asked me who I was going to root for but living abroad has made the answer only too obvious. To a european, I am only one thing, an American, pure and simple. To claim anything else as your own is simply comical and/or prepostorous. Who do you think you are? In the states, it is pretty much assumed that while you may be an American, you also carry with you another ethnicity or nationality. You're Italian-American, Irish-American, Russian-American, Jewish, African-American etc... Here, it doesn't matter if you can make a mediterreannean feast that would rival mama tuscany. It doesn't matter if you can step-dance or jig or play the bagpipes or pepper your speech with yiddish. If you sound like an American that's what you are. Unless you can speak the language of your ancestors, you're just freeloading. End of story. So. okay, I accept it. And I embrace that fact that yes, I am an American, first and foremost, shaped as much by my country of birth as by anything else, and god-damn it, I'm going to be proud of that fact.

Except there's a problem. When the Italians get rowdy, start talking with their hands and chanting at the top of their lungs over and over again, "Italia, Italia, Italia," it sounds sexy as hell. When the Americans (small in number though we may be) start chanting "U-S-A, U-S-A, U-S-A," we sound like frat boys or marines about to go kill a bunch of Iraqis. It may sound stupid but I really wanted to be able to be proud of my people, and not the people who left Italy 100 years ago but the people of my birthplace and yet... It's hard to have national pride when you hail from a country that is currently acting like a spoiled child on crack. Still I did my best.

And it was a good game to watch. They were an aggressive, feisty bunch of footballers (on both teams.) A few minutes into the game, an Italian player elbowed one of the Americans in the face and basically split his face open. The Italian was sent off (a red card) to the horror of the Italians and the American was cleaned up, washed up, patched up and sent back to play. Two Americans were later sent off for, "Bad Tackles," and the US got a game winning goal that was awarded and then taken away because one of the players was, "off-side" by about an inch. Not a dull moment I tell you.

Ultimately, the game ended in a 1-1 tie which seemed like a win for the Americans since everybody expected them to roll over and play dead. I suppose for us, that might be as good as it gets. If the Americans get eliminated, I'll start chanting Italia cuz it really does roll off the tongue, but until then I'm joining the frat. U-S-A in the house.