As Bill Alden headed south of London towards rugby’s national stadium for a recent game between England and an all-star team from South Africa, New Zealand and Australia, it seemed like he was on his way to a day in the country rather than a sporting event.
By: Bill Alden
LONDON – As I headed south of London towards rugby’s national stadium, Twickenham, for a recent game between England and the Barbarians, an all-star team comprised largely of players from South Africa, New Zealand, and Australia, it seemed like I was on my way to a day in the country rather than a sporting event.
After crossing the Thames river and leaving behind the crowded, frenzied heart of the city, things took on a bucolic feel. The buildings became smaller and quainter as I traveled through a residential area of two-story brick townhouses surrounded by lush, emerald-green, park-like areas.
As the traffic thickened in an approach to a roundabout, the village-like aura of the area was dramatically altered as the light gray rim of the 75,000-seat stadium loomed through a grove of trees. Making my way through the throng, I was more than ready to make my first in-person excursion into the world of English professional rugby.
Since soccer (football) dominates the English sporting scene, it has been the sport that I have naturally ended up watching the most, both on TV and in person. I have kept an eye on rugby, though, following the pro circuit here as well as the international competitions such as the Rugby World Cup and the annual Six Nations tourney between England, France, Ireland, Italy, Scotland and Wales.
This dual interest puts me in the minority here since most football fans don’t seem to like or follow rugby and vice versa. While many a N.Y.-area sports fan, for instance, lives and dies with the fortunes of the Giants, Yankees, and Knicks, it is rare to find a supporter of Arsenal, North London’s most popular Premier League football club, who cares about the Wasps, London’s top pro rugby team.
The lack of crossover of sporting allegiance is due to many factors, including class, education and family tradition. The football fans tend to view their rugby brethren as bit on the snobby side dominated by a corporate flavor while the rugby crowd sees the soccer supporters as loutish with a history of violence. As a result, the sports operate in separate spheres with a distinctly different flavor.
Before even entering Twickenham, one difference was readily apparent as fans massed in fields adjacent to the stadium, tailgating in a spirit of obvious conviviality. By contrast, since most of the football grounds are in urban areas and have no open space to congregate, the fans jam in to neighborhood pubs, some of which strongly discourage the patronage of supporters of the visiting team.
Once in the stadium, I encountered a sight I’ve never seen at a football game here, groups of fans wearing the jerseys of opposing teams sharing a pint and chatting amiably. At football games, the fans from the visiting team are seated in a segregated section so as to lessen the chances of violence and they eye each other warily as they head to their seats.
In fact, if you order tickets for a football game over the phone, you must specify in which team’s section you want to sit and you are advised that if you are actually a supporter of the other team you are subject to being removed from the grounds.
About 15 minutes prior to kickoff, the teams filed out together and stood in front of the sidelines for the singing of the English national anthem, "God Save the Queen." Not only did the England team heartily belt out the song but so did most of the crowd of 50,000.
Football matches are immediately preceded by the players sprinting out in two lines to the roar of the crowd with the starters heading right to the center circle. Once the ref is ready, the game kicks off without the aid of an anthem although the supporters usually sing colorful (and often obscene) team chants to greet the action.
Due in part to the all-star nature of the Twickenham contest, the fans took on a bantering attitude as the England supporters good-naturedly responded to a Barbarian foul by noting that "colonials" have never had discipline.
The main attraction of the day was Barbarians’ wing Jonah Lomu, the massive 250-pound yet speedy New Zealander who has made a career out of terrorizing England, scoring six tries in six games lifetime against the British.
But unlike the take-no-prisoners approach of football crowds to opposing stars, the English fans appreciated Lomu’s efforts, buzzing with anticipation when he took off on his Jim Brown-like runs and cheering vociferously when he was tackled.
As the game wound down and the undermanned English team (playing subs due to an upcoming tour to Australia) pulled to within seven points on twice, the crowd sang England club’s unofficial theme song, "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot," to help inspire the home team. Football fans, for their part, would be more likely to serenade a trailing home team with a chorus of whistles, groans, and negative chants.
Although the England side ended up losing 43-29, the fans did not leave grumbling and second-guessing as is the nature of their football counterparts in the wake of defeat. Instead, the crowd stayed and cheered as the Barbarians shook hands with the English players and the teams headed to the locker room.
Enjoying the pleasant afterglow of the hard-hitting yet free-flowing match, many of the rugby supporters stayed behind at the Ruck & Maul bar under Twickenham’s North Stand to rehash the action over a pint or two.
While my afternoon with the Barbarians and England may have lacked the blood-and-thunder aura of a Premier League football match, I left with the feeling that soccer fans are cheating themselves by passing up time at Twickenham.