I needed a break.
I had been in England for a week and a half and I needed a respite. I wasn't experiencing major culture shock, it was just that the little differences between London and D.C. were starting to get to me. The buses here run on time, the cars drive on the wrong side of the road, and the birds chirp at all hours of the night (there's nothing more unnerving then being woken up at 3 a.m. by birds signing). It was all too much for me.
But my salvation would come in the form of Tom Brady.
In short, I needed to watch football. AMERICAN football. Watching it in our flat was not an option, as we only get five channels. Five channels? In America, even prisoners have basic cable.
There was only one option: hit up the bus and head out to the only bar in town playing the game, the Sports Caf?.
It's located in Piccadilly Circus, and the price of admission was steep at five pounds, or around $10. Then again, this is a country where a coke costs $3, a one-way subway ticket costs $6 and a new CD can cost $30. It's almost as if the people in charge of setting prices in this country are the same people who do it for ballpark concessions in America.
Another big difference was the time difference. An 8 p.m. start in the United States means a 1 a.m. start here. Needless to say, while many of you watched the game and then went out, I watched the game and then went looking for breakfast. Still, it felt like home.
The Brits running the place would play music during commercials, presumably what they thought we as Americans would like to hear, mainly Bon Jovi and Bruce Springsteen (apparently the British think we're all from New Jersey). The place was packed, filled with NFL fans milling around, cheering on their team from 3,000 miles away. They argued over who was better, using the words "your team" and "sucks" a lot. But they kept it friendly, as we Americans tend to do when sports and alcohol mix.
This is a big difference between America and Britain. Here, their friendly sports arguments mean that someone was only slashed across the arm with a knife, not stabbed in the back. I thought the Yankees/Red Sox rivalry was fierce. These football (soccer) fans make us look like first graders arguing over whose dad would win in a fight. I nearly got in a fight because I was wearing the wrong color scarf. I guess all the bad weather here puts people on edge.
Sadly, my Pats lost a very winnable game to Denver, turning my seven-hour night at the Sports Caf? into a sad experience. Dejected, I finished my $6 beer, took a deep breath and stepped back into England. Out there they don't care that Brady wasn't Brady, that Adam Vinateri missed a field goal in the playoffs or that the refs were making calls against the Patriots like they were trying to make up for the "tuck rule" call.
Feeling hungry and homesick, I still felt lost in the bustling metropolis. I felt alone, an outsider not quite comfortable in my new environment.
I wandered around for a bit, looking for a bus to take me home. When I turned the corner, I spotted the Golden Arches. A McDonald's, dead ahead. I thought I'd be all right there. God bless America.
