Ooh! Hooligans! Straight from that American Hoolie Hotbed, Ohio!

By: Laurie | July 21st, 2008

Excuse me? Gentlemen? Yes, you, right there, the American West Ham “supporter” in the claret and blue. And you, over there. The Columbus Crew supporter in that bumble bee yellow-and-black. (But mainly the American guys in the claret and blue, who by most accounts were the instigators.)

Let’s talk.

I know last night felt like the right time to channel your inner hoolie. I mean… The appearance of an actual English team? Right here in your city? A team that you actually owned a jersey for? Or at least a team with a jersey you could get on ebay with rush delivery before the game? I mean, how perfect, right?

And I know you’re hopped up on the thrill on European-style hooliganism, having gotten yourselves all excited with hoolie porn like Dougie Brimson’s ‘March of the Hooligans.’

(Admit it. You keep a copy inside your nightstand, don’t you? Pages orange with Cheeto dust and scented with beer. Covered up by day with “Popular Mechanics” and your great-aunt’s Holy Bible. Taken out late at night when you think nobody’s looking.)

(Don’t think we don’t know.)

And so you take the opportunity presented to you by this game, West Ham “supporters,” and you decide to mix it up with those Crew fans.

And it worked. You got what you wanted. Some harsh words, some security guard action, and a photo in USA Today.

When people google “US Soccer Hooliganism,” there you will be, for generations to come. In thirty years you can proudly show it to your grandkids: “See, sonny? I was an English soccer hooligan! What? Yes, I was born in Akron. What’s that got to do with anything?”

But let’s think this through here. Do you know what European stadiums’ first line of defense against hooliganism is? No? Then I’ll tell you:

Alcohol bans. No alcohol allowed anywhere in the stadiums.

None. Zilch. Zip. Nada. Yes, I’m serious.

And so, gents, you’ve had your fun, right? You’re done now.

Because if I were ever to go to my local stadium only to be faced, because of you, with a large table filled only with Near Beer?

If that were to happen, I’m afraid I’d have to come find you.

(And bash your heads together.)