A Scot-Italia Pub Fest

Scotland may indeed be brave, but viva Italia!

Saturday might have been a hangover recovery morning for those attending our housewarming party the night before, but for our Scot-Italia household, it was the Scotland-Italy football (soccer) match for advancement in the European Cup race. Or something. Apparently it has been a big deal that Scotland has advanced this far into the qualifying. All I know is my husband was like a kid in a candy store, bolted out of bed early, forced me to don my Italy jersey while he modeled his Ross County jersey, and ushered me out at 8:00 am to go watch the game.

Married to a Scotsman, I have uncovered a whole other subculture in this country. Like a secret society, this ex-pat or just general fan group graces pubs big and small to watch DirectTV feeds of international soccer games - often at ridiculous morning hours since the games are televised live. This one happily was at a more decent hour.

Tromping through the rain along the silent early morning streets, we hit The George and Dragon, which hails itself as Seattle "only authentic English pub." It seemed deserted - until we stepped inside. We were greeted by a heaving crowd of rowdy Scotsmen and Scotland supporters who has taken over the "English" pub by hanging the Lion Rampart and the Scottish flag strategically throughout the place. The Russia game was on, too, but in a back corner somewhere. Scottish accents, laughter, blue and white jerseys, and kilts filled the room. Yes, my husband must hate me, I thought, as I walked in with my lone Italy jersey. I felt like the stranger walking into a Wild West bar as the saloon goes silent. Now I'm all for rooting for my home country, but talk about stepping into the lion's den. My husband had happily scored a small table and waved me over (someone had to go get the lattes). Glowing and smiling, I think he found his people. Our good friend, Guy, also joined into the fun by meeting us there as well.

The room crackled with excitement and progressively got louder close to 9 am kickoff (or whatever the hell they call it in soccer). A quiet looking man arrived with an odd little suitcase which he opened and pulled out a set of bagpipes. The crowd went nuts as he blasted "Scotland the Brave." Caught up in the super fun excitement, I looked around at all the hopeful happy faces and thought "This is really cool!" I felt like we were back in my in-laws village pub in Evanton or something. We even ordered a Scottish Breakfast of egg, tomato, beans, bacon and sausage. Wasn't great, but it definitely added to the ambiance.

Italy scored first, dampening the spirits a bit, but Scotland rallied and scored as well. Then with about a minute or two to go, a penalty was called and Italy got a corner kick that turned into a goal. And with that, the flame went out, folks finished up their Guinesses, shook hands, and started trickling out into the pouring rain. Piper Guy did one more round for the troops before packing it in as well.

I love examples of the fun little subcultures that abound in our country: groups formed via a shared interest for film or chess or their faraway homeland. It's like there's this undercurrent you never really know about until you tap into the vein and find yourself carried along. My husband was very sad at Scotland's loss, but we are looking forward to spending many more rainy Saturday mornings at The George and Dragon with "his people."