I went to the Wales v Northern Ireland football match in Cardiff last night. The night was wet and cold, the football was wet and cold but I remained warm due to judicious use of thermal underwear.
Sitting next to me were a family of five: three generations of red and green clad Welsh people. It seemed that the younger members of the group were new to live football but the grandfather was clearly a veteran attendee.
As the teams lined up before the match kicked off, we all stood awaiting the anthems. Northern Ireland's is the sad God Save the Queen, and once this fact had sunk in (after about four chords) the booing began.
I would have booed too, if we had been playing England, but I thought that the Ulster lads deserved better than that from me. Still, it cheered me slightly to know that many Welsh fans responded in Pavlovian manner to the dreadful dirge.
What I was not prepared for was, turning to my left, seeing the proud patriarch in his red hat lustily singing along to the English/British anthem. I caught his eye and he smiled, raising his voice to belt out the final line: "Go-odd Saaaaaaave the Queeeeeeeeen!"
I kept quiet but for fuck's sake, what was he thinking? This isn't ling-along-afucking-Max! Our pre-match anthems are our war-cries, our battle shibboleths. You sing the other team's anthems and they hear more support in the stadium than is actually present.
And lo-and-behold, what happened? The Northern Ireland team scored their first away friendly goal for years and were on course for their first such victory in over a decade. That quisling grandad was bailed out by Simon Church's penalty, converted in the last minute and securing a well-deserved draw.
Next time you are thinking of singing the opposition's anthem - don't. Keep yer fucking mouth shut in Lens and make sure you learn the words to OUR anthem.
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