when you’re not supposed to be a football fan

Grigoris Makos making good use of his time while injured

Was in a conversation recently with a few American friends, and as I’m also one (an American) I found myself getting hot and bothered about some ridiculous assumption these two friends of mine were making about being a Yankee abroad.

Their contention was that being a football fan while living in Europe is an affect. A transparent attempt to fit in with the locals, but one that makes me look like I’m pretending. This of course disregards the 70s and the renaissance of soccer at both the professional level and among kids in the Land of the Brave/Home of the Free. But for the sake of argument, let’s say I have no business following football.

I didn’t grow up in a rough and tumble inner-city neighbourhood of Manchester or Marseilles. My father and his father haven’t  supported a club since time immemorial. I’ve written about it on this miscellaneous blog before, but my family were into baseball. That’s what I was raised watching.

Cincinnati Red Stockings

When I was in music school in Cincinnati, I knew a South African who became a passionate Cincinnati Reds fan. He was obsessed. Although he hadn’t grown up watching it, he had learned the terminology and understood some of the incomprehensible rules that baffle most outsiders.

And unlike his fellow exchange students, who went to school in a faraway land and clinged to the others of their tribe who were similarly so displaced, this guy really got to know the natives. He was welcomed into the fold in a way that few outsiders ever would be.

Did I consider this guy and his experiences when I moved to Germany? Not consciously. Not in a way that I would’ve verbalised. However, I did want to get to know the culture from within.


I do want to distinguish myself from the typical ex-pat. Who wouldn’t? Many people live in a foreign country as if they’re doing time in prison. They have satellite television, so they can live in a little bubble that reminds them of home. They have contact with the locals, but on their terms when they feel like it.

It’s a beautiful thing.

So I thought I’d share with you, my loyal readers, my match report and assessment of my team’s season up until now. Is it inappropriate for me to become increasingly more and more obsessed with this football team? Probably.

We lived in Munich when I was a small child, and the neighbourhood where we went to church was down south of the city on a hill above the Tierpark. When I moved to Bavaria in 2001, it was strangely like I was finally coming home.

When you ride the Trambahn down to Church of the Ascension in Munich-Harlaching, you go right by the 1860 Munich training grounds. As they say amongst the fans of my club, ‘Einmal Löwe immer Löwe‘ (once a Lion, always a Lion). The mascot of both the city and the traditional football team is the lion, and you see lions all over the paraphernalia of the club.

Ok, enough build up. Here’s my piece at The Munich Eye:

1860 Munich victorious in Upper Bavarian Derby.


  1. Ouch! My satellite dish just fell on me as I walked by my building and no one helped me because they didn’t feel like it.
    Just wondering,,, what is the difference between and ex-pat and an immigrant?

    1. I like the blog owner’s answer better, but the difference is the intention to stay. BTW, being German, an ex-expat and not particularly fond of football: if you want you can have my slot.

  2. Dear Ken, you did something weird to your blog and I wasn’t subscribed to it anymore. Why do you hate me right now?

    Fine, I’ll comment on your blog post.

    Why does anyone care what you do that makes you happy? Your team makes you happy. As long as you’re not being all “I AM BETTER THAN YOU!” about it, people should stop being douchey.

    I don’t care about soccer. I do, however, enjoy reading what you write about soccer. Because you’re so enthusiastic about it. How can that not be an enjoyable read?

    1. Oh, whew, I can sleep tonight.

      I was going to sleep tonight anyway, let’s be clear, I have pills for that, but that seemed like the kind of thing to say in response.

      Sometimes my hands are up. Sometimes they’re down. They’re unpredictable appendages. And, yep. Loyal as a spaniel, I am.

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