Pretty Bubbles

One rarely thinks of bubbles when contemplating football. Either variety – American or “the real kind,” as the Europeans would have us believe. However, call out a West Ham United fan on this, and you risk dismemberment, or worse.

You see, the Hammers, with their uniform of burgundy and blue, emblazoned with a bold gold castle and crossed hammers, have chosen a somewhat curious fight song. It is a sight to behold a crowd, 30,000 strong, belting out “Pretty Bubbles” at the top of their lungs as their squad takes the field. Sure, there is some spirited clapping at the end, but being an outsider to the scene made me think that as songs go, their choice did not inspire the fear in the enemy it was meant to.

That said, a football match in England is an amazing experience. The entire stadium shimmers in burgundy and blue. Every seat is filled. The excitement is palpable as the players take the pitch, rising steadily as the match begins. Singing, chanting, screaming. Even a trio of streakers take the field, running a victorious lap before being hauled off by myriad of police and security. Every attempt on goal has the side closest to it rising to their feet, leaning forward, breath bated, waiting to scream out in case of success, or groan in the event of failure.

West Ham United is in a precarious position. Second from the bottom in the England Premiership, the team risks being relegated to a lower league. Therefore, every match is a must-win situation. Fortunately for the Hammers, Everton’s star player goes down in the first few minutes of the match, thanks in part to a not-so-subtle shove from one of the West Ham players. The referee punishes West Ham for this stunt the rest of the match, failing to notice when one of the Everton players blatantly kicks the goalie and finding six minutes of stoppage time at the end of the match. Nevertheless, with Everton’s star down for the count, West Ham gains the momentum, and finishes with a 1-0 victory.



During half-time, a rousing rendition of the team song breaks out in the concourse. I am pressed up against a wall, waiting for Bree, surrounded by about 1,000 rowdy fans swigging beer and singing. “Don’t you support us?” says a short, cap-wearing man near me. There is only one right answer. “Then why aren’t you singing our song?” he demands. It is a challenge, and the wrong response could get me in trouble. Think fast, think fast. “I’m shy,” I babble, hoping for the best. “No need to be shy around me girl,” he leers. Pretty bubbles, indeed.