BRIT LOST IN A SEA OF TAILGATES

My friend Scott, fellow Tottenham Hotspur supporter and anglophile (for the benefit of my American friends , Tottenham are a North London soccer team), invited me to attend the Arizona Wildcats American football game at the University Stadium here in Tucson. Undeterred by my lukewarm response (I’ve always thought of American football as the poor man’s Rugby), he proceeded to sell me the whole package. The game itself was almost incidental, it was all about the socializing beforehand. Everybody tailgates, there are barbecues in abundance, the booze flows for hours on end and the atmosphere would be in keeping with the weather-sizzling. Come and experience some real Americana, Scott said. All of a sudden, it seemed rather enticing so I agreed to give it a go.

I don't know exactly what I expected, I guess that my European life experience could not have possibly prepared me for a barbecue event of such gargantuan proportions. This was hyper-real America up close and personal. Bigger, brasher, louder and more in your face than a Palo Verde beetle on heat.

I saw battalions of barbecues and burgers, squadrons of sausages and sodas, tons of tailgates and televisions, acres of Arizona wildcats’ navy and red merchandise, guys gigging and copious cabals of college kids baring more flesh than you would see in a roman amphitheater.

Rigged up to the nth degree, some of the set-ups I saw beggared belief. Let me try to describe the pick of the bunch. A huge pick-up van with the tailgate down and steps up to a dining area covered with artificial grass. Diner style metal stools, huge parasols, a satellite dish and an enormous flat screen TV. (What, they can’t even go out for a day without watching TV,’ I said. ‘Don’t be stupid..this is America Dude' was the predictable response). And the coup de grace, a massive stainless steel barbecue unit. And there was our man, in his element, kitted out in a red and blue striped apron and chef’s hat, busy flipping quarter pounders and sizzling onions.

Take all the paraphernalia away and you would have been left with the biggest car showroom on earth. 30 foot winnebagos, 4 x 4’s, Harley Davidsons in a handlebar heaven, jeeps, pick-up’s. There was more gleaming metal per square inch here than on a NASA launch pad.

So there I was, timid, middle-class, little Brit in my brown socks, sandals and Spurs shirt, nibbling on a veggie burger and a quorn sausages. Ducks and water sprang readily to mind. It was hardly a case of trying to blend in, I mean, some of the time I felt like I was an invisible non-entity on the set of The Sopranos and the rest of the time I was mesmerized like a kid on his first school outing to the fair. A far cry from a picnic of tea and sandwiches on a rug in a London park that I was brought up on.

So what of the game itself? I have to admit that I am not well versed in the minutiae of American Football so I am bound to miss any subtlety that exists. What I did observe were short, frenetic bursts of activity, a blur of bodies and heavy duty machismo and then a player appears from nowhere and crosses the line for a touchdown. High chests galore follow. (High fives are obviously passé in this environment). I was amazed when Scott told me that there are only 11 players a side on the field. Maybe it is because they are all so gigantic with their helmets and padding, plus the fact that the play is so often condensed into a small section of the pitch, that it seems like there are so many more.

What is astounding is the amount of substitutes who line up on the edge of the pitch, there are at least 35 of them per side. And the fact that although the playing time is only an hour, there are so many time-outs and breaks that a game can last 3 or 4 hours in real time.

We only stayed until half time, at which time the University of Arizona (U of A) were trouncing a team of whipping boys from Toledo in Ohio. Apparently, they were offered half a million bucks to turn up so that the U of A could duly thrash them and get the points on the board. Scott tells me that I should reserve judgement until I have seen one of the big games, such as the derby between the U of A and the ASU (Arizona State University) who are based in Phoenix.

He is probably right although I have serious doubts that I will ever be able to really get into this game. For me, there just is not enough variety and grace. However, in keeping with Tucson itself, I found the vibe really mellow. Lots of kids and families enjoying themselves and nobody going red in the face and uttering foul-mouthed expletives. As is, regrettably, so often the case at English soccer games.

All in all, a worthwhile experience. Scott was as good as his word. Nothing whatsoever was in short supply, except perhaps a nice hot cup of tea, a buttered scone and a cosy, tartan rug to sit on.