TURKEY

Simon Barnes

What makes the marvellous is its peculiar way of being ordinary; what makes the ordinary is its peculiar way of being marvellous. That's as true of sport as it is about love and wildlife and food and drink and anything else worth having or doing. And it's why Turkey is the only side to support at the European Championship.

I shall be cheering for Turkey because I once read The Black Book in Istanbul and was nothing less than ravished by it. It is no more capricious a reason for supporting a nation than the mere chance of having been born there: perhaps, in the end, a much sounder one. The book's author, Orhan Pamuk, went on to win the Nobel prize, after years of lobbying from me in various bars. So perhaps Turkey will win Euro 2008.

I was in Istanbul to see England play Turkey, and the strange, sinister, wild quality of the book infected me in the same way as the ditto streets of the ditto city. The book had elements of Marquez, elements of Borges, yet was wholly itself: a demented detective novel turned into an insane quest for - well, everything, really, life, love, sanity, understanding, meaning, all that sort of thing.

I assumed that the mysterious disappearances that are one of the book's recurring themes were a magical-realistic convention: but no. Suna Erdem, at the time writing for this newspaper in Istanbul, assured me that mysterious disappearances are a fact of life in this city. It's a deeply rum place. Not like home, not a bit.

What are Turkey doing in a European competition? It doesn't feel like a European country. There is a wildness, a culture, a mystery beyond European understanding, save through the words of a universal author. But the football team, wild, intense, individual, given to poisonous rows, have the potential to do well. Follow these boys for a wild ride, and read The Black Book while you're doing it.

PORTUGAL

Damian Whitworth

Never been there. Have no family ties. Could count the number of friends from the place on the fingers of my right hand after receiving justice Saudi Arabian-style for pickpocketing at the Grand Mosque in Mecca.

But that won't stop me rooting for that sliver of a country on the western tip of Europe we call Ronaldo. Sorry, Portugal. Oh, Ronaldo/Portugal - it's the same thing. I'm supporting the player, not the country. Or rather, I'm supporting the country because of the player.

I'm a Manchester United fan. Of course I'm backing the national team of the English player of the season; the 42-goal hero who won us the domestic and European titles. United also have Nani in the Portugal squad. But I can't say I'm all that bothered about that mini-Ronaldo. He's got swagger and talent, but not like the Portuguese popinjay himself.

I'm cheering for the team managed by the man who turned down England because of the absurdly self-confident, strutting, bling model on the wing. Because if you love football you have got to. No, seriously. We all want to see the development of a truly great player. And the great players have to perform on the big stages. He could still be named World Player of the Year if he does the business in the Alps. It will take more Champions League medals and something special at the World Cup finals for comparisons with Maradona, Pele and Zidane. But this would be the start.

Of course, if he announces before the tournament starts that he's off to Madrid, then you won't be hearing anything more from me about the neutral's desire to see a rare orchid bloom. I'll be cheering for Portugal's opponents in every game.

SPAIN

Carol Midgley

To be honest, I nearly picked France. If we're seeking reasons to care about Euro 2008 - and I'm struggling, frankly - then, I thought, at least let them be aesthetic ones. France has produced the most gorgeous footballer ever to stride the planet (Eric Cantona), and arguably the second sexiest, Zinedine Zidane. But then I remembered that Eric now looks like Demis Roussos and that Zidane has retired, so, sod that, I'm supporting Spain.

Why? Fernando Torres, basically. I don't particularly fancy him (obviously he'll need some time to get over that) but, judging by the joy he spreads in our house, he appears to be some sort of god. My daughter, who is 4, is obsessed.

Torres plays for Liverpool, where we live, and she sings the fans' eulogy (sample: “We bought the lad from sunny Spain/He kicks the ball, he scores again/Fernando Torres, Liverpool's Number 9”. Or something) about, oh, 47,000 times a day.

When we get a puppy it is allegedly going to be called Torres, which may prove embarrassing as there's a rumour that he may be moving to a house in our neighbourhood (bring it on - think of the house prices). Oh, and three members of the Spanish squad play for Liverpool. In fact Jamie Carragher has renamed his Liverpool restaurant Café Spain for the duration of the tournment in honour of Torres, Xabi Alonso and Pepe Reina. It will serve “Torres Burgers”, “Pepe Pasta” and “Xabi Bolognese”. Apparently.

Obviously the monstrosity that is bullfighting is the big flaw in supporting Spain. But at least the government seems nice, having made gay marriage legal and with a predominantly female Cabinet. And the Spanish team does play exciting, attacking football, unlike boring old Italy.

Like England it is also a persistent underachiever and rarely wins anything, so it would make a change and give the football correspondents something to write about. And I like going to Spain on holiday, and Rioja is my favourite wine and, er, that's it...

CROATIA

David Aaronovitch

Any sports fan or history buff with blood in their veins seeks affiliation. How can you not opt for Venus or Serena, Cromwell or Charles? In an Englandless World Cup, it would always be Brazil, but Euro 2008 is a problem.

So why Croatia? Well, they beat England to qualify, of course, but otherwise it isn't an obvious choice. I had to overcome some vague ideological memory concerning fascists and the Second World War, and then a more recent prejudice to do with the uncomfortable coincidence in Croatia of nudism and pebbly beaches. But Croatia was part of the Habsburg Empire and this allows me to tell my favourite football joke. It's the one about the old lady who is asked by her grandson if she has heard the result of the Austria-Hungary match. “No,” she replies. “Who were they playing?”

Finally my reasons come down, as they usually do, to club loyalties. Chelsea supporters could probably pick any one of a dozen finalists and find an Abramovich acquisition in the team. For us Tottenham fans it's a bit simpler, because there's really just the one, and he hasn't kicked a ball for us yet. Croatia's playmaker, Luka Modric, was bought by Spurs from Dinamo Zagreb a few weeks ago, for a sum of eighty million trillion Kuna. He is touted by Croatia's manager, Slaven Bilic, as one of the best players in Europe, and though we know this is hype and we've heard it before, we desperately want to believe it.

Which means, of course, that we do find ourselves with a dog in this fight. When the tournament begins we will be chanting “Hrvatska! Hrvatska!” Which is probably what nudists sitting on shingle also shout.

AUSTRIA

Caitlin Moran

Let's face it - Austria's a hard country to love. It's not like Australia, or Ireland, or crazy old Iceland - those razzy, feel-good nations anyone would invite round for gin and Pictionary. Austria's image is a bit, well - “slightly off-putting” would be wildly understating it. This is the country that started the First World War, invented a fascism so regionally specific they called it Austrofascism and gave us Hitler. And since the war Hitler started - in which, sadly, 70 million people died - the only time Austria's been in the news has been whenever one its citizens is discovered to have fashioned some novel underground prison and hidden an unfortunate child there.

On top of all this, Austria has wine that tastes like fox urine, a selection of wholly irredeemable cheeses and manufactures the world's most disgusting, unenvironmentally friendly sweet, PEZ; a Tic-Tac that comes in a miniature animal-headed tank made of pure asbestos.

Given all this, I'm under no illusions. No illusions at all. I know the only other people who'll be supporting Austria, aside from me, once the tournament starts, are people who literally pulled the word “AUSTRIA” out of a hat during the office sweepstake and are now regarding the whole thing with an air of mild depression.

But you know what? I like an underdog. I feel for an outcast. After all, those 13 plucky Austrian guys on the pitch - or nine, or however many it is; I'm a little sketchy on some of the more technical aspects of football - didn't start the Second World War personally. They're all out there on the grass for, erm, whatever it is that all those football guys are out there for. And I, for one, intend to cheer them on in that as yet non-defined-to-me mission. As you can see from the picture, I am wearing that one predator-like, weapon-wielding, dementedly screaming eagle of Austria on my chest with pride. Because out there on the pitch, Austria aren't just playing football. No. They're battling to instil one, single positive image of their nation into the Earth's consciousness, against odds of approximately 60/1. And in the absence of genuinely giving a stuff either way about the whole event, that'll do me.

For if Euro ‘96 is about anything, it's about the fans' loyalty and belief.

GERMANY

Stefanie Marsh

Reasons for supporting Germany this summer start with the German striker's name. Bastian Schweinsteiger. Try shouting “Schweinsteiger!” at the TV. Feels good even before you knew his name translates as “pig climber.”

There are other reasons too. Because Germany is the only team this summer that has an English-language football chant. And singing We are the Champions in a German accent is funny. Because football is so important in Germany that schools have been urged to postpone their exams until after Euro 2008 finishes.

Because Michael Ballack spent months driving a white Ferrari around London but, because he is German, never realised that only people who live in the 1980s do that. Because Austria is where bad things happen to good people in cellars and Portugal's got a lousy police force. Because British second-home buyers have been fleeced by disreputable Spanish property merchants. And because Italy's so popular it'd be like voting for that sheep dog in Britain's Got Talent. And two thirds of British people are officially Polish anyway.

Because even a moron can remember the words to the official German football chant: Deutschland, Deutschland, Deutschland. And there's something transgressive and hugely comic about chanting “Deutschland” if you are British with a keen interest in early 20th-century history. Here's your opportunity to spend the next few weeks discussing the war with German people while masquerading as a German person yourself. Because Germany win as many penalty shoot outs as England loses.

Because for the first time in your life you'll know how it feels to have a decent national anthem. Because most German words sound like swear words to non-German speakers. And because Germany is likely to win. “Auf gehts Deutschland schiesst ein Tor, schiesst ein Tor, schiesst ein Toooooaaar!”

Or if you prefer: Niemand mag uns, das ist uns egal! With thanks to Millwall. The perfect slogan for Germany.

HOLLAND

Daniel Finkelstein

Hier gaan wij, Hier gaan wij, Hier gaan wij. That's here we go in Dutch. This summer it is “Oranje Boven” for me, orange on top.

As the son of immigrants I am spolit for choice in international tournaments. I am resolutely for England but if they bovinely, uselessly, unbelievably, maddeningly get knocked out, there are other places I can go.

My father was born in Poland, in a town that is now part of the Ukraine. He spent two years in exile, sent by the Russians to Uzbekistan, then lived in Persia. My mother, with exquisite timing, was born a Jew in Germany in 1933 and was brought up in Holland.

See? Spoilt for choice.

But I can whittle it down pretty quickly. We can rule out anyone who has sent a relative to prison for no reason (Russia), anyone who fancies a pop at killing all the Jews left over from the last time someone killed all the Jews (Persia), anybody who is unaccountably classified as being in Asia rather than Europe (Uzbekistan), anybody who isn't in Euro 2008 any more (Ukraine) and anybody who knocked England out of the World Cup in 1974, breaking my heart when I was 11 (Poland). And obviously I can't support Germany.

Which leaves the Dutch.

And that's fine because I love the Dutch. The food, the people, the canals, what's not to like? If you don't understand that you obviously haven't sampled hagelslag. And if you haven't sampled hagelslag you haven't lived, quite frankly. On bread. Or on your cereal.

But it's not just sentiment. I'll have you know that some hard football calculation has gone into this. The Dutch provide one of the best teams in Europe and are one of the favourites to win. They are known as an attacking side, but their dirty little secret is that they really excel in defence.

I am a father of young boys. It's my responsibility to provide them with a team to support that might win. And isn't Germany.