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.
