My mother always impressed upon me that there were two types of people in the world: Scots, and others. The others were to be pitied.
There were plenty of Scottish supporters on hand at Royal Athletic Park last night to watch their boys -- er, lads -- lose 2-0 to Nigeria at the FIFA under-20 tournament.
Tams. Glengarries. Braveheart-faced men draped in the cross of St. Andrew. Down in what is usually the parking lot, a clutch of half-hammered Scotland supporters (sorry if that's redundant) cheered as a pair of kilted pipers played Highland Laddie before the match.
That's the thing about soccer -- er, football -- around here. Whenever flag-waving Canadians pour out of a stadium, they're waving the flag of another country. Otherwise, the average Canadian doesn't know his Arsenal from his elbow.
We may get all excited about it on occasions like this, with 11,400 fans celebrating in the Royal Athletic stands, or at World Cup time, when we all suddenly start talking like BBC announcers ("France was up one-nil when Japan equalized on the hour"), but this remains a game Canadians never quite embrace. Participation may keep growing, from 484,000 registered Canadian players in 1995 to 841,000 a decade later, but we still think of it as a game played by 10-year-old girls named Chelsea and Kaitlyn.
Other countries take it much more seriously. In England, which beat Germany in the 1966 global championship, the fans borrow the tune to Camptown Races and sing "Two world wars and one World Cup, doodah, doodah" when the two old foes meet. The Brits also spread their arms and pretend to be RAF bombers. Nice. Over there, soccer is about tribalism. Here it's recreation.
Some of the trappings at Royal Athletic seemed more suited to nations where they're more passionate about the game. Red-clad security staff faced the crowd, braced, apparently, for a pitch invasion. (Note to FIFA: We would invade, but first you would have to tell us what a pitch is.) Sorry, but we just don't take soccer that seriously.
"It seems to build up and then fade, build up and then fade," sighed Bill Cameron. He made the trek to Royal Athletic Park from Cobble Hill, where he still raises Arabians (the horses, not the people) just like he learned on his grandfather's farm back in Scotland.
Cameron played top-flight soccer there, for Motherwell and St. Johnstone, even dressed for Scotland itself against England, cheered by 150,000 in Hampden Park. In 1957, he moved to Toronto, lured by the promise of a Canadian professional league that faded within a couple of years. That was followed by five years captaining San Francisco United, including a memorable night when he scored in a 2-1 loss to England.
Cameron kept hoping the pro game would take off in sa国际传媒. He saw it flame briefly when the North American Soccer League took hold in the 1970s, but then wane again. It frustrates him that gifted Canadian players like his 19-year-old grandson have no place to go.
Maybe things will be different this time. Maybe that proposed pro team in Victoria will fly. Down in the tunnel under the Royal Athletic stands, Leslie Woods, having his face painted blue by 13-year-old son Cullen Patrick Woods prior to the game, figured the time is ripe for it to happen. The Woods are season-ticket holders at Toronto FC games, 21,000-seat sell-outs. They've flown to Victoria to watch Scotland, and will follow the team to Burnaby. Oh, to see that kind of passion for Canadian soccer.
