Tales from Europe: Patriotism in France

They just don't get it. Europeans, American students abroad in Europe, people following my journey on social networking sites and even my own family members — including my father, who took me to Super Bowl XLII — don't realize that no matter where in the world you place me, no matter how many women you surround me with and no matter how beautiful the French Riveria may be, I am watching every New England Patriots football game — so help me God.

On the day of the AFC championship between the Patriots and the Baltimore Ravens, my study abroad program had taken a day trip to Monaco, one of the smallest and richest countries in the world. Yours truly hit a hot streak at the Casino Monte Carlo (see my Facebook profile picture for further information), and in lieu of buying dinner for my whole program, I promised several girls I would pay for their all-you-can-drink passes at a bar in Cannes that evening — if they could convince the proprietor to broadcast the game between the Patriots and the Ravens. It seemed a worthwhile gamble because a local school staffer had recently told me, "Only the Super Bowl is televised in France. No semifinals."

So it was with humility and disappointment that, after having spent a good part of the previous day preaching the ills of SOPA (the proposed Stop Online Piracy Act), I searched for a website from which to illegally watch the AFC Championship online (Dear U.S. Marshall's office: Just kidding).

Precisely 14 minutes before the scheduled kickoff time — 9:14 p.m. local time — one of the girls called me:

"Greg, they're showing your game! Come to Morrison's."

"Shut up. That's not funny."

"We're not joking," she said. "It's the Patriot's game. There are other Americans here to watch it. Come buy us our drinks!"

"Seriously, stop. Put someone else on."

Ten seconds later: "This is the barkeep," said an Irish girl's voice. "We're showing the American football game."

I wasn't convinced. The thought of enjoying a football game with beer and human contact was far more tempting than a shoddy feed in the dark dorm room, but time was short: Could I really trust these girls? Because, when you think of the demographic at hand — American collegiate females studying abroad in France — you realize they usually aren't into sports, and find the obsession with playoff football to be somewhat comical. Something, perhaps, to marginalize.

Considering this, I pondered whether the girls would actually toy with my passions for a laugh. Then I wondered if I was just being cheap and paranoid. I called them back.

"Let me make this clear. If I go all the way across Cannes to a bar that isn't showing the New England Patriots play the Baltimore Ravens in the AFC Championship, heads will roll."

"Okay, Greg."

Six minutes until kickoff. So I ran. Outside the school, I encountered some girls waiting for a bus that I had never taken. They told me it's the fastest way to the bar. Normally I'd take my chances sprinting, but today was different: Like Tom Brady trusts his receivers to be where he throws the ball, I trusted the Cannes Public Transportation system. Exercising a newfound level of patience, I waited for the bus. And waited. And waited.

It came. Within minutes, I was sprinting a couple blocks towards Morrison's Irish Pub in downtown Cannes — past Europeans judging me for wearing an American football jersey in public, past Europeans asking for change and past more Europeans who just don't understand that if Tom Brady does it, it must be witnessed. After bursting through the doorway at 9:30 p.m. on the dot, I was greeted by a loud roar and a massive projection screen showing the British broadcast of the match, still in pregame warmups.

A large man from Sudbury, Mass. passed me a beer. "I've been waitin for ya," he said in a thick Boston accent. I was home.

Greg Nasif is a senior history major. He can be reached at nasif@umdbk.com.