Sometimes it is cricket
Being German I come with an innate, hard coded scepticism about anything English. (it slots in right between the pedantic desire to always be on time and the the undeniable urge to drive a column of panzers through the low countries)
This doubt usually manifests itself in the form of a raised eyebrow and a look of incredulity when confronted by a range scenarios ranging from their Corona response to their unshakeable faith in winning another Soccer World cup. (ha ha)
Thats not to say they haven’t made a believer out of me with some of their endeavours. English breakfasts are without a doubt one of the best things about being alive and I’m obviously a big fan of Isaac Newton. John Locke and John Stuart Mill.
English sports fans really are the best though. (Although maybe I should pointedly exclude their football fans, whose vocal range and talents are likely just as accomplished as their other sporting disciplines, but there is always the added danger of getting a pint glass accelerated into your jowls and then while you’re doubled over wondering what the hell just happened suddenly becoming intimately familiar with the tread of a steel toed boot as it is rammed, repeatedly, into your cranial space, all because you wore the wrong color t-shirt).
There is however nothing quite like experiencing the Barmy Army bellowing out their songs during a five day cricket test match somewhere pretty (like Newlands)
Yes, I also like cricket. Also very antithetical to the solid teutonic value system imprinted on us at birth.
I don’t know why. Its just so… nice. And civilised. And you can spend the whole day drinking gin and tonics in the sun while pretending to do something meaningful… and then occasional standing up and clapping politely when one of the batsmen whisks the ball through the covers with some well-timed wristwork.
I say that was a jolly good shot.