The Seeker

A Meta-Cognitive Journal About Writing… Plus Other Stuff

Back in Iowa (with American Outlaws)

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If you can get away from whatever grind is keeping you down late Thursday morning and join American Outlaws at Donnelly’s Pub in Iowa City, here’s what you can expect.

First, don’t worry about finding the exact location (even though it’s listed as 110 E. College St.).  Get within a block, and you’ll hear it.  Most likely, you’ll hear chants of “I Believe That We Will Win!” and an adaptation of Little Peggy March’s “I Will Follow Him” that riffs on the chorus:  “We support the U.S., the U.S., the U.S. / and that’s the way we love it, we love it, we love it.”

When the crowd isn’t warming up with the chants, you’ll hear a catalog of America-themed songs blasting over the speakers.  They’d be cliched and corny if they weren’t so aptly patriotic at this time and in this place:  R.O.C.K. in the USA, Born in the USA, American Girl, and ironically, David Bowie’s Young Americans.  Bowie is British, but don’t harsh anybody’s nationalistic buzz by pointing that out.

No worries if you’re deaf and blind.  You’ll still know you’re in the right place when you feel your feet sliding on the tile floor from layers of condensation and spillings of beer and Jameson and who knows what else.  You can actually stand at one end of the bar and start watching the game, and by stoppage time you’ll have slid to the other end of the bar.  A thick stench of deodorant seeping from three hundred armpits hangs in the humid air.  That may be the most unique feature of Donnelly’s during World Cup–their ability to somehow match the conditions on the pitch to an exact degree.  It’ll be somewhere in the 80s with 80-90% humidity.  You’ll wash your USA wear before you return for the next game.

And speaking of USA wear, the joint and every joy-seeker therein are decked in red, white, and blue.  Clint Dempsey #8 jerseys saturate the crowd.  Painted flags and stars blotch most every face, and everybody has a bandanna around their neck, across their forehead, or over their face in outlaw fashion.

The chants will never stop.  Someone will call out, “When the Yanks Come Marching In,” and “USA Ain’t Nuthin’ to Fuck With” and “USA-USA-USA” will come into steady rotation.  Tim Howard will make a critical stop (aren’t they all critical at this point?), and one of the Outlaws will start up the chant Everton fans started in the English Premier League:

Chim-Chimney
Chim-Chimney
Chim-chim-cha-roo
We have Tim Howard
and he says “Fuck You!”

At some point, if #8 is banking a shot off the upright or stomaching one into the net, some guy will stand on his stool and scream, “Clint Dempsey fucked my mom!”

If a goal drought continues for too long and the crowd is getting itchy, the Outlaws will launch into a Yankee Doodle-inspired ditty:

Come on U.S. score a goal
It’s really very simple
Put the ball into the next
and we’ll go fucking mental!

And “mental” we will go.  Four times now, it has been bedlam that you’ll feel in your heart like a kick drum at a rock concert.  You might feel a degree of Patriotism uncommon in such an ethnically diverse nation, and you’ll definitely understand how it feels to be One Nation, One Team.

 

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Written by seeker70

June 25, 2014 at 10:43 am

Posted in Uncategorized

One Response

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  1. […] was in Iowa City two summers ago and had the fortune to live the World Cup group stage matches with American Outlaws.  There may be no better way to come into the sport than by being absorbed into the fanatical body […]


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