The Motherland

The Stone Roses played on the jukebox at 4:30am, someone had noticed I was wearing a Stone Roses shirt and dragged me over to a larger group of English blokes who were probabaly in their early to mid fourties like myself, no one could believe the sight, especially some yank who looked like he had not slept in some time who appreciated acid house music, much praised was offered up, even seventy bucks for the shirt, but I had already been teleported back to the late eighties while a tidal wave of Charlatans UK Spronston Green reverberated in my head, I heard that on the jukebox and had to inquire who the hell would play such a track at this early morning hour, of course it was this crew of middle age thugs who happen to be on their tenth or fourteenth round of drinks at the moment and they had maybe been at the pub for no more than an hour or so. This was to be the first wave in many, a sort of reverse storming of the beaches at Normandy, here came the English, many tourists who some how got wind of The Crown and Anchor being the place for where all British had as much equal privledge as the rest of the territories under the monarchy of England. By the minutes fresh reinforcements entered the front door and within no time the chants of God Save the Queen could be heard echoing throughout the entire pub and it is only 5am. World Cup soccer, the reason everyone is here this morning, England is playing Germany, which basically equates WWIII, as far as the British and Americans are concerned who have congregated for the match which starts at 7a, only 5a now, have been here for 2 hours already, had to get a good spot cause by the time the game starts, it will be elbow to elbow full of surley football fans who are bent on getting as wasted as possible in some primitive ritualistic idea that will help propel the English national team to victory.

Scores of Brits continue to arrive, I turn around and a couple college friends happen to be in the building which is cool considering they are usually in marriage lockdown, complete surprize, adds to overall mood of insanity developing now that these guys are double fisting beers at such an early hour as they did so many years ago. The bartenders are going mad, must tip them heavily, even though I am quite a regular, have to appreciate the hustle, beers going out twenty at a time, plastic cups now to insure the medivac stays at the hospital, glass would only incite fights, hostility, and a general sense of eye for an eye, so the plastic cups stay. The old geezers in the back are keeping the acid house tracks in full effect, the place is shoulder to shoulder now, odd strangers handing me beers, just keep drinking, gave someone sixty bucks for beers a while back, that is gone, nothing but our small tribe gathered, college days all over again, brits on all sides begin singing again, almost like in a greek chorus, seeking blood, searching for answers , for redemption, for the invisible ancestors who live amongst us that weigh judgements on our overall desire to seek an audience with the ominscient, Dues ex Machina.

There are a few German fans and the English are giving it to them properly, yet these German are pretty wasted, feeling good about their team's chances on the match today. Shirts have come off, too bad it is only the guys, there are a few woman, one behind me with dyed magenta hair raidating the lucid cool of a person who has seen one too many Katy Perry videos, but who cares, she is bugging me for Charlie, like a hungry underfed buzzard, lurking over my shoulder, desiring satisfaction, maybe at half time of the game, move now and lose your spot forever, crowd surfing is underway, arm in arm, people more wasted than me sing songs of the homeland, bringing a sense of life in England to Las Vegas today, constant drinking, not giving a fuck, and vicious loyality to an outdated belief in an empire that has long since its glory days pass by. Still this did not stop the red shirted and white jerseryed fans of the English national team from beating on the bar, pouring drinks on their heads, and breaking out into spontaneous song, the comraderie this morning is something you'll never see in America, random strangers with a sense of national purpose who were not in anyway uptight about having a good time, making an ass out of themselves, to be highlighted with the ocassional trip to the toilet to throw up, cigarettes, plastic cups filled with water serving as ashtrays, a party has broken out, must talk to more people, get the lowdown, it is casual just start talking, been eating pills all morning, sandwhiched with some Charlie, hooked up a few of the Brits who are always happy to snort a bit down, loosen up the motor a bit, get in the proper mood, nothing but chants now as the teams walk out onto the pitch as the English national anthem comes on, God Save the Queen as flags swing to and fro, there is anticipation, a manic swell looking to crash on this crowd the second the game starts, this is what the World Cup is all about as I sit back and absorb the hysteria of this battlion at the gates awaiting the call to battle.