Algeria vs. England

One of the fantastic things about taking a trip around the world in mid-2010 was that we visited several of the participating nations of the World Cup that year, getting to really see firsthand what it feels like to experience the true emotion of the event. Full disclosure; yes, I currently reside in Australia, and the Socceroos are frequent participants in the tournament, but we're always honest about our chances. They're a team of plucky overachievers who consider it a success to escape the group stage. It has nothing on the pure ecstasy that washes over the nations of contenders.

We saw the outcry in London when Robert Green mishandled Clint Dempsey's light tap in the 40th minute, leading to a shocking 1-1 draw. We sat among a café of disillusioned Frenchmen in Paris as Les Bleus' dreadful campaign was capped off with a loss to South Africa. Alas, we arrived in New York one day too late to be amongst the Americans during their demise, but the effects were still being felt in the brief aftermath until soccer would again become irrelevant in the States.

For the innocent traveller, however, the impact of such a momentous tournament can be felt on a level that transcends football. Sometimes, it's in a way that's not very nice. Allow me to take you to France for a moment, and explain why, in 2010, the Americans became my favourite squad in the World Cup.

Paris, 2010
Despite having lived in Canada for almost seven years as a youth, I do not claim to speak any French. In my defence, I left the very year I would have begun learning it, and I confess that I still hold a desire to be able to speak it. During our visit to England, we made an admirable effort to familiarise ourselves with as many necessities as we could: 'excuse me', 'thank you', etc. From the moment we arrived in Paris via the Eurostar train, we were able to navigate through most conversations in a strange dance between French, English and cock-eyed stares. Despite their reputation, we found the Parisians to be absolutely friendly and helpful to us foreigners, and I think part of that is owed to the fact that we at least tried to speak to them in their native tongue. It's common courtesy, after all, and I implore anyone to at least try to learn the basics.

Regardless, there was a feeling of isolation stemming from communication roadblocks, and there was no worse time to feel like an outsider than on June 18th when England played Algeria, aka the 'night of the violent flag', as I have (just now) dubbed it.

Jessica and I were merrily sitting in front of a bar at the time, drinking our cocktails and blissfully unaware of the match unfolding between presumed titans England and super-underdog Algeria. At one point, Jess grew a hankering for popcorn chicken, and yes, I know that this is about as French as a bowl of ravioli. The heart wants what it wants, so we set off in search of le KFC. ...Does it sound more French now?

We noticed an air of celebration among certain people that night. Loud cheering, big groups massed together, and frequent appearances of a flag I didn't recognise at the time, but will never again forget. In case you were unaware, the game ended in a 0-0 tie, and such a result elicited incredible joy from the Algerian faithful. I don't know much about Algerians, but they sure are vocal about soccer.

We began to notice things going awry when a motorcyclist, stopped at a red light, was surrounded by a group of jubilant Algerians, who proceeded to smother him in their flag. Ultimately harmless, as they pulled it off of him before he sped off in a bemused state, but it probably should have been a warning sign for us to go home, lest we fall victim to patriotic suffocation.

Undeterred we proceeded down a street, passing by a bar where Algerian fans were having what appeared to be a heated discussion with the police. Jess hurried along, but I'm a stupid tourist who thought I'd film it as I passed by. I pulled out my camera and, as if on cue, one of the Algerians flung a chair at an officer. He pulled out his nightstick in response and began to strike the offender.

In case you're wondering whether I caught the dramatic series of events, the answer is... Well, kind of. Obviously, I hadn't intended to create a World Cup snuff film, so I immediately put the camera down. What I got was the most terrifying two seconds I've ever captured.

Could you make it out? You can't see the chair projectile, but you might be able to catch a glimpse of the officer opening a can of whoop-ass. What makes this film so scary? Take another look at the officer on the right.

...He looks directly at me with the most sinister glare in all of Europe. 'Désolé, Monsieur!' I said desperately, 'Désolé!' In my mind, I was apologising in perfectly acceptable French. In actuality, it was probably the equivalent of 'surry sars, suuuuurrryyyyy', which incidentally sounds exactly like Charles Barkley if you say it out loud.

Perhaps my terrible pronunciation led to him dismissing me as a dumb tourist; he fortunately let me leave the scene with all of my teeth intact. Now reunited with Jess, we decided we should perhaps make tracks back to the sanctuary of our apartment. We ambled through the side streets, noticing a large number of people walking in the opposite direction in a hurry. Some seemed to be coughing, others had tears in their eyes. Were they dejected England backers? Where had they come from? And what was that smell in the air, I wonder? I now noticed that I myself was having difficulty breathing, and my vision was blurred. A red-eyed man grabbed me by the shoulder and warned us to turn back, and it finally clicked.

Sacré bleu! We were walking right into a cloud of tear gas. We doubled back and headed in a new direction (admittedly a direction we felt was the least Algerian and therefore the most safe) and through complete dumb luck, ended up right at the doors of a KFC. Security waved us in, and swiftly shut and locked the doors behind us. That's right, security at a KFC, this chicken was in the hood, man. Having to be locked in this fairly crowded restaurant didn't faze us however, as we simply lined up like hungry consumers. At long last, Jessica got to the front and ordered a serving of popcorn chicken.

...Which, sadly, was not on the menu in Paris.

After settling on something else, we were let out and scurried on back to the apartment, people stumbling by in a bewildered state. Once we made it home safely, I observed the streets through the mailbox slot like a frightened child. I should have warned passersby to 'beware', but that might have made the whole situation even more alarming.

I've never really been in a riot before, but I think it's fair to say that I came pretty damn close to one. Chairs flying around, police giving you evils, tear gas in the air and a KFC in lockdown. ...Sure, why not? In case you're wondering what inhaling tear gas feels like, for us it was like eating too many hot chillies all at once; stinging your eyes and tongue, and filling your nose with a burning sensation that's akin to an allergic reaction gone haywire. I can't particularly imagine what it was like for the people in the direct impact area, but I can surmise that it was probably not their favourite thing that happened that day.

You could understand our nervousness when Algeria next played against USA in their World Cup finale, a match we chose to watch on the television in our apartment before daring to venture out into the streets again. The moment Landon Donovan hit the winning goal and the Yanks held on for the win, Jess and I were ecstatic. It felt like the result had won us our safety, and if I were to ever meet Mr. Donovan, I would most assuredly shake his hand.

...But what I've since discovered is that they reacted just as poorly from a bad result as they did to a good one. As per Vanity Fair: 'However jubilant American soccer fans were over Landon Donovan’s 91st-minute equalization today, fans of Algeria were proportionally enraged (to say nothing of the players themselves). A riot erupted in central Paris this evening following Algeria’s devastating loss to the United States in the World Cup, as 200 to 250 youths who had been watching the game on a giant screen at an inner-city stadium took to the streets. Shop windows were smashed and about 20 cars were incinerated or flipped over, among other incidents which spread to nearby neighborhoods. Police made several arrests around 8 p.m., and dispersed the crowds using tear gas. ...There is a significant Algerian contingent in France, and a majority of the Algerian soccer team’s players are French-born.'

Oh well. We were happy.