Is shouting racist insults at the screen during England games racist?

Crikey! There isn’t half a lot of serious sport involving Brits this weekend! 

We’ll have Andy Murray merrily smiling his way into English hearts at Wimbledon, Button and Hamilton going for another F1 one-two, and England going head-to-head with The Old Enemy in South Africa. (That’s the Germans, by the way, not the Boers or the Zulus – given England’s someone mixed history in SA, it’s odd that our football team is the one the locals have chosen to support now that their own has failed to progress.)

I expect that, like me, you’ll watch the England match, albeit through splayed fingers, and with a few time-outs in the garden to prevent a coronary. Who amongst us can put our hands on our hearts and honestly state that when a German player takes a dive and rolls over a few times clutching a part of his anatomy that has not come into contact with an England player, that we’ll simply mutter “That German’s not being very sporting”? And, in the unlikely event that England defeat the Master Race and end up playing the Argentinians, will we be saying things like, “I have a suspicion that that South American player may have inadvertently handled the ball before it struck the back of the net – that’s rather irritating”? 

No – and let’s be honest with ourselves here – the chances are that we’ll be screaming racist abuse at the screen. Obviously, we’ve lost the opportunity to employ “wop” or “frog”, but there’s a whole host of tasty and quite possibly illegal descriptive words and phrases, including many synonyms for “German” and “of Hispanic descent”, which may just slip out in the heat of battle.

But – and here’s an odd thing – if (and that “if” is 6’11” and weighs 25 stone) England ends up facing Brazil in the final, I doubt any of us will utter a single racist comment, no matter how fruity our language becomes. In fact, and here’s another odd thing, I’m pretty sure the same lack of racism would apply if England had topped their group and were facing Ghana in the last 16 (apart, of course, from genuine knuckle-dragging BNP members). 

And most weirdly of all, I doubt if France – England’s oldest enemy – would come in for the sort of irrational abuse routinely meted out to the Squareheads. Which is good news, really, because it means that whichever unworthy, shameful insults we find ourselves bawling at the screen during England’s next one or two games, our behaviour is purely the result of our footballing history with Germany and Argentina, and little to do with two world wars or the Falklands – they’ve simply bested us too many times. After all, does any England fan have a problem with cheering on Japan? I don’t. 

When it comes to motor racing, I don’t dislike Michael Schumacher because he’s German – I love Germany and I’ve liked the vast majority of the many Germans I’ve met – but because of his graceless personality and his morally dubious approach to winning championships. I support Hamilton and Button, not because they’re British – though it helps, I suppose –  but because of their very different but equally pleasing personalities and driving styles. (And let’s face it, Fernando Alonso is another distinctly unappealing former champion.)

As for tennis, where, similarly, the players are mainly representing themselves rather than their country, I couldn’t care less where they’re from. Swedish, German, American, French, Argentinian, Russian – the only things that matter to me are style of play, courage, and personality. When Murray faced Federer in two Grand Slam finals, I was rooting for The Fedster . I support Murray against just about anyone else, but that’s because of his enormous natural gifts and considerable tennis brain rather than his dour  Scottishness or his enormous reservoir of personal charm.

Whether we support players or teams because of their race (apart, of course, from our own)  popped into my head while watching chunks of one of the most extraordinary sporting feats in history – two respected professional tennis players competing at the most important tournament in the world holding serve for 168 games in a row because of the sheer quality of their play and their superhuman resolve. (Before this week, I had rated the 1969 match when the 41-year old Panchio Gonzales came back from two sets down to defeat Charlie Pasarell in five hours and twelve minutes as the greatest feat of sporting endurance I had even witnessed - and I was there!)  In the end, I was hoping Isner would win – not because his opponent was French (I love watching Monfils and Tsonga), but because he was evidently the most mentally and physically distressed of the two for the last few hours of the contest. Like most people, I suspect, I gloried in this demonstration of sheer human spirit – and felt vaguely ashamed of those occasions when I’ve failed to see things through because I was feeling a bit tired or under pressure. 

Before England faced Slovenia, I suggested Fabio blasted the team with some Winston Churchill speeches and the two most famous eve of battle speeches from Henry  V (deeply unoriginal, I know – the BBC prefaced the match with Brian Blessed derangedly bawling “Once more unto the breach” with the aid of various iconic English sporting heroes).

Before facing Germany, I suggest the England team be made to watch the final few games of the match between John Isner and Nicolas Mahut (accompanied by “Mars, the Bringer of War” from The Planets).

If that doesn’t summon up the blood – forget it!