Wasif's World

Allegiances are funny. They make you see things that may not be there. They make you feel emotions that you wouldn’t otherwise feel. They change you.

For instance, take the words of one less-than-intelligent sports talk show host in Los Angeles as he proclaimed, after the recent gold medal hockey affair, that the Canadian coach was a “coward” for employing a “trap” defense for much of the game.

Really? A coward? For utilizing a strategy that earned his country a gold medal? That’s the kind of coward I want coaching my team.

The statement was less a swipe at the coach than it was a self-proclamation by the host that he was upset his team had lost. If the U.S. had employed that technique and won, it’s a safe bet that he would have been fine with it.

And that’s what allegiances can make you do.

I was born in Canada. But I grew up in America and have lived here most of my life (save for those three sordid months in a Turkish prison precipitated wholly on a classic misunderstanding, but that’s for a different blog post). So when the gold medal game was upon us, I was on the fence.

I figured I’d go with the northerners on this one since they’re always being made to feel inferior to the Americans. They needed this medal. And honestly, if America wants it so badly, they can always invade Canada at a moment’s notice and steal all the golden discs back.

I walked into the bar with a minute to go. Perfect timing, as I wanted to be around fellow hosers for the final horn. (Truthfully, I’m not exactly sure what a “hoser” is and if I am one, but I like the connotation.) Of course, I walked right in on a Zach Parise goal and the crowd started bellowing, “U-S-A, U-S-A.”

I realized that chant can be pretty annoying and obnoxious when you’re cheering for the other side, especially when the other side doesn’t have a comparable chant. No one goes, “CAN-A-DA, CAN-A-DA.” ‘Tis a silly chant.

In fact, it dawned on me that the pioneering papas like Jefferson and Hancock decided to name their new, “more perfect union” (seriously, how can something be more perfect?) the United States of America solely on the basis that the initials would make a good chant. And that’s the only reason.

But I would’ve been chanting that same thing if Canada wasn’t playing. So it got me thinking how the Olympics shake things up, twist things on their ears, throw a monkey wrench into the works.

When I was cheering for the U.S. team, I was alongside the likes of Yankees fans, Lakers fans, Colts fans, and Rai – well, I can’t say Raiders fans because I was nowhere near a prison. My point is ... my mortal enemies had become my brothers-in-arms.

A few weeks ago, they were idiots, incapable of holding a simple conversation without drooling on themselves. And now, they made more sense than anyone.

“That was a horrible call! He was offside!”
“Yeah, they obviously don’t want us to win!”
“That’s the only possible explanation.”

But being on the wrong side of a U.S.-heavy crowd (and with the rising rates of obesity, “heavy” has a double meaning here), I saw just how perceptions could change based on which side you’re on.

It changes how we view one another. At a local level, your high school team is valiant and heroic while the squad from the neighboring town is riddled with thugs; then you end up at the same college with these thugs and you realize they’re not that bad. In fact, they make a lot of sense when discussing the merits of your team versus the disgusting derelicts playing for the state school across the river.

But when you and the derelicts are slated to face those bums over the state line, it’s clear from whence the toxic waste smell has been emanating. It’s from the knuckle-draggers living in that other commonwealth, with whom any conversation is as contentious as can be. How can it not be? They are simply reprehensible cretins without a logical bone in their bodies; morons, the lot of them. The world would be a better place without them.

Until our country faces another country like in these Olympics, and we are seated next to those cretins, in which case they’re actually pretty good eggs that you’d like to share a beer with ... and not that imported swill, but a good domestic, tastes-like-water lager that will bring you arm-in-arm to the urinary trough together while belting out the national anthem, messing up the words to the point where most within earshot think you’re singing a Mariah Carey song.

That’s when the nationals from the other country make you sick with their weird way of talking and the lack of aglets on their shoes, which doesn’t seem bother us anymore on that day when the aliens come down to earth. For that is the day when we side proudly with the hosers, the limeys, the uppers, the trolls, the jets, the sharks, the Mujahideen, the infidels, the insurgents, the guerillas, the democrats, the republicans, the liberators, the oppressors, the Hoi Polloi, the proletariat the geeks, the dweebs, the nerds, the fatties, the dummies, the rednecks, the green thumbs, the blue bloods, the yellow bellies, the purple people eaters, the Black Panthers, the Brown Hornet, and my Syracuse Orange in order to defeat these evil beings from a foreign planet even if they’ve only come to impart upon us the secret recipe for their Universe-famous out-of-this-world (literally) Triple Fudge Chocolate Mousse Cheesecake as demonstrated on their top-rated show “So You Think You’re a Top Chef Alien that Can Dance?” and is available at their famous chain restaurant The Cheesecake Planet.

Because that’s what allegiances make us do! U-S-A! U-S-A! So you can just suck on that, Bahamas!