England-Denmark: two great nations of boozers go head-to-head
In the commentary before England’s match-up with Germany, much was made of the new post-historical dimension to the rivalry. The educational theorist and commentator Sam Freedman tweeted: “I would like to remind all newspapers that the second world war was 76 years ago and not relevant to a football game happening now.”
This is a naïve view.
In the main, our relationship with Germany is a tale of mutual elite fascination and self-loathing. In the early 20th century, the Edwardian German nobility fetishised English aristocratic culture, copying its blood sports, dress and manners; now, our opinion-makers write paeans to the German social market model, contrasting British mediocrity with Teutonic maturity and sophistication.
Nevertheless, big sporting occasions inexorably draw in the messy ephemera passed down from the historical record – in every match-up between England and Germany, there is a glimmer of past antagonism, past victories and defeats.
The rivalry is sharpened by our temperamental estrangement – our attitude to tea is markedly different. The German attitude to tea derives from its obsessive health culture: “Ginger Tee,” along with a range of other herbal infusions, is encouraged as a home remedy for just about anything. Cut open an Englishman and his insides are tarred deep brown. The Germans drink tea for its cleansing qualities; the English for its earthy, stolid texture.
Why recent history is important in determining the character of great sporting contests is the relative contrast with the atmosphere around England’s semi-final against Denmark. If we had lost to the Germans, the commentary in the British press would have run quickly into familiar bickering. Indeed, the German papers were full of sly digs and veiled references to the two nations’ chequered past. The Neue Presse splashed with “That really hurts”. The tabloid Bild referred to the English as “arch-rivals.”
Lose to the Danes? Bring it on! I wouldn’t mind it at all. It’s pretty hard to work up tribal hatred between Britain and Denmark. First off, the Danes speak English remarkably well. Go to YouTube and search for English language interviews with the actor Sidse Babett Knudsen who plays Birgitte Nyborg in the hit political drama Borgen. The accent, the phrasing, the grammar – all genuinely outstanding. Nor is she an outlier. Danish actors, like Claes Bang, breeze just as easily between Danish and English. It’s a shame we haven’t returned the favour – although I’m sure I’m not alone in having tried to watch Borgen without the subtitles after many, many hours of avid watching. (Spoiler – I still didn’t understand it).
More importantly, the Brits and Danes share a love of alcohol, even a fascination with the stuff. The Orkadian poet Edwin Muir, in his 1935 travelogue Scottish Journey, reflected that “Scottish people drink spasmodically and intensely, for the sake of a momentary but complete release, whereas the English like to bathe and puddle about bucolically in a mild puddle of beer”. Danish drinking culture is a meld of both traditions – alcohol is a lubrication for just about every aspect of the country’s social life and also the focus for extreme binges.
Some sporting contests really do amount to more than the sum of their parts, touching on bitter resentments and past suffering. Tonight’s atmosphere, thankfully, will mostly reflect the action on the pitch. Let’s hope all Danes and Englishmen can drink to that.