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We here at The Survey
don't know much about British football culture. We've seen it firsthand
in London, and we're honestly a little put off by the male/female
ratio of the thing, which hovers somewhere around the 100:1 level.
Hordes of intoxicated, damp men (it always seems to be raining in
London) pack into pubs to watch their favorite teams play to one-one
ties. The games are long and, in most cases, painstakingly boring.
Americans need sports with some points, thus our lukewarm acceptance
of hockey. The Manchester Pub is set up for the enjoyment of Europe's
pastime, and as such is a little strange. The space itself is packed
with crap. It reminds us, somehow, of John Nash's shack in A Beautiful
Mind--there's just stuff covering every surface of the place.
We seem to recall chicken wire and football memorabilia and all sorts
of other stuff utterly pressing down on our heads. Then there's the
bi-leveled seating, for optimal sports viewing. That's actually a
nice touch for those of us who are sick of trying to stare through
some stork's head while our favorite Manchester United player has
a break away. The odd part is the railing around those tables, which
is either for pulling yourself up onto the platform, or stopping you
from drunkenly tumbling onto your head after Beckham curls one around
the left goalpost. There weren't any games on the night we were there,
so it wasn't possible to gauge the audience for this kind of thing,
but we imagine with a city filled with European immigrants, this place
could be popular during gametime. Despite not giving two shits about
professional soccer, this joint has an inviting air about it, has
tons of beer on tap and attentive and eye-pleasing help. It might
get a little claustrophobic if it filled to capacity, but certainly
had enough personal flair and character to warrant a return trip to
check out what the hell these crazy Brits love so much about a two
hour game the elicits less scoring than an asthmatic, red haired sixteen
year old boy. [MF]
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