The Frogs or Les Rosbifs - That is the Question

I feel very conflicted about supporting English national sports teams. I was born in England, so it shouldn't be a problem, but my dad is a Scots-Irish Catholic from the slums of Glasgow - which, if you're not familiar with British politics, roughly translates as "English hater" - while my mum is Liverpool born-and-bred, which means her family came over from Ireland during the potato famine like most of the rest of the city's population; and like the rest of the city, they still identify more strongly with Ireland than England. So none of my blood is really English, I was born in an English city that is really a Celtic city, and my cultural roots are Catholic and Irish, which means I feel, at best, uncomfortable with English sport. Particularly since English sporting teams can be identified so readily with South-Eastern, red-faced, ale-swilling, brawl-loving, Cross of St. George-waving buffoonery of the highest order.

Motivating myself to support England against Australia is easy, because hatred of Australian sports teams - particularly the cricket team - is natural for anybody who is interested in sports that Australians play. And I can get behind England against Argentina. That taps into something primal; if there were ever two nations that could be described as having a personality clash, it's Britain and Argentina, and my blood is equally fired by England, Scotland, Wales, whoever, if it's against the Argies.

But when England play France it's more problematic. See, to the English, France are the Old Enemy - the country they've spent the better part of a millenium trying to do down, filled with people they've spent a millenium trying to kill in bloodthirsty wars. It's the country they love to hate. But to a Scot, the French are the absolute opposite - partners in the Auld Alliance, a centuries-long partnership forged in war and the one thing the two nations have in common: the desire to see England trampled in the mud. So my natural instinct and the way I was brought up scream out to me to support the French.

Bloody rosbifs.

It gets worse when I consider how much I hate English patriotism. I'm happy to consider patriotism as, broadly speaking, a "good" emotion: it's important that people should love their country, provided it doesn't become hatred of other people's. (Paraphrasing Clemenceau there; I might even have spelt his name right.) But the English really are the worst when it comes to that sort of thing. The Scottish turn up to a sporting tournament in kilts with bagpipes and everybody has a good time. The Irish turn up with shamrocks and Guiness and everbody has a good time. The Welsh turn up with inflatable dragons and weird hymns about blokes in castles and everybody has a good time. The English turn up and everyone thinks, "Fuck, here come the English."

How to resolve this essential duality in my nature? As any true fan knows, it's impossible to support one team when they play against one set of opposition, but to want them to lose when they play others. It's a quandary that I might never be able to resolve - like one of Derrida's undecideables, or something.