Image: Maurits, Prince of Orange, on his death-bed

I just came back from watching the Holland vs. Russia quarter final of Euro Cup 2008 at a Dutch-packed Western-themed bar in W. Hollywood. All those young Russian legs (Russia has the youngest team in the Cup) outran the seasoned but shot-shy Dutch, and of course outscored them. R.I.P. Team Nederland

I ended up sitting with a table of missionaries–a guy from Friesland, his fiancee from Mexico and their wholesome looking Canadian buddy…all big team Holland fans…and fans of The Christ as well. At one point, when the Dutch goalie blocked a kick, I kid you not, the Fries guy yelled, “Praise the Lord!”

The rest of the orange-clad crew consisted of the usual older (see: ‘Lesbian or German Lady?‘ article for reference) Dutch ladies with their Ellen Degeneres haircuts and (as if that wasn’t butch enough), orange football jersies. ‘Ladies,’ that’s not cultural pride, that’s called ‘going in drag.’ There were also some football hooligans and lasses, and my personal favorite, one or two adorable blond Dutch twinkies for the eye candy spectacle of it all. I have to say that it was strange watching soccer/football with a room full of Euros and a mechanical bull. But somehow it worked (though team Nederland didn’t).

While Schnijder proved to be a great disappointment, Ruud van Nistlrooy provided one of the few great moments for the Dutch in this game. As an aside, an ex of mine in Amsterdam is always mistaken for Ruud. Finally one day an older man came up to him begging for an autograph for his son. My ex insisted, ‘no.’ The guy pleaded. Finally my ex capitulated and gave the guy the autograph. How sad it will be one day when he tries to sell it on Ebay and is flagged.

Walking down memory lane, I had a reverse situation when I lived in Amsterdam. When I was exiting a bar on the Lediseplein, a (what I perceived as sleazy) dude started hitting on me asking where I was from, etc. I was slightly snooty towards him and my friend was even more recalcitrant. All his friends insisted we should know who he was. I said we hadn’t a clue. The dude asked me if I knew of the England football team and introduced himself as “Alan.” It still meant nothing to me. The guy seemed ticked and started to walk off. His friends said, “Forget it, they’re Americans” and told us this guy was the captain of the team. I went home and Googled “Alan,” “England,” “Captain” and “Football” and his picture popped up, legendary player and England team captain Alan Shearer…doh!

Image:  Roman Pavlyuchenko, yes, he’s ‘the enemy’ but, I think I can make an exception… 

Meanwhile back at the ranch–er, the Western themed bar/restaurant–they were tied in overtime and the Russians scored two goals. I have to admit to needing a cold shower when all those cuties did the pile-on. That, and it’s like 105 degrees out today! Oh well, better luck next time…wel te rustig jongens!

Posted by Shana Ting Lipton