Shoreditch has always been a meeting place for sports fans. Most of the pubs and restaurants are fully equipped for enjoying sports events whether it is football, rugby or tennis on a national or international scale. Meeting with friends in a Shoreditch pub to watch the Wimbledon final or the European Football Championship was never unusual for me. However, watching the 6 Nations Rugby Championship was quite an experience.
Despite the freezing weather, I went to the Albion to see my first ever rugby match last Saturday. The Albion situated in Goldsmith’s Row is a local sports pub and a base for supporters of West Bromwich Albion FC. When I entered the pub with Mr. Purple (For the matters of secrecy and convenience I will start calling my husband Mr. Purple-you know because of his purple t-shirt) and Ibiza (a lovely friend of Mr. Purple) I could not see any other female souls except myself and the two barmaids. The whole pub was crowded with men from all backgrounds and all age groups. I have never been disturbed being in male-dominant areas, as long as I’m not in the gentleman’s comfort station. Of course, manly activities consist of a lot of sports. And, I love sports, I mean watching sports with a pint of cold beer in my hand. However, the weird sports such as rugby, softball, hockey, cricket etc was never on my agenda-perhaps because where I am from people only care about football ( in Turkey). I was wondering about the rules of rugby when the game started: Scotland vs England. I decided to ask Ibiza why all these men were killing each other by jumping on top of each other and rolling themselves over in the mud. Ibiza is an Indian chap, a real intellectual told me raising his eyebrows over his glasses “I don’t know much about rugby. It is like American football but rugby is more fun because American football stops frequently.” At that moment Scotland scored a penalty kick, a three points shoot against England. Some people in the pub started cheering, and the others frowning. Suddenly, I realised I actually liked the game. There was nothing unlikeable anyway, very well developed men attacking each other over a ball. It was like a mini and harmless version of a field battle. I shouldn’t say harmless perhaps as their t-shirts were being ripped, their faces were swollen and a few had scratches on their eye lids. Apart from the wreckage rugby was a really fun thing. I got so involved in the game that I did not realise it started snowing outside, and the Albion was now crowded with men and women. In the meanwhile the rugby game ended with England winning 13-6 against Scotland.
The snow outside was getting heavier; I was sipping my Guinness with blackcurrant and enjoying the warmth of the laughter and friendship inside. The match was over and both the players on TV and the fans watching at the Albion were shaking hands. Mr. Purple grabbed my hand slowly and we went outside to the white night. It was magic snowing everywhere with people smiling and passing by. I was hugging my husband tightly when a little Mexican boy approached us. He quickly threw a snowball to my husband and then ran away giggling. Mr. Purple shouted “Hey! You want a fight? All right then bring it on!” He started chasing the little Mexican boy then he realized the boy had a whole gang of friends and siblings with him. As I was expecting them to run after Mr. Purple, he started shouting “ Hit the man on the bicycle!” showing a poor man on his bicycle trying to hurry away from the crazy gang. Snowballs were directed at the man on his bike, and in the blink of an eye he was covered in white. It was surreal; a group of children were following my husband everywhere and obeying his commands. Under the directives of General Purple, the kids first fired snowballs at a group of three girls, then a couple, and then 
at two young men. I kept saying to everybody “sorry on behalf of my husband.” However, they were all smiling and a couple actually attempted to get in the game, if they could have managed to hit my husband and his gang back. I was having the laugh of my life until they realised me, standing defenceless. Mr. Purple shouted “Attack my wife!” the loyal soldiers of his army filled their guns and started shooting at me. I could barely run for my life and I threw myself into the Albion covered with snow.
After an hour, a completely soaked Mr. Purple came into the pub. I dried him up as a loving wife should do. The winner of the night and the Snowball fight was definitely the children. Despite the freezing winter the warmth of friendship and laughter was cooking up a storm in Shoreditch: a storm of competition and athletics in a peaceful way. Taking pleasure in a snowball fight is no different than rolling around in the mud with huge men, or getting excited in a Shoreditch pub over a game you have never seen before. The Olympics is a great opportunity for London, to share the laughter, cries and excitement. I am so looking forward to sharing all of these feelings over a pint in Shoreditch with Mr. Purple and friends.
