SoccerI don’t like football.

I am talking about the real one. The one Americans call “soccer”.
And still. The European Championship is starting in Poland and Ukraine in less than a week and I am becoming chauvinistic. I am emphasizing to myself I’m Dutch and what that means.

In this case it means 1) I am wearing something orange, 2) I say we are going to beat Germany, and 3) I know we’ll lose from Germany during penalties. As always.

When I hear about Dutch politics on the television I try to disassociate myself as much as possible from feeling Dutch. Whatever that means. During political debates I am not sitting in front of the TV wearing an orange T-shirt. Orange is our national color (the last name from our monarchy is Oranje, which translates to orange).

When our national football team plays like crap and kicks the opponent violently out of frustration, I am screaming my lungs out on my couch, covered in orange. During the world cup in South Africa we collectively embraced the vuvuzela. Remember the annoying noise that sucker made?


I do complain about my own country. But when others are trying to beat it, or talking it down, I am changing into my orange power suit. Wearing a orange hat with two beer cans attached to it. Heineken of course.

When non-Dutchies complain about our laws on the use of cannabis or our “socialistic” health care system I am getting offended. How dare they!

This doesn’t mean I do agree on the policies. Sometimes they may be crap policies. But hey, they are our crap policies.

So. There.

The flag of my Dutch tribe is orange.

Image by StewieD.

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