Atomic Sports Media: Common Grounds

Given the boring, boring World Series has been annoying enough to waste valuable late-night quality viewing on Five (haha... okay, maybe not), I decided to compile the similarities between two sports that, on the face of it, have very little in common. Find it on Atomic Sports Media by clicking here or here or even here, or read the article below...



So, I was thinking, what’s the perfect comparison of sport between Merry Old England and Stupidly Huge America? I had a think. And by think, I mean to say that I looked on Wikipedia at a list of sports. Having spent over eight seconds looking at words I hadn’t even seen before, I certainly knew two things: firstly, that it’d have to be mainstream; secondly, that it had to have similar basics.

Sadly, all of our good ones - and by good, I mean in the eyes of the masses - are completely different to yours. You have football. So do we. Obviously the main difference between the definitions is that our description of football is actually accurate. I’m even happy to carry that definition joke over to comparing your MLS with our Premiership. I mean, REALLY, did you guys learn nothing from the NASL? The former is a thoroughly bastardized form of the latter.

Anyway, before you all start frantically pushing Alt + F4 to close your browser because of some Limey know-it-all who seemingly doesn’t know that America would kick our arses in everything but soccer, yet still incessantly talks and talks in over-long sentences, wait. I have found the finest comparison of Trans-Atlantic sports. It will show you that we’re not two countries separated by a common language as Oscar Wilde once said, but by a common sport as well.

In looking for the link, I found something common. In true American fashion, you’ve taken out the unnecessary parts of original British blueprints, done away with any form of tradition and made it as flashy and exciting as possible. Sadly, it’s still regarded by the masses as one of your most boring sports - the very link that brought the link to my attention.

So what were widely regarded as the boring sports of the world by those young go-getting Internet types on their forums and LAN games, listening to their hippety-hop music? I did a quick check around a few message boards and the same answers came up.

“Anything to do with horses” - but horse racing, the most viewed of them all, isn’t sport, everyone knows that: it’s a thinly-veiled platform for gambling.

“Basketball. You score and then you concede. Whoever scores last wins” - valid point. I don’t even watch until the fourth quarter. Still, we got “Space Jam” out of it. That was a good film, apart from the shameless Michael Jordan montage after he went into Looney Tune Land. Then again, when the TuneSquad beat the Monstars I cried with joy. But I digress.

“Snooker, because it only has one camera angle” - true, but there’s sometimes nothing better than having no commitments, a six-pack of beer and a couch with it on the TV for hours. Besides, it’s hardly a team game and they don’t build stadiums for it.

“Golf.” - see above.

But then…

“Cricket because it’s on for five days, i.e. forever”

“Baseball, I hate it, apart from when balls bounce off of Jose Canseco’s head and out of the park for a homer”

And there we have it.

I’m surprised the link hadn’t come to me sooner in light of the World Series (I’m too busy watching the Steelers fall apart at Denver to pay much attention) and cricket’s Twenty 20 World Cup (I was preoccupied with seeing England lose in everything this week to even remember that tournament).

I’ve broken the comparisons down into handy bite-sized pieces. I would have said fun-sized, but I feel that is, and always has been, a lie. I expect a fun-sized Mars or Snickers to be at least 5 pounds, but the description does not deliver - something I aim to do. I digress.

1) Wood, balls and running

One guy throws the ball, the other hits it. Fantastic. When you hit it nicely enough, you can grant yourself a light jog in order to score points.

2) Boundaries

If you hit the ball far enough, you score more. In baseball, the home run gains you one point. In cricket, if you hit it to the boundary, you gain either 4 or 6 runs, depending on whether the ball bounces before the boundary or not.

3) Heights of athleticism

Don’t get me wrong. I’m hardly in a place to criticize other people’s athletic ability. However, one does not have to be a string bean to compete. Compared to football, soccer, ice hockey and basketball - which are generally more movement-based and potentially damaging, if a contact sport - both cricketers and baseball players alike don’t need huge muscles and 36-inch waists and below to enter.

4) No need to retire at 30

My own father, who captained the local cricket team, played until he was 49. With such low intensity play, it’s easy to do so - although obviously, playing at local level contributed to that. However, players at the top level have regularly gone on to play at 40 years old, and beyond. Sir Donald Bradman, regarded as the greatest batsman of all time in cricket, racked up a batting average of 99.94 by age 40. Even now, in the wake of the World Series, Curt Schilling, Mike Timlin and Tim Wakefield - all 40 or over – played key rolls in the success of the champion Red Sox.

5) SCANDAL

This is probably my favourite area of comparison, and it highlights our cultural differences in such a stereotypical way. Ticket-selling superstars have a personal habit of getting themselves in the limelight for all the wrong reasons. Barry Bonds - central to the BALCO Scandal - is not so much remembered for his prolific record-breaking home run total, but for his alleged drug use (‘The Cream’ and ‘The Clear’) and the purported effect it has had on his performance. You Americans and your drugs tests, huh?

Here, we’ve had two successive England cricket captains in trouble with the England Cricket Board (ECB). The first - the infamous Andrew Flintoff (known as Freddie to most people here, as his surname resembles that of one Mr. Flintstone) - was caught up in the “Fredalo” incident that resulted in his loss of his vice-captaincy. Basically, he got really drunk, tried to ride a pedalo, fell in and had to be rescued. Us Brits and our alcohol, eh?

The second and more recent incident involved Paul Collingwood, England’s current captain, who did the damnedest thing when attending a strip club for a couple of beers. Fined £1000, he didn’t realize it was a strip club until a full half an hour of attending. If naked women on poles didn’t catch his attention, it probably stands to reason why he was out on his first ball the next day against South Africa in the World Twenty20 Championship - obviously the bowler didn’t catch his eye either.

6) Us against them

Cricket and baseball both find themselves with a fan base that is surprisingly militant in their following. Cricket was, a few years ago, full of old people who were very prim and proper, obsessed with tradition and, well, British. Very British. It’s opened up in recent years, where five-day games (two innings, unlimited overs - an over amounting to six balls) would attract the “Barmy Army,” hardcore young Britons who dress up, sing, play marching band music from the stand, everything. It’s rejuvenated the sport.

Baseball is, and always has been, like that. From the stereotypical organ through the tannoys to the hilarity of Steve Bartman, baseball fans always get involved one way or another. However, the fans of these sports have a group mentality, and it leads back to the original point; baseball and cricket are, in the eyes of the masses, boring as hell.

Call it the lack of contact, the length of the game or the irregular stand-up-and-dance involvement, baseball and cricket fans tend to follow their sport and no other. I like that: it shows true fan identity. Besides, why buy a beer when you have no time to drink it? Why wait for tickets that cost a stupid amount of money when it doesn’t last? Length of a game doesn’t matter in the grand scale of things - not with other priorities in life, like getting drunk.

7) Tradition

Baseball seems to be a very British sport in America. Everything seems to stay the same, from team logos to outfits to helmets to batting styles to everything. Chief Wahoo and Mr. Met are still going strong, for example; other sports seem to tire of these facets of identity quite quickly, although I don’t think anybody can blame the Braves for dropping Chief Noc-A-Homa. You’d get shot for suggesting something like that these days.

Regardless, American baseball iconography has a huge place in popular culture and is going strong outside the USA - I don’t know of anybody who can’t recognise the Boston “B” or the Yankees’ “NY.”

British identity lies in the county you were born in. My family, for this very reason, has strong bonds with Durham County Cricket Club, the youngest team in the County Championship (formed in 1992) and winner of their first two trophies this year. Everything tied in with that is very old-fashioned - club crests are usually the county coat-of-arms, and the colours - if worn (cricket players usually wear white) - depend on those on the crest. And finally…

8) The future of the sport

Although this seems like a bit of a throwaway comment, or an obvious one to say the least, the future of both of these sports is through youngsters. Children form the backbone of the future success of both cricket and baseball - whether it’s the little leagues in America or the local clubs of the villages and towns in England. Fan bases of both sports are very family-orientated, more so than other sports. As it’s more relaxed, frequent and lasts longer, you get a better bang for your buck and a good day out.

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The great irony of this comparison is possibly one of home culture: I love cricket, yet I just can’t watch baseball. I truly cannot. I suppose when you’re indoctrinated to the ways of the cricketer from birth, there’s no avoiding a love for cricket; maybe I dislike bat-and-ball sports but just feel compelled to watch it due to family allegiances. Having said that, I’m a Red Sox fan on account of having a tour of Fenway Park.

I find myself drawn to the NHL and NFL due to their emphasis on contact - the forms of sport I’ve always personally engaged in. I probably only like the NBA because young upstarts like Carmello Anthony always guarantee a bench-clearing brawl every now and then.

Still, without cricket and baseball, both British and American sports would find themselves lacking the alternative chilled out approach to competition. They both represent the traditions and balance sport needs to thrive and, to a certain extent (and particularly in the move-happy USA), survive. It’s just a bonus that to their fans, other sporting disciplines simply do not compare, and I can see exactly why - fans of these sports are a different breed; in most respects, much better.

Atomic Sports Media: Culture Clash

Given my attendance at NFL London was probably the greatest thing I've ever done in my life, I decided to make an article of it. Due to a bombardment of articles, videos and interviews during the week addressing this landmark event for the NFL and for British sports fans, it's absolutely massive. If you get the chance, please go to Atomic Sports Media and read it there or, if you're lazy, click this link here to go directly to the piece! (Incidentally, this blog's banner is a picture I took at the game...)



So here it is -- the biggest report you’ll get this season for a game involving the Dolphins. But, of course, this is more than that. Finally, 81,000 people plus myself will get their first chance to see live football without a TV being in the mix.

This took a long time to sink in with me -- it only really hit me once I got inside Wembley Stadium -- but American sports networks, Web sites, interviews and a general media bombardment truly started during the game between the New England Patriots and the Miami Dolphins on Oct. 21. It is here that the diary of events I dutifully collected starts.

And as a ploy to get your attention early on, I will advertise genuine mentions of ESPN being idiots, the incompetence of both British and American media outlets, a player that does not know what London is or where it’s at, Mexican waves, nudity and the Miami Dolphins cheerleaders (although I can not promise those last two are linked).

Also worth a mention are two of my previous articles detailing NFL Europe’s demise and a somewhat unofficial first part to this piece about sporting America coming to Britain; it really is amazing how many of those topics were thrown into the air during numerous broadcasts and writings.

21 October

It’s official. I hate NFL commentators. Before they were so bad, they were good – John Madden, a.k.a. Captain Obvious, being my personal favourite (and Terry Bradshaw, given that he’s a legend) -- but way to offend an entire nation, guys. A week before the league’s biggest experiment, they decided to spend a good half-hour mocking the British. Granted, some of it was funny… in a “so unfunny, it’s funny” way, surprisingly. The best came when one turned to the other and said:

“You gotta feel sorry for the Brits that have to watch a 0-7 team next week.” (Fair point.)

“I don’t think half of them know what 0-7 means!” (errrr…)

“They’ll be confused by the whole thing!” *cue Dick Van Dyke English accent* “Who are these blokes?”

To make matters worse, BBC Sport would play up to this by feigning stupidity later in the week.

23 October

My boss and editor of the site, David Hale, sends me a touching email that -- although loaded with class -- ultimately makes me sigh given the line-up, when originally announced, actually seemed pretty good.

“Enjoy the game this weekend, although allow me, as an American Football enthusiast, to apologize for you being forced to watch Eli Manning vs. Cleo Lemon. Really, it’s generally much better than that.”

Cheers for that reminder, boss.

24 October

And so begins the BBC’s descent into American Football. Think of, say, ESPN as a 10 for football knowledge. BBC was about a 3 before this week. Knowing its audience to have little knowledge, they lowered themselves to about a minus-2 by the Sunday evening highlights.

However, BBC’s Inside Sport video regarding the game (specifically from the Dolphins’ point of view) was good for many reasons. Although the compilations of hard-hitting tackles seemed badly slapped together by someone who just liked seeing bodies breaking (although I certainly enjoyed seeing one clip of Jason Gildon destroying Jay Fiedler), the interviews were carried off with the true class of the BBC.

First up was Dave Hyde, reporter at the Miami Sea Sentinel. “I did a column questioning why the Dolphins are going to London,” he said. “Within 12 hours of saying that I got emails and emails from England… I was stunned by the volume of emails, and I realized of course, that all of them had become fans because of Dan Marino.”

And that was genuinely reflected on the Sunday. Dan Marino is a pure icon -- the American version of our Bobby Moore holding the World Cup, one might say. The No. 13 jerseys were out in force. Marino’s legacy turned out to be one of the most popular conversation-starters during the week, and Jay Feely was happy to continue the praise.

“Dan Marino was my favourite player when I was a kid,” fawned Feely, traipsing through Dolphin Stadium. Pointing at the mural of Marino: “I love coming in and seeing that.”

Fuad Reviez - the Fuad-o-matic himself, now looking more like an ex-D lineman than a kicker - commented on his trip to London in an exhibition match, and the overall failure to win over the fans for an obvious reason: “They wanted to see the superstars. They were expecting to see Dan Marino for four quarters -- they saw him for 4 minutes.”

By this point I was getting pretty annoyed. These interviews were filmed about a week previous to broadcast, and after 7 minutes there was no mention of the Giants, the state of affairs this season, or any current player interviews. Then Wayne Huizenga, the owner of the Dolphins himself, seals the deal:

“We decided to take the best of the best, in a game which counts towards the playoffs.”

…are they still trying to kid the clueless British contingent?

Thank the Lord should he or she exist, when the downsides of this match-up set in. Working on the 80/20 principle of good and bad, the stereotypical style of BBC reporting was glaringly apparent with 2 minutes left, in which everything bad in football - aside from that STUPID FOX robot from their game coverage intervals - was touched upon.

“They raise our prices and we have one less game,” whines a Miami tailgater. “The Giants haven’t played here in maybe 10 years. Miami’s loaded with New Yorkers!”


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The BBC clarifies this concept in the only way they know how: “Imagine if Manchester United took their match against Liverpool to New York? Well, the Miami Dolphins have just sacrificed one of their eight regular-season home games.”

Then the real disenchantment hits. The first was beautifully ironic, and also exacerbated the poor quality of editing and NFL updates the BBC seemingly concerns itself with.

“So, Ronnie Brown, are you looking forward to playing in London?” He looked like he was going to cry. He probably injured himself on purpose to avoid a country too preoccupied with rain and drinking tea to concentrate on contact sports. Well, at least in the minds of NFL commentators.

Cut to the Dolphins crowd, accompanied by the emphasis on the 0-7 statistic. A small contingent of three or four fans are shouting popular phrases: “We suuuuuuuck!” “We still suck!” “We suck it!” Dave Hyde returns in light of this:

“NFL Europe might’ve been a little better than what you’re going to see right now.”

Cheers for that reminder, boss.

25 October

Sky Sports News is our only real 24/7 sports channel here, brimming with updates. And what a surprise that, when the NFL preview FINALLY comes on (at the end of the hour, no less), it’s concerned with the impact on Premiership soccer. Who does one have to bribe to get decent football coverage over here?

Eggert Magnusson, owner of West Ham United and class-A aptronym - he actually looks like a hairy egg - loves the NFL. Only because a similar move “would be good for the [British] game”.

Then there was something about the Dolphins cheerleaders meeting MPs at the Houses of Parliament - incidentally the only day where they all turned up to do some work! (This may or may not be true.)

And to add to the Dolphins’ tarnished squad, Channing Crowder reminds us why he’s got a degree from Florida, given to me through another Hale-mail mocking my future attendance of this game.

“I couldn't find London on a map if they didn't have the names of the countries,” he said. "I swear to God. I don't know what nothing is. I know Italy looks like a boot. I know London Fletcher. We did a football camp together. So I know him. That's the closest thing I know to London. He's black, so I'm sure he's not from London. I'm sure that's a coincidental name."

Cheers for that rem… ah, forget it.

26 October

ESPN’s Len Pasquarelli decides to make me feel like an MP who slept in yesterday.

“Despite a respectable No. 15 ranking in league statistics, the offense is anything but explosive. Cleo Lemon, a lifetime backup quarterback, now is the starter. Chris Chambers, the most capable receiver, was traded to the Chargers last week. And star tailback Ronnie Brown, arguably the team’s one bright spark, was lost for the season with a knee injury suffered against the Pats.”

It’s becoming as clear as crystal that the Dolphins may be the first 0-16 team in NFL history, and they’re coming to London.

27 October

Before I got the train to the South, I checked ESPN’s comments page. Three struck me as a great spread of opinion.

The first was pretty straightforward: “The job of a corporation, like the NFL, is to expand and make more revenue. By expanding overseas they are increasing their maximum total revenue and their opportunity cost is nothing compared to what the benefits are.”

Now THAT is spoken like a true American capitalist.

Now the turn for the token spanner in the works: “I am personally offended by the decision to attempt to globalize the NFL. Are we, here in America, not worthy fans anymore?”

Erm… you’ve been the only country with a competent league for the past 80 or so years.

He continued, evidently without engaging his brain: “I am disgusted. And if all those dreams of the NFL bourgeoisie come true, and there is a team outside of America in the NFL, I will refuse, from that day forth, to call myself an NFL fan. Let’s be serious, the globe is not shrinking. But your loyal fan base will if you continue to think this way.”

Yeah, maybe the NFL might become the second sport of America.

How’s about no? This fervent patriotic fundamentalism strikes me as interesting. We’re very lucky to get this game, but is it really that awful a thing to happen - a game in *gasp* Londonengland (as EVERY American pronounces it)?

The last comment cemented the same old point into the forthcoming game, and one I now use as an excuse for the amount of beer I drank that night to numb the pain of £75 spent on a ticket.

“I thought Great Britain was an ally of the U.S. Why are we punishing our allies? First we send the NHL over there and now the Miami Dolphins. Holy crap! They’ll never back us again.”

It was then that I realized that card -- such as the kind that the ticket was printed on -- was flammable. Sadly, no source of fire was available. Guess I had to go, then.


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28 October

After meeting up with my fellow NFL observers in Baker Street, one thing was scarily comforting. I’m known for wearing football jerseys most days -- I have about 20 or so -- and I’ve always enjoyed having that different dress sense to reflect one of my favourite things in life. It would lead to the odd conversation with someone wearing a Raiders cap they bought because they saw it in a Snoop Dogg video and as such knew everything about football, or a genuine fan from when the NFL was popular on terrestrial TV here in the ’80s. Nothing particularly substantial.

The pub we were in, however, was PACKED with them. Everyone was bonded in a strange sense of unity, almost like ex-pats living abroad. The silent nods went to everyone -- particularly the Steelers fans in my case (I hugged the odd one too) -- never before have I, or should I say we, felt like being wanted by other people.

THIS was what the NFL phenomenon had caused in London; not a football game, but a social bond. You weren’t alone anymore. You didn’t have idiots from a workplace or college saying how they preferred watching “proper sports” like rugby or soccer. People in the street would breeze past the huddles of fans wearing every shirt, looking at them all with an envious glare, they, themselves, now being the outsiders. Not me, though. I was one of them.

I even chatted to Ravens fans, laughed along with Broncos fans even though they’d just beaten us the week before, and even respected a person who said that Plaxico Burress was neither greedy nor stupid for leaving the Steelers. Wearing big numbers on your front and back qualified you as family, and you can never break those ties.

Use BBC logic: if you were into European soccer, and were wearing an Arsenal shirt, you would be surprised if anyone would say anything. Here, I think you’re born wearing a soccer jersey. Although very basic in comparison, the emotional and social impact on a city, never mind a person, is overwhelming.

Given everyone stole our idea of a few pints in Baker Street then the Underground to Wembley Park, the platform, and train… and station… and Wembley Way… were absolutely heaving with bodies. Every team imaginable was represented -- I even saw a Detroit Lions jersey. That’s commitment.

Ticket hawkers lined the street. Counterfeit or not, one typical American and his wife bundled through only for the man to be stopped after the woman -- he went marching off in anger to find the man who’d most likely legged it to the bank. Very unlucky.

The Game

Last time I counted, I think America had about roughly six, perhaps seven million stadiums with more than 50,000 capacity. Here we only have four - St. James Park, Old Trafford, Emirates Stadium and, of course, the most expensive stadium in world history (fact!): Wembley.

And just… well… phenomenal. I can’t sum it up any better than that - not without heavily censored yet completely legitimate profanities. Still relatively empty - only around 30,000 - we got our first glimpse of Strahan, Manning (The Lesser), Moss and Shockey - about 30 yards away from us. They looked so much… bigger on TV. Even Strahan. I put it down to perspective personally.

The cheerleaders were a welcome distraction and served their purpose well. They must be fitted with nitrous oxide - they just can’t physically stop smiling, not even in the pouring British rain.

After the band I have no interest in had finished, the national anthems bonded the two nations together formally. Although the American one wasn’t very popular (even if Jocelyn Brown was phenomenal), God Save The Queen shook the foundations. It was the first time I’d sang it at a sporting event, and what better time to do it than when you’re hosting another country without actually playing them?

The stage is removed, the dancing kids finally get lost and are replaced by the seemingly equally loathed Giants. Don’t get me wrong - they were well supported -- but they were led out by John Terry, the overpaid Chelsea and England soccer captain (and honorary Giants captain for the day), who is universally loathed by anyone in London who isn’t a Chelsea fan.

And this is where ESPN will get their heads kicked in by rugby hooligans if it ever shows its scruffy face near Twickenham. Martin Johnson -- the former England rugby team captain who led our team to win the Rugby World Cup in 2003 -- was the honorary captain of the Dolphins. After the amazing fireworks display that singes my eyebrows 14 rows back, seeing T.I. carrying the British flag and the cheerleaders all lined up to greet them, the coin toss took place.

Announced were three representatives: Martin Johnson (HUGE cheer). Lewis Hamilton, F1 rookie sensation (HUGE cheer). John Terry (HUGE boos that lasted for about a minute). But ESPN, who not only addressed it wrongly after the game but made a point of it, too (http://sports.espn.go.com/nfl/recap?gameId=271028015), happily blamed Johnno. Wrong move.


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We simply won’t forgive you for that, guys. Granted, we boo our England soccer team captain, but given we probably won’t qualify for the European Championships and he earns £125,000 a week, you might begin to understand.

And what to say about the game? It was bloody rubbish!

But just as bad, it was the best game I’ve ever seen. I don’t even mean that in an “only game I’ve seen” way either - but there’s so much you miss out on during everything I’ve experienced of the sport. If a TV screen isn’t denying me of it, it’s the Atlantic. The atmosphere was electric, and the fans were genuinely responsive. Shouting, cheering, singing, laughing, everything was jovial.

But on the pitch, the mood had been set weeks ago. The game was now merely a foregone conclusion. Seemingly, as a result, the charts hit season-long lows. Such statistics include:

Lowest passing yards in a game for Giants this season (8-22, 59yds)
Lowest passing yards in a game for Dolphins this season (17-30, 149yds)
Lowest receiving yards in a game for Giants this year - Jeremy Shockey, a TIGHT END (3-26)!
Lowest receiving yards in a game for Dolphins this year - Peelle (6-42)

Commentators blamed the turf: “They’ve gone from a 5/8ths- to a 1-inch cleat.” They blamed the rain: “This is becoming an old school game in this weather.” They blamed jetlag. Basically, they blamed anything that wasn’t the players. We all know that footballs get slippery, footing is lost, and that it’s just not as safe to play in. Hell, the Giants played in brown uniforms in the second half. Still, I really couldn’t care less: fact is, Eli Manning had won five games straight before this game, and the Dolphins are looking like the worst team to grace the NFL. This game was the flagship of future NFL dealings, and Manning’s only touchdown came when he ran the thing into the end zone.

In fact, there’s two ways to prove he was in no way arsed.

Cleo Lemon was better than him by nearly three times. Cleo Lemon! That guy! And he threw for a touchdown!

Tom Coughlin said, when asked if the trip was worth it: "I'll be glad to give my opinion to the commissioner with the issues that came up.”

A no from the Giants coach would have sufficed. Evidently he’d not shown the effort as a leader to do anything more than win. By three points for goodness sake! 13-10 is not a healthy score against winless opposition for a team challenging for the playoffs. Angry at the conditions which he should have been completely aware of months ago, Coughlin’s simply not giving the people of London a game, and could have indirectly - or directly - instructed his players to treat it as… how can we put it… NFL Europe?

I know it’s mere formality - hell, it’s institutionalized in the anti-climax that is pro football - but 2 minutes of kneeling is NOT what London wanted. It was so lackluster -- boring, almost -- the glimmer of hope from the Dolphins proved to be the only true football highlight in the game. Granted, turnovers mean potential field goals, but an institution like the New York Giants should not be in a 3-point-lead situation anyway. It just seemed like Coughlin was taking aggressions against Roger Goodell out on the thousands in the crowd, like myself, who spent hard cash for this spectacle. How? Boring football.

Brandonn Jacobs was very impressive though. After Eli missed Burress a few times, Manning decided to palm it off to give the Giants their highest rushing total of the season (23-131). Fair play to the guy, but it doesn’t disguise an ultimate inadequacy in his and Coughlin’s passing game. Burress missed two easy receptions, too, but he should have never left Pittsburgh, the silly boy. Weather should not be a reason if you play half of your games in the Tri-State area. Miami’s only strength is in pass defense, and even then they’re 16th!

Regardless of all of this idiocy on the part of the Giants, alongside the inadequacy of the Dolphins, the game was truly a sight to behold. The biggest cheer of the night, or at least in the top three with the Dolphins’ touchdown and the end of the British national anthem, was the unlicensed nudity.

I didn’t understand what was happening at first. Picture the scene: kick-off for the second half begins. The umpire suddenly dashes towards the centre of the field, kicking away a black piece of clothing. Then everybody stands up while I’m fiddling around with my camera for the kick-off, only to look up and laugh. The “umpire” was now naked but for a football-shaped jockstrap, dancing wildly before breaking into press ups. The police were nowhere to be seen and security and players alike looked on as the crowd cheered wildly. It also (I assume) inspired the first of many Mexican waves in the stadium.

After it had all finished, the Mexican waves were replicated down Wembley Way as queues were at a standstill and bored. As I piled onto the Underground train, conversation was immediately sparked up about the future. Not the game itself - everyone knew each other had enjoyed it - but rumours of the Jaguars playing the Patriots next year, or the future of the NFL in Britain and beyond.

Even after getting back and watching the highlights - which jumped straight from kick-off to the missed field goal to the first points on the board (it really was that dull), and hearing a great line for a Dolphins DE to his teammates: “Hi, I’m Jason Taylor, what’s your name?” - it came to me.

The underlining significance to this entire experience is that, amidst a weekend of clichés, uninformed broadcasters, crap commentators (got another one for you: “Do you think these Brits want Lemon with their tea?”) and a fundamentally flawed final game, it was the atmosphere of collective enjoyment that ruled in the favour of the NFL. The question over the amount of fun had would have been fruitless - those on the train were concerned with the future, and the future only.

And if the NFL comes to Wembley again, I know at least 81,000 people who want to go again - including me.