Wings, beers, and expats: Watching USMNT-England in a Minnesotan Irish pub

On any other day, in any other bar, you wouldn’t be surprised to see a couple of Minnesotan men ordering a plate of buffalo wings during the second half.

For much of the last hour, the duo — clad in USA Hockey sweaters and beanies — has been talking about Thursday night’s statement by the Minnesota Vikings. They seem quick to join the crowd around them in both voicing displeasure and applauding moments of satisfactory play in the game on every TV in the bar. When they don’t discuss the local NFL team, they’re having side conversations about the Timberwolves’ erratic start to the NBA season and what they ate on Thanksgiving. Apparently, the menu didn’t include enough poultry.

Zoom your focus out and you’ll see a smattering of US soccer jerseys. Then some more. Then some England jerseys. Then countless pints of Guinness and dozens of polished off glasses that once held bloody marys. This is The Local, a mahogany-lined haunt which opened in 1997 and serves as the resident for the Twin Cities’ Arsenal fans. 

While the wings admittedly look worth the order, their neighbors have finished a breakfast platter while another USMNT fan weighs the potential hoodoo of ordering traditional English cuisine as the United States plays the Three Lions in the World Cup. Ultimately, he decides it isn’t worth the risk: “Until the final whistle blows. Then, I’m getting the fish.”

There are layers at play in this Irish-centric bar that self-identifies as a pub. The decor, the offerings and the drink list all scream British Isles. The location, the majority of inhabitants and the tone of the crowd watching this Group B clash is distinctly American. Together, it provides a viewing experience which is so familiar to stateside fans of the sport — and despite 90 minutes devoid of goals, helped give a data point about the sport’s place in the United States.

“I’m Smalls,” my bartender says with a smile and a nod as we exchange pleasantries while the Netherlands-Ecuador match wraps up, “in case you need anything.”

Standing no slighter than 5ft 8in, Smalls’ suspenders cradle a pair of dark-washed jeans and rest above a black T-shirt. He boasts a lengthy mohawk which flops to either side as frequently as possession changes in a soccer match. His mother was born in Berlin, so he has deep ties to Hertha. He’s a Tottenham fan who doesn’t mind the early shift at this or another local Irish bar under the same ownership, Kieran’s. And, as the left half of the shaved portion of his head displays, he’s a Minnesota United season ticket holder.

In the years before scientists flocked to track a pandemic, one team found that the ideal time for pouring a pint of Guinness was exactly 119.53 seconds. As the clock ticks, Smalls tends to another couple in neutral gear who are sharing a large breakfast sandwich. They admit they only watch soccer during World Cups and one asks if that Brooks kid was still a defenseman for the United States. Smalls needs no further clueing due to his Hertha Berlin roots and politely says that John Brooks, scorer of that iconic goal against Ghana in 2014, didn’t make the squad this time.

Perhaps the couple secretly runs a few USMNT-centric accounts on Twitter.

Behind the couple, a table with a dozen Ecuador fans nervously watches their team take a corner kick in the game’s dying minutes. They’re unable to stay seated for more than a few seconds, hands folded in front of their faces begging a ball to find Piero Hincapie’s forehead. As the final whistle blows, they celebrate their point against Group A heavyweights the Netherlands before quickly letting out a “U-S-A!” chant to win favor from their neighbors.

Pint in hand, I make my way up and down the split sides of the bar. It’s easy to envision that on some Premier League matchdays, the layout necessarily partitions Arsenal fans in their home digs from visitors supporting that day’s rival. Today, the crowd is at least 75 per cent supporting the United States, although there are a good number of England national team shirts in the mix. One, with David Beckham’s name and number on the back, is worn by a taller Minnesota man in his thirties. He, too, frequents soccer bars every four years but was also a winger when he played in high school. “I’m just wearing this to stir up some trouble,” he says with a laugh. Unlike Beckham, though, it’s safe to assume he hasn’t taken a dime from Qatar.

A few tables down is another oasis for a handful of men in their late twenties or early thirties wearing Three Lions gear. Two do most of the talking: one, a Swindon native who supports the local club which plays in League Two, seems to read the cue cards in this scenario and says the “sport is like a religion to us”. While I can hear a snickering American or two scoff at this, the rest of the table (myself included) nods along.

The other fan in our conversation is in Minnesota visiting family. He’s a Manchester United season ticket holder who drives three hours from Reading for each match; while he admits it feels like a slog some days, he’s also aware that this is hardly an arduous road trip by American standards. He’s glad to see that his club and Cristiano Ronaldo have ended their fractured relationship, but the past 18 months haven’t changed his reverence for the Portugal international in the slightest.

Neither seems terribly confident Gareth Southgate’s side will replicate their six-goal output from the previous game against Iran. Both expect England will win and say they’d be disappointed with a draw while that would escalate to feeling “devastated” or “gutted” if the US won. They also add that they know any result would mean more to the US, as they feel confident going into the Group B finale against Wales.

As I head back to my stool, I see a Gen Z fan wearing a replica Mike Eruzione hockey sweater from the 1980 Olympics. It wouldn’t exactly be a similar stage of miracle if the US beat England today, but Al Michaels’ singular call is still firmly etched in my mind. The table I just left is joining in the singing of “God Save the King”, while no Americans attempt to stand them up and try their hand at “The Star-Spangled Banner”, the bar erupts into a “U-S-A” chant as the players head to their places for kick-off.

Like the Ecuadorians beforehand, many fans reflexively have their hands obstructing their mouths in hopes it’ll calm their nerves. It’s still hard to tell how many in attendance are fully familiar with the players and teams they’re watching, as some still seem to just be passing a day away from work. By the 20th minute, the guys from earlier in the US Hockey hoodies confide in each other that they would see a soccer game in Europe — especially if the Vikings were scheduled to play there around the same time.

As the action unfurls, the whole bar intently follows along. There’s a familiar droning hum of conversations just below the volume level of the broadcast, emphasized by groans and applause with a US-skewed interpretation of events. A loud sigh greets a blocked shot from Harry Kane, while Weston McKennie’s (first) skied shot gets a massive universal groan with each passing replay. When Mason Mount draws a foul, he draws the ire of both diehard followers of the sport and those who assume all soccer players are floppy.

American soccer bars have served as needed outlets for fans as soccer continues to gain a firmer foothold in a crowded US sports landscape. The Twin Cities has multiple at this point; just kitty-corner from The Local is Brit’s, another longtime downtown Minneapolis institution which announced it sold out all 800 tickets to view the match 13 days beforehand. There’s also a packed house at the Black Hart of Saint Paul, a decades-old LGBT+ bar which was purchased and turned into a hybrid LGBT+/soccer bar as Allianz Field prepared to open in 2019.

“Soccer in particular is a niche sport (in the US) that has a subcultural coming together of people,” owner Wes Burdine told The Athletic as the Black Hart reopened in 2020 after the first wave of the coronavirus. “It’s getting less this way now as more people come to soccer, but it has the feeling of going to the 7th Street Entry to catch an indie band. You’re kind of in on something and there’s a shared coolness that you feel.”

That alleged coolness appears to be contagious on Friday. By the 40th minute, there are still far more people entering The Local’s doors than leaving. Even those without gear on are in no rush to pass up the atmosphere and it’s standing-room-only in the bar which claims a capacity of around 400. Smalls seems unfazed by the flow of orders at half-time as his work during Vikings road games can be similarly fast-paced. 

As Fox’s studio pundits break down the first half, I check back with the table of ex-pats for their assessment. As it turns out, they aren’t longtime friends as their conversational ebb-and-flow seems to imply. They didn’t even know each other as they walked into The Local, but their kindred accents and gear drew them together for the 90 minutes.

“I don’t live in the United States, but whenever I’m away from home, I’ll watch somewhere to find a crowd,” the Manchester United fan says. “I was in Romania when Tottenham played Ajax in that Champions League semi-final second leg. None of us were Spurs in that random Romanian bar — we were Man United fans, Reading fans, other clubs — but when Lucas Moura scored that goal, we all went f***ing crazy.”

As it turns out, this won’t be a two-hour session before they become strangers again. The group has already firmed up plans to hit the town together after the game. While it may feel bizarre to prop up at an Irish pub in the United States, they’d found community all the same.

As the second half progressed, fans carried a similar level of tension. My peripheral vision catches a buffalo wing bone being shaken at the TV to the tune of “can’t do that” as Mount tackles Tyler Adams. Behind me is a pair of Canada fans who, by the 70th minute, are impressed by the United States’ performance. Afterwards, they’ll go to a casino — not to gamble, as neither of them does, but to smoke a cigar without having to stand outside.

Quickly, Matt Turner becomes a familiar name for all in attendance. Each catch and save of the ball elicits a round of applause, while a couple get a “Matt-y Tur-ner” chant from one section of the bar. The bar is absolutely silent as England set up a corner kick and a free kick in stoppage time, with loud exhales of relief as each fails to find a breakthrough. 

What should be a measured moment of jubilation as the US holds on for the draw is scuppered by a late free-kick that is wasted down the wing to ice the game. A few fans scoff and try to find the words for the perceived missed opportunity, while the rest of the bar lets out one final show of support and contentment. 

There’s no dust-up between fans of the two teams, perhaps aided by the often anaesthetic power of a scoreless draw. Still, it’s an afternoon which reinforces the experience provided by bars like The Local. And who knows, maybe American soccer culture will be built around Buffalo wings in the decades to come.

(Photos: Jeff Rueter)