Chim Chim Cher-oo

It was Dan's last weekend in the States and it felt right to honour the occasional with something quintessentially American so we spent last Saturday in hot and foggy Silicon Valley, to enjoy what might be the end of the summer, picnicking at a beach in Half Moon Bay and then made our way to Stanford University for our American sporting extravaganza number three, an American Football game. Whole months had passed since we had last been forced to rise for the national anthem. My baseball hat to heart trigger arm was primed.

The usual pomp and ceremony of the football out shined that of the baseball and ice hockey combined, but the food was much worse and portions smaller. There may or may not be a link between the two; I'll leave you to decide. The cheerleaders were cheery and the costumes suitably spangly for the pantomime that is American sport. The players alone had cheesy glittery Gladiator-style Lycra and in the time honoured way of choosing a team based on colour alone, the gold helmets of Washington State got my vote. Too bad they lost.

We were, presumably, whipped up into a frenzy of excitement before the kick off by a college student dressed as Marilyn Monroe who kept flashing his red knickers leading a brass band of sweaty and overexcited youths of indeterminable age (to me, but possibly not to their parents) the whole way around the stadium and on to the pitch. After hours of marching in the burning sun dressed in what might have once been smart red marching band jackets the poor sweaty young ones then had to perform for us before the game began. Narrated by a man who had had his shame gland surgically removed, and replaced with extra razzmatazz, the band performed a homage to swine flu. It was truly awful. I wish you had seen it, as then I wouldn't have to try to describe it, and instead we could share knowing cringes and then never speak of it again. Through my fingers, the band formed a circle, representing the Stanford bubble, according to the cheery narrator, and then some nerdy in-jokes later, a pig appeared and it all culminated in the pig 'flying.' Really, that is the best I can do. I am aware that this sounds made up. I assure you it wasn't but more frightening of all was that fact that no one in the crowd even blinked or made any furtive fearful glances or any gesture which may have suggested that this was bewildering or abnormal to them, except of course the token Brits right at the back of the stadium, one of whom was cheering for the opposition team.

When I wasn't watching the game, I was watching the crowd in all it splendiferous glory. I really fail to understand why 'crowds watching something dull' are not televised. I could watch them for hours and never get bored, although I am a snooker fan so maybe that says more about me than crowds per se. Even though I don't understand the attraction, the pull of what is essentially some blokes playing with a ball on some people is fascinating, and in some cases, wonderful. I walked around during the match, spending some time in all of the various sections. The most crowded one was the section reserved for students. All of the people sitting there were in the team colours and literally moved as one, standing up at the same time, dancing with the cheerleaders and chanting in unison. It was scary. The opposition team end was fun; Washington State supporters being a whole lot more normal and refreshingly different from one another. Around the rest of the perimeter were families, die hard fans, others like me soaking up the atmosphere, and some just soaking up the chips.

My favourite sight of the day was a man, followed by his two small daughters, strikingly similar to him, leading them in a limb thrashing follow my leader type dance to the Stanford song, not dissimilar to the chimney sweep routine from Mary Poppins. It was executed as if there was no one else but them in the world, despite the fact they were in a crowded stadium, in that wonderful totally unselfconscious way that lots of Americans seem to have.