“Where do we get some Guinness?!” The Full NFL Ireland Experience
Peter Varnum, our international correspondent at Go Long, guides you through it all from the festive pregame through a game that'd bring a smile to Dan Rooney's face.
Editor’s Note: Once again, we’ve got the immense pleasure of bringing you NFL coverage overseas at Go Long. Longtime subscriber Peter Varnum covered the thrills last season and does so again from Dublin, Ireland. His full story is below for subscribers.
Thanks, all.
-Tyler
By Peter Varnum
DUBLIN — The Irish are “mad about sport,” says Niall Carty, a Dubliner with inquisitive eyes and wispy, grayish-white hair. Niall is a friend from work of yesteryear, and his family are my hosts for the weekend. “But you’ll have to explain NFL to us and why it’s a big deal.”
I start with a polite correction that it’s “the” NFL, and then feel kind of … something. Like what a Buckeye must feel when insisting on the article before saying “Ohio State.” I look up worryingly at Niall, hoping I didn’t derail a conversation before it started.
No matter. He smiles, unoffended. In addition to loving athletics — the most popular national pastimes are hurling and rugby, the latter of which bears a resemblance, of course, to American football and its physicality — he and the rest of the Irish are kind, curious, and hospitable. I saw it over and over this weekend.
SATURDAY, 27 SEPTEMBER
6:30 p.m. I exit customs at Dublin International Airport and see the usual assortment of NFL paraphernalia peppering the passengers. This happens in the international series. The duty-free shop is decked out in Steelers gear — no Vikings. The Steelers have marketing rights here and the Vikings don’t, and it’s also a home game for Pittsburgh.
A man in front of me in line offers to buy the woman in front of him the swag she’s setting on the counter.
“Well, thank you and go Vikings,” she says after initial protestations, embodying the Minnesota-nice personality that infects everyone in that state. I was in line for about a minute and a half and she told me how Minnesota is such a great place to raise kids, but now they live in Park City, and it’s a good school I went to, and she loves Eden Prairie, and thank you again to the guy who bought her the jersey. (For those who care, I went to Carleton. Go Maize and Blue. Now lower your tuition, for Pete’s sake.)
6:55 p.m. I board a bus from the airport into the city. Two guys wait in front of me in line: one decked out in Steelers’ dress, the other in Cowboys’. I approach the former and ask, knowing I’m wrong: “Are you from Pittsburgh?”
“No,” comes the answer.
“Ireland somewhere?” I guess, thinking maybe he’s flown back home from somewhere, and feeling more confident: I thought I’d picked up an Irish accent.
“No, we’re from Scotland.”
“So I messed up twice.”
“Well, at least you didn’t say England.”
They’re kind men, in their late 20s or early 30s, bare legs covered in tattoos while I’m chilly in my winter coat. They proceed to tell me about their allegiances. The Cowboys fan had named his son Dallas — not for Jerry’s boys, mind you, but the affiliation was logical enough.
As for the Steelers fan?
“Fuck if I know,” he says with a grin. “Just picked a team. I’d seen them a few times, but…” he chuckles and trails off.