Any American over-enthusiasm for my first major Premier League match had to be immediately hidden by the slightly disgruntled grimace one adopts when jammed ear to ear into an Underground train. I had taken a studious approach to dressing — wear all black and then piece together your pitch-side outfit from the team shop when you get to the grounds. I had been joking beforehand that I would go full kit, but figured I’d buy a hat and maybe a shirt. Past experience has proven there is nothing colder than soccer stadiums during the UK in winter, so the extra layers wouldn’t be a burden.
One hour later and many pounds lighter (in money, not weight), I had a hat, three pairs of socks, shorts, a retro jacket and a Cup-font away jersey with my name custom printed on the back. I’ve been trying not to let my head perform the currency conversion ever since, but, hey, I crossed an ocean to get here. Sometimes you gotta let the pence fall where they may.
This lad in front of me clearly enjoys Jack Links beef jerky.