On Routine (III): Pre-match Rituals
In the final of three installments on making and unmaking routines in the city, it's all about nailing down new rituals - and a day out at the football
I’m bad at starting new routines, as the two previous editions of this newsletter will have made clear. One final example: me and the kids have been season ticket holders at Union St Gilloise for two years now, but we’re only now just settling into a match day routine. It goes a little something like this. We arrive off the tram at the Parc Duden, hike up the hill from the tram stop, take a left into the Rue des Alliés and make for the Italian bar/deli MangiaSempre. If it’s crowded we’ll take a seat on the terrace, but we’ll aim for a table indoors given the weather we’ve been having lately. From there, it’s a quick drink - a La Mule Lager for me, water for child one, and chinotto for child two - and a bag of taralli (preferably not the fennel-flavoured ones). Drinks drunk - or at least, half-drunk in the case of the chinotto - we’re off back up the hill to the stadium. Hot dogs - real meat! - with ketchup, no mustard, and no onions from the Brazilian restaurant across the road from the stadium for them, a dip of the head into the clubhouse to see if there are any familiar faces around, and then into the stadium to take our seats in the north stand. Two halves of football, several bottles of Coke and Fanta (and a couple of bags of chips) later, and it’s back down the hill for the tram-metro-bus ride home.
So, how have we settled into this? Well, anyone who has children will know that predictability is key on a day out, if only to be able to answer questions about what exactly we’re going to do, will there be food, and when are they going to. Being able to stick to a mutually-agreed schedule helps us all get through the bumps and swerves in mood and temperament. For the children, having a chance to sit in a café with me and have a soft drink still feels like a treat, too, something illicit especially given the absence of their mother. Even if they’d still prefer if the place did regular Coke rather than its organic Italian equivalent, and that I’d relent and allow them to order one of the girthy dried sausages hanging behind the counter at MangiaSempre. It helps too that the café’s owner Giulia Bevilaqua (who I interviewed for the Italian episode of the Brussels Beer City diaspora season podcast) is both kind to them and shares her name with one of the best friends of child one.
There’s the beer too, good beer, as you might expect given the pedigree of the people involved. Cheaper too than the stuff they sell up at the stadium. Giulia is a former Moeder Lambic and Cantillon employee, and one of the sons of that brewery’s owner is usually pulling pints behind the counter on match day. There’s often at least one brewer in the crowd of people dressed in various constellations of blue and yellow that bunches as the entrance on match day, several brewery employees too, and quite often the odd editor of a famous French food magazine that sponsors the club.
I am not a very sociable person, and the children are not used to seeing me talking to “strangers” (people they don’t also know), so there is also a little thrill - even a bit of pride - in exposing them to this part of my life. Passing through the crowd of supporters huddled around the doorway, I might get a “hello” or a handshake from an acquaintance I know from my beer writing, or even - to the shock and/or embarrassment of the children - la bise. If there’s a situation where I feel most like my own father, it’s this. Not because we’re off to the football - I only remember going with him to two football matches in my entire childhood - but because when we used to spend our weekends with him in Tralee, we wouldn’t be able to walk down the town’s main street without bumping into someone who he would end up talking to. It’s a side of me the kids don’t really know, and they are always curious about who exactly these people are, and where I know them from.
Also - and don’t tell anyone this - kids are a great excuse to cut short conversations if you’re a socially maladroit weirdo who struggles in these kinds of settings to make conversation. A strategic “I’m hungry” from one of them, followed by a shrug and a raise of the eyebrows from me, is usually enough to extricate myself from small talk without being rude.
More than this, I want them to feel like going for a drink at the café is as important a part of a day out at the football as the match itself. It’s not a thrill I experienced very much as a child, and the rare times we did - for a carvery at the Beaumont House with my grandad, or a waterside pub and a bag of Taytos after a walk in Fenit - are indelible memories. I submit to them having a hot dog because I can remember how great it was to have a hot dog fresh off the grill sheltering underneath a wet stand on a grim day at Lansdowne Road, even if I couldn’t tell you whether it was a rugby or a football international. These interstitial moments are the ones they’ll remember long after we’ve forgotten who Union were playing on any given day. There’s all that, and on top I’m so utterly terrified that they might inherit my timidity that it’s easier to push myself to try “new” things, to “be brave”, to visit the unfamiliar café, to talk to strangers, to be out in the world. I don’t want them to come away from their childhood with the impression that their dad is cowed by life.
Because I’m bad at trying new things, and circumstances have gotten in our way until recently - bad weather, late kick-off times, unmotivated children (or adults) - it’s taken time to settle into this match day groove. But judging by the recent pre-match table talk as we ate lunch at home before leaving - “are we going to the café?”, “can we have a snackje?”, “will they have cola?” - it seems to be sticking. It might help that we’ve yet to see Union lose a match either. Which as routines go, is pretty good.
Miscellaneous Notes
Aux Trois Rois is a piece of legit Brussels history - a travelling recreation of a historic Schaarbeek bar, that’s now in search of a new home
Some interesting authors coming to Brussels via Passa Porta in the coming months.
Keep an eye out for something over on Brussels Beer City - the self-imposed sabbatical might be coming to an end…