by Bill Nowacki

Say what you will, but Britain is truly polite society. Everywhere else on the planet, acquaintances greet each other with the banal notice, “Good morning.” Brits, on the other hand gently inquire, “Are you well?”

Gentlemen still yield their seats to women on the Underground.

Fans at sporting events stand erect, proud, and silent until the last note of God Save the Queen fades. Then they softly clap before settling into their seats; one or two eager chaps will hoot, “Go get ‘em Lads!”

They’ll stand in ridiculously long queues for painfully long periods of time, without fuss.

They’ll step into the vestibule to receive a phone call.

Even in the pouring rain, they’ll stand outside a taxi and ask through the half opened window if the driver wouldn’t mind going to Mayfair, before collapsing their brolly, shaking off the water, climbing in, and nonchalantly dismissing that they’re soaked from the waist, down.

They’ll shrug off a compliment, understate their accomplishments, accept their circumstances, and accommodate most any inconvenience.

The contrast with America and her progeny is stark: we’re prickly, loud, and demanding. Our bellies are full of self-confidence, self-absorption, and self-interest – we’ve feasted on abundance, opportunity, and hope our entire lives. We expect more from life than is reasonable. God made the day 24-hours long. We want it to be 25. Paris. London. Rome. They’re our playgrounds. The DAX. FTSE. Nikkei. Hang Seng. They’re deep ocean detection buoys for our financial markets... barrier islands for our financial coastlines.

We’re cocksure. We fly in cargo shorts, t-shirts, and flip-flops. On the redeye from Chicago to Heathrow we drink until we’re over the Irish coast, then complain to immigration officials we didn’t get a wink of sleep along the way – victims of our own jocosity.

At scale, we do this 2.5 million times a year (with little variation to the script), unwittingly contributing to the long-running narrative that we’re boorish cultural Neanderthals... interlopers amongst the erudite global community unwilling to bend.

And so they collectively look at us through a lens of skepticism and disapproval, tallying each misstatement, misstep, or misunderstanding in order to confirm what is at its core an ugly prejudice – that we’re out-of-control louts.

We’re doing ourselves no favors with our presidential election antics at present. Brits – and Europeans in general – are horrified at hooliganism demonstrated by Donald Trump and his supporters. With every homespun video clip, we’re substantiating the stereotype. If living and working in the UK as an American was previously hard, it has just become excruciatingly so.

Imagine my awakening to the following story:

With white smoke billowing across a public square, a small group of supporters are seen shouting and cheering before the sound of shattering glass is heard.

Just moments later, a shot, apparently from a police tear gas weapon, is heard echoing around the square before others appear to pick up bottles and hurl them in an unknown direction.

One man is spotted imploring the unknown cameraman to turn off his equipment and leave the area before he turns his attention to the group of armor-clad riot police. Standing next to a small girl, he shouts at them: "There are kids here.”

Later on a small group is seen holding one man who has a scarf tied around his head saying, "We need an ambulance" before one of them spots a passing group of riot police, with shields and batons up, and says, "You with that guy there, f*** off.”

Officers took refuge while riot police assembled and used tear gas and flash-balls to disperse the crowds.

This dagger was reported in the Daily Record.

On any morning, in any of the dozen or so newspapers littering every newsstand in London, one can find a comparable article. Different day. Same theme.

Our national shame? Or theirs?

These stories aren’t splashed across the front page rather as in the Daily Record headline the sports sections: Arsenal fans fight outside the Emirates after FA Cup match. QPR fan floored by a punch after allegedly approaching away end during a Birmingham game. Manchester City and West Ham fans clash inside Upton Park following a Premier League draw. Tottenham and Arsenal fans clash in violent scenes ahead of North London derby. Manchester United and Liverpool fans clash inside Old Trafford during Europa League game.

So plentiful are they – and vivid in their details of split heads and bloodied noses – that the average Brit barely notices.

Passions run deep for soccer – or as they say over here, “Football.” Affiliations are passed down from father to son. Many Brits are able to recall one or two youthful indiscretions where their zeal got the best of them. If they didn’t partake, they know of someone who did.

Few denounce the skirmishes. Now and then a coach will half-heartedly scold the fans from the press box, but lacking any real outrage the behavior is tacitly accepted and expected.

With a couple months left to the season, these scenes will play themselves out several more times. Unsurprisingly, there will be no cries for leaders to denounce the violence. There will be no national dialog on the disintegration of social decorum. And there will be no institutionalized self-loathing because unlike a contest for the soul of a nation, theirs is about something much more important.

Football.