Football vs. Soccer: A Real Drinking Match

I still get annoyed when I have to call Football by its American term: Soccer. You’d think I’d get over it after four decades of living in the USA, but no—every time I say the word “soccer,” I feel like I’m betraying my homeland.

Why mention this? Well, I’m from the UK originally, and I’ve lived in sunny central Florida for the past 40+ years. I just heard that my local football—er, soccer—team, Preston North End (PNE) lost to Doncaster, 3-1. No surprise, really. PNE isn’t exactly having a stellar season, and if I’m being honest, they haven’t been setting the football world alight for a while. But that doesn’t mean the fans aren’t just as passionate—or, let’s face it, just as boozy—as ever.

Before I left the UK for the US, I’d only been to one proper “footy” match. I had to beg Dad to let me go with my older bro and his mates. The match? Preston North End versus Blackburn Rovers. It was a big one. I remember my dad looking skeptical as he asked my brother, “But what about all the drinking and swearing?” Without missing a beat, my brother, ever the comedian, shot back, “Don’t worry Dad, we’ll ignore her!” Arf, arf, arf.

Hours Before The Football Match

Dad wasn’t wrong to worry about the drinking, though. The pub right next to the grounds was absolutely heaving a couple of hours before kick-off. It was the place to be, packed with fans knocking back pints, arguing about team lineups, and singing at the top of their lungs. Good luck getting a car anywhere near the place—if you were going to the match, you were walking. Good job Deepdale Stadium was only a few hundred yards away from the pub.

Another good reason to walk? You weren’t about to risk a drink-driving fine when you’d just polished off four pints of bitter before halftime. That’s the beauty of the great British pub crawl—a stagger from one watering hole to the next, sinking pints until you either find your seat at the stadium or wake up the next day with a scarf you don’t remember buying. You think I’m exaggerating? I saw a bloke attempt to chug a pint through his scarf to avoid getting caught with it outside the pub. Spoiler: it didn’t work.

What fascinates me now, living in the States, is how different the drinking culture is. British football fans hit the pub first, then the game. In America, the drinking starts at sunrise in a stadium parking lot. They call it tailgating, a grand tradition where fans set up grills, play drinking games, and make an entire day of it—long before kickoff. In England, you cram into a pub, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, pint in hand. In America, you’re lounging in a camping chair, flipping burgers, and playing cornhole. Same goal, different playbook.

And the drinks themselves? English fans drink (what many would deem ‘warm’) pints of bitter or lager. American football fans prefer beer bongs, Bloody Marys, and cocktails in red Solo cups. Both sides are equally passionate about their drinks. It’s just that one group drinks to watch the game, and the other drinks to survive it.

Soccer-Mad Rivalry Gone Bad

Now, about that rivalry. My gosh, the angst-filled feud between Preston North End and Blackpool is legendary. Not in a good way. Fans take it far too seriously—so seriously that, in some cases, the police have to intervene. I remember reading about hundreds of fans clashing in the streets outside Blackpool’s stadium. Absolute mayhem. That’s the thing—football matches bring out the worst in people, especially when you throw alcohol into the mix.

The authorities got so fed up with the trouble that they changed the kickoff times for these games. Yep, they actually scheduled matches earlier in the day to keep fans from getting too plastered beforehand. The pubs weren’t too happy about it, but what could they do? They still got the post-game business, whether it was celebratory pints or misery-drowning rounds of whiskey.

I’ll never forget a time when a pub landlord tried to be sneaky about it. When the police ordered an early shutdown before a PNE vs. Blackpool match, one clever bloke locked the doors from the inside so fans could keep drinking in secrecy. It didn’t last long. The police caught on pretty quickly when a drunk guy climbed out of the bathroom window and fell face-first onto the pavement. Genius.

Safety First

You’d think the stadium would be the safer option, right? Not always. If you were sitting behind the goal, sure—you were fine. But if you found yourself midway along the pitch, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with rival fans, well, good luck to you. In those days, there wasn’t much separating you from a Blackpool supporter who had just downed his fifth pint.

Eventually, clubs had to erect chain-link fences to keep opposing fans apart. The hostility was real. Fists were thrown. Sometimes, even pints were thrown—what a waste of time and energy.

That’s probably what my dad was really worried about when he didn’t want me going to matches—not just the drinking, but the absolute chaos that came with it. And he wasn’t wrong.

The Civilized Way?

In America, it’s different. They may drink just as much, but somehow, it’s all so much more… polite. American football fans have their own drinking traditions, sure, but they’re tailgating with grills and coolers, not throwing bottles at each other. No one’s shutting down bars for safety reasons. In fact, people invite their rivals over for burgers and beer. I once went to a tailgate where a group of Philadelphia Eagles fans were sharing a BBQ with Dallas Cowboys fans, and I thought, “This would never happen in England.” Ever.

UPDATE from Lyndsay and husband Wally:

Philadelphia sports fans are a breed of their own—passionate, intense, and, let’s be honest, sometimes a little terrifying. Sure, the U.S. doesn’t see the same level of organized hooliganism as in other countries, but don’t be fooled—football games here can still turn into all-out brawls, especially when rival teams are involved.

Philly, in particular, has a reputation for some of the toughest, most ruthless fans in the country. The Eagles’ stadium even had a courtroom and judge in the basement for years to deal with game-day incidents. And when the Eagles won the championship? They didn’t just celebrate—they tore through half of downtown like a hurricane of green jerseys and beer cans.

It’s not just about winning or losing—drunk fans will destroy everything either way. Climbing greased-up light poles, throwing bottles, ripping jerseys off rival fans—it’s all part of the chaos.

Wally, who used to play and coach, says the game itself has changed; it’s more “look at me” than “team first,” and the fans have followed suit. Once upon a time, a last-minute Sunday game was a fun, spontaneous outing. Now? Between sky-high prices and the risk of dealing with aggressive fans, it’s just not worth it. Philly fans even booed Santa Claus back in the ’80s because they wanted the game to start already! Legendary dedication? Absolutely. Civilized? Not a chance.

Me? I’ll stick to watching football/soccer on TV. It’s safer that way. No crushed toes from an overexcited pub crowd. No dodging flying fists. And no risk of waking up the next morning with no recollection of whether Preston actually won.

And If You’re Ready for a Change…

Now, all jokes aside—if someone shared this post with you and you’re thinking, “Maybe the drinking culture isn’t as fun as it used to be”, I get it. I really do. I’ve been there.

If you’re tired of waking up after game day wondering what you did—or worse, what you said—you’re not alone. And you don’t have to do it alone, either.

When you’re ready, head on over to A New Sober You. We’re here for you when you’re ready.