Freedom Ain't Free, Y'all.

Before you read on, please don't misunderstand me: I really do love America. Just because I choose to live somewhere else doesn't mean I'm not proud to be an American citizen. But when you Google 'What is America famous for' and one of the top answers is 'fat people', you've got to wonder what the world thinks of us - especially if you ARE an American who lives overseas. Last Friday, my wife's school hosted an 'International Evening' to celebrate the end of term and the opening of their new extension. This evening was set to show off the best of what the school has to offer, both in terms of brand new real estate and its surprisingly diverse student body. Thanks to an eclectic mix of parentage (which is, in turn, thanks to an eclectic mix of having a hospital, a University, and lots of lonely farmers); this small corner of Wales nestles in its bosom children from India, Norway, Thailand and everywhere in between. The school's International Evening was a chance to put on display the very best of these places. So, from the Italian room: fresh pasta, pizza and tiramisu. From India - deep, aromatic curries, poppadums and samosas. The Chinese room had fragrant stir-fry, egg rolls and fortune cookies. Kids in kimonos popped up with elegant sushi rolls dipped in soy sauce and wasabi. Magical… and delicious!

It will probably come as no surprise that somehow, by some incredible stroke of cosmic fortune, my wife's class was assigned to be the American room. So... what was the best that America had to offer? Well, my idea of dressing everyone up as gun-toting LA street gangs was quickly dismissed, as was my suggestion of scattering fake dead buffalo all over the room. When you’re asked to come up with an American ‘theme’, it kind of begs the question: what is America famous for? Freedom? Diversity? Bad grammar, particularly interrogatives ending in prepositions? Apparently, the students of Plascrug Elementary School define 'America' with two things: sugar and aggression.

The aggression thing was actually kind of cute, in a brainwashing kind of way. Several of the girls had organised themselves into a band of cheerleaders, complete with skirts, pom-poms and a routine to be performed in front of the school. Sounds cute as hell, right? Well, it probably would have been: they were enthusiastic, and the French girl they got to do about a dozen back handsprings down the middle of the group was pretty impressive. The problem was the 'cheer'. To me, as physically demanding as cheerleading can be as a sport, I've never understood the concept of the cheers themselves. Whether it's rhythmic spelling or 'inspirational' one-liners, I just don't get it. As a player, I can guarantee you that I've never been on the pitch, heard someone spelling 'DEFENSE' and thought... 'Right... NOW that I know how to spell it, I am really going to twat that dude'. It just doesn't work. So the cheers, for me, are always a problem. But this one was different. These girls had obviously never seen cheerleaders cheering - it was clear that they learned their cheer from watching the Olympics, or Ryder Cup, or some other event where the US gets to show off its pride (and ironic xenophobia) by incessantly chanting U-S-A, U-S-A, U-S-A over and over and over again. That's what these girls were doing: hair in pony tails, smiling from ear to ear, happy as Larry to be bounding all over the rubber-coated tarmac - screaming U-S-A at the top of their lungs like meth-fuelled, weak-beer swigging patriotic lunatics. To be fair, I think they got that one spot-on.

Case in point #2: sugar. Instead of the highly-cultured fares offered by the other rooms, the USA room was a sea of gooey stickiness. Where Italy had pasta, we had pancakes and maple syrup. Where China had bok-choi, we had chocolate chip cookies, jars of 'Fluff' marshmallow spread and Double-Stuffed Oreos. For every poppadum you could find in India, we offered a handful of butterscotch popcorn. And instead of sushi, we served up sourdough pretzels. And to wash it down? None of your pompous continental coffees here thank you. We'll have gallon after gallon after gallon of Coca Cola and Dr Pepper. And the real kicker? We were FLAT-OUT full the entire two hours. Kids, parents - even some family pets - were absolutely stuffing themselves on this crap. They couldn't stop eating long enough to say 'thank you' - entire mouthfuls of Fluff were being washed down with Dixie cups full of Dr Pepper, only to make room for the next bucket-load of popcorn. Secretly, I smiled, knowing that the new brand of American imperialism isn’t in conquering continents with military force – it is in making sure that the rest of world can’t find the energy or the breath to fight back. And it seems to be working. If we Yanks can't out-think, out-wit or out-gun you, we'll take you down with us in a hypoglycaemia-induced coma. Europe, you're welcome.

To close, I'll offer a couple of the most honestly American songs I know of. First, this one by Lee Greenwood, which talks about all the (valid) reasons that Americans should be proud, and presents it in such a way as to reinforce everything that is good and cringe-worthy about calling the USA home.

And then this one, by Trey Parker: no less honest and funny as hell. I don't think being American means I have to choose one or the other. In fact, 'being American' is defined by the fact that I can see both sides, and I have the opportunity to see both points of views expressed in song. God Bless America, indeed.