Soccer is immaculate. It’s a sport that combines strategy and physical prowess to such an extent that it becomes an art form-the only art form capable of igniting drunken pub fights and reviving latent country rivalries. But aside from all the international hype, there exists a small cult of jersey-clad Americans religiously waking up to watch their teams play live. I am a proud member of this cult. My god is Arsenal of the English Premier League.
Sadly, the league whose matches bring the London Tube to a standstill is normally confined to the early morning hours of cable network Fox Sports World in the United States. Last year, delirious from my lack of cable and fueled by desperation to follow my football, I stumbled out of the District and happened upon an obscure international soccer haven. Located in the heart of the Arlington business district, Summers Restaurant looks like a downsized, yellow-and-green T.G.I. Friday’s. Reminiscent of Tchotchke’s, the bar in “Office Space,” the inside is a panoply of shiny booths, striped plastic table cloths, and the nondescript stained-glass lamps that grace any family-style restaurant.
Summers serves diner staples of burgers, wings, and fries and has a one-page breakfast menu that is offered until noon. The “British breakfast” catches my eye, but I think of the lack of appeal of British food and write it off as a probable misprint. The service is attentive but not overbearingly so; the customers seem to prefer it that way. I order a coffee and receive a steaming soda glass with a cozy. I assume they ran out of coffee cups. The waiter says nothing. I accept it.
After my amusement with the coffee “mug” wears off, I look around and notice a line of people loitering in the doorway of the back room-it is the room with the bar. It is also 10 a.m. which seems, even for a college student, a little early for such a turnout. Their eyes are transfixed on what seem to be televisions; no one acknowledges my presence. Suddenly, a huge wave of yelling and screaming reverberates from the formerly hypnotized crowd. I push my way inside to see each booth and table filled with people. Encircled by eight televisions, a diverse group of friends and strangers crowd side by side into any available space. Everyone is wearing jerseys-Arsenal, Manchester United, Chelsea, Aston Villa, Fulham-a plethora of flair. In the game, Arsenal captain Patrick Vieira has just been ejected from a heated match between Arsenal and Manchester United. The crowd is rowdy, some are drunk. They obviously appreciate fine art.
I pull up a chair and watch the rest of the game.
People come to Summers for the soccer. A mixture of foreigners and Americans, young and old, the crowd is always varied. Many are regulars, some are businessmen who have discovered the location and taken time off work, and a few have simply heard of the place and stop by to catch games when they can. The college crowd is grossly under-represented, as Summers is out of the way and neither trendy nor aesthetically inviting to passers-by.
As far as international soccer in D.C. goes, if it’s not televised at Summers you will be hard-pressed to find it anywhere else. Nationally recognized as the best international soccer pub in the country, it is reputed for showing obscure matches, such as Iran vs. Bulgaria, and the stunning regularity at which live games are shown.
Summers is not much to look at, and the food isn’t anything you can’t find at Denny’s, and if your birthday meal is during a match you probably won’t get a song, but the people are friendly and love their football. For those who know why soccer is the most popular sport in the world, Summers is a casual and comfortable place to catch a few games live.
Summers Restaurant and Sports Bar is located at 1520 N. Courthouse Rd., in Arlington. It is one block from the Courthouse Metro station.
