Two bros walk into an English pub in Milwaukee. They order two Miller Lites and ask the bartender why they aren’t showing the USA-ALG game. The bartender explains that this pub, modeled after a typical London watering hole by its loving English owner and everything, has understandably dedicated their television screens to the GHA-ENG match.
The more vocal of the two bros pumps his fists in the air above his head and announces with nary a token of provocation or solicitation, “I’M A FUCKING YANKEE!”
The pub clientele sips from the communal glass of Nobody Gives A Shit, eyes and hearts invested in the Three Lions, fingers swaddling the circumference of their pints, attention not given where it is obviously wanted. The bros finish their Millers and leave quietly, missing out on the owner’s happiness in the eventual England win, manifested by his distribution of a bottle of Jameson throughout the entire pub.