I am a Dutch girl living in Lebanon. When I moved here, the 2010 Fifa World Cup was in full swing and the Netherlands were doing so well that I bet most Dutch football fanatics wouldn’t have left the country if their mothers’ lives depended on it, unless it was to catch a last-minute overpriced flight to South Africa.

I left the country regardless, because I am not a fanatic and because love is a much more powerful force than football. Usually.

The World Cup is a big deal in Holland. Streets turn orange overnight, half the workforce takes a day off or calls in sick when there’s a match during the day and the most outrageous orange attire is suddenly for sale on every street corner.

It couldn’t possibly be as popular in Lebanon, or so I thought. After all, the Lebanese national football team, if not entirely fictional to begin with, does not compete and isn’t likely to do so anytime soon. Reliable sources tell me football matches in Lebanon usually end with either the players or the supporters starting a gunfight on the field, and I seriously doubt the Fifa will look kindly on this.

So surely, nobody cares right?

Wrong. It’s huge. Walk down any busy restaurant street in Beirut and you’ll see big screens showing the matches everywhere. Every other car driving past you as you do so will have one of the most popular countries’ flags stuck to it. Whenever one of these teams wins a match, the roads are swarming with honking cars and people leaning out of the windows waving oversized flags.

These flags are for sale everywhere. Small roadside shops have display stands outside, but you can also opt to buy one from the vendor who comes up to your car and taps on the window as you’re waiting for a red light (and if you are, you’re probably not Lebanese).

In the past few weeks, I’ve seen the flag sale displays change, and the collective support of the Lebanese people with them. Brazil and Germany were two of the biggest favourites, but when the Netherlands beat Brazil (oh yeah) the entire green/yellow/blue crowd changed into assorted other colours without a second thought. Loyalty to a team lasts only as long as they’re winning, as far as the Lebanese are concerned.

What makes the whole thing interesting is the fierceness of their loyalty. Ask any Lebanese Brazil supporter why they support Brazil, and they will simply tell you “Because I AM Brazilian!” and their friends will all nod in agreement. Ask further and you’ll find out that no, they do not have a Brazilian passport and no, they’ve never been to Brazil, but their great-aunt’s second cousin’s uncle twice removed is Brazilian. Or at least, they think he is.

Of course, as soon as Brazil is out the great-aunt no longer exists and they suddenly regained contact with a long-lost friend in Spain.

Spain beat the Dutch team in the finals and the crowd around me cheered for them, because they figured out a while ago that you’ll have more fun if you support the most likely winner I suppose.

I was sad, but only for a moment. After all, I also swapped my own flag, for one with a little cedar tree on it that held promises of a brilliant future.

Now if only these people would learn to play football…