Wales beat England in the rugby on Saturday. I realize I don't have to tell you that -- no two phrases in the English language go together more naturally than "rugby-loving" and "United States of America."

Here in the capital of Wales, my neighbor was so elated at the result that even an hour after the match he struggled to put together coherent sentences. Actually, that probably had more to do with the celebratory beer he had consumed.

"But this is nothing compared to Sunday, is it? I'll bet you can't wait for the Super Bowl. It's your ... thing," he said, waving his hand at me to indicate that he was not referring to me personally, but all 300 million U.S. citizens.

The way he said it made the NFL's showcase extravaganza sound like some kind of religious ceremony -- a hajj for people who don't like to travel. I suppose, in a weird way, he would be right. It's not religious, of course, no matter how much you love Joe Buck. But it is a strange communing of unashamed Americana, an event that feels compulsory to citizenship. Or perhaps that's just how it feels on this end.

It was an event that I knew my friends would be watching back in Minnesota, and in Texas, and in several other states, and around the world. Reportedly, 1 billion people tuned in to watch the game. That's one-sixth the world's population thinking at exactly the same time: "Yeesh. Did they drag Tom Petty out of the Unabomber shack? What's with that beard?"

On this end of the water, the game didn't start until 11:30 p.m., something that makes one suspicious of just how serious the NFL is about its fans beyond U.S. borders. If you're going to expect people to sit through almost four hours of celebratory posturing by defensive linemen the least you could do is put it on at a decent time of day.

On a side note, what is with defensive players and their need to celebrate everything? I appreciate that sort of enthusiasm in the workplace, but doesn't it strike you as just a wee bit unnecessary? A defensive player's role is to stop the ball. When he does that, he is simply displaying proficiency at the job for which he is paid a bajiziligilion dollars. He's doing his job. I want to see other professions celebrate that much. The next time I take a taxi, I want the driver to make six-shooters with his fingers and scream in jubilation when he changes lanes.

Excessive celebration is one of the aspects of football I had forgotten about; I hadn't seen a game since the last Super Bowl. Living in Wales, I have turned my interests to rugby, which is what football used to be before being taken over by figure skaters. American football is so laden with rules and technicality that is at times more performance than sport. Yes, I realize you need to be fit to run really fast and catch a ball, but is it a real test of mental and physical capacity when you're allowed to stop every 15 seconds and do the Charleston?

Perhaps I am being unfairly critical. Such is the effect of the Super Bowl on those of us living overseas; we feel it is a reflection of us as Americans. The site of Bill Belichick frumping about the sidelines (dude, you work for the National Football League -- surely you have access to some exercise equipment) and complaining about a 12th man being on the field for 1/5 of a second had me holding my head in shame.

The lowest point came as sportscaster Dick Stockton was promoting the NFL's efforts to expand into the British Isles market. For some reason the NFL's international broadcast uses a different commentary team than those heard in the United States. Instead of The Great And Glorious Joe Buck, we got boneheaded Stockton and a guy who twice referred to Randy Moss as "cute."

"The British fans love the Patriots," Stockton claimed. "I think because the word 'England' is the title -- New England, old England."

Yep. All the British fans except for the ones in Scotland, Northern Ireland, Wales and (old) York.

But there were some good parts as well. As I slipped into sleep-deprived delirium, it occurred to me that my best friend was out there watching exactly the same thing at exactly the same time. For so many years before moving to the UK, watching the Super Bowl meant hanging out with Eric. Again we were watching the game together, but with some 5,000 miles in between. In a strange way, I felt connected to him and those parts of American life that I miss.

Five months after the game started --or so it felt -- the Giants won and it finally came time for me to get a few hours sleep. The next day, I found people here to be surprisingly understanding of my exhaustion. I would tell them I had watched the Super Bowl and they would nod knowingly. They understood that I had been on my annual couch-based American pilgrimage. I had achieved a state of connectedness to friends and country.

I guess if you put it that way, it's no wonder defensive players celebrate so much.

Chris Cope lives with his wife in Cardiff, Wales. His column appears every other Tuesday.