Sunday, June 29, 2014

KANSAS CITY - Colombian Conversion

    Few places I’ve been to have had a better World Cup setup than Futbol Club in Overland Park, a Kansas City suburb.  Three rooms, ten TVs, three big projector screens, dozens of scarves, plenty of fun football extras, and delicious beer.  In addition, the atmosphere was excellent, with everyone (including the neutrals) fixed to the first match of the day (Brazil vs. Chile) all the way through the 120 minutes and penalties).   Despite this promising start, it was still a surprise to me when the second match of the day, Colombia vs. Uruguay, brought forth the happiest and most optimistic fans that I have encountered on my journey.


The menu had a lot of fun World Cup specials

    The first of several surprises was the huge crowd of Colombians at the bar.  The fans numbered in the hundreds, over 2/3 of whom were wearing Colombian yellow.  It was thirty minutes before the game, and the place was already as crowded as Lexington had been for USA vs. Germany.  Moreover, it was LOUD.  While there was little chanting, the instruments were out in spades.  Drums, tambourines, cowbells, horns, whistles, sirens, all being played constantly as the match approached.  I asked one of the waiters if this is common.  He said that they get a similar crowd for every Colombia game.  Apparently, in addition to being the official American Outlaws bar of the Kansas City area, Futbol Club is also the place where the Colombian-American Society of KC always come to watch their team play.  In the lead-up to the game, the bar switched the TVs from ESPN to Univision, so the commentary was now in Spanish.  The main bartender told me that this is something they regularly do when they get a large enough crowd for a Spanish-speaking team (most often Mexico and Colombia).

    The second surprise was how positive the Colombians were.  From the moment the match kicked off, they exuded nothing but optimism.  Their drums, cowbells, and whistles beat out an energetic rhythm from the opening whistle to the final one.  Their voices egged on their players every time they entered the attacking third.  This itself was nothing too far out of the ordinary for a regular USA game.  What I wasn’t used to was the lack of any negativity.  The attack gave away the ball to end a foray forward?  The rhythm kept on beating.  The defense committed an error which gave the Uruguayans a good opportunity to score?  The Colombian voices refused to turn against their players.  Not once, in the entire match, did I hear any Colombian criticizing or calling out their players, which was a stark contrast from the Americans, Italians, English, or Brazilians.

    This positivity was reinforced in a strong way in the second half, when torrential rain started to come down over Kansas City, and the storm clouds blocked off the satellite signal, temporarily shutting down the TVs in the bar.  The groan of dismay was the only negative thing I heard all afternoon.  Despite an initial, restless quiet without the match on TV, the music resumed quickly.  Phones and tablets were soon omnipresent as people scrambled to watch the match while the proprietors stood by and waited for the satellite signal to return.  And, most surprisingly, not a single person left the bar.

    It was during this time that I started speaking to some of the Colombians.  One of them just joked with me about the TVs going out.  “I think this is planned,” he said.  “They want you to feel like you are in Colombia when the lights go out!”  I couldn’t believe it.  This man’s country was thirty minutes from reaching the last eight of the World Cup for first time in history when the TVs go out, and he is laughing about it?  He wasn’t the only one joking around.  Twice, several guys at the bar yell “goal!” to get everyone excited, then laugh when they look around to see who is celebrating.

    I pointed out to the first man that no one had left despite the lost signal.  “We believe,” he replied, ever the optimist.  “We believe the signal will come back.”  He then started talking to me about how much this match meant to Colombia.  He told me about going to the ’94 World Cup to watch Colombia play in Pasadena, seeing them lose there, and suffering with them as they fell out of the World Cup picture for over a decade after 1998.  He pointed to the TV (which had come back on by that point) and told me that these players, like him, had grown up watching the glory days of the 1990s and the subsequent collapse of the 2000s.  To finally have something to cheer about again was a dream come true to them.  “It means a lot more than just a soccer game to us.”

    In the end, Colombia cruised to a 2-0 victory.  In the process, they won a new fan.  Not because of the way they played on the field (although they did play very attractive soccer), but because of their fans.  They were happy, positive, optimistic, loud, passionate, FUN!  They made it feel like an American game, only with samba instead of chanting.  And they were so willing to include everyone in their party.  For the sake of their wonderful fans in Kansas City, I wish the Colombian team the best of luck in the rest of the tournament.

Friday, June 27, 2014

LEXINGTON - Match Report Four - How the U.S. lost and still conquered death

    The day starts off on a worrying note.  On the bus ride across Lexington, I don’t see a single USA shirt or even a hint that the World Cup is going on. The discouraging signs continue when I arrive at the West Sixth Brewery, the local American Outlaws bar, at 11 a.m. - one hour to game time.  The building is split into two rooms: one with long tables and a giant screen projected on the wall (which is where the American Outlaws and most of the crowd are), and a bigger room which looks like a cross between a typical bar and a coffee shop.  Dismayingly, however, the place is pretty empty, with about fifty people in a building which looks like it can hold three hundred, maybe four.  Unlike Indianapolis or Philadelphia, there is very little chanting.  Just a bunch of people talking and chattering away, ordering food, drinking beer, and waiting for the match to start. 

    A couple German fans show up, but the red, white, and blue dominate the scene.  There is much less official US Soccer gear here than in Indy or Philly.  Instead, people threw on whatever red, white, and blue gear they can find..  I see a “back-to-back World War champs” shirt, a “Reagan Bush ’84” cap worn by someone who doesn’t look like he was alive for that election, and (my favorite) a fantastic blue bro-tank with the words “God, USA, SEC” in red letters.

    Thirty minutes before the game, the crowd has grown to approximately seventy people, and I go to get lunch at the seafood restaurant attached to the bar.  When I return ten minutes later, everything has changed.  The crowd has swelled to 120, and chanting has taken hold in the AO room.  There are the old standbys (“I Believe” and “When the Yanks come marching in”), but there are also more creative chants that I never heard in the other two cities (including Seattle’s “Boom Boom Clap”).  However, the chants don’t last as long as they did in the other cities.  People keep filing into the brewery so that by game time the place is standing room only.

    The Star Spangled Banner is started at the end of “Boom Boom Clap,” so most don’t realize what’s going on.  Once they do, they start singing, and become the first bar on my trip to actually sing in time with the music on the TV.  Afterwards, the German anthem is played.  In stark contrast to Philadelphia, the crowd listens to the opposing anthem quietly, and there is even a little applause at the end.
   
    Then, the whistle blows, and for the third time this month, the USA kicks off.

    From the beginning, Germany dominates.  This creates a nervousness in the room which lends itself to an intense atmosphere.  Giant cheers erupt for the smallest things: a save by Tim Howard, the USA winning a throw-in, etc.

    It is interesting being in this bar just a couple days after watching the USA in Philadelphia.  The Lexington crowd is equally as partisan as Philly, demanding cards for innocuous German fouls.  On the other hand, unlike Philadelphia, Lexington is extremely positive.  They give shouts of encouragement after failed American attacks, including a roar for Graham Zusi firing a shot a foot over the bar.

    As the game gets into full swing, the crowd gets more and more into it.  Before kickoff, it was mostly the dozen or so AO members in the room who were chanting.  Now, everyone participates in every chant, to deafening effect.  It only intensifies when it is announced that Portugal has taken the lead over Ghana (which was not being shown at the bar), giving the USA a little breathing room.

    There is surprisingly little grief when Muller scores Germany’s goal.  The crowd does give one cry of anguish, but it quickly turns to chatter about how we still are two goals safe.  It isn’t the end of the world.

    Then news comes that Ghana has scored.  A couple people cheer, but only until others inform them that this means one more Ghana goal eliminates the USA.  Nervousness abounds.  A little boy next to me has pulled up the Portugal-Ghana game on his phone, and I start paying almost as much attention to that as to the USA game.

    The anxiety turns the crowd hostile.  Whereas before only shouts of encouragement could be heard, now the fans start to yell at players for giving the ball away and making mistakes.  Bradley is, yet again, the main recipient of the criticism.  It only ends when, ten minutes from time, it is announced that Cristiano Ronaldo has scored to give Portugal a 2-1 lead.

    Relief.  A roar of jubilation goes up, as big as if the U.S. had just scored (albeit  shorter).  The nervous atmosphere disappears instantly, and relaxed chatter takes over.  Suddenly time is passing a lot quicker.  And before we know it, the final whistle blows.

    The cheer that goes up is not nearly as loud as anything I heard in Indianapolis or Philadelphia, but it serves its purpose.  A chant of “we want Belgium” (to the tune of “we want ‘Bama”) begins.  When it is announced that the final whistle has gone in Portugal-Ghana and that the U.S. has officially advanced, a smaller cheer goes up.  Most don’t seem to have heard, having stopped paying much attention once the USA’s game ended.

    The crowd files out with astonishing speed after the game.  Many are gone within fifteen minutes, and by the time Belgium-South Korea starts only twenty remain. 

    Perhaps this shows that the crowd were more interested in cheering on the USA than in watching the World Cup, or maybe it was the two hour wait in between games that deterred people.  Either way, in Lexington it is apparent that soccer plays second fiddle, but the soccer-loving niche is as passionate as in the big cities (if on a smaller scale).

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

PHILADELPHIA - When Americans turn Outlaw

    My first stop in Philadelphia is The Greeks, a pub in Narberth (a northwestern suburb) to meet with Sean, the secretary/membership officer of American Outlaws’ Philadelphia chapter, and Julian, the AO Philly Vice President.  After we take in an exciting Germany-Ghana game (and eating a delicious cheese steak), the two guys decide to take me around the Philadelphia area and show me the city’s soccer scene.

    As they drive me around, the talk turns to the organization they help lead: AO Philly.  The chapter, founded in 2010, was headed at first by the original leaders of The Sons of Ben, the supporters group for the Philadelphia Union (which started playing in the same year as the founding of the Philadelphia AO chapter).  Problems were numerous.  They tried to do joint membership with Sons of Ben and AO (which is against the rules of AO national headquarters), and there was little ambition to expand beyond the small bar they met at or beyond the small membership they had.  Due to this, AO nationals decided to let the chapter wilt into becoming, as one of the national leaders said to Julian, “one of the worst chapters in the country.”

    Change started when someone for AO nationals spotted Julian at the Crossbar (the American Outlaws Philadelphia bar at the time), recording a podcast that he does for his website, thesoccerdesk.com.  The man was impressed, and asked Julian if he wanted to be in charge of social media for AO Philly.  Julian accepted.  Together, he and the new chapter president, a man named Greg, decided that in order to get the chapter off its feet, they had to move to a bar big enough to hold more than 40 people.  After looking around at various Irish bars in the area, the guys eventually settled on the local Fado.

    Fado is known across the country as being a soccer-friendly bar chain.  I went to the Seattle branch (they let minors in for US matches, so long as they don’t go into the bar area) for the Honduras-USA qualifier in 2009, and it had a wonderful, raucous atmosphere.  The Fado in Philadelphia was no different.  They were quite eager to become the new American Outlaws bar in Philly, even offering a bunch of drink and meal specials for members on U.S. game days.  A “test run” was done for the first U.S. match of the 2013 Gold Cup, against Belize.  It certainly wasn’t a resounding success, with only a couple of people showing up.  However, as the team progressed through the Cup, AO Philly started exploding on Twitter and Facebook to get the word out about the USA’s performance.  For the final of the competition (USA vs. Panama), the venue was packed.  And that, according to Julian, was when they knew that “the chapter was back.”

    American success on the field and a much better bar for watching games certainly helped the attendance at American Outlaws events (as well as American Outlaws membership), but there was still more work to be done.  Greg and Julian started the process of incorporating the chapter, something that American Outlaws national headquarters likes a lot.  Incorporating a chapter makes it an official non-profit company with the state, helps it with liability issues, gives it a respectability with bars, the city, and potential members that it cannot get any other way.  The incorporation papers went through quickly, but more leadership was needed if the Outlaws were going to grow like they wanted to.  Sean was recruited from the Crossbar pub to be the Secretary/Membership Officer, and Greg’s wife Julia was brought on as treasurer.

    After the leadership was secured, it was time to start planning for the World Cup.  Molly, Fado’s events coordinator was excited to help out with the plans.  Watch parties for every game were to be held at Fado, and the AO chapter was able to work a deal with Fado, Misconduct (the soccer tavern across the street from Fado), the Philadelphia Union, and the city of Philadelphia to close down a section of Locust Street and put up a big outdoor TV for the USA’s second game vs. Portugal, a party which was attended by at least 600 people.  In a generous move the Union allowed AO to have their name at the head of the event, even though the Union fronted most of the money to get the city permit to close off the street.

    Overall, Sean and Julian were very happy with how far the Philadelphia American Outlaws chapter has come since they took over.  Despite the restructuring of the chapter less than a year before the World Cup, both USA games so far have packed Fado to the rafters.  There was even a decent turnout for the USA-Azerbaijan pre-World Cup friendly, which started at 10pm ET on a Tuesday night.  Membership is up in the 400s whereas it used to be that they would only get a couple dozen to each game showing. In the cradle of the American Revolution, the world’s game is flourishing.

Monday, June 23, 2014

PHILADELPHIA - Match Report 3 - So. Close.

    I thought that the Indianapolis atmosphere was crazy.  With all due respect to my friends in Indy, it didn’t hold a candle to the madness that went down in Philadelphia.

    As I did for the first USA game, I arrive at the bar at halftime of the day’s first match (Belgium vs. Russia).  Walking to the bar, I had been a little discouraged by the lack of fanfare in the streets.  In Indianapolis, everyone was decked out in red, white, and blue.  In Philadelphia, I only see a couple American shirts.  That all changes when I get to Fado, the American Outlaws bar in Philadelphia.  Outside the bar, the street is closed down and a giant TV is being set up.  Inside, the place is already as full as Indianapolis’ Chatham Tap had been for the Ghana game, and there are still five hours until kick off.  What’s more, the crowd doesn’t seem to just be there for the U.S. game; they’re fully involved in the first two games of the day, cheering and gasping with every big moment.

    Two and a half hours before the game, the bar is so crowded that it is hard to move around, and the people I am standing with have to fight hard “for our turf.”  It is so packed that they have to stop letting people into the bar.  This is also the point when the chanting starts.  As with Indianapolis, “I believe that we will win” and “When the Yanks come marching in” are by far the most popular. 

A small section of the crowd at Fado over two hours before the USA game

    The chanting doubles in frequency and volume as soon as the Algeria-South Korea game ends.  A chorus of boos greats every showing of Portuguese players on the TVs, and a chant of an unprintable word is shouted each time Cristiano Ronaldo appears.

    As with Indianapolis, the national anthem is drunkenly sung several beats behind the music on TV.  Unlike in Indianapolis, however, the bar boos the opposing national anthem.  It fit in with many of Fado’s patrons telling me that in Philadelphia, they earn their reputation as rude sports fans.  Even so, happy chatter and chanting is rampant through the opening whistle. 

    Then, a horrible defensive miscue, and Portugal scores within six minutes.

    Not only does the crowd of at least 200 go silent, it stays silent.  While there is a feeble attempt to get an “I believe” chant going right after the USA concede, for the next ten minutes quiet, disgruntled chatter is all I can hear.

    The atmosphere within Fado begins to resemble what I experienced in England - excessive swearing, extreme partisanship (complaining every time a whistle goes against the USA, even if it was an obvious foul), etc.

    At halftime, I decide that I should watch the rest of the game out on the street with the giant TV.  I walk out of Fado (knowing that they won’t let me back in), and immediately realize one big mistake that American Outlaws and Fado made when putting up the TV: it needs to be at least three feet higher off the ground.  As it is, it’s so low that only the people closest to it have a good view, and the other 300 in the street are all standing on steps, on the curb, even climbing a bank building to be able to see more than the top half of the screen.

    The atmosphere in the open is quite different than it was inside.  Chanting is mostly done up at the front.  The rest of the crowd are talking and chattering while watching the game and trying to see the screen, and are generally a lot more positive.  A giant cheer goes up as the ball gets passed to Bradley right in front of goal, but that cheer is only because much of the crowd cannot see that Bradley’s shot had been saved.  It takes a full minute for many to realize the situation.

    Then the real thing happens.  From my vantage point, I can only see the ball hit the net, but that is enough.  I am immediately engulfed in a giant bear hug from someone on my right, and once released I run around screaming.  1-1.  Song 2 (Woo Hoo) by Blur is blared on speakers, and the most ear-splitting chant of “USA” that I have ever heard breaks out, so loud you must be able to hear it ten blocks off.

    Fifteen minutes later, it happens again.  Dempsey scores, and beer flies up into the air in gallons.  My notepad is drenched, and I don’t care.  I thought the earlier chant of “USA” was ear-splitting, but the one that breaks out now is downright deafening.  People are running around, embracing strangers, beside themselves with joy.  The United States are 2-1 up on Portugal with only ten minutes left.

    The chant of “USA” following the second goal continue for over three minutes.  I note that you would expect this atmosphere in Germany or England or Brazil, but not (according to the stereotype) in the United States.

    Sadly, Ronaldo’s moment of the match comes 30 seconds from its conclusion as he whips in a fantastic cross that finds Varela’s head, and the back of the U.S. net bulges.  2-2.  Final.

    It is a mark of how well the USA played that this was a result most would have taken without question at the start, but there wasn’t a single face that didn’t look as if someone had just slapped it.  It is best summed up by a person I overheard walking away from the match: “****!  That is literally the only word that comes to my mind right now.”

    Still, despite the late disappointment, I must applaud Philadelphia on having the best atmosphere of any city I have been to so far.  They may not have been the most positive fans, but they were nice to an outsider, and more enthusiastic than those of any other city I have seen.  Keep it up, Philadelphia.  I hope to find more places like you.

Saturday, June 21, 2014

NEW YORK - If you search, you shall find

    New York is where I had the first of my truly disappointing experiences on this trip, and boy did those experiences decide to come in droves.  First, a little rant - while New York’s public transportation system is held up as one of the best on the continent, it is not at all kind to outsiders, especially if you want to go much further than Manhattan.  In particular, the trains in from New Jersey and the bus system to/from Staten Island did almost all they could to be unhelpful to someone who didn’t know exactly what they were doing.  In all fairness, the subway system is superb (if unbearably hot in the stations), and the buses to New Jersey are quite nice, but all-in-all, I preferred Chicago’s public transportation.

    Then, the soccer culture.  The first day I was in New York, I was not overwhelmed by the number of people watching the games.  I chose to stop in a Manhattan Belgian Bar, BXL Zoute, to watch the end of Colombia-Cote d’Ivoire and take in England-Uruguay; it was not full by any stretch of the imagination.  Part of that, however, might have been due to the huge number of options one has for watching the World Cup in Manhattan.  You can barely go a block (and sometimes not even that far) without seeing an establishment making every effort to advertise (with flags, big signs, TVs, etc.) that they are showing the World Cup.

    The next day started off by bringing disappointment, however.  I bused down to Staten Island, home of the largest concentration of people of Italian descent in the United States.  With the Italy-Costa Rica match kicking off the day, I was super excited.  But while I saw plenty of Italian names on the store signs on the bus ride down Staten Island’s busy Hylan Boulevard, what I didn’t see was soccer.  I may not have been paying enough attention, but I didn’t see a single bar or eatery advertising that they were showing the World Cup that day.  Not even the sports bar that I found had its doors open, and the match kicked off in about 30 minutes!  It was like no one on the island knew about the World Cup.

    Frustrated, I decided to bus back to Manhattan to a place which I knew had a reputation as an Italian stronghold: Ribalta pizza place.  And boy did it live up to its billing.  I may not have arrived until halftime due to my long detour, but when I got to the restaurant, I found the first establishment on my trip which was so crowded that I couldn’t even walk.  People were spilling out onto the street to watch the game.  And just as the Americans’ atmosphere in Indianapolis were more openly passionate than the Brazilians’ in Milwaukee, the Italians’ atmosphere in New York was more passionate than the Americans’.  Even though the Italians never scored in the match (and, while I was there, they only even came close to scoring once), it was LOUD.  Shouting in Italian was rampant.  Even the regular conversation was approaching deafening level.  It truly did feel like I was in a stadium.

    There was also a significantly different mood to the atmosphere, although that may have been because of the way the game was going.  For the Brazilians, it was a carnival.  For the Americans, it was a very cheerful air.  For the Italians, it was pure frustration.  Lots of groaning and swearing to be sure, but even the conversation had an angry tone to it.  As Italy lost, the upset crowd filed out.  A couple unsavory things things were yelled about Costa Rica and its people, but for the most part the Italians were accepting of their loss, if unhappy.

    I then went to the Central, an Irish bar in the East Village, to watch Switzerland vs. France.  Everyone was quite engaged in the contest, even though there were just a couple French fans and I was the only Swiss supporter.  Interestingly, the entire crowd seemed increasingly interested as the game became a slaughter.  I was extremely depressed at this point, but the interest of the neutrals in such a lopsided game made me feel good about the game’s progression in the USA.  Even though the New York leg of my trip ended in one of my teams getting destroyed, and I had experienced a couple disappointing surprises during my time there, it showed me that if you just go looking for it, soccer enthusiasm can be found all over the place.  And finding it is well worth the search.

Thursday, June 19, 2014

COLUMBUS - A game that unites a city

    On my travels watching and playing the world’s game around the globe (England, South Africa, Costa Rica, the USA, etc.), I have learned one beautiful truth about the sport: soccer brings people together.  Nowhere is this more evident than at the venue of one of the largest and most magnificent pick-up soccer games in the country: the turf fields at Ohio State University.

    I’d first like to make it clear that I am no stranger to pick-up soccer.  I’ve played with a couple friends during lunchtime at Roosevelt, with up to thirty fellow students at the thrice-weekly pickup games at Whitman, with around fifty guys at Green Lake on summer nights, even with 11 Ecuadorians in a hockey rink in Minneapolis.  I thought I knew what there was to know about the pickup scene.  Which is why my jaw dropped when I arrived at the turf fields, in the shadow of the mighty Ohio Stadium, and saw five full fields set up with over a hundred people playing in several games across the complex.

    I spoke to Jeff, one of the more regular attendees, to learn more about the place.  One of the first things he told me was that the fields themselves were a testament to Ohio State’s use of soccer to unite the Columbus community.  While the fields, built two years ago, are used for many University activities, they also contain ten regulation goals and eight smaller goals, all of which are provided by Ohio State.  In addition, the school cleans them, lights them, and, during the school year, rents out equipment like soccer balls to everyone who comes to play (not just OSU students).

    The players are also incredibly diverse, and from all over the city.  Jeff said that he’s seen as many as 300 people and 13 different ethnicities at the fields in one night, and heard as many as seven tongues in a game.  I didn’t see quite that many on the night I went to play, but there were still more players playing pick-up than I’ve ever seen in one place, as well as a wide variety of nationalities, ages, and languages.

    As can be guessed from the huge and diverse crowd I witnessed, the pickup soccer scene is big in Columbus, and the turf fields are known city-wide as the premier place for the game.  Not only is it the most well-attended (in addition to the large numbers when I arrived, more were still showing up when I left at 9pm), but, according to Jeff, it also was “hands down” the highest quality.  While there were some who were not that great and some who were average, many were quite skilled, and a couple were downright amazing.  The players here are good enough that teams in local leagues will sometimes bring their teams to the turf fields to practice against the players there, and occasionally even ex-Crew players will come by to play.  But don’t think for a minute that this means that the turf fields are uninviting.  Unless you are playing in a serious game (and you will know if you are), all the players are quite encouraging; generous with their praise for good play, and quick to pick their teammates up when they make a mistake.

    What is also nice to hear about the turf fields is that they don’t just bring people in the game of soccer; they help bring people together after the cleats have been taken off, too.  As Jeff mentioned, every pickup player in the city knows about the turf fields, and chances are that most have played there at some point.  Thus, the fields become a good place to make friends with people through a common love of soccer.  Jeff, who isn’t a Columbus native himself, has met many of his Columbus friends through playing with them here and then meeting up with them afterwards.  On any given night, Jeff will see at least 12 people that he knows (and often not the same 12) playing the game they love.  To emphasize this, he points out a man playing in one of the games nearer to us, and says that he sees him there every single time that he comes here, a man he would likely not have know without the turf fields pickup games.

    This scene of friendly unity in Columbus is a sight to behold, and I would recommend that any soccer player who is spending a night in Columbus check it out.  While the uniqueness of the turf fields are a result of input from the community and the University working together, none of it would be possible without a beautiful game to bring them together.  Soccer provides this common linking point in Columbus just as it does throughout the world.

Tuesday, June 17, 2014

INDIANAPOLIS - Match Report 2 - When the Yanks come marching in

    Driving around downtown Indianapolis, you would have thought that this was a college football Saturday.  Jerseys, colors, and excitement are everywhere.  But it isn’t: it’s game day for the World Cup, and the United States is playing.

    My destination is the Chatham Tap, considered by many to be one of the top soccer bars in the state of Indiana, if not the entire country.  I get there just before half time of the Germany-Portugal game.  While it isn’t packed, the bar is standing room only over five hours before the game.  There are a decent amount of German shirts as well as a couple Portuguese and Iranian ones, but for the most part the patrons are decked out in red, white, and blue.

    I speak to the bartender and ask him how common it is to have the bar this full before a U.S. game.  He tells me that it is like this all the time.  In fact, he claims that the atmosphere is much better for the United States national team than for any NFL or NBA games they have in there.  Usually, for those leagues (even for Colts and Pacers games), fans will show up right before the game and still be able to find a seat, and yet it is usually standing room only for hours before the USA plays.  As he turns away, two men at the bar lean over to me and add that this is an understatement.  “There is no comparison” between the atmosphere of Colts/Pacers games and the national team’s matches (an encouraging sign for a city that only just got a professional soccer team this year, Indy Eleven of the NASL).

    A couple of people leave at the end of the Germany vs. Portugal match (t-minus four hours until the USA plays) and I am able to grab the only two seats for a friend of mine who will be joining me later (I would have saved an extra two for my other friends who were coming if I had been able to), and the decrease in population does not last long.  As Nigeria vs. Iran kicks off (t-minus three hours), a slow but continuous stream of people file into the bar.  Again, almost all are wearing red, white, and blue.  A couple walk in looking for a beer or a late lunch and are startled to see the place so full, having forgotten that the USA’s World Cup campaign starts today, but they are far outnumbered by the star spangled supporters in the bar.

    Halfway through the Nigeria-Iran game (t-minus two hours), the feel in the bar becomes that of a supporters section.   Chants of “USA!  USA!”, “Oh when the Yanks come marching in”, and “I believe that we will win!” crop up with increasing frequency.  It strikes me how much soccer supporters in bars try to make it feel like a stadium.  Watching the Seahawks-49ers NFC Championship game in a bar in January, the crowd was mostly talking amongst themselves (except for the odd “Sea!” “HAWKS!” chant).  Here, they are chanting, singing, and yelling a full two hours before game time.

    As kickoff approaches, however, a nervousness encroaches upon the bar.  Chanting dies down only to be picked up louder, but in between there is nervous muttering, people checking out their watches, even one woman yelling, “start the match already!”  This is a must-win game for the United States, and against the opponent who knocked us out of the last two World Cups.


The Chatham Tap, just under an hour until USA vs. Ghana

    While the supporters in the bar chant all the way through the Ghanaian national anthem, they take up the singing of the Star Spangled Banner with full voice, cacophonously singing a couple beats behind the music from the TVs.  There’s a little confusion when the people on TV start clapping while the bar is still on “banner yet wave,” but the crowd finishes anyway and immediately starts chanting “USA!”

    Then, the whistle sounds, and a roar rises to greet the USA’s 2014 World Cup campaign.

    Suddenly, Sounders star Clint Dempsey fires in a shot and scores 30 seconds into the match.  The bar erupts.  And when I say erupts, I mean ERUPTS - people jumping up and down, running around, hugging each other - and it’s only the first minute of the game!

    Comparing it to my experience with all the Brazilians in Milwaukee, I note that the USA fans are  more positive and, shockingly, more openly enthusiastic.  Chants come twice as often as they had with the Brazilians, and for the most part the supporters are positive and cheerful at the beginning.

    However, Ghana soon becomes the dominant team in the game, even though they are unable to find an equalizer.  The chants of the first fifteen minutes fade into nervous looks, although the nervousness makes the cheering for every good U.S. moment all the louder.  Frustration builds as the USA keeps giving the ball away and the Ghanaians lay siege to the American goal, and the fans start to yell at individual players for constantly playing poorly.  Then, a backheel pass from Gyan.  A good finish from Ayew.  And the US loses its lead with eight minutes left.

    A collective cry (coupled with several loud curses) fills the bar, then silence.  Complete silence.  It seems more of a “well, we deserved that” silence than a “how could that happen to us” silence, but that does not make it any less sad.  An air of despair and desperation fills the room, and while people had been talking about holding on for all three points they were now hoping that the USA could salvage one.

    Then, four minutes later, euphoria.  The USA gets a corner, and Graham Zusi steps up to take it.  The bar starts yelling like it is 3rd down in CenturyLink.  Zusi delivers.  John Brooks heads it in, and the USA has the lead again four minutes from time.  The bar explodes in cheers louder than for the first goal.  We are yelling, high fiving, jumping, hugging, laughing, crying.  I was even picked up in a bear hug by this guy that I had never met before.  I didn’t care, and neither did any of the other fans.  The USA had scored, and were inches from getting just their seventh win in World Cup history (and first opening match win since 2002).  Chants of “USA!  USA!” fill the air, and , and everything is right in the world.

    The final whistle sounds, and the game is over.  The USA has won.  Chanting resumes (“Three points for the boys!”), and people file out into the street, whooping and cheering.  Walking away, I reflect that if I was impressed by the Brazilian’s support on Thursday, I was blown away by the Americans on Monday.  If anyone ever says that “Americans don’t like soccer,” I urge them to go to the Chatham Tap to watch the United States play a game.  Not only will their mind be changed, but they’ll instantly become a fan of the Yanks as well.

LAFAYETTE - Match Report 1.5 - Allez Suisse!

    I am not going to beat around the bush - I have enjoyed this World Cup so much thus far.  Plenty of goals and no draws through the first eight games, and all the games, even the blowouts, were entertaining to watch.  I talked with great people, watched good soccer, and thoroughly enjoyed myself.

    Then, when the fourth day of action came around, I had a team playing that I actually cared about, and for a couple brief hours, the entire feeling changed.  First, let me give a bit of context: my parents lived in Geneva while I was in college, and I have aunts, uncles, and cousins that I visit in the Bern area.  Thus, I am a huge fan of the Swiss national team.  So for the entire 2.5 hour drive from Chicago to Lafayette, Indiana (the stopover spot I had chosen to watch the Swiss game), the elation that I had felt in the previous days of the tournament slowly gave way to excruciating nervousness.  I didn’t have many people to share my anxiety with, however.  When I arrived at Professor Joe’s, a pizza bar in Lafayette, just before the noon kickoff, the only other person there was the bartender.  Two men and two women had walked in by halftime, although I didn’t talk to them much.  I was too nervous and saddened after Ecuador had taken the 1-0 lead, and they weren’t paying much attention to the game in any case.  In the second half, I started getting the others into it with a loud whoop to celebrate Switzerland’s equalizer.  While this does earn me some weird looks, I didn’t care, because the Swiss were level, and now the others were watching the match with me.

    Then came the moment that, to me, shows how just one person can get a whole crowd (or at least a small group) into the game.  With less than a minute remaining and the game tied at 1-1, Ecuador came streaming down the pitch, and one of their attackers seemed to wriggle free of his defender with the ball.  Everyone in the bar gasped, and I felt my heart sink into the depths of my stomach, 100% sure that Switzerland had just lost.  Then Swiss midfielder Valon Behrami made a fantastic tackle to stop the attack, and was suddenly sprinting up the field himself.  As he played a good ball out to Rodriguez, all the people in the bar gave shouts of anticipation.  Rodriguez’s cross found Haris Seferovic, and Seferovic found the back of the net.  A big “woah” came up from the four patrons and the bartender, and I let out a gigantic shriek of delight.  Everyone was clapping along with me, genuinely happy that the one person who had dragged them into the game ended up overjoyed.

Sunday, June 15, 2014

CHICAGO - Symbiotic Support


            Three years ago, the Chicago Fire gave Section 8 the goal of doubling their season ticket holder numbers.  If they met the goal, the Fire would pay for a supporters bus to an away match in Columbus.  The leaders of Section 8 took up the call, effectively marketed ticket sales for the club, and in just one year, Section 8’s season ticket holder membership almost tripled, from 400 to 1,180.  As a result, the front office got more money from ticket sales, the Fire’s home games got a better atmosphere, and the supporters got to travel to their closest rival for cheap.

            To repeat a common line from the Barclays Premier League (England’s top soccer division), supporters make the league possible.  This is no less true in MLS.  From Seattle’s Emerald City Supporters to Kansas City’s Cauldron to Houston’s Texian Army, the supporters sections are the heart that directs the lifeblood of MLS - the fans.  There are many variables that can make a supporters section efficient and effective, or render it the complete opposite.  One of the most important aspects is the relationship between the supporters club and the front office.

            I spoke to Pattrick Stanton, Vice-Chair of Section 8, the Chicago Fire supporters group, to gain a little insight as to what goes into one of the league’s most successful front office-supporters section relationships.  Stanton made sure to note that, at first, the relationship with the club was not at all good.  In fact, the front office viewed Section 8 as a bunch of hooligans.  Granted, violence and disruptive behavior has been a major problem for soccer in the past (most notably in England in the 1970s and 80s), and still is an issue in some parts of the world.  It took a lot of work by Section 8 to convince the front office that they not only weren’t hooligans, but that they were an extremely important part of the atmosphere at Fire games and an invaluable cog for the club as a whole.

            So what changed all that?  Part of it was a new board for the club.  This board invited the leaders of Section 8 to dinner to get to know them and help make the dialogue flow as smoothly as possible.   Since that initial effort to make sure the relationship with Section 8 was workable, the communication ties have only improved.  Emails are exchanged constantly, and a lot of effort has been put forth by the supporters to show the front office that if relations were good, Section 8 could be an invaluable asset to the club.  As former Section 8 chair (and founding member) Ben Burton told me, this communication is key, not only to work out problems, but to help both the front office and the supporters section grow.  It wouldn’t be the same if the front office was completely against Section 8, nor if they were in Section 8’s pocket; by discussing disagreements, they can help see each others view points and use that to make things run more smoothly in the future.

            Having such a working, cordial relationship with the front office creates an “I scratch your back and you scratch mine” situation.  For example,  since Section 8 is not allowed to have a profit at the end of the season, they take whatever money is left over (after they pay for banners and road trip costs) and donate it to the Chicago Fire foundation, which makes “significant contributions to enhance the lives of disadvantaged youth throughout Chicagoland.”  Symbiotic benefits like these are only possible if the front office and the supporters section like each other (or at least get along).
           
            Another example of this is the work that the front offices, the supporters sections, and the American Outlaws (the supporters group for the United States national team) do in support of both national and club soccer.  Every club this year came out with “Club and Country” scarves, which Pattrick admits can seem a bit shallow (“hopping on the World Cup/media bandwagon”), but they did a lot to increase sales for the club (and, by extension, increase the funds available for MLS clubs to improve the quality of the league) and get supporters a lot more excited about soccer

            Of course, extensive communication doesn’t only exist in the front office-supporters group variety.  Pattrick says that there is a lot of coordination between the supporters clubs of two teams when they play each other, to the point of having “supporters matches” between members of the supporters sections before the actual game.  Beyond that, the supporters sections have had to somewhat “unionize” in the recent years, to make sure that MLS doesn’t take full control of what goes on. While some clubs (like the Fire and D.C. United) have great relations with their supporters groups, others (like Philadelphia) don’t.  The current policy is the first strike (instance of bad behavior by members of the section) is a warning to the supporters section, the second strike is a ban. Ben says that the supporters sections would prefer to police themselves and use their own methods to keep the “bad apples” out.

            Clubs do their fair share of communicating, too.  One thing they’ve started to do, according to Pattrick, is share “negativity lists” to keep disruptive individuals out of stadiums across the country.  Pattrick likes this, but he wishes that they would share positive advice, too.  For example, a club with weaker home support (like Colorado) could ask a team with fantastic home support (like Portland) for some advice on how to better the atmosphere in their stadium.

            It is, as Ben told me, a case of everyone striving towards the same goal.  Clubs want to increase the bottom line, and supporters want to create a better atmosphere for the team.  The two are obviously not mutually exclusive.  And, as the folks in Chicago have found out, creating an open and constant dialogue with the people in the front office can work wonders for all involved, and greatly improve the MLS scene.

Friday, June 13, 2014

MILWAUKEE - And so it begins...


            After looking around for a parking spot (something that’s dang near impossible to find in Milwaukee), I arrive at the Nomad World Pub.  There are still over 75 minutes to kickoff time, and the bar already has a crowd of 40-50 people in their outdoor party area (which is somewhat controversially decorated as a favela, or Brazilian slum), a good 20-25 of whom are sporting Brazilian yellow.  An elementary school-aged kid is kicking a ball around with some of the patrons, and the air is heating up with excitement.

            Wanting to make use of my time before the opening match begins, I walk around and ask the fans what the World Cup means to them.  I get a wide variety of answers: it is an integral part of their culture back home in Brazil (about 1/4 of the patrons are Brazilian), it’s a global celebration of something that most of the world loves, it is the only time the USA really gets into soccer (debatable), it is the biggest tournament in the sport they love.  Easily the most common answer given was, "everything."

            As kickoff draws agonizingly close, well over 100 people, many supporting Brazil, pack into the party deck, and the samba music that the bar had been playing fades out as the teams walk out onto the pitch.  The sun is glaring off of half of the six TVs, so despite the large crowd, most bunch up in one half of the space so as to get a better view.  The Croatian national anthem comes first.  People listen politely or talk amongst themselves.  Next, the Brazilian national anthem is played, and the bar swells with the singing of over 30 Brazilians.

            Then, the whistle sounds, the 2014 FIFA World Cup commences, and four years of anticipation is released in a loud roar from the crowd.

            As I was expecting, the Brazilians are easily the loudest throughout the entire match.  Cheers and curses in Portuguese fly thick and heavy.  Even the smallest events seem to set off mood swings: screams of encouragement for Brazil advancing towards the Croatian goal, easy-to-translate swearing for giving the ball away.

            The first big moment of the match comes when Brazilian defender Marcelo accidentally puts the ball in his own net.  A cry of anguish goes up from the Brazilian half of the crowd, while the few Croatians and many neutrals watching the game yell in celebration of the World Cup’s first goal (the first time ever the World Cup’s opening goal has been an own goal).

            However, the Brazilian despair is short-lived.  Just 18 minutes later, Brazil’s young phenom Neymar scores a wonderful goal, and the Nomad is consumed by an ear-splitting roar.  Beer flies everywhere, and within seconds a deafening chant of “Brasil!  Brasil!” is taken up.

            Another swell of noise comes when Brazil is awarded a penalty, only for the cheers to turn into groans as replays show that Fred, the Brazilian who was “fouled,” clearly took a dive.  The Croatians and neutrals are livid, and even the Brazilians look around sheepishly, knowing that they don’t deserve the gift they have received.  But that knowledge doesn’t stop another cheer followed by a Portuguese chant as Neymar buries the penalty, giving the hosts a 2-1 lead.

            Less than ten minutes later, Croatia scores a would-be equalizer only to have their celebrations cut short for a foul on the Brazilian goalkeeper.  The five Croatians at the bar gather in a corner to discuss their ill fortune, while the neutrals mutter about how it might have been justice for Croatia if the goal had stood.  The Brazilian contingent had, shockingly, fallen silent by this point, although whether that was out of embarrassment for the goal they never should have had or anxiety as Brazil faces waves of Croatian attacks, I cannot say.

            A funny thing occurs two minutes from time when a couple of people mistake a replay of a Brazilian goal for live footage, and start cheering Brazil’s (non-existent) fourth.  Luckily for them, they're able to laugh off their mistake and turn it into yet another chant of “Brasil!”

            The final whistle sounds, and most of the crowd breaks out dancing, drinking, and happy chatter while the Croatians look on in defeat.  The Nomad pumps samba music out of its speakers again, and several people file out and gather on the street, talking about the match and waiting for their friends.  A good crowd is still there when I finally leave the Nomad half an hour later.  Walking away, I reflected that while the loudest people may have been the immigrants, the entire crowd was just as immersed in the game as they would have been for any NFL or NBA contest.  Admittedly, it was obvious that several of the patrons are just using the game as an excuse to get drunk at 3pm on a weekday.  But to most, the game was all that mattered for those precious two hours (the drinks were just the icing on the cake).

Thursday, June 12, 2014

MADISON - Baby Steps

    The men of Madison United gathered around a table at the Klassik tavern after a hard-fought match with Corinthians in a local league.  They eat, drink, and enjoy talking about the game that has brought them all together.  A bunch of old guys (along with some young ones) from many different countries, all they could do while I sat among them was reminisce about how far soccer has come in the United States, and discuss how far it still has to go.

    It is an often-repeated trope in the USA that the beautiful game’s popularity in this country has exploded in the last 10-20 years.  This means that when Americans talk about how the sport has finally come to stay in the United States (as Larry Stone wrote in the Seattle Times on June 10), we see it from a perspective that hardly knew the world’s game beforehand.  To get a different perspective, we must turn to foreigners, those who came from a place where the beautiful game was omnipresent to a land where you wouldn’t even know it existed.

    Leeds native Keith Binns, author of Alive and Kicking, and sometimes called the father of Madison soccer, gave perhaps the most telling account of soccer’s growth in the U.S.  “When I came to Madison in 1955, I couldn’t even buy a soccer ball,” he said.  He had to personally start Madison’s first soccer club the next year, gathering a total of 14 players.  This past year, he says that around 25,000 played in leagues across the city.  Another Englishman, Ian Leggett, mentioned that when he came to Madison in 1982, he couldn’t find a soccer goal anywhere in the city, whereas these days, you can’t go anywhere without seeing one.  Media coverage has improved, too.  Currently, ESPN covers the USA national team and the World Cup, Fox covers the UEFA Champions League, and NBC covers the Barclays Premier League, along with many American websites dedicated to the sport.  A decade ago, hardly any of this was present.

    And yet there is still more to do, as these men compare US Soccer to the way the game is played in their native countries.  Abe Jawara, a Gambian, said that the advancement of the sport in the USA has been a series of “baby steps.”  And all the men agreed that where these baby steps are required most is the development of young players.

    In some areas of the world, young players hone their skills by playing soccer constantly, on the beaches, in the streets, everywhere (the “Latin American” method).  In others, they are trained in academies, run by professional clubs like Ajax Amsterdam, from extremely young ages, developing individual skills until they are eventually integrated into the senior team as a fully-fledged professional soccer player.

    In the United States, however, this is not really present.  While soccer is by far the most common game for our kids to play, it is not played nearly as frequently as it is by many Latin American children.  Possibly more importantly, the existing avenues of player development (such as playing for one’s school) can serve as big roadblocks.  For example, the emphasis on the team’s success means that, especially in high school, smaller players with more potential are sometimes benched for bigger, stronger players who will help the team win now but don’t have as much of a chance at a career in soccer later.

    In addition, the fellas claimed that college soccer is not nearly as heavily scouted as the “big money sports” (football and basketball) are.  To get noticed, you have to be a standout player at a major institution, and this lets potential talent slip under the rug.  They brought up the story of Wisconsin native Jay DeMerit, a defender for the Vancouver Whitecaps.  DeMerit had led Illinois-Chicago to the NCAA playoffs, but when no MLS club signed him after college, he had to go to England in search of playing opportunities.  DeMerit started off by playing for a 9th-tier English side, eventually worked his way up to 2nd-tier Watford, and finally found himself on the United States squad for their Gold Cup-winning campaign in 2007, six years after graduating from college.  Three years later, DeMerit went to the World Cup with the USA, and started every game.  Imagine how much greater his career could have been if he had been noticed while still an undergraduate.  It is these types of players that the men of Madison United fear the USA is missing out on.

    Still, as Abe said, the advancement of US Soccer is a slow and steady series of baby steps.  Improving the system of developing youth talent will take another round of baby steps, but, as Abe said to end the night, so long as the USA keeps going, they will eventually be up there with the best in the world.

Tuesday, June 10, 2014

MINNEAPOLIS - Hope Springs Eternal

    24 hours in the car over the last three days would take a toll on anyone, and it certainly did on me.  Even though it was just the beginning of my journey, I was in need of something uplifting.  And I certainly got that when I sat down with Bruce McGuire and several other members of Dark Clouds (Minnesota United’s supporter group) in Minneapolis.

    All sports have their moments of highs and lows, American soccer more than most.  And yet even through the lowest of lows, hope springs eternal.

    Bruce McGuire, host of a podcast for Minnesota United (the du Nord Futbol Show), and his friend Eric both experienced extreme lows when it came to US soccer.  For Eric, it was watching the USA’s 2-1 loss to Iran in a Iranian bar in London at the 1998 World Cup.  For Bruce, it was being in the stadium for the USA’s 3-0 embarrassment at the hands of the Czech Republic to open up their 2006 World Cup campaign.  He was, as he put it, that guy you always see in the stadium after everyone has left, sitting with his head in his hands, broken. 

    However, hope never fades away, and as Bruce said, despite that match (and many others like it), “so long as I don’t think about the players, the team, and who they are playing, I’m really optimistic.”  He maintains that no matter how pessimistic he gets, all it takes is something beautiful on the field to bring back his hopes and his love for the game.  “It’s what it is all about,” he says.

    In a way, this “pessimism to optimism” attitude mirrors the story of soccer in the USA, and of Minnesota United.  Like a lot of American lower-division clubs, Minnesota United was struggling just to survive.  Financial troubles caused the old Minnesota Thunder to be sold to the National Sports Center (a stadium for amateur sporting events in Minnesota and the team’s home field) in 2010, and it was renamed NSC Minnesota, nicknamed the Minnesota Stars.  However, just one season later, NSC was no longer able to abide by the NASL’s ownership standards, and the league took over the team’s ownership.  What followed was a desperate search for an owner to prevent the team from folding completely, a search so desperate that when the team walked off the field after losing the 2012 NASL Cup final to Tampa Bay, it didn’t know whether or not NSC Minnesota would exist the following season.

    However, the determination to keep soccer alive in Minnesota paid off.  The commissioner of the NASL, David Downs, frequented the Minneapolis bars after NSC Minnesota games, talking to fans and trying to find someone who might be able to keep the team afloat.  In this search, they found the former CEO of UnitedHealth, Bill McGuire, who was the father of Downs’ daughter’s college roommate.  The men spoke, and, with additional prompting such as a pleading email from Bruce McGuire to his (non-related) namesake, an agreement was made.  All the faith and determination put into NSC Minnesota paid off, and Bill McGuire took over the team, rebranding it as Minnesota United before the 2013 season.

    How Minnesota United has risen in the last couple years.  The team used to be made up of a bunch of local guys and college players.  Now they have a roster of professionals with experience in other leagues.  The front office used to have just six staff members who did everything from stadium operations to marketing to jersey-making.  Now, the front office is staffed by experienced professionals.  In addition, the team has added doctors and trainers, and building has started on a new sports center that will allow the team to train even in the midst of the harsh winter.  They are booming financially, won the NASL Spring championship with a 6-2-1 record, and their future is brighter than anyone could have imagined just a couple years ago.

    Minnesota United’s story is beautifully emblematic of American soccer as a whole.  The USA failed to qualify for the World Cup for a 40 year span, lost its professional league in 1984, and the new one (MLS) still took a long time to stand on its feet, losing $350 million in its first ten years and ended up having to own most of its clubs itself at one point just to stay afloat.  But the national team and the league persevered despite all these problems, and the light at the end of the tunnel eventually came.  The USA has been at seven straight World Cups (including the upcoming one in Brazil), and MLS has expanded to nineteen teams from an original ten, with four more on the way.

    And who knows?  This determination to fight on, even when things look their darkest, could rear its head again this summer as the USA faces a brutally tough World Cup group.  If the Yanks are to advance, it will need to.

Sunday, June 8, 2014

The Journey Begins

For one month, every four years, the world stops. No matter its troubles, its sorrows, its daily routine,. The world watches as one country hosts 32 national teams in the biggest sporting event on the planet. That month is so very close to us now: the 2014 FIFA World Cup starts on June 12 in Brazil.
For a long time, however, the United States didn’t stop with the rest of the world.

The country went into exile from the world’s game in the middle of the last century, making just one World Cup appearance (1950) in a 56-year span. Eyebrows were raised across the globe when FIFA decided to host 1994 World Cup in the USA, with many claiming that FIFA had “sold out” to a country with no interest in the sport. Yet Americans proved they were more than willing to cheer for the world’s soccer stars, making the 1994 World Cup the most attended World Cup ever.
Scenes such as these were unthinkable before the World Cup came to the U.S.

This country’s love of soccer has done nothing but grow in the 20 years since that magical month. We’ve gone from the world thinking we didn’t care at all for soccer to having 15 million Americans huddled around their TVs to watch our team play Ghana in 2010.

That is one wonderful feature of the World Cup: it serves as a quadrennial gauge of how far the USA’s interest in soccer has come. This year, I intend to witness the progress firsthand in a journey of over 7,000 miles. From June 7 to July 13, I will be traveling throughout this great country, observing our soccer culture, feeling our enthusiasm, and finding the heart of American soccer. I want to see how the game has grown and settled in all areas of the United States (not just the Northwest, where I grew up) since we re-emerged at the World Cup. I know what the World Cup means to me. I intend to find out what the World Cup means to America.

For example, how did those 15 million fall in love with the beautiful game? I can’t say (though I intend to find out). Some may have been captured by the magic of the World Cup. Others may have found their love in the playing of the game. More still may have been roped in by watching professional teams play, whether across the Atlantic or in their own town.

For me, my love affair started in France, during Euro 2004. My parents took me to a cafe to watch the quarterfinal between England and Portugal. I had never before seen a top-level men’s soccer match before, and I couldn’t have picked a better game as an introduction. It had everything: a late equalizer for Portugal in regular time, a controversial disallowing of a last-minute England goal, a wonder strike from Rui Costa in extra time, and a penalty shootout which, as is tradition, England would go on to lose.

That game, watched in a crowded cafe with over 100 cheering people, changed my life. I pleaded with my parents to find a way to let me watch every other game of Euro 2004 for the rest of the trip, and as soon as I got back to the United States I immediately started trying to follow soccer more closely. My love for the game has since become a near obsession, going so far as to influence my study abroad plans in college so I could see my favorite team, Arsenal, play live.

Me at my first game at the Emirates Stadium in London on September 15, 2012.  A 6-1 victory for Arsenal over Southampton

And now soccer takes me on another journey. I will spend this month driving from the Pacific to the Atlantic and back again, watching games, meeting people, and drinking in the enthusiasm the World Cup brings out in sports fans everywhere. I’ll be in giant cities like New York, and small towns like Salina, Kan. I’ll speak to fans, business owners and MLS clubs. I’ll watch a match between the MLS’s fiercest rivals, watch ordinary people playing in their spare time and observe fans living and dying with their country’s fortunes in Brazil. In the process, I hope I can discover the culture of this wonderful sport in the United States.