europe
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Serenity now! Continue reading
The main reason Baconcat loves soccer so much is that it seems, pound for pound, to produce more heroes, villains and goats than any other sport. It also produces them on the world stage. This last world cup (and qualifiers) alone produced strange scenes like Hondurans flooding the streets of the capitol city Tegucigalpa to chant the name of an American player (Jonathan Bornstein), as well as making Luis Suarez the most loved man in Uruguay and the most hated man in Ghana for stopping a sure goal with his hand. Countries have gone to war over the outcomes of these games.
This past Saturday, as I stood in RFK stadium in Washington, DC, to watch my beloved DC United open the season against Columbus, I witnessed another great moment in soccer: the resumption of Charlie Davies’ once-great career, cut short by tragedy. After all, it was only 18 months ago that I was watching another game at RFK stadium; a world cup qualifier, no-less. It was this game that became known as ‘the Charlie Davies game’. Not because the United States striker scored a hat-trick, or had a dramatic winner, or even played, but because he had almost died the night before in a drunk-driving accident. The night before Charlie had stayed out late partying with friends (in violation of curfew), then got into a car with a drunk driver. It only took a second to ruin 2 lives and end a third. The accident was so severe that when the police arrived they originally thought it had involved two cars. It didn’t, it was just that the car had been cut in half by the impact. Charlie Davies somehow survived, but another passenger wasn’t so lucky and died at the scene. As is often the case with these kinds of accidents, the driver was the least injured.
So the game went on with out him the next day, while he was unconscious and recovering from surgery to repair his lacerated bladder, broken fibula, femur, elbow, cheekbones and bleeding brain. He would later be shown how at the 9th minute of the game he would have certainly started in, thousands of fans lifted up placards with the number 9 on them (his number) in unison.
What followed was more surgeries and agonizing physical therapy. His team, Sochaux of France’s top flight, was very patient. They wanted him back, but they didn’t want him to rush. After all, the injuries had been so severe they had to peel his face back in order to reconstruct it. But Charlie was driven. He confidently predicted he would play in the world cup, a mere 9 months away. After all, he was a crucial spark for the men’s national team. His rehab was nothing short of miraculous, but sometimes miracles aren’t enough. The world cup happened without Charlie. The injuries were just too severe. His own Sochaux, knowing how long he would be out, had gotten two new strikers as backup. The new season started and these strikers were keeping Charlie on the bench. Time passed and Charlie’s struggles disappeared from the news. Missing the world cup had been especially tough. 9 months without a game became a year. It began to seem as if his recovery, monumental as it was, might fall short of playing soccer again.
Then, in a move that caught the rumor-happy world of US soccer off guard, he was offered a trial with DC United, a team in need of it’s own redemption. The 4-time MLS champions had just finished a year that had seen the club set records for futility (lowest goals scored in a season) and suffering (lowest points total in their 16 year history). In a rare move, Sochaux allowed DC United a full week to try Davies out before agreeing to a loan. If Davies just didn’t have it anymore, DC could decline the move and pay nothing. The week passed and everyone at DC was exceptionally closed lipped about the trial. Did Davies still have it? Was the confidence there? Davies scored, but it was a practice game against a local college. The week came and went and on the day of the signing there was no news. Rumors swirled, but it looked like he had done enough to make the team. It took another week to sort out the details of the loan, but Charlie had indeed made the squad.
And so it was that last Saturday in the 50th minute of DC United’s season opener, Charlie Davies entered the game as a substitute. His first entry into a game since 2009 almost went unnoticed because the home crowd was celebrating a goal scored 30 seconds before. Most people realized he was in the game only when the announcer broadcast it over the speaker a minute later. The crowd erupted with a cheer. Ten minutes later that eruption would become volcanic. His teammate Chris Pontius took a pass and burst into the penalty box where he was cut down by a defender, a clear penalty. While Pontius was on the ground rubbing his smarting ankle, captain Dax McCarty took the ball to the penalty spot. Davies walked up and asked for the ball. “I need this.” he said. McCarty gave him the ball. Davies set it down on the spot, waited for the referee and slotted it calmly past the keeper.
He had scored. 2-0 DC United.
No matter what happened, he had scored on his first game back since the crash. That was something real, something that could not be taken away. His first meaningful touch since the accident had been a goal. Penalties are never easy. Consider what would have happened if he had missed: the doubting would start. Questions would be asked. But he didn’t miss. It wasn’t in the run of play, but it was just the kind of thing strikers need to build their confidence and lead to more goals.
Another ten minutes later that confidence paid off. United back Marc Burch played a long floating ball down field. Columbus’ standout fullback Chad Marshall (and fellow national team member) seemed to have it under control as the ball came floating in, but Davies made a quick burst to Marshall’s left, then another to the right. Marshall naturally tracked with Davies, but Davies’ motion was too fast and it seemed to fluster Marshall who over-corrected and lost his balance. As the ball sailed over the prostrate Marshall, Davies deftly stopped it with his left foot and blazed in on goal. The Columbus goalie rushed out to take it, but Davies again showed his speed and burst sideways past him. Davies then twisted his body around to get the shot off and watched with joy as it sped past a Columbus defender and into the open net. 3-0 DC United. There was no containing the joy in the stadium. Full beers flew up into the air as the stands bounced up and down and 20,000 strangers hugged each other. Davies was swarmed at the corner flag by his teammates. The comeback was complete.
Columbus managed in the late stages to pull a goal back, but they were never in the game. Davies had put the game out of reach for them with his brace. When the whistle for extra time came, a tired but happy Charlie Davies walked towards the fans, toward the section hat had held up the thousands of number 9 cards the day after his accident. He raised his hands to applaud them, a tradition in soccer. There was a smile on his face and tears in his eyes. The fans who had been there for him while he sat prostrate in a hospital bed had been there today. Together, they shared this moment. In soccer, as Liverpool fans sing, you never walk alone.
When I first started following (or trying to follow) international football back in the 90s, there was no Fox Soccer Channel or Gol TV or ESPN Champions League coverage or Wayne Rooney highlights on Sportscenter. Those were the dark days, when identifying as an American soccer fan got you labeled a communist or a faggot…. or a communist faggot.
Those days are long gone now. You can wear your fancy Shaktar Donetsk shirt to spring break in some sunburned hick town like Myrtle Beach and (mostly) be left alone, if not downright embraced by your fellow like-minded football junkies. But that still leaves one glaring question:
Who the fuck do I root for?
We’re working off a few basic assumptions here:
1. You’re an American who wasn’t born/raised in some obviously inferior third-world soccer-mad country like Turkey or Colombia or the United Kingdom. So you don’t have a geographic reason to support, say, the local club from the third-largest city in Belarus.
2. You’re already at least willing to casually support your own country’s national team. Because, really people, don’t be a cunt. Support your own national team. I know Italy always has nifty bright blue Puma jerseys, but that team is a bunch of raging assholes. Your ancestors probably left their homeland for a perfectly good reason (earthquake, famine, terrible pop music, Nazis).
So now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s find you a team based on our fancy proprietary process of elimination!
Rule 1: No front-runners
Who this rules out:
Manchester United
Man United is basically the New York Yankees/Dallas Cowboys/Duke University of soccer. Their fans people who show up to home matches are usually described as “prawn sandwich eaters” by all other fans. Does that sound like a delicious sandwich that should be involved with sports in any way? FUCK AND NO. Lame yuppie-ish front-runner fans are the worst, and Man U already has a huge American fanbase full of these cunty assholes. Steer clear.
FC Barcelona
There’s a lot to love about Barcelona. They’re almost militantly devoted to playing an attacking style of soccer that emphasizes goal scoring and beautiful passing. They’re also the liberal, globalized and open-minded nemesis of Real Madrid. The only problem is that they’re too good. They’re stocked with too much talent and money and managers who wear $3,000 designer suits. They’re for people who like shiny things and they make winning look a little too easy.
Bayern Munich
They seem to be the one German club that spends money like the big Spanish, Italian and English teams, so they inevitably dominate. They currently have a great squad, but I dunno. Munich…. Germany…… hmmmm. I really enjoyed Inglorious Basterds and feel like this team might have some sort of “Natzy” connections, which brings us to…
Rule 2: No connections to 20th-century fascist dictators and/or war criminals
Who this rules out:
Real Madrid
Not only does Real have the whole front-runner problem in Spain, but becoming a Real fan means you to learn the entire post-war history of Spain. See, Spain’s approach to football is to basically live out the past 70 years of political and ideological conflict. It turns out Real Madrid was for many years the unofficial team of the Franco supporters. So unless you’re a fascist, this might not be too appealing.
Lazio
This Rome-based club was the favorite club of the fascist elite during the rule of Il Duce. European soccer is fucking crazy sometimes.
Just about any team from Eastern Europe or the Balkans
I hate to generalize, but do you really want to try to figure out which team from Belgrade was connected to the genocidal paramilitary leaders and which one wasn’t? Yeah, I didn’t think so.
Rule 3: The team’s owner should be at least somewhat non-creepy
Who this rules out:
Chelsea
This is perhaps one of the most unlikeable soccer teams of all time. It starts at the top with an owner straight out of Bond villain central casting. Their best players, Didier Drogba and Frank Lampard, are more or less impossible to cheer for. Maybe you can swing being a Chelsea fan if you’re the kind of guy who drives around in your BMW M3 and cuts off old ladies. For the rest of us… pass!
AC Milan
Bunga bunga. Yep, that perverted old man you keep reading about in the tabloids… he’s the owner.
Rule 4: The team must not make you want to jump off a bridge every season
Who this rules out:
Newcastle United
Normally I like an underdog, but being a Newcastle fan is not something I’d wish on my worst enemy. First of all, they basically crush your will to live each and every season. They seem to have turned disappointment into an art form. Plus their fans are probably the most insane and provincial supporters in England. You and your nice straight, white teeth won’t ever fit in.
So who should I root for?
The beautiful thing about soccer is that even if you’re a mid-table team (that’s Limey-speak for “contender”), there’s always a lot to play for: The Champions League, the UEFA Europa League (which used to be called the UEFA Cup), domestic cups and the chance to send your arch-rival down to the second division next year with a late-season victory.
For our purposes today, let’s assume that while we love underdogs, we’re not going to bother cheering for the absolute dregs. (Sorry Swindon Town!) Let’s narrow down our potential teams to those clubs that have a legitimate shot at playing in the Champions League most seasons and can generally have a chance to pick up a win against the Barcelonas and Man Uniteds of the world.
Everton
Everton is the oldest club in England and they have lots of great history. They’re the second team of Liverpool, so they have lots of local fans and are known for having a very knowledgeable and passionate fan base. Plus they have an American goalkeeper (Tim Howard) , Australian midfielder (Tim Cahill) and the player with the greatest hairdo in the world right now. They’re a generally lovable bunch of underdogs.
AS Roma
They score a metric shit-ton of goals. Their fans are known for turning their stadium into a giant, Burning Man-esque bonfire party. Their rival is Lazio, which has one of the most right-wing fanbases in Europe. Their team crest prominently features wolf nipples.
Manchester City
Are you a fan of the Mets? Or the White Sox? Or any Philadelphia team? Is your shoulder mostly made up of one giant, permanent chip? If so, this is the team for you! Man City is the perennial step-sister to the hot, popular sister that is Manchester United. Poor Man City, all they really have going for them is their reputation for getting most of their support from Manchester itself, unlike United’s globalized, corporate fanbase. Of course, even Man City is now owned by a group of fatcats from Abu Dhabi who are putting their money into buying up all sorts of talent. Get on board now before they turn into the next Chelsea!
Olympique Lyonnais
Lyon has been a mainstay of the Champions League for much of the last decade. They’re usually very fun to watch and have produced a lot of great players (especially African-born players from former French colonies) over the last few years. Plus Lyon is the home of French gastronomy. If you’re a coq au vin-loving foodie geek, this is the team for you.
Werder Bremen
Werder Bremen is always a team to watch out for in the Champions League. Even though they no longer have Miroslav Klose, they’re usually pretty tough to beat. And German fans are known for bringing a great atmosphere to the games. I love this description on the team’s Wikipedia page: “Werder Bremen is also known for its level-headed environment. In contrast to many other cities, where the local sides are often subject to intense media attention, players and trainers here are usually left in relative peace. Bremen’s reputation is that of a sensible, respected and financially healthy club.” So if you’re turned on by respectful disagreement and balancing your checkbook, this is the team for you!
Ajax
It’s pronounced “I-yax” not like the stuff you use to clean your toilet bowl. Also they’re from Amsterdam, so like…. WEED DUDE. YEAHHHHHH. Ajax is one of the most successful clubs in the sport’s history (though has struggled a bit in recent years) and has produced a metric fuck-ton of legendary players. Their fans do seem to have a Jew-fetish that could possibly be much more creepy than it is endearing… I’ll let you decide! (Gawd Europeans get into some weird shit. I mean, really.)
Arsenal
A London-based team coached by a stern, brilliant Frenchman, and stocked with a mix of awesome French-African players and Euro prodigies. This team plays very exciting football that’s sometimes a bit too fucking cute for its own good. But they have a cool name and are the favorite team of Nick Hornby. They have legit shot at winning the Premiership in any given year and yet somehow manage not be complete fuckos like Man U and Chelsea.
Villarreal
I fucking love these guys even though the only Spanish words I know are “tacos al pastor.” They’re nicknamed “El Submarino Amarillo,” which even my stupid ass can figure out means “The Yellow Submarine,” which is just a fantastic sports nickname. WE WILL SINK YOUR BATTLESHIP, FUCKFACE. I love it. They come from the tiny city of Vila-Real and yet regularly compete with the much bigger Spanish clubs like Real and Barca. They always play a very attacking style, too. Bonus: They currently own the rights to American Jozy Altidore (though he’s out on loan to a Turkish team this season).
Olympique Marseille
Marseille is not your typical baguette-munching French pussy-ville. Marseille is a true shit-kicker town. It’s the Oakland or Philadelphia of France. It’s where they shot “The French Connection.” Marseille’s former team president is Bernard Tapie, a lovable rogue improbably described by Wikipedia as “a French businessman, politician and occasional actor, singer, and TV host.” Tapie was forced to resign after being indicted for tax evasion. When I was a student in France, he was appearing in rap videos as a mafia don. Anyway, OM has one of the most passionate local fanbases in the sport and Stade Velodrome is supposed to be one of the best places on Earth to watch a home match. Plus I love their club’s motto, which is sewn right into their jerseys: “Droit au but.” Straight to the goal.