Behind Enemy Lines - Why I Bleed Rave Green
Soccer is a very beautiful sport. For me, it's akin to chess on grass. The mental and physical toll it takes on the men and women who play it can best be described as arduous. Like many of you, I was taught to appreciate baseball, basketball and football in my youth. That was the hierarchy taught to me. Those were the sports you cared about. Also - eat apple pie and hot dogs. This is America after all. Only that never really worked out for me. I was too short to be ultra successful in basketball, my vision was too poor to excel at baseball and frankly, football never appealed to me. What I was good at was running. Speed, speed and speed. I often look back and wonder what could have been had soccer been a part of my life at an early age. The problem was that my opinion about soccer in my formative years was a bit classless, arrogant and lacking kindness. That was until the 2006 World Cup.
Retail jobs consumed my early twenties. The mall rat that I was, I stumbled into all different types of people, sold shoes to all different kinds of clients. Upon servicing a big order from a regular customer of mine, I was asked if I was enjoying the group stage of the World Cup.
"World Cup? What the hell is the World Cup?"
Players of the highest level competing for their country in a soccer tournament? I was immediately sold. It didn't matter that my opinion of soccer was less-than-ideal, I loved the Olympics and I had made the open-minded choice to give this a chance. Full of excitement, a positive outlook and a dearth of patriotism, I threw myself into the tournament. I read up on it, figured out the rules, learned as much as I could about the results and fixtures. I was late to a party and I felt saddened by that. American exceptionalism be damned, I was going to root for one of the first two teams I watched on television.
Lucky for me, my first match was the Knockout Round showdown between Spain and France in Hanover on June 27. I remember it like it was yesterday. I immediately fell in love with the French side. So much attacking power, so much style. This was not the high school soccer I had been forced to cover for the newspaper. This was something special. I was glued to the TV and that team from first kick of that match all the way to the Zidane headbutt seen around the world. What a special event this World Cup was. What a spectacle. I've followed France ever since. War Les Bleus.
But after the World Cup, my interest in the sport waned. It had to. I had just been treated to soccer caviar. How was I supposed to go back to Top Ramen? I was lost. And back then, I still had the Sonics. Soccer got pushed to the side - almost completely off the table. But then 2009 happened.
2009 was a unique year for me all-around. I was not ready to be a father at 23. Naturally, life laughed and gave me a beautiful daughter. The Sounders MLS expansion was underway and while I had a newfound interest in soccer, I didn't care about MLS. And then my body broke down. At 23, having been the picture of health all my life, I was rushed to the hospital. Turns out the lining of my gall bladder was in the process of rupturing. Eight gall stones. I was absolutely terrified. What the hell was going on? No 23-year old on the planet should have eight gall stones, I was told. Things were bad. The whole ordeal put a scare in me. Life is already short enough. Happiness is fleeting. I thought I was fine until I wasn't. With new scars to show and realizing how close I was to facing my own mortality, I made a choice - this was my local soccer team, I was going to follow them. Regardless of my own snobby reservations. Regardless of what anyone thought. I wanted to be a part of something special. I bought a shirt, I bought a scarf and I consumed as much Sounders as I could while on the mend.
Life has a way of adding responsibility to our lives. I can't say I've been the Sounders biggest fan since 2009. I can't say I've had the same passion for the team year in and year out. I can't say I have season tickets or that I watch every match. But if you cut me open, I bleed Rave Green. While I make absurd points on S@H or get in fights with Seattle soccer "haters" and sports snobs, I think it all comes from a very passionate place. Even #HondaWatch comes from wanting this team to aspire to be bigger and better than they currently are. I'm not a member of ECS, I can't say I know much about yachting and I don't travel to away matches. I am, admittedly, just a guy who spews Sounders-loving nonsense on Facebook - much to the chagrin of my friends.
But the thing about "Sounders Til I Die" that I've come to love is that I almost did die. And the Sounders, this community, those players, those colors, that pride - they helped me heal. It gave me a second wind. It was there to guide me through a brutally depressing stretch of my life and it's been there the minute I took my newborn home. I've cried watching this team win trophies. I've thrown remotes at the TV for every 4-0 drubbing we take. I have enough Sounders hats to open up a Lids store and I've been able to enjoy all of it with two kiddos and a super supportive girlfriend.
We, the Sounders fan, live in a city that loves its Seahawks and Mariners, adores its Huskies and painfully misses its Sonics. We are behind enemy lines with our love for our "little" club. But though we bitch at each other over how hard we are being on Jordy Delem or why Clint Dempsey is overpaid, I've learned that this Sounders community has a passion that is unrivaled in our city. We may be the misfits and outsiders. We may not get the respect we deserve. We may, in fact, stand alone as Sounders fans. But we stand alone together. Sounders Til We Die.