It’s pretty great to have soccer games back again.
And yet, there are plenty of people who scrunch up their faces and share frustrations too. The players aren’t at their sharpest. The bigger clubs can just exploit their size and depth, replacing any millionaire starlet who falls sick with another one. Matches in front of empty stands are an insult to fans who supported the side, and without whom there would be no club.
Something’s missing…oh right, thousands and thousands of fans (Image from outlook India)
It’s really easy to undercut appreciation what a thing is with critiques about what it is not. So I hope when given the choice, you boys appreciate what a thing is, including its faults, rather than wish for what it isn’t.
Japanese art has a concept called Wabi-Sabi. Simply the idea that beauty lies in impermanence and imperfection. A totally perfect Bonsai tree is unattainable, but one with a scraggly branch is perfect in its own way.
La dimanche sur la grande jatte (Georges Seurat)
So it is with other art: The Princess Bride (which I finished reading aloud to you this week Owen) has some issues with how it shows women, but it’s also a perfect piece of fantasy adventure with romantic guts. The pointillist works of George’s Seurat seem smudgy in spots. Sections of Camille Saint-Saen’s Carnival of the Animals (your current favorite music Alex) seem to overlap and repeat rather than invent. Zootopia (the movie y’all cant stop watching) has some pretty big honking plot holes.
None of that means they’re ugly, worthless, or garbage. Smudges tell a story, repetition reminds us of unity, even plot holes help support the broader themes of the movie.
I can critique this, but it’ll never not be perfect for Alex
Of course you can critique things. You can offer opinions and suggestions any time anywhere. I just hope that your criticism doesn’t come at the expense of appreciating what is done well.
To be sure, there are bones to pick with an outclassed Freiburg defense. There is an argument to be made that the ref deserves glasses when he final goal was disallowed for uncertain millimeters of an elbow. There’s even a challenge to management to prove they know that fans can’t be replaced by amplified generic crowd effects.
All of that can be discussed, but in the moment of soccer’s much needed return, let’s appreciate the way things are. The teams are back, playing with pride, playing with passion, playing their best. I don’t care if they’re not at their best possible level: I’m grateful to watch them cut, run, pass, tackle, shoot, and save.
It struck me that I ought to explain a little bit about why we cheer for the teams we do. Well, in part, it’s because I thought we ought to, and I’m the one of us most capable of complex thought and logic. But also, each team has a special something that captures part of what I love about life, and part of what makes you who you are.
So periodically (like during international breaks, long summer holidays, or say, global pandemics that completely alter everything we understand about our lives and ourselves), I want to introduce you to the teams we are tied to.
Our sixth team to meet: Minnesota United FC in St. Paul (your home town). A team that captures better than any other how community supports sports like sports supports a community
Dear Boys,
Wherefore Minnesota United?
This one is pretty easy. You know that big silver structure we go past on the way to grandma and grandpa’s? That’s Minnesota United.
You know those black and blue shirts and scarves and hats your dad and mom wear and share with you? That’s Minnesota United.
You know the chants I teach you? The walks in summer sun to hear drums, to Shout “Go Loons”? to Eat pizza, and donuts, and curry? That’s Minnesota United.
The first five teams tie to part of our family’s past. The next five all relate to our community’s future. Minnesota United is our present, our here and now, our neighbors, our local team.
Who is Minnesota United?
There has been professional soccer in Minnesota since 1976. The names, colors, owners, stadia, and leagues have changed a lot in that time. But the fans have kept it going throughout.
The team badge
This particular side dates back to 2009 when one fore-bearer, Minnesota Thunder, ceased operating. by the grace of a new minor league a team was kept alive. Not just alive but thriving. The NSC Stars won one title and finished second for another before a new owner stepped up and made the team Minnesota United, complete with the red eyed “Deathloon” crest.
Every part of our local soccer history is a story of, as Tom Stoppard might say “insurmountable obstacles on the road to imminent disaster”. Luckily enough it all works out well in the end because of one simple thing.
How are we Minnesota United?
We are stronger together than we could ever be alone.
Soccer teams in America rise and fall like the stock market. The highs are thrilling and rewarding. The lows often include a sense of overwhelming despair and (often) abandonment.
We love the Loons, but they could have gone the same way as the Baltimore Bays, Tampa Bay Mutiny, or San Francisco Deltas. There’s only one thing that makes Minnesota United one of our teams rather than a wistful footnote of what might have been: a community that pushed on while the teams faltered.
As valuable as a team is, it’s nothing next to the community that unites behind the team. Lots of teams have supporters and fans, but that can’t replace a lack of financial support. Lots of teams can find a backer, but that doesn’t mean much if you alienate fans. It takes a whole club–players, coaches, owners, and fans–to make it work. And that’s what makes Minnesota United our team, we are part of the community that built and sustains it.
One of the team’s legends goes that when the money was tight and the future was unsure some players started singing “Wonderwall” by Oasis to celebrate wins. Then the players sang it to the fans in gratitude for loyalty throughout the season. Then the fans sang it back. Then the new owner felt inspired to join the team. And Minnesota United went from being “the team no one wanted” to being a team saved by everyone around it.
It struck me that I ought to explain a little bit about why we cheer for the teams we do. Well, in part, it’s because I thought we ought to, and I’m the one of us most capable of complex thought and logic. But also, each team has a special something that captures part of what I love about life, and part of what makes you who you are.
So periodically (like during international breaks, long summer holidays, or say, global pandemics that completely alter everything we understand about our lives and ourselves), I want to introduce you to the teams we are tied to.
Our fifth team to meet: The University of Montana Grizzlies in Missoula, Montana. A team that captures what I learned best from growing up in Big Sky Country
Wherefore The Montana Grizzlies?
Dear Boys,
If the first four teams are your ancestor clubs, the University of Montana is one of your immediate family teams.
I was born and raised in the big MT. Your mother visited almost every year as a kid. Our family ties back to Red Lodge and Billings in the southeast, to Libby in the northwest, to Great Falls in the smack dab center.
Your great grandparents soda beverage company (sorry about the appropriation)
But we also tie back to the University of Montana in Missoula. Your grandma Di got her BA, and your grandpa Bruce got his JD from the U of M. Even after decades away, your mom and I love to go home. Missoula offers those quintessential Montana scenes: the purple mountains majesty, the rolling rivers, and more hiking trails than you can shake a walking stick at.
Because our story is so immediately, personally tied to Montana, we needed a team from the Last Best Place on Earth. And there’s no better team than the Griz.
Who are the Grizzlies?
While the University of Montana has been educating young minds for well over a century, the women’s soccer team is just over 25 years old.
Karen Hardy of the early Grizzlies sides (UM Sports Info)
Started back in 1994 (the same year I fell hard for soccer 166 miles to the north east-ish), the Women’s soccer team has featured tremendous and talented athletes from home and beyond. They’ve won the regular season title seven times, and won the conference tournament five more.
Because the team is still young (especially compared to the century old sides we’ve been talking about), they’re still building an ethos and a legacy. But under all four coaches (including Mark Plakorus who used to coach your uncle Matt, and Chris Citowiki who used to coach down the street from us at St. Kate’s): culture, community, and academics are all emphasized. During these odd times, the Griz have often found ways to celebrate each other and have fun, even at a distance.
— Montana Griz Soccer 🐻⚽️ (@MontanaGrizSOC) April 19, 2020
One of my favorite things about sports here in the US is how, when it’s done well, it puts sports in its proper context. Much as I love it, watch it, write and read about it, it is still a group of people playing a children’s game. When done well, the game, the team, the experience, teach you about how to live and work just as much as they entertain or amuse.
How are we the Grizzlies?
There’s something special about pursuing what you love even when it’s not as popular or common place. A fire in your heart to sing, or code computers, or play soccer, even when ways to do it are scarce and public support is minimal.
South Campus Stadium with a view of Mount Sentinel (UM Sports Info)
There’s also something special about clear-eyed appreciation for what things are and what you want things to be. To get that more important than winning or losing games, more than making money, getting a job, or earning the praise of others: what matters is how you do something, and who you do it with.
The Griz have, in 25 years, built a regional power in a place where kids like me heard the sport derided and diminished in very ugly terms. They’ve done it with coaches, kids, and fans from the state-wide community who are passionate about the game and focused on the family and character that comes from a good team.
Part of me wishes you could grow up in Montana, like I did. But that’s not possible. Times have changed, Montana has changed, and you (mercifully) are not me. But I still hope you’re raised with that Montana spirit as reflected by the Griz.
To paraphrase a John Denver song about my home state:
Oh Montana, give this child a home
Give ’em the love of a good family and a true love of their own
Give ’em a fire in their heart
Give ’em a light in their eyes
Give ’em the wild wind for a brother in the wild Montana skies.
John Denver, “Wild Montana Skies”
I hope you grow up with that fire in your heart, and that light in your eyes. I hope you grow up to be Grizzlies.
Cooped up as we are these days, it’s tempting to chase after distractions with an almost reckless zeal.
Ooh an oral history ofthe making of a movie I haven’t seen, better read that!!
Twitter tells me to choose three of nine Disney villains to keep: allow me to carefully analyze my options for the next two hours!
Hmm what was the name of that guy in that thing with that hat I liked? Let’s start the googling!!
In this unplanned off=season for sports, those kind of distractions are even more inviting and attention grabbing. Without the steady stream of results and data points to analyze, fans around the world have begun to fixate on debates over who was the Greatest of All Time (or GOAT).
Which triple crown winning horse would beat the others? Which World Cup winners from 2019 would make the legendary 1999 squad (and vice versa)? And, of course, Messi or Ronaldo? Jordan or Kobe or Lebron? Gibson or Maddux? Messi or Kobe or Maddux?
Let’s be clear: GOAT debates are fun, but they are also pointless.
I’m not saying that you should never indulge in a little thought experiment. If you love a sport and it’s history, It’s quite amusing to wonder whether Ruth & Gherig’s Murderer’s Row of the ’27 Yankees could beat Jeter, Clemens, and the ’98 Yankees.
Easy Content Creation
I’m also not saying that you have to eschew these questions in favor of weightier debates over say: universal healthcare, or whether the role of the state can ever be expanded (even temporarily) without impinging on civil liberties.
I’m saying that GOAT debates aren’t the ultimate arbiter of athletic excellence.
I’m saying that fixating on these questions or righteously defending our answers to them is not the fans equivalent of a championship game.
I’m saying subjective evaluations distract us from appreciating accomplishments in and of themselves.
Which was the more monumental accomplishment: Roger Bannister’s 4 Minute Mile, or Nadia Comaneci’s Perfect 10 at the Olympics? Here’s a better question: have you SEEN THESE!?!?
Bannister’s Four Minute Mile
Comaneci’s Uneven Bars Routine
I mean…who cares which I think is better. No offense, but, I don’t care which you think is better. Let’s not compare, let’s just enjoy. Enjoy watching Bannister churn his legs into a sudden burst in the last 300 meters. Enjoy watching his form wobble as he realizes what he’s about to do. Enjoy watching Comaneci’s hands slap and swing and swiftly switch between bars. Enjoy watching her speed and grace and strength beyond what any one else could do.
Sure, it’s fun to debate these things. It is a great distraction. But it doesn’t change the fact that both accomplished incredible things. Nor does it stop us from admiring the athletic skill in each case. Watching those accomplishments its much more fun to relish the moment rather than rehash infinitesimal differences to support an irrelevant argument.
The same is true for all those other questions: which all-time great line up would win a game? Pfft. How much fun would it be watching Gherig stretch at first to get Jeter by a whisker?
Megan Rapinoe needs a trophy case THIS BIG
Which 2019 star could keep up with the ’99-ers? I have no clue, but man, imagine Rapinoe and Hamm running roughshod over every field between here and the Moon.
We don’t have to live in an either or world: you get to watch Messi ping-pong, and Ronaldo lash thunderous free kicks; you can tremble at Gibson’s fast ball and gawk at Maddux’s control; you can swoon at a Jordan scoop, a Kobe step-back, and a LeBron stuff; and when that’s all done you can also thrill at a triple in Kickball, or shout about a saved slap-shot, or stare in disbelief at any number of lesser-knowns far from the GOAT debate.
You’re going to be pushed in life to pick sides or argue for one thing over another. Sometimes you should, but when it comes to debating “Greatness” remember, everything has a touch of greatness.
It struck me that I ought to explain a little bit about why we cheer for the teams we do. Well, in part, it’s because I thought we ought to, and I’m the one of us most capable of complex thought and logic. But also, each team has a special something that captures part of what I love about life, and part of what makes you who you are.
So periodically (like during international breaks, long summer holidays, or say, global pandemics that completely alter everything we understand about our lives and ourselves), I want to introduce you to the teams we are tied to.
Our fourth team to meet: SC Freiburg from Freiburg, Germany. A team that offers a reminder that as we move, we grow.
Dear Boys,
Wherefore Freiburg?
This is the last of the family heritage clubs in our collection. From your mom comes Vozdovak, from your dad comes Ross County, from the both of us come Rosenborg, and from goodness knows where comes Frieburg.
A few favorite Germans
I mean that quite literally. It’s not entirely clear who in the family was really from Germany, and who was descended from Germans who had stopped elsewhere first.
Your grandma Di can tie her family back to a region of Europe that straddles eastern France and south western Germany. That strand of your DNA ran off to a tiny farm village in the wilds of Russia, and then beyond, and beyond, and beyond until they got to Billings.
Other family members speak German as a tradition from someone we’ve all forgotten. We sing it, study it, read it. In short: we know we’re a little bit German, but not sure exactly how much or what that means.
Who is Freiburg?
In choosing a team to represent your German heritage I hoped to find a side with a bit of pride and a lot of curiosity: I found SC Frieburg.
SC Freiburg is by no means the most renowned club in the Bundesliga, for a long time they weren’t even the most renowned club in Freiburg. But they are undoubtedly, special.
They absolutely question habits, as you’d expect from a University town with liberal ideals and an intelligent culture. Freiburg’s manager often eschews tactics in meetings and interviews in favor of sharing views about world events and the prejudices that diminish our world. (A habit shared by the team’s fans)
Dubravko Mandic, a far-right AfD politician, bought a ְ@scfreiburg season ticket. "I hate football, but it moves the masses," he wrote.
Freiburg's ultra groups vs. Mainz:
“Nazi, piss off!” "Leave if you don't love football!” “Freiburg is diverse!” “Mandic out! AfD, disgusting!” pic.twitter.com/iyJn2cQPtK
Freiburg loves its surroundings, and welcomes others from around the world. There’s a love for the foreign flair of their club not the stubborn “Deutschland-Uber-Alles” attitude that makes some foreign born Germans a little leery of their homeland. Freiburg’s crew includes French, Italian, English, Australian and even Korean players. They’re most cherished nickname is “Breisgau-Brasilianer” because it suggests a blend of Brazilian style with their neck of the woods. (Even the club crest is about blending: why be lions or eagles, when you can be a griffin and be BOTH Lions AND Eagles!!)
In all the club is welcoming, curious, and proud of their way of doing things. I’ll let them say it themselves:
“in Freiburg, football isn’t a way to release your frustrations – here it brings about a sense of joy. In this way, it is something for everyone in the region to enjoy, just like the wonderful landscape, delicious food and good wine also is.”
SC Freiburg Team Website
How are we Freiburg?
In short, Freiburg is at least close to your Germanic home land, but they also are the kind of open-minded, optimistic organization your family loves. SC Freiburg knows that a curious culture and a changing culture is the strongest.
Manager Christian Streich at the end of his commute
Whomever your German ancestors were, they weren’t tied to one way of doing things. Whatever their goals in leaving home, they were open to not just moving, but moving again, and again, and again. They passed on a love of family, but not a love of habit. They encouraged an attitude of engagement with others not isolation.
Yes, we have a family bond with Germany. We’re not sure what it is, why it’s there or what it means, but we’re curious and interested in finding out more.
SC Freiburg has a soccer team. They love it, but they know that doesn’t mean that it will triumph, or dominate. Frankly, that’s fine. They’re open to growing with each generation of players that comes along, each question that’s asked, each managerial lecture about everything but tactics, and each fan who feels the love of the game.
At a time when many people would rather wrap themselves up in familiarity than risk the unknown and possibly unpleasant, I hope you take the SC Freiburg mentality, and keep curiosity in your mind and change in your heart.
It struck me that I ought to explain a little bit about why we cheer for the teams we do. Well, in part, it’s because I thought we ought to, and I’m the one of us most capable of complex thought and logic. But also, each team has a special something that captures part of what I love about life, and part of what makes you who you are.
So periodically (like during international breaks, long summer holidays, or say, global pandemics that completely alter everything we understand about our lives and ourselves), I want to introduce you to the teams we are tied to.
Our third team to meet: Ross County FC from Dingwall, Scotland, a team that reminds us about loyalty.
Dear Boys,
You should know your name. Not just what it is, but where it comes from, and what it means.
Wherefore Ross County?
Your names come from a long line of Scottish ancestry. Alexander and Owen both have long legacies in Scottish culture. Alexander means defender of the people; Owen, “young warrior”. But those are your names, and you can make them your own. MacKenzie is the one we share, with each other, with a host of blood relatives and an even bigger pile of MacKenzies around the world. But almost all of us tie back to Eastern Scotland, Ross-shire, and it’s seat Dingwall.
The legend goes that the MacKenzies rose to the rank of a noble clan because of the actions of one Colin Fitzgerald who probably just helped fight off invading Norwegians in the late 13th century. More romantically, he saved King Alexander III from being killed by a stag (told you we’d meet a Scottish Alex). There’s even a beautiful painting to capture it.
Great x 25 Grand-uncle Colin saving Alexander III from a stag. By Benjamin West, displayed in the Scottish National Gallery
For his bravery, Colin was awarded a big swathe of land including Ross-shire, and Cromarty. He also earned the clan crest with a stag smack dab in the middle. From then on the clan was a political and social force, commanding armies, navies, and hosts of others loyal to the Caber Feidh (Chief). The name MacKenzie has a lot of history and power behind it. And the Caber Feidh is a worthy leader and nobleman.
To be clear, we’re not noble.
If we ever were noble, a long, long line of second, third, and fourth sons have put you so far behind the line of succession it would take a very specific catastrophe to put any of us in line to inherit a castle.
We are descendants of a MacKenzie who wasn’t going to inherit the farm in Ross-shire, so he left to become a tailor in the colonies. Still, he was a MacKenzie. His children were MacKenzies and so on down the line to your grandpa, to me, and to you.
Who is Ross County?
MacKenzies are loyal, often to the point of stubbornness. We are promoters of lost causes and noble failures.
MacKenzies stood up to the hated English rulers far more often than was wise. They often felt that the throne in London ought to be held by a Scotsman (or woman). As the Queen is still as English as Earl Grey tea and Blood Pudding, you should know: we lost. Frequently.
So we may not be loyal to a particular ruler, but we are loyal to our family and our beliefs. We may not be great winners, but we are reliably present. Ross County FC isn’t just close to home, it doesn’t just have the family stag on their team badge, but they embody loyalty and question what it is to lose.
The Staggies trace their history back to 1929, around the time your Great-Grandpa MacK was 8 and part of the long ago Americanized MacKenzies.
At the time, Ross County had no glorious honors, or even pretenses of power to be claimed. They had neither the talent pool of Rangers or Celtic in Glasgow nor the resources of Hibs and Hearts in Edinburgh. They had each other. The Staggies were a host of local boys, playing their best. Their best years gave them little more than bragging rights over local rivals.
Photo from the online collection of Roy Bremner Ross County’s first Scottish Cup Game in 1934 In the middle of the front row is W. McKenzie
It took nearly 40 years to win the local Highland League, and nearly 25 more to win it a second time. Only then did they begin to plan in earnest to join the elite sides of Scottish soccer under the chairmanship of Roy McGregor.
Since 1992, Ross County has steadily risen to become a reliable side in the top Scottish League. That’s thirty years to go from the local lads of Dingwall to one of the ten best teams in the land.
How are we Ross County?
Of course in Scotland, where two teams thoroughly dominate the league, being in the top ten doesn’t come with oodles of glitz or glamour.
It would be easy to cheer on Rangers or Celtic and trust that a trophy or two would be won each and every year. But it wouldn’t be very MacKenzie.
Ross County Supporters in full throat
We’re a family that never met a rebellion we didn’t like. That first American MacKenzie? His first tailor job was sewing for the colonial army. We are still more loyal to causes we believe in than we are strategic alliances for power. For proof, think of your grandpa who campaigned for Democrats who never had a prayer in deeply Republican Montana.
Lots of teams can remind you about loyalty, but Ross County reminds us that what you are loyal to is more important than being loyal itself. For us it’s a local-family style club in an age of flashy corporate giants. It’s a rebelliously modest team with minimal title pretentious in an age of win-now overreactions.
We are Ross County because we’re not just loyal to our clan, we’re loyal to what that clan stands for.
Without matches to pass the time, I’ve been looking at the wide range of documentaries about soccer history and histrionics. After all, just because there aren’t any games being played right now, doesn’t mean that we don’t have any games or players to talk about.
One of the most discussed documentaries of late is a found footage film about the adoration and damnation of Diego Maradona in Napoli. A documentary that reminds us: make believe can be dangerous if you aren’t using it wisely.
Diego Maradona’s talent was tremendous, but so were his demons.
Maradona was a genius with a ball at his feet, but the real story (according to those who know him and the documentary) is that Maradona was only one part of the person.
Maradona played on the field. Maradona answered media questions and dealt with fans. Maradona fueled his life with attention, and pleasure, and all the drugs and people who made it possible. Meanwhile, Diego waited to live the regular life. Diego played with his kids and called his family back home so often it cost more than I make in a year. Diego felt joy while playing just for the sake of playing and remained a charming genuine person. As his trainer summarized it, “with Diego I would go to the ends of the earth, but with Maradona, I wouldn’t take a step.”
Ultimately, Maradona consumed Diego. I came to know about him near the end of his career when he and his friends brought the world’s game to the United States for the 1994 World Cup and I was immediately hooked. Maradona was the man in the middle, the star of the show, the greatest in the game (this despite him only recently returning from a 15 month suspension and debilitating drug problems).
But when he scored against Greece, it didn’t seem too miraculous. I thought it was a good goal, but his response immediately overshadowed the shot.
That look. Those crazed eyes. That primal scream and intense response. It was a little much for me. So to me, with my innocence and appreciation of kinder, gentler figures: Maradona became not an icon, but a caution. I’m sure I’d like Diego, but I can’t see him with Maradona in the way.
One of your dads other favorite entertainments around 1994 was pro-wrestling. With larger than life characters, epic battles between good and evil, and fluid, artful, athletic feats to inspire a clumsy 11 year old, I was an easy mark.
Decades later I can see that many of the characters I followed faithfully left a wake of destruction outside the ring.
Take Randy Poffo, or as the world knew him then, Macho Man Randy Savage. His intensity, ferocity, and frequent fits of jealous rage made him an unpredictable persona. Watching him perform was like watching the inside of a volcano roil and rumble before eruption.
While that persona served Randy Poffo well in pro wrestling, it pushed him past many limits in his personal life as well. The gregarious, goofy athlete Randy Poffo who learned both wrestling and poetry from his dad, changed bit by bit to the paranoid, jealous, live wire called Randy Savage.
Former wrestler Dutch Mantel said it best in an Obituary from The Post and Courier
“When you talked to Macho, you wouldn’t be talking to Randy, and you would know that because Randy was hidden behind all those layers of Macho. And sometimes you’d have to ask yourself if there ever was a Randy there. Even his voice changed.”
Both Diego and Randy used an alter ego to help their lives. Think of it like playing make-believe so well it really comes true. They could escape reality so long as they had Maradona and Macho Man.
Macho Man v. Randy Poffo The superstar and the minor league after thought
Neither of them made believe on their own. They lived in places that fed their imaginations fuel like spicy tacos in a dragon. Napoli, Italy made Diego an idol, something like a god, and Maradona could handle that in a way Diego couldn’t. To reach the top of Wrestling you had to make believe your character was who you were, all day, every day. People in the stands, the streets, the malls, they wanted Macho Man, not Randy.
They both used drugs to change their points of view (cocaine for Diego, steroids for Randy). But the drugs were another way to escape. More extreme and clearly more dangerous than making believe, but an escape nonetheless.
That’s the line to remember. It isn’t bad to make believe; it’s one of the best things humans can do. But make believe because you want to, not because other people make you, or because you have to in order to escape your regular world.
I love making believe. I love to see you learn how to do it too. Remember: however much fun it is for me to be Papa Tiger or you to be Vacuum Boys, Papa and Alex and Owen are even better.
It struck me that I ought to explain a little bit about why we cheer for the teams we do. Well, in part, it’s because I thought we ought to, and I’m the one of us most capable of complex thought and logic. But also, each team has a special something that captures part of what I love about life, and part of what makes you who you are.
So periodically (like during international breaks, long summer holidays, or say, global pandemics that completely alter everything we understand about our lives and ourselves), I want to introduce you to the teams we are tied to.
Our second team to meet: FK Vozdovac from Belgrade, Serbia. A team that reflects how we love our family.
Dear Boys,
Wherefore FK Vozdovac?
You should know that you boys are deeply loved.
Not just by your parents (obviously), or your grandparents (certainly), or your uncles and aunties both of blood and affinity. You are deeply loved by people half a world away who have never met you.
Gozpic in Winter
You are loved by your Grandma Di’s cousins Mariana and Dragana in Serbia. Their grandparents were related to your grandma’s grandparents (your great-great grandparents). Great-great grandfather Mane and Great-great grandmother Sofia Dimich left Gozpic in the Lika Valley for America and (eventually) Red Lodge, Montana.
Your great-greats were Serbs before there was a Serbia. Before the Lika Valley and Gozpic were part of Croatia, or all of these kingdoms and places were part of Yugoslavia. They were people who started over on a new and different frontier, while kept the old ways and old family close to heart. So while the family is built on love, the truth is changeable.
Mariana and Dragana don’t live in Gozpic, or the Lika Valley, they live in Belgrade. They live among no fewer than 8 local clubs in one of the most feverish hotbeds of soccer in the entire world. Some are casual. Some are legendary. For you I chose FK Vazdovac.
FK Vozdovac
Who are FK Vozdovac?
FK Vazdovac are neither a legendary Serbian side, nor are they a casual crew of weekend warriors.
“Master Daca” with a great mustache
One of the oldest clubs in Serbia, Vozdovac can trace it’s origins back to 1912: two years after your Great-Great Grandpa Dimich headed west and two years before Sofia joined him. Its one of four clubs founded, in part, by Danilo Stojanovic. The forefather of Serbian soccer ran clubs, managed teams, and even played a rather adept goalkeeper from time to time.
The Old Vozdovac Stadium
For the next century, the team bounced around lower levels of Serbian, Belgrade, and Yugoslavian leagues. It would combine and merge with several other neighborhood sides when times were tough, but results never matched their more prolific neighbors: Partizan Belgrade and Red Star Belgrade.
It was only in the early 2010s that Vozdovac became a fixture in the top tier of Serbian football. This at the same time Serbian football began to face a serious split between how much of the games were organized for the owners, and how much for the Ultra Supporters.
The New Vozdovac Stadium
Vozdovac’s new owners helped them leave behind a tiny ramshackle field, for a rooftop arena perched above a lucrative shopping complex. Their money and vision helped the team remain stable and improve their performances.
But that doesn’t mean the fans are thrilled. After all, it’s not all about the winning, and many Vozdovac fans loved the club wherever they played and however they fare. The new ownership seemed to abandon long standing traditions and stadia which smacked of disrespect to the fans. Fan support in Serbia is much more about the community than the club, sometimes to the good, and sometimes to the terrible.
The past twenty years has seen a long, long, long, long, LONG stretch of ugly events around Ultra Supporters Clubs in Serbia, especially in Belgrade (whose largest clubs Partizan and Red Star, offer the fiercest groups: The Gravediggers and the Heroes).
Some groups provided recruits for the late 1990s Bosnian genocide, others for gang violence and illicit drug deals. Some engage in grim racist attacks, others in gross assaults of opposing fans and police. Through it all there’s an ugly strain of white nationalism, neo-nazism, and criminality broadly tolerated by the government because these supporters also crack down on protesters.
How are we FK Vozdovac?
I couldn’t ignore your Serbian heritage. I can’t forget that your uncles and I had a host of Balkan coaches and classmates in Montana who taught us to love the game, our teammates, and opponents. I can’t gloss over the tremendous pride in Serbian heritage that comes out in your Grandma and her family. I won’t insult the love that Mariana and Dragana show you by inviting you to love the whole wide world of football…except their country.
But I can’t talk about the beliefs and values we hold and blithely tolerate or ignore the Ultras that make football in Belgrade so bloody and bitter.
Choosing a team meant eliminating Partizan and Red Star straight away. The rest of the Serbian leagues can’t compete with those two teams’ trophies or their rap sheets. I looked at some other teams, but FK Vozdovac stood out early because of their unique stadium and the dragon badge I thought was a great reflection of your mother’s love of dragons. (For the record “Dragana” comes from the word for precious or dear, but the word play is nice to have.)
The Invalids
Still, like seemingly all teams, Vozdovac has an Ultras group with a little more love of violence and fascist imagery than I’m comfortable with. They call themselves Invalids (far less fierce or grim than “Heroes” or “Gravediggers”), but they still encourage a fight with the police and revel in sexist chants. They loathe the club owners, but the team owners completely accept their behavior, using the Ultra’s own language to describe fans on the official team page.*
So why stand alongside “The Invalids”?
I think we should be fans of Vozdovac because it offers a strong symbol of the kind of love for family I hope you grow into. Proud regardless of the trophies. Strong and precious as a dragon, but not blind to the problems we have. Above all, like your Great-Great Grandparents, like your Grandma, your Mother, and your Aunties around the world: lead with love and be willing to change.
Football in Serbia can be an ugly thing. If we choose to ignore it, it stays that way. If we amplify the love we have for our history, our heritage, our values, we can make sure that the team isn’t just for the Ultras. It’s for all of us.
All of us
*(I recognize you boys won’t get this until you are much older, but the performative analysis of the group posted on their own website is fascinating…and not nearly as positive as they seem to think it is…)
It may not matter. Neither of you can read yet, and the only other person reading is your grandma Bekka (hi mom!) but it has been hard to write lately.
It’s not that I don’t want to write. But my first job on getting up is setting up meals for you both. Then I need to get to work and teach other kids so we can keep food, and clothes and shelter. Then I need to take care if you at home. And, oh yeah, help your mom and share my life with you all.
Burnt out
That takes us from 5 AM to 10 PM. And my brain is so burnt out that I can’t quite bring myself to make words make sense.
Burn out is real, no matter what overly peppy or intense employers would have you believe. And burn out sucks no matter what social media posts or inspirational posters will tell you.
You can’t avoid burnout, but you can acknowledge it and select the most vital and most life giving tasks to focus on.
I love writing. I love sports. And I love writing about sports. So I really want to write.
But more fun than writing is reading stories with you.
More life giving than sports are the games we play, be it airplane, or papa tiger, or vacuums.
So while I love writing, and I want to write these posts more frequently and carefully than I have been, I’m not going to forgo life with you now, for writing for your future.
This is priority one
When your burn out comes boys, and it will, I hope you look for the life you have now, and live it fully.
There are any number of cliched phrases to sum up the lesson I want you boys to learn today. I’ll resist enumerating them and settle for the one that came to mind this week: play to the whistle.
Recently, we have gotten better and better at analyzing predictions and planning appropriately. Data scientists and computer programs can digest a pile of data points and extrapolate the most likely outcomes: political campaigns, pop song construction, and especially sports.
It’s never been easier to accurately predict things. And each prediction enables people to work smarter not harder. Each analysis allows us to conserve our energy and craft support for ourselves.
But all those predictions come with risk. Complacency. Indifference. Defeatism.
The future looks cloudy
It’s tempting, with our increasingly accurate prediction models, to assume there’s nothing to be done. To accept that, as probability approaches 100%, we might as well move on. To believe, in short, we can’t fight the math.
We forget among all these likely outcomes that humanity is the least likely outcome of all. Scientists tell us that the odds are heavily stacked against a planet being habitable, and even more heavily stacked against life evolving. Yet, here we are.
The same is true in these statistical models. Sure, the favored candidate, or likeliest cord progression, or most obvious final score might be the actual result. But we still have upsets, and innovations, because some people keep trying. People like Ross County’s Billy McKay.
There’s no secret to their surprising successes. They fail more often than they win. Yet still they try, and try, and try again. They go until the last vote is cast, or chord is played, or whistle is blown. They try every day and–eventually–it becomes habit.
When you build the habit, and you live with it daily, it makes the chance of a turn around more real. No matter how often it doesn’t work, it makes those moments of defying the odds richly deserved and deeply satisfying.
So play to the final whistle boys. Today, tomorrow, from here on out. Play to the whistle and even when the odds are stacked against you, you’ll have shortened them, just by being you.
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