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.

First up, Rosenborg BallKlub of Trondheim, Norway. A team that captures your proud past and our family’s strong future.

Wherefore Rosenborg Ballklub?

This is our Norway team.

That is no small matter, especially since you are both half Norwegian. We’ll talk more about the other parts of your heritage but the biggest identity marker is undoubtedly the Norwegian part. After all, from the top of your blondish heads, to your fjord blue eyes, to your lefsa white skin, you look Norse.

But it goes beyond your looks. It’s in your names as well. Your mom’s maiden name, Gorder, is probably a lazy immigration agent’s interpretation of a great grandparent’s home: Gårder (farms). Owen Roe, your middle name (and mine, come to that) is a similarly lazy translations of “Røv”. The valley your great-great-great-grandparents left behind to come to Minnesota almost 170 years ago.

I find it easy to imagine your ancestors. Simple folks tired of the squeeze of crowded farm land and nosy neighbors, heading up to one of the biggest ports in the country and heading off too seek their fortunes in the new world.

Had they stopped before the boat. Had they abandoned the farm land for city living. We might have settled for decades and decades in the popular port of Trondheim. Even if they hadn’t–if they’d clung to the local land and familiar faces–it’d be hard to resist the lure of the team that defines Norwegian clubs today. And that’s where Rosenborg BK comes in.

Who is Rosenborg Ballklub?

For a team that can fairly be called the Real Madrid, the Manchester United, the New England Patriots of Norwegian soccer, Rosenborg doesn’t come from sterling silver stock.

At first they were just a few boys from a local suburb with some big dreams. How big? They named themselves “Odd” after the best team of the time. As hopeful and idealistic as when your uncles and I pretended to suit up for the Michigan Wolverines during driveway basketball.

The difference, most aspirational names remain just that: a hope, more alive in mind than in reality. Rosenborg outgrew Odd, growing more prestigious and popular in their own right. The team’s first trophy, the national cup in 1960 was won by beating Odd.

Since then the team has come to rule much of Norwegian soccer. Ruling the league table with a full decade of dominant title wins. Cruising with confidence into competition against the continent’s best teams. But in many ways, they still feel like that neighborhood gang of boys who dreamed of greatness from day 1.

How are we Rosenborg Ballklub?

To be clear, we are not Rosenborg because we are consistent champions. We are not. We do not rule. We do not dominate. We do not cruise with confidence.

Your Norwegian relatives had something else in mind, something very in keeping with Rosenborg. They had hopes more alive in their minds than in reality. They hoped to see their kids go beyond a little village. They wanted to do more than farm the same little acre of land. Not only did they succeed, they went far, far beyond it.

One of their grandsons (your great-grand-father) not only went beyond the tiny village, he went around the world to Kolkatta and Beijing. One of their great-grand-daughters (your great-grand-mother) did much more than farm a little acre of land. She got a college degree. (She also got in trouble for sneaking back from a dance, but that’s another story.)

We are so far beyond the hopes and dreams of the Norwegian ancestors who left little farm villages, trod the streets of Trondheim and headed to the new world. We have reached greatness beyond what they might have thought or believed to be possible.

And still, we have those little glimmers of Norwegian neighborhood in our veins. It’s in the lutefisk we still make for Great-Grandpa Bud even though he isn’t here and no one else likes it. It’s in the Spritz Cookies that bring a tear to your Grandpa Mark’s eye when he makes them for you like his mother did for him, and her mother did before her.

Rosenborg BK is our Norwegian team because you are both a hope surpassed and a history alive. Our past is proud, our future is strong.