Today is the day, the New York Red Bulls open up their home field schedule and I go back to my home away from home in section 101, row 12.
I have been anticipating this moment literally since about a week after the Red Bulls were ousted early from the post season. Admittedly, I took a week to mourn the loss, hanging up my scarf on the hooks on my coat closet door. I passed it daily, looking in its general direction lovingly, as if to say, “I miss you, but I can’t handle you right now.”
I never said I was sane.
Looking at my own journey last season, from game to game, I had a fire rekindled by this club, and it’s fearless leader Mike Petke. I feel like I’m back inside of the game, the way I was in my younger days, when I was a surprisingly big, slightly aggressive goalkeeper haunting Chelsea Piers’ indoor league in Manhattan, or like I felt when I was playing in high school. This offseason, I have brewed my own beer for the home opener, had a running countdown, and can’t stop talking about the team and the upcoming season. It literally has driven my wife nuts.
Growing up inside of the sport was a wonderful experience for me. I spent summers hopping from soccer camp to soccer camp, mostly run by former Cosmos assistant coach Nick Zlatar. It all culminated in 1994, when the FIFA World Cup came to the US. There was a brief moment when a great deal of this country went footy mad. I was right along for the ride, although my high school playing days were done. I covered Gettysburg College Men’s Division III Varsity team for the school paper that season. I spent that summer working at a deli on Staten Island with soccer on the radio. There wasn’t the coverage there was now, and the best we could do is listen to the Spanish station. It didn’t matter much. We knew the names involved and the emotions of the match, and the infamous ‘GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAL!” call by the announcer. The final was a tense affair with Brazil and Italy, which Brazil ended on penalties to raise the trophy.
The US wasn’t done with soccer, with the creation of the MLS right around the corner. The local club was called the Metrostars and not much came out of that. After a few years of getting beaten up and a lack of media support, my attention got pulled elsewhere. I admittedly only paid half attention to the club, as it seemed that they had a knack for beating up their fans.
At the end of the 90s, I decided to start playing the game again. This time it was on a pick up team playing at Chelsea Piers’ Field House. That first season there was pretty magical. And I was back inside the game. This time my attention was pulled overseas, to Manchester United, a holdover from my high school days, and a few years after that United sealed the deal, as I marveled at the play and creativity of Cristiano Ronaldo and Wayne Rooney. Coverage expanded, and at the very least, I was able to watch matches on delay. Still, there wasn’t much coverage of the MLS in the area, and I would follow the Metros in the paper waiting for the right time to come back.
A couple of amazing things happened. First, in 2009 I met my wife. I found out that her cousin was a big soccer fan, and a Red Bulls supporter. As it turned out, he loves the game as much as I do. Then Thierry Henry came. Then, I turned my face back to the game, and in 2012, I made my return to live soccer. I was amazed at how the game had progressed here. The pace and the level of play that unfolded infront of me was surprisingly good. I was hooked like a heroin addict. I went to half a season’s worth of matches last year, including the frantic comeback versus Real Salt Lake, and the Supporters Shield match, where, like so many other supporters, I weeped. I get a bit misty still, to this day, months later, when I think about it. I immediately made sure that my seat was reserved, and for the first time ever, I committed completely to following this club as closely as possible, and with the passion of a die hard.
What keeps me coming back? Folk hero Mike Petke is a big reason. Tim Cahill is another big reason. But, more than anything else, it’s the brotherhood and fellowship of the South Ward. No other sporting event on the planet has offered me the experience that I have had – singing for 90 minutes, standing, jumping, screaming, and embracing as one group game after game.
So, break out the jerseys, jackets, scarves, grills, coolers, and pop up chairs, ladies and gentlemen. Today is the day we all come home. And if you want to know where I’ll be, I’ll be the one cheering in section 101, row 12. Cheers.
Thank you for reading. Please take a moment to follow me on Twitter – @LastwordBigMick. Support LWOS by following us on Twitter – @LastWordOnSport – and “liking” our Facebook page.
Interested in writing for LWOS? We are looking for enthusiastic, talented writers to join our Footy writing team. Visit our “Write for Us” page for very easy details in how you can get started today!
Feel free to discuss this and other footy related articles with thousands of fans at r/football.
Main Photo Credit: Authors Own Work, All rights reserved.
