A night @ RB Arena: FUCK YES.

ribbed for everyones pleasure

OOOH! AHHHH!!! OHHHHHHHHHH! (O-face!)

Sacramental beers in hand, we began to worship.

Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeez. I’m gonna come here alot.

For 25 bucks each, we were sitting not 30 feet from the sidelines.

INCREIBLE! Exhibit AH!

The price of a t shirt! Literally spitting distance from the corner flag!

Some quick history: In 2007, when Red Bull bought the NY/NJ Metrostars, they also bought the rights to the long-planned stadium that was forever stuck in red tape and logistics. RB scrapped the mediocre original design, which doubled the stadium as a concert venue  (ruining the field surface), and revised it for a more intimate, soccer-specific experience.

And, ah yes, a professional soccer match was taking place! NY vs. Eastern Conference powerhouse Chicago.

Me and Friend K worked through our beers and caught up with each other as we took in the beautiful game’s rough-and-tumble American translation (roughly half the players born in other countries, fittingly). Finally, NYC (Newark, really) with a suitable stage for hosting the world’s game. This just felt significant and special. And fun as all HELL!

"our home, your hell"

To our left: the freshly-christened South Ward: sections 102, 101, and 132, home of the numerous supporters clubs who have stood by the NY/NJ Metro(stars)-turned-Red Bull NY through 15 years of futility and bastard status in an empty Giants Stadium. Tonight was their night, and dudes (and ladies) were BRINGIN’ IT. They’d long suffered, but the years only made them STRONGER! And crazier! And LOUDER! The bhoyz finally had their home, top flight soccer in/around NYC finally had it’s home! and South Ward was celebrating in grand style, absurd corporate team name be damned. Flags, streamers, drums, horns, smoke bombs, jumping and singing singing singing!

English songs, Spanish songs, vulgar songs, songs with one word, chants, jokes, insults, these guys were there to be loud and push their team on all. fucking. game. Why the hell were we sitting 2 sections away then??? Nice seats here but no clue! K and I agreed to finish our beers and go join them.

In the meantime, I knew some of the supporters clubs’ songs, so I sang along and taught them to my friend. The people around us gawked like they wanted in. 4 cats in the row in front of ours turned around, not to tell me to shut up but to ask what I way saying. Niiiiice (here you go).

MET!RO! BOYS! AINT NUTHIN TO FUCK WITH!

Chicago earned a corner kick on our side. Our side! Oh. YES! Time for the NYC Metro Area to join one of the planet’s great soccer traditions: the corner kick berating!!!

Woe to whoever Fire player was coming to our end to put the ball in play. In 2 shakes of an soccer boot, me and my classy homette went from politely catching up and joking around to raining a shitlaced fuckstorm of profanity-covered profanity on Shitcago Fuckers midfielder Peter Lowry of Fair Oaks, California, #8.

It was beautiful. It was some of the most vile things that have ever come out of my mouth. And what ugly things my pretty compatriot was shouting too!

Our section seemed filled with people at their first soccer game, but gosh dangit, these were still NY/NJ muthafuckin sports fans. If there’s one thing this special breed of an already-profane, obnoxious animal knows how to do, it’s swear, alot and with huevos grandes.

Keep in mind my partner-in-cuss stands all of 5’4″, is a yoga fanatic and is at Princeton essentially studying how to save the world. No worries though, homegirl lived in El Salvador for 2 years (“At those games I heard so many creative uses of the word ‘puta.’”), she knew what time it was.

Ours were but two of a sweet chorus of swear washing down from all sections of our happy little corner. Unfortunately for Fair Oaks Lowry, his corner kick resulted in a New York player knocking the ball out over the endline, corner kick Chicago, our side again!

eeeeYESSSSS!

The corner sections were all laughing, mighty pleased with ourselves for our sudden and instinctive display of support for the home side. Whether we were riding the perculating ”THIS IS GONNA BE AWESOMMMMME!” vibe or just being crotchety New Yorkers and Jerseyites looking for a target for all this pent up tri-state rage, we were licking our chops at Peter Lowry of Fair Oaks jogging on over for another corner kick.

Round 2…fight!

200+ people shouted some more things that would get St. Peter evicted from heaven and nothing came of the corner kick. Lowry scampered away to the heckle-free safety of the midfield, with our entire corner section in awe of what just happened. Hundreds of people simultaneously realized why billions of people do this.

This is gonna be aweeesommmme!

Hell, even Mr. Fair Oaks was probably psyched. I know I would be. “Ohhh this shit is so bigtime! Yes! Yes! Fuck you too!”

Keep in mind that while the MLS has come a long way, it still doesn’t always provide a, uh, world class soccer atmosphere like you’d find in just about every other country that has some kind of pro soccer league (all of them). With RB Arena we were right there.

Our very own mini-Anfield: nice and cozy, so we can push the homeboys on and tell all opposition how much they verily truly suck and are assholes who have sexual relations with their mothers and farm animals and are certain to lose tonight.

Our beers almost done and our appetites thoroughly whet, me and Lady K made our way to the South Ward, where we finished the 1st half singing and screaming with this pack of wild animals feasting on what was unfolding all around them. It must’ve felt like forever to get here, but these guys (and many gals) now had a proper place to bring the noise they made Giants Stadium echo with for all those years.

“DALE DALE DALE METROOO! DALE DALE DALE ME!!!!!!!!”
“COME ON METROOOOO! OHHH OH! OHHHHHHH OH!”

And finally in the 40th minute of the first half, new signing Joel Lindpere of  Estonia pounced on a loose ball and side-volleyed a shot into the upper left hand corner of the net.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOALLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Drums rolled, flags waved, strangers screamed YEAHHH! in each other’s faces, people jumped and hugged, and the stadium’s partial roof amplified the sound right back down on us.

New York up, 1-nil! Halftime!

I had to run to the gate to find a friend who was late. While everyone shuffled to the concessions and bathrooms, South Ward took their all-singing, all-dancing, all-drumming moshpit to the concourse. I shouldve taken pictures but was too enraptured by the contrast of these guys having the rowdy time of their lives while polite/bovine suburban families looked on in amazed/scared/titillated bewildermint. The younger the kids, the more they either looked terrified or itching to join the fray. As Ms. Houston put it: “I believe the children are our future.”  Seeds being planted everywhere!

2nd half!

Refueled and recharged, time for some action. RB was now shooting on the goal right towards us. EXCELLENT! Now we could urge on the home side for goals in clutch time AND spend the entire 2nd half undermining the visiting goalie’s will to win, if not live completely.

In goal for Chicago, rookie Andrew Dykstra, #40.

“YOUUUUUU SUCK DYKSTRAAAAA!”

If shouting “you suck dykstra” somehow generated electricity, RB Arena would temporarily have transformed into the world’s biggest powerplant…

Chicago Fire fans try to start a flare fire

"when i get older/i will be stronger/they'll call me freedom/just like a waving flag"