Let's, for a moment, pretend that I've crawled into a cardboard box with the label "Real Life Time Machine" written in black sharpie marker. I have set this actual, real-life time machine to take me to the Kensington/Chelsea-ish area of London, England. The date: May 21, 2008. After some whizzing and banging and a little bit of magic, I've been transported to the beautiful courtyard at London's Imperial College Union. This place is essentially where students of Imperial College hold their socials and society get-togethers. Today, every television and two projector screens are showing what would become an epic UEFA Champions League clash between local favorites Chelsea FC and their northern Great Britain rivals, Manchester United. 

At this time I was a soccer neophyte. If you’ll allow me, I’m going to back this up to give you some context. The most I had followed the sport was when I played the FIFA video game series as a kid. I knew next to nothing about the sport, but I had owned the World Cup ‘98 edition for the Nintendo 64. Several years later I would rent FIFA 2004 and take particular notice of the red jersey adorning one of the cover players. That player was Thierry Henry who was the unstoppable forward for English Premier League club Arsenal FC. I had decided that if I were to ever like soccer, Arsenal FC would be my favorite team. With a name like Arsenal, and the nickname “The Gunners” the team had qualities that appealed to my then red-leaning, gun-loving South Dakota sensibilities. I’ve changed politically over the years, but I still love the club and still think Arsenal FC is the coolest name in soccer.

In 2008, I was a budding college student who wanted to go out and see the world. I had been cooped up in the rural mundanity of South Dakota. I was George from It’s a Wonderful Life, but I wasn’t going to be held back from my dream of shaking the dust from my shoulder and leaving. That summer I had the fortunate privilege of being able to study abroad in London at Richmond, The American University in London. While that was more than 10 years ago, I can still remember the classes that I experienced and the people I met. I had an eccentric Shakespeare professor who would belt out lines in the middle of reciting passages. One of my friends had hypothesized that our teacher was a failed Shakespeare actor and was living his stage life though the reactions he’d get from his class after literally screaming lines such as the one spoken by Glaucester from Richard III, “Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York!” His booming voice never failed to make us jump. While he was always a dynamic person, his methods made sure nobody ever fell asleep during a lecture.

In 2008, the world was in a perilous place. The global financial crisis was hitting hard, and it was particularly brutal for the dollar to pound ratio. At the time, one British pound was nearly two dollars. The US had a crucial election coming up on the horizon, so there was a lot of talk about hope and change. But I was a kid who was trying to have a good time no matter what. Living in London at that time was expensive, and food and drink were precious commodities. Our school provided free breakfast and dinner but we were on our own for lunch. Fortunately, the great thing about Europe is that bread is good and plentiful. There were about 100 to 200 students who would come through for breakfast and dinner, but there was an absurd amount of bread, cheese and sliced meat to horde for the rest of the day. We would wrap an extra two or three bagel and baguette sandwiches in napkins and store in our bags to tie us over until the evening. Drinking was a whole separate affair that shocked my South Dakota system. Where I was used to paying two or three dollars for a drink I had to face the crushing reality that those same drinks were fourteen dollars in London in 2008. So we depended on a little shop called threshers where we could buy bottles of wine, cider, and beer for much less money.

Despite financial woes and world-wide uncertainty, I was in the middle of the kind of experience I had always dreamed of growing up. I was meeting new people, tasting new foods, smelling an air from a place that I had only read about as a kid. And it was here that a small seed had sprouted a tiny stalk that was forming an interest in a sport that I had only glancing moments with in the past. I hadn’t noticed this seed until years later, but this experience in London was its catalyst. The friends I made had a particular interest in soccer and we had a weekly pick-up game in Hyde Park, which was near our residence. I showed little to no skill while playing, but I just thought it was a fun excuse to boot the hell out of a soccer ball for a couple of hours per week.

To cap off my first week in London, I joined these new friends of mine to check out a soccer game at the Imperial Student Union. I had no idea what it was at the time, but this was going to be a famous encounter for the first ever all-English European Cup Championship. The Champions League was a completely foreign concept to me. I had no idea what UEFA stood for and the only player I recognized was Christiano Ronaldo because he was the becoming the biggest star on the planet at that time. I had no idea Chelsea FC was a London-based team and my only frame of reference for Manchester United was David Beckham because of the Bend it Like Beckham movie. The most exciting thing to me at this place was a new-to-me drink called a ‘snake bite,’ which is a mix cider and lager or stout beer. Me being the refined beer drinker who wanted to be impressive went with the stout because I had recently become a gigantic fan of Guinness. It was the fanciest beer I had ever drank. I would go about talking about how I couldn’t stand to drink normal beer. No I had to drink something exotic. I was at the time, as many English people would probably think of me, a complete wanker.

Twenty two year-old me was only there for the chance to drink (a lot) and flirt with girls (badly). The soccer match was sort of ancillary to the whole experience for me. But as thirty two year-old time traveling me watches this scene, I see the small seed of soccer start to take root in my younger self as the game goes on. You see, when soccer fans watch a big game in Europe that game becomes the center of attention at all times. While I was socializing and would notice that not a lot of people were talking about anything but the game. Eventually I’d have to turn my attention to it. The courtyard had filled with students who couldn’t find a place to sit inside the bars and social areas inside the student union. What little bench space that existed in the courtyard, everyone without a proper seat made do with the grass and pavement. The group of friends I was with came prepared for the limited space with a large picnic blanket and extra wraps of sandwiches and a discreet cooler for extra wine and beer.

The game started out with an intense back-and-forth between Chelsea and Manchester United that showed chances to score for both teams. I spent most of the beginning of the game trying to figure out what was going on by asking the most basic questions to my soccer-loving friends. I didn’t know half of what they were talking about, because I lacked the understanding of strategy and tactics. Eventually I decided that I would let the game play on and figure things out as they happened. This is where I first noticed the rhythm at which fans watch a soccer game. Onlookers would break out in chants and songs every so often as things happened. Otherwise it was all a low tone as nervous fans watched with anticipation. As the ball moved up in down the field, the pitch of their voices would fluctuate as the ball got near or far from the goal. This would culminate in high-pitched yells as shots on goal would miss by inches or greater margins.

When the first goal was scored by Manchester United’s Christiano Ronaldo was scored, only a few fans jumped up and went wild for it. That’s because we were in the Chelsea and Kensington area, which was a very anti-Manchester United territory. There was a sense of nervousness, because Manchester United had just won the Premier League championship. United was enjoying a dominant era, and Chelsea was trying to vie for their crown as the best club in England. For a little more background, Chelsea were a newly minted top club as of 2003 thanks to Russian billionaire oil and business magnate Roman Abromovic. Before this time, Chelsea were a middling club that wasn’t the world-renowned brand that it is today. They had their occasional chances for the FA Cup, but they were a team of ups and downs. However, the injection of cash brought a lot of firepower to the club and league titles in 2005 and 2006. Chelsea were becoming competitive equals to United, and the fans saw this as a legitimate chance to steal away that top crown from United.

That goal would come shortly before the halftime whistle as Chelsea fan favorite Frank Lampard scored the equalizing goal. It was at this point that the entire courtyard inside and out erupted into pure elation. These fans felt that their time was coming and that they would eventually bask in the glory of their team’s victory. There was a buzzing confidence at halftime as these fans felt like their time was coming to turn their noses up to the all-powerful Manchester United. And I have to admit that I got a bit swept up in it as well. At this point, I started to really pay attention to the game and engage with the Chelsea fans to learn more about their dedication. They were life-long supporters of the team as they were raised by their families to invest emotionally into the team. They cherished the rivalries and history, and I started to appreciate where they were coming from. It was a team that often suffered in the past from financial woes or superior competition. But now the fans were able to enjoy the lime light and feel a real sense of pride to support the club.

The game’s second half was a stalemate despite moments of close calls and real excitement. While Chelsea and United. As the minutes ticked away, the people had become more reserved. There was a palpable nervousness in the air. You could have cut the tension with a knife and it became harder to turn away from the game. Now I had lost all interest in the drinking and socializing. I was vested in the outcome of this match. The evening transitioned into dusk and the chants had become more intense. With every missed shot on goal, you could either feel the despair or relief depending on the shot taker. I felt truly part of this group. At the end of 90 minutes the game remained tied 1-1. It was here that I learned about extra time rules and found out that the players would play for another 30 minutes. The feeling of fear among the Chesea fans became excruciating at this point. It was complete tunnel vision for them at this point. With 30 minutes gone and no score, it was time for the penalty shootout.

At this moment, everyone stood up in the courtyard and stood as close to the projectors as they could manage. The evening became night and every detail on the projector was clear. Christiano Ronaldo looked like a god in this moment as he lined up to take his penalty kick. But it would not be his moment as his shot missed and the Chelsea faithful reacted in joviality. Maybe this was an omen. More shots were taken and both teams were neck and neck. As one shot missed so would another. Likewise as a goal was scored, another would come in response. It was the wildest finish to a game I had ever seen. This went above nearly any NFL, NBA, or college ball game I had ever seen. Chelsea captain John Terry had slipped and missed a goal for Chelsea, and the crowd had reacted as if they’d seen an actual death. With Manchester United sitting at a goal advantage, it came down to their goal keeper Edwin van der Sar to make the save of his career. He did and then all emotion left the courtyard as silence took over with small bouts of glee among the stunned mass of people. Chelsea had lost in dramatic fashion and hardly anybody believed that what they were seeing was real.

Despite the outcome, I came away from the experience with a newfound appreciation for soccer. Nobody had a dry eye in the place as so much emotion poured out. I came to understand that soccer is an oasis for millions of people. It’s the identity for towns and neighborhoods. It’s more than sport and it’s more than bragging rights. It’s a communal experience among fans as they live their lives. Each week brings a sense of hope, pride, fear, anticipation, joy, or anguish. No matter the outcome, stories are created and shared. People come together to meet new and old friends. They can share their culture with newcomers and spread soccer’s influence around the world. It was here that a seed grew inside of me that would eventually lead to this project and specifically this article. I love having the opportunity to share these stories and do my small part in helping people appreciate the sport. In ten years I’ve learned so much and I take great pride in sharing that knowledge. Now you know why I write this little blog. I hope you’ve enjoyed it. Thank you so much for reading. As always, live well and watch more soccer.