The Beautiful, Bewildering Game
Soccer fandom in all its highs and lows
“...We know what we are, we know what we are, Champions of Europe, we know what we are…”
The chant grew increasingly energetic as I walked up White Hart Lane in North London toward Tottenham Hotspur Stadium for the namesake’s final match of the season. Men, women, and children flooded the streets in lilywhite jerseys with the names of players past and present printed across the back. Stalls along the sidewalk sold navy and white scarves with the same words knit across them—European Champions—as well as pins and t-shirts marking the occasion. Some folks even donned face paint with a glittery rendition of the team’s blue bird mascot. Getting in line for the gift shop, I saw a TV crew interviewing people, asking if anyone had thought a trophy was possible at the start of the season. The unanimous answer? No. Absolutely not.
Celebrations are a rarity for my Premier League Club of choice; the perpetually underwhelming Tottenham Hotspur. We’d gotten close but hadn’t actually won anything in seventeen years. That is until last Wednesday, when we played in the UEFA Europa League Final, and one goal from Brennan Johnson (plus one heroic clearance from Micky van de Van) made us victorious.
Being English means my family have been football fans for as long as I can remember. My maternal cousins in Nottingham have endured many bleak seasons alongside their local club Nottingham Forest. My mom, by contrast, roots for Tottenham. Going further back, she frequented indoor soccer games for the Cleveland Force while attending law school at Case Western. What everyone can agree on, though, is supporting the three lions, England’s national team. We celebrate victories together during World Cup and Euro tournaments, before inevitably lamenting losses on penalties.
Soccer has a natural place in our hearts. I’m no exception. I became a fan because of my mom, but I kept the interest quiet and casual. None of my peers growing up cared about the sport. Plus, I was already having my trophy hopes shattered once a year thanks to supporting the New York Rangers. It felt like enough for my young fragile heart.
Then, in my late teens, the passion blossomed. Embarrassingly, due to a boy. His adoration of the game encouraged me to show mine. That relationship never quite manifested the way I’d hoped. But the more frequently I streamed Premier League fixtures , the more invested I became in the sport. I also finally made friends who felt similarly. On weekends in college, we gathered at my apartment to cook brunch and watch the day’s matches. This continued into graduate school, although I became busier and often ended up streaming on my own whilst drafting papers. But a few of us did see Liverpool and Manchester City face-off when they had a summer friendly stop at MetLife. And I’ve always tried to get tickets for me and my mom during our frequent trips to London.
Football has played a big role in my relationship with Max, too. Our first conversations revolved around which teams we supported. Although he is foolishly a Chelsea boy—a rival London club to Tottenham—I still like him. Thankfully, he’s an England supporter, as well, so at least we agree on something. Importantly this means he understands the reason it would be funny to name my future dog after number nine striker Harry Kane. Max, too, grew up in a household where soccer was on par with religion. An early date was spent eating bagels while watching matches at my apartment. Three and a half years later, it morphed into Max making full English breakfasts every weekend while we watched match mornings in our shared apartment. My Valentine’s Day present this year was tickets to the aforementioned Tottenham match. This shared passion is a simple pleasure that makes me feel lucky, to have someone who understands this part of me in the way I’ve always hoped might happen.
Max and I even planned our first trip to Europe together with soccer in mind. Over the course of ten days, we went to five matches: four in London and one in Rome. We saw Tottenham win (twice) and Chelsea lose (again, twice). Meanwhile, Fulham and Wolverhampton Wolves drew. We also had a two and a half hour walk home at midnight following the Roma game thanks to the city’s terrible public transportation. If this sounds crazy to you, five months later we planned a different soccer-related trip to North Carolina, where we drove from the Outer Banks to Chapel Hill and back in the same day so Max could watch Chelsea take on Wrexham.
I guess love of a person and love of football have something in common: both can make you do some pretty silly things…
My fandom sometimes surprises people. Maybe it’s because I present myself as a super femme, artistic individual who most assume would prefer to get her nails done or read a book than have a shout at some guys running around a field. In reality, I enjoy this stuff equally. But I’m very much not alone in my support. In 2024’s global report by TGM Research, nearly half of women surveyed across the globe said they were interested in football. Women’s soccer in particular is steadily increasing in viewership. Perhaps in the UK because it was the Lionesses who actually managed to bring a trophy home with their 2022 Euros victory.
I’m not sure why other women have started watching soccer, but for me, I continue to do so for a few reasons. It’s a nice break away from my super creative world. A good outlet for funneling my stress and aggression. And it’s a lot about the memories I’ve made with my family. The weeks it took to live down England’s 2016 World Cup loss to Iceland, as well as forget the opposing country’s celebratory Viking Clap. The insane joy of Tottenham’s miraculously reaching a Champions League Final in 2019 thanks to a Lucas Moura hattrick, even though we ultimately lost. Honoring Gareth Southgate’s success as a manager by wearing waistcoats and seeing the play fictionalizing his tenure in the role, Dear England. I’ve experienced all of this with those I love most, and whether the moments were positive or negative, they’ve always brought us closer together.
True to season form, Tottenham ended up losing 4-1 to Brighton Hove Albion F.C. in their last match on Sunday. Max and I watched every painful minute, listening to the many insulting chants from the visitors section to our left. Spurs finished seventeenth out of twenty Premier League teams. Any team who finished below us was relegated, meaning they’ll have to play in a lower ring of competition for 2025-2026. Tottenham were the first team in league history to lose 22 of our 38 games and not get demoted. Yet our Europa win means we qualify for the Champions League, a more competitive international competition. Football: it’s a beautiful wild game.
The loss didn’t strip too much celebration from the stands, though. Fans continued waving flags and cheering on their Spurs as the captain paraded the new trophy around the stadium for everyone to see. It still felt good to win something after so much time. To sing Queen’s “We Are the Champions” in community with other fans. And to know that no matter who gets traded over the summer or whether our manager stays employed, we will show up in August, to muster the same excitement all over again, hoping it might bring another extraordinary surprise result.
Rachel’s Weekly Recs:
After my favorite perfume was discontinued last year, I’ve been struggling to find a replacement. This week I’m trying Maison Matine’s Espirit de Contradiction and liking the results. The citrusy scent is light and fresh, as well as unisex. Plus there’s an adorable rubber ducky on the bottle.
When I’m in the UK, I frequently tune into Gogglebox, a show about regular people who watch the week’s noteworthy television shows and comment on them. It sounds dull, but it’s actually hilarious. Stream for free online to see for yourself.
A friend sent me this delightful Financial Times article on the power and pleasure of the semicolon (as well as its decline in language use). It also prompted me to check just how many I have used in my novel draft; a whopping 92 so far. I feel like I could do better…