Looking back, I have to place the blame not at the feet of the juvenile siblings but rather the solemnity of the service. Years later, while working on a service project in the Bahamas, I had the chance to attend mass at a Baptist church. I was shocked when I witnessed singing, dancing, and clapping. The energy and enthusiasm were palpable. I was captivated. The atmosphere was electric.

Fast-forward to 2008 and the Theater of Dreams, Old Trafford, home of Manchester United. My first experience with live English football just so happened to be the Northwest derby and one of the most heated rivalries in world football, Manchester United  versus Liverpool. I was blown away: by the size of the stadium, the green of the grass, the massive dimensions of the pitch, and just how frigging cold it is in England in March.

But most of all, I was blown away by the atmosphere. I sat in the “Clock End,” opposite the famed Stretford End (and preferred second half target of the Red Devils). It would have been an unremarkable area if not for it being adjacent to the traveling Liverpool supporters. For no less than two hours, the away fans sang their hearts out, from the iconic “You’ll Never Walk Alone” to the simplistic “Ja-vi-er Ma-sche-ra-no! Ja-vi-er Ma-sche-ra-no!”

Despite being trounced 3-nil—and the aforementioned Señor Mascherano getting an early shower—the Scousers never stopped singing. As a result, several MUFC fans in my section never stopped hurling abuse. Either way, it was an incredible atmosphere, the greatest source of live entertainment to which I’d ever been exposed.

The next year, as a birthday present, my mother purchased me a ticket to a European Champions League game: Bayern Munich versus Barcelona. I didn’t realize just how amazing this gift was until I stepped off the train and saw the glowing orb that is the Allianz. From the outside, the arena in Munich is an architectural marvel. On the inside it is a boiling cauldron of chanting, singing, and flag waving.

From high atop the second tier, I was ensconced in a sea of colored flags and banners. The synchronicity of the booming chants proved a cacophonous weapon for the home fans against mighty Barca, already with a three goal-aggregate lead. It may have also been the impetus for the game’s opener, a stunning strike from Franck Ribery. What you can’t hear on television is that every time Ribery finds the net, the stadium finds the song, “Le Champs Elysees” by Joe Dassin, a homage to the winger’s French heritage. Despite Seydou Keita equalizing and putting the tie out of reach, you get the sense that, if nothing else, everyone left the stadium thoroughly entertained.

After all, football is about entertainment. Isn’t it?

Why then do I feel like I’m back kneeling at the pew, scolded for my sacrilege? So-called purists of the game will complain about modern footballers: the neon-colored shoes, the tribal tattoos, the look-at-me haircuts, and the ultimate desecration of their holy ground: goal celebrations. The ranting and raving of the purists would have you believe they want to return to the days when footballers wore button-down shirts, black work boots and feebly tried to move 20-lb. sewn balls. And sometimes it feels like FIFA, and several football associations around the world, feel the same.

Last week, Neymar, the impossibly gifted Brazilian international and (for the time being) Santos forward, was sent off after being booked for wearing a mask emblazoned with his own likeness. Neymar, after carving up the Colo Colo defense on his way to the third goal in the Copa Libertadores contest, took the mask from a fan and duly obliged him by sticking it on, albeit upside-down. The referee, none too pleased, brandished a yellow card to young Neymar, his second of the evening, sealing his exit.

The previous weekend, AC Milan forward Antonio Cassano, far and away the most skilled Italian playing the game today, was booked for removing his shirt after scoring an incredibly important penalty against city rival, Internazionale. A benign gesture at the time, it later proved fatal when he inexplicably pulled down a rushing Inter player to receive his second yellow and marching orders.

Who me? What about the guy with no pants?

Which brings us to our beloved domestic competition, Major League Soccer. Eric Hassli, French forward for expansion franchise Vancouver Whitecaps, was sent off last week for celebrating a goal against New England for removing his shirt. The referee was unimpressed and, even though Hassli was wearing another Whitecaps top underneath, presented him with his second yellow card of the match.

Now, while I can’t condone Roma’s Mirko Vucinic’s de-pantsing trick from last year’s Euro qualifiers, I can empathize with the above predicaments. Why do we demonize celebration? Why do we adopt a puritanical approach to the most hedonistic of sports? Scoring a goal is one of life’s greatest pleasures. Some have gone so far as to rank its resulting euphoria above the pleasure of sex (I might need to quote Lori Petty in Pointbreak here though and say maybe you’re not doing it right, then).

Nevertheless, scoring a goal is an amazing feeling. Whether it’s in a five-a-side pickup game, a high school championship or in front of 80,000 at the San Siro, it is a wonderful thing. Goals, like those who score them, come in all different forms—delicate chips, blasted volleys, nutmegs, backheels, and headers. Goals are great to watch. But every so often, the goal is surpassed by the goal celebration.

I’ve been watching televised soccer for almost 20 years and in that time I’ve seen choreographed dance routines, corner flag boxing bouts, backflips, and fake boat rides. I’ve watched Romario rock his air baby, Cantona look disgusted with the mortals around him and Fabio Grosso look to be on the verge of tears. I’ve seen Totti suck his thumb and Tevez suck his binky. I’ve seen undershirts with messages written on them, from “Free Palestine” to “Feliz Cumpleanos.” Just this past weekend, Argentinian side Velez Sarsfield celebrated a goal and a “cumpleanos” simultaneously when Santiago Silva ran to the touchline to retrieve a lit candle in honor of a teammate’s birthday.

Sure, sometimes these elaborate gestures don’t go off quite as planned. Two weeks ago we all saw Jermain Defoe’s “100” message written on a shirt underneath his jersey, despite the fact that he failed to score his century goal. Then there are the neo-Nazi salutes, the throat slashes, and a whole host of abusive gestures such as the middle finger and the Barry Ferguson “V”.

But, even the most misguided celebrations are often entertaining. And isn’t that what football is all about? It’s the reason we pay way too much for “authentic” replica kits, the reason we save for travel and ticket costs, the reason we plunk down hard-earned dough week in and week out—so we can share in the pleasure, share in the spectacle, be a part of the drama.

I know, I know—a match-winner removing his top can incite fan violence. Has that ever really happened though?  And if so, doesn’t it say more about the person reacting violently to someone removing his shirt than the bare-chested player himself?

Maybe it’s our puritanical roots. Maybe it’s our jealousy. Whatever the reason, it’s ridiculous to think we should expect our heroes to shuffle back to the midway line silently, like nuns in the cloister, heads bowed in reverence for their savior, Sepp Blatter. And maybe that’s exactly what the so-called “purists” want too.

But not me. I’ll be standing, I’ll be cheering, I’ll be chanting. And when Nani follows up a left-footed strike with a perfect 10 backflip, I’ll be applauding both. Because it’s fun. Because it’s entertainment. Because it’s football, bloody hell.

It ain’t church.

The Magpies even threatened to open the scoring themselves; Wayne Routledge took advantage of an exposed left flank following a rush by defender John O’Shea in the 8^th minute, but Manchester’s central defense held firm against the ensuing cross; Andrew Carroll, active throughout and unmarked on a corner kick in the 11^th minute, headed just wide a ball he should have put away.

While each side experienced their mutual frustrations, the tribulations of Wayne Rooney seemed entirely singular, as the formerly lauded wunderkind of English football tries to emerge from the hadal depths…

As the pressure built, however, Newcastle showed shades of a Championship side, with Nani continuously being the source of their troubles. In a span of four minutes (18^th; 22^nd) he was blatantly fouled twice, each infraction drawing a well deserved yellow; Joey Barton was booked a for a poor attempt at a tackle as Nani surged ahead with menace; James Perch brought him down from behind after Nani got around him while tracking down a bouncing goal kick close to the area.

Their composure seemingly set to completely unravel, Newcastle nearly gifted Dimitar Berbatov a ball in the box in the 27^th minute. The ensuing blind outlet went straight to a pouncing Paul Scholes who somehow managed not to blast it into the back of the net. Three minutes later, only the keeper’s outstretched hand kept Nani from connecting with Berbatov on the far post.

While each side experienced their mutual frustrations, the tribulations of Wayne Rooney seemed entirely singular, as the formerly lauded wunderkind of English football tries to emerge from the hadal depths to which he has descended. Only in maneuvering around defenders could he display a deftness of form, for his finishing was entirely lacking.

So it was with a bit of irony that Berbatov, usually of the masterful near miss, opened the scoring in the 33^rd.

He fired harmlessly wide twice in the opening 15 minutes, his ire compounded by back to back last gasp defending by Newcastle; Fabricio Coloccini denied a goal mouth shot following a feed from the right by Valencia; a sure breakaway was subsequently prevented just as he looked ready to rush forward. A misfire at the top of the box followed in the 20^th; in the 31^st Berbatov headed down a Valencia cross only for Rooney to fire wide into the seats. Again, he followed with a hard charging run that was killed off before it could bear any potential.

So it was with a bit of irony that Berbatov, usually of the masterful near miss, opened the scoring in the 33^rd. Following a Newcastle turnover as they tried to bring it out of their end, Scholes collected to lead Berbatov just off the right post, the keeper helpless as the Bulgarian passed it into the opposite corner with his left foot.

Joey Barton beat Nani down the right side in the 38^th, but his shot, like any others Newcastle would manage for the remainder, went directly to Van der Sar. Better chances would come, but the accuracy was never adjusted.

In the 42^nd, Nani, the most dynamic player on the field by far, with rushes down the wing and up the middle, threaded a ball into the area for a surging Patrice Evra, who lashed a pass across that found Darren Fletcher after Rooney was unable to contain. With Coloccini right on him, Fletcher turned and slotted home.

The second half opened with more brilliance from Nani; further showing why this will be his year, he burst through mid and into the box with amazing pace, only to be denied by a tandem of defenders.

Scholes, having just taken care of his yellow card obligations, thought he drew a penalty kick in the 53^rd, but he went down far too easily, following contact from Coloccini, for someone prone to dispensing harsh tackles. But the creativity sorely lacking from England’s midfield was on ample display. Another of his sublime flicks sent Berbatov ahead towards goal, the ball just going wide after being slotted under the keeper.

While he could be forgiven since he opened up the scoring, the missed opportunities again began to mount for Berbatov, with a ball sent across the goal mouth in the 68^th, a Giggs (on for Nani in the 72^nd) led feed towards goal in the 77^th, and an Evra led through pass that he couldn’t lift over the keeper all standing out, all glaring since the faithful knew the Wayne Rooney of old would have buried at least one, if not two of these chances.

But, as it was, Rooney’s crestfallen ineffectiveness- ironically, he slotted home in an off-sides situation prior to his exit- and Berba’s 2^nd half fruitless industry caused everyone to pin their hopes on Chicharito following his insertion in the 63^rd. On for Rooney, a blazing Chicharito was found by Nani for a rush that would have meant goal, but for being a hair afoul of the linesman.

The instincts and pace are definitely there for the Mexican international, however. It’s worth noting his run to the back post just as Giggs’ slotted home to the same corner upon being picked out by a perfectly placed right side cross by Scholes. Firing from the left top corner of the area, Giggs’ shot bounced off the pitch twice before finding the far side, while Chicharito was right there should the shot go awry.

A True Fan

The reaction is always the same – “of course you are” or “figures” or “aren’t all Yanks?”. It’s not easy being an American Red Devil. Well, some would argue it’s too easy.

Manchester United are arguably the world’s largest soccer team, and, inarguably the de facto European team for American fans. They have won eighteen domestic league titles and three European Cups. They have been home to marquee names such as Best, Charlton, Cantona, Giggs, Keane, and Beckham. They boast the world’s highest turnover and are the most valuable franchise in all of sports. So, I can’t blame you if you snicker. I won’t fault you if you sneer. I can’t say I wouldn’t hate me too. It would be difficult not to group me in the prawn sandwich brigade or label me plastic. After all, I am a frontrunner.

When I started following English football in the early 90s, there was one team to support- United. When my great-grandmother, a Londoner, sent me footy magazines as gifts, I eagerly lapped up stories of Giggs, Ince, Cantona, Cole. The pull-out posters plastered on my wall were all of United players. Of course, with U.S. television coverage of international club soccer being limited to Spanish language channels, live viewing of my heroes was next to impossible. I was limited to the three month-old recaps in my transcontinental footy rags. I’ll admit it, I went with the winners.

And despite my efforts to controvert the perceived plasticity (I’ve seen United play in the flesh, both on American soil and at the Theater of Dreams), I’ve been met with the same skepticism. Why oh why couldn’t I just support Reading (like my PSP colleague) or Plymouth or Torquay or Dag & Red or Cambridge United? I’d have so much street cred! Instead I get the smirks. I get the rolling eyes. I get the throat clears. Eh-hem, oh United, real original!

Well come March 25th, I’ll be plastic no more…

MLS First Kick 2010 is not merely the beginning of a new era of Philadelphia fandom or the start of the league’s 16th franchise. No, Philadelphia Union away to Seattle Sounders is the day I, and thousands like me, finally have a vested interest in a soccer team.

I was born in Philadelphia. I live in Philadelphia. I support Philadelphia Union. It has a nice ring to it.

Ok, so the naysayers will point out that this team plays in Chester and not Philadelphia. But the mere fact that I can get in my car and drive 15 miles to see the team I support play is enough for me. Prior to March 25th, it’s a grand and an 8 hour flight.

Simon Kuper, in his superb Soccernomics, explains that most soccer fans are polygamists. In other words, they support more than one club. In fact, as he points out, some are serial supporters- going from one club to the next. In Europe and South America, the motto is, “you can change your wife, but you can’t change your club”. In the U.S., Asia, Africa, and elsewhere, it’s easier said than done. Kuper categorizes fans into two groups:  Hornby-types (for Nick Hornby, acclaimed author and die-hard Arsenal fan) and casual-types (the kind that support clubs based on winning percentages or club colors). Switching allegiance to a Hornby-type is out of the question. Girlfriends come and go. Jobs are started and ended. But a club is for life.

Regardless of me supporting Manchester United for nearly 20 years, can I claim authenticity? The famous Catalan motto of F.C. Barcelona is “mes que un club” or “more than a club” is the best way to sum up the phenomenon of the football supporter. A club isn’t about the home kit or the number of trophies in a case. A club is about identity. Who you support defines who you are. Your team is a reflection of your cultural, and oftentimes, socioeconomic make-up (see under Southend United Shrimpers).

At the risk of being misogynistic, it’s hard not to use the husband-wife metaphor here. I wouldn’t dare cheat on my wife. Sure, Arsenal always keep it on the carpet, and Barca play the prettiest stuff out there but switching allegiances never once crossed my mind. Until now. Come March 25th, I’m getting remarried. And it feels great. It feels like home.

Pictured: All the starting Right Midfielders

The traditional footy formation is a 4-4-2: Four fullbacks, four midfielders, and two prima donnas strikers (the goalie excluded because, barring schizophrenia, he will always be a 1). The more counterattacking-inclined team may use a 4-3-3 while a possession-based squad often takes the pitch in a 4-5-1. There are endless variations of these three formations, from the 4-2-3-1 “popularized” by Rafa Benitez to the 4-4-1-1 Fabio Capello prefers to better utilize his human conveyor belts: Crouch and Heskey (flicks it on… flicks it on… flicks it on…)

On Sunday, Arsenal’s Arsene Wenger sent out a formation the likes of which is rarely seen: Four defenders behind a beehive of six small, fast and skilled midfielders. Now, one might argue that Andrei Arshavin is a striker. But one would be wrong. While Arshavin prefers to receive the ball higher than most middies, he is no front-liner. It’s his ability to carry the ball and cause trouble from the wings that makes him most dangerous.

What makes Wenger’s starting lineup even odder is that it was a home game lineup. No strikers at home? Against a team that is likely to score some goals? Was this some Da Vinci codesque method of showing support for the under-fire master of wacky lineups Rafa Benitez?

The facts: 1) Arsenal has major injury issues at striker. After a blazing start to the year, Robin van Persie has been injured for over a month (surprise) and Croatian Olympic diver frontman Eduardo has joined him on the injury list. Niklas Bendtner has only just returned after a long spell on IR, and no other Arsenal striker is old enough to drink alcohol in the United States. Thus, Arsenal shows a six-man midfield to what must have been a delighted Manchester United. 2) Arsenal is one of the few English clubs turning a profit these days. When your entire starting lineup and bench combined feature one striker, it’s time to open up the pocketbook. The current Arsenal team is spectacularly good, and still has a shot at this year’s title. But without a presence at the top, they will find disciplined defenses very difficult to break down. While there were not a glut of big strikers available in January, there were decent options. At the very least, Luca Toni is big and will keep roaming center backs honest. Steve Bruce may have turned red every time it came up, but Kenwyne Jones was on the market as well.

Wenger has earned his reputation as a fantastic judge of talent, but he has also earned his reputation as a manager that trusts his players to a fault. Arsenal’s youthful squads have struggled to last the grueling EPL season in recent years, and Manuel Almunia has had one hot streak with a mixed bag of great saves, weird hair, and disastrous decisions since being installed as the Arsenal number one (also, no Premier League goalie is worse with the ball than Manny).

How should a manager handle this situation? Many players are specialists nowadays, superior in one role but mediocre-to-subpar elsewhere on the pitch. Did Wenger do the right thing by sticking with his depleted squad, or should he have invested in a patch-my-holes striker who could come in and give a few good shifts while the injuries heal?

The Glazers new unorthodox tactical system for Manchester United

Last Monday the Glazer family, owners of the club and proud Americans, announced a plan to float a bond for £500m to address the club’s rising level of debt, although financial experts in London warned that the Glazers’ plan could be “hampered by a glut of similar high-yield bond offerings.”

Along with that announcement came a lot of very distressing details.

First came the news that without the sale of Cristiano Ronaldo the club would have been in the red. Thanks to that record breaking deal of £81m, the club was able to report a pre-tax profit of £48.2m (£26m after tax) instead of a loss of £31.8m.

Then came the news that the six members of the Glazer family who sit on the club’s board have loaned themselves £10m, this in addition to paying themselves a further £10m in “management and administration fees.”

The numbness is in the details

Things went from bad to worse last Tuesday when reports emerged that the Glazers were considering transferring ownership of United’s training complex to a holding company they control and then leasing it back to the club.

Today it was reported that the Glazers could take £127m out of the club next year alone if enough investors sign up for the bond issue. The £127m figure includes £70m from the club’s cash reserves (which includes money received from the sale of players), £25m as a dividend to themselves from the club’s cash profits, £6m for “administration and management services,” and £3m “‘in respect of services provided by directors, officers or employees’ of companies the Glazers use to hold their shares in United.”

These payments, combined with the estimated £45m that will be paid out as interest on the £500m bond issue, mean that, next year alone, some £172m will be taken out of the club to service money the Glazers borrowed to buy the club in 2005. Since then the club has paid out £124m in interest payments on the Glazers debt.

At a meeting over the weekend of the Manchester United Supporter’s Trust, which had opposed the Glazers’ takeover of the club in 2005, founding member Johnny Flacks proposed that a letter should be written to Sir Alex Ferguson asking him to resign in protest of the Glazers’ handling of the club. Said Flacks, Ferguson “claims to be a socialist, a former shop steward and a man of the people, so he must be horrified by what is going on,” though he acknowledged that asking Ferguson to resign “would work only if thousands of people sent a copy of this letter to Ferguson letting him know that our fear, if the Glazers stay in control, is that his legacy is going to be destroyed.”

On Monday, the Supporters Trust distanced themselves from Flacks’ idea: “We believe Johnny Flacks and indeed every Manchester United supporter is absolutely entitled to express their views but it is important to distinguish individual views from those of organizations or those present at a meeting.”

A protest march is nevertheless still scheduled for before Manchester United’s Champions League match against AC Milan in February. The idea of the march is that ticket holders will arrive to the match ten minutes into the first half. It is hoped that a great expanse of empty seats will be on view for the television cameras before the kickoff.

Ferguson has said that he does not have”any concerns about the financial situation.” Said Ferguson shortly after the announcement of the bond issue, “I have absolutely no issue at all with the club’s finances and I am really confident about that.” He has said that the club’s debt level had no effect on his refusal to enter the transfer market during the January transfer window, adding “I have all the money I need; the money is available. If I wanted to buy someone, I could get the money.” Ferguson has thus far been silent on the current concerns of the Supporter’s Trust.

He has made his views known about FC United of Manchester, the protest club formed by Manchester United supporters who were disgusted with the Glazers’ takeover of the most successful club in the short history of the Premiership. Ferguson, in the words of the Guardian, “dismissed” the club, nicknamed the “The Red Rebels” and currently playing in the Northern Premier League Premier Division, the seventh tier of the football pyramid in England, as “self-publicists.” Such a view begs this question: are Flacks and his supporters self-deluded in thinking Ferguson will support their cause?

Manchester United captain Gary Neville has made it clear that he wants nothing to do with the planned protest. “”We’re always very well protected and we never get involved in the financial side of things . . . As players we never get involved in those things; our job is purely on the pitch and we allow people who are paid to do jobs in other areas of the club to do their job. It’s nothing to do with us at all.”

Nick Towle represents the interests of those that all of this has everything to do with as chair of the Manchester United Supporters’ Trust. Towle said that, instead of “United’s success and profits” being used to keep ticket prices down and investment in the team up, “immense amounts of money [are] being leaked out of United to pay banks, lawyers, the Glazers themselves and interest, to pay for a takeover none of the supporters, or the United board itself, wanted.” Unless one of his members is a philanthropic gazillionaire, there seems to be little the Supporter’s Trust can do to actually affect any real change in the troubles with United.

For particulars on the details of the £500m bond offering and further alarming insight into Manchester United’s financial health, see this analysis by Neil Hume of the Financial Times.