The Clumsy Interloper

It’s been almost 3 years since I left my post as maintenance manager at CBS Rentals, an off-Grounds housing provider catering primarily to UVa students. I felt a responsibility as a manager to engage my maintenance team with things that promoted camaraderie and commonality. I set up a fantasy football league, ran a weekly NFL picks pool, shared Superbowl boxes and, of course, oversaw the NCAA tournament brackets.  During lunch breaks the guys would gather to discuss past and upcoming UFC fights, Virginia basketball and college football. Daily morning meetings ended with a “Caps Corner” where we got a breakdown of recent NHL happenings. I was the instigator of many sports debates and good-natured ribbing of team allegiances. I fostered a culture of low-stakes sports gambling to coalesce a multigenerational, disparate maintenance team and it worked. Morale was always high on Monday mornings as we recounted the notable moments from the weekend. However, there was something missing for me. As the lone “proper football” fan in the room, my passion was muted as there was no audience to discuss the majesty of Mo Salah, VAR controversies or financial fair play allegations.

After I watched Landon Donovan’s iconic goal against Algeria in the 2010 World Cup at a nearby bar packed with delirious students, I returned to the office beaming and giddy. I was met with a blank stare from our then HVAC guy who simply said derisively, “What are you talking about? Soccer?”.

When Liverpool improbably defeated Barcelona 4-0 on that most famous of European nights in 2019 I paced my office in solitude, deferring calls and furtively sipping from beers stashed under my desk. My guys look askance at me while they punched out that day – “Poor Scouser Tommy” blaring in the break room, their boss no longer concealing a 3-beer buzz with tears of joy streaming down his face.

Being a soccer fan in America can be a lonely venture at times, but when you find your people it envelops you like a warm hug.

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I was driving my daughters home from camp last week and I had my playlist on shuffle. The song “Virgil Van Dijk” (my favorite player) came on and their Dad predictably started belting out chorus:

He’s our center-half, he’s our number 4
Watch him defend, and we watch him score
He’ll pass the ball, calm as you like
He’s Virgil Van Dijk
He’s Virgil Van Dijk

After a few rounds my oldest asked, “Dad, when does soccer season start?” I perked up immediately and lowered the volume, “Next week, honey. Liverpool is playing early Saturday morning against a newly promoted team. Should be fun.” A pause, information processing in the back seat.

The youngest then offered, “Daddy, can you play my lullaby song?” to which I replied, “Of course honey”. After an assist from Alexa, the opening bars of “The Fields of Anfield Road” began. Both girls smiled and looked out their respective windows while they sang along with the familiar tune – one that had been sung hundreds of times to each of them before their first birthdays (a.k.a. their lullaby song). No words were spoken, just three gentle renditions cascading over each other as we moved through Charlottesville traffic. As I peeked in my rear-view mirror savoring this moment it dawned on me – “If you can’t find your people, sometimes you must create them.”

Happy EPL Opening Weekend. You’ll Never Walk Alone.