thug means never having to say you're sorry.

I am trying to think of when it happened. When I got “unmad.” I think it was the cup. The final whistle. Looking at Jeff and seeing his eyes well up. Feeling arms I didn’t know squeeze me so tight I wondered if I would ever be able to breathe again. I remember thinking that if we went to penalties that there was no way I could stand there, but there was no way I was leaving early. I remember walking into the hotel bar and hugging Rodney Wallace’s mom and dad. I remember Joey, and Ben Zemanski spilling beer on fans while he poured it in our mouths straight from the cup. I remember holding Diego’s apple. I remember the three hour drive back to Detroit to catch my flight. I remember running through the airport to the Made in Oregon Store to get my Champions shirt and practically sobbing as I was finally holding a shirt two sizes too big. I remember the parade, and watching the rally on the webpage from my bed because I was so exhausted from three non stop days traveling to Columbus and back.

I do not remember when I decided I wasn’t mad anymore.

Maybe it happened in the tailgate. So many people. We were walking around trying to hide the fact we were smoking joints from the Columbus police. You remember. We talked about shoes and our superstitions, all that food. We got held up at security. It took forever to get the drums through security, because there was a terrorist attack the week before. We got all the banners hung up with a few minutes left. We didn’t think they’d all fit, remember?

Or maybe it was the whistle. Holy shit, we made it. Where are we? Wait, Ohio? Wow. 27 seconds in. I saw that ball today. I asked Sheba if I could touch it and she said no. I got to scoot it across the cabinet by the tape and breathe on it. She let me breathe on it. So I did. Maybe it was that Nagbe/out of bounds thing? Darlington spent the season being chopped down and ignored and the refs mistake finally benefitted him. The Rodney header. Maybe it was celebrating that second goal. We never saw them throwing beers because we were being pelted from the MVP section below us with the BBQs. Maybe it was that final whistle. I remember watching this photographer set up in front of me and I heard his lens start snapping, but it didn’t matter, we were so close. 

I do remember praying to St. Diego.

I took that scarf off and wrapped it around his neck. I hope he still has it.

I remember wading the tifo up into a ball and hiking down the stairs with it. If we were leaving it there, I was getting that Cup Bound and Down cut out of the truck. I still have it. 

Maybe it happened when we found out we were going. The scramble to find tickets, hotels, caravans from far away cities. Getting Into Cars With Strangers™. It was people I didn’t know offering to help me get there. At some point I just lost being angry. At some point I eventually looked around and realized that what I had been given, literally You People, was too good to be angry for so damn long. 

I have something kind of crazy to finish this with. BOG said something once that has stuck with me ever since. “Be the chant you want to see in the North End” and it sounds real silly, but it just made sense to me.. I signed up for everything. I come out to everything.