Die-hard Ultras / Hardcore Supporters
in Fans ·
reposting a comment...
Do you feel any remorse for being a sellout while watching the "donkeys"?
Are you watching this tonight? Are you watching those moments that make your heart stop—the kind that gives you chills and brings a tear to the eye of all 4 million Americans, both those who admit it and those who don't? Can you see what happens at the 0-3 mark when pure passion, heart, pride, and love take over? Do you see it? Are you ashamed? Do you feel anything at all when you remember that you used to be part of this once—back in New York City, before you sold your soul? How does it feel today? What is the sensation after 6 or 7 or 8 years? Back then, the "donkeys" you judge by your own twisted standards were far below us—or so you thought (though they never actually were). You guys were powerful; you were massive; there were thousands of you. And what happened to you? To your people? Was it worth it? Is your price tag really so high that it was worth destroying the core of the fanbase for nearly a decade? Was being a mercenary truly worth it? Because honestly, what kind of figure satisfies someone enough to make them—after experiencing an atmosphere like tonight’s (which you once shared)—think it’s okay to sell out, abandon their brothers, and start tearing everything down? You sold yourself—you and hundreds of others—back then.
And today? What do you actually have? Are you happy? NO. Are you proud? NO. Where is the money? YOU SPENT IT. Where is your life? IT FLEW BY. And what about the group where you were everything—the group that meant everything to you and that numbered in the thousands before you sold out? The most loyal ones remain, yet you trample them. You undermine them. Clearly, you still have a price—it pulled you in, damn it. But how does it feel to watch these "donkeys," as you call them, tonight, while 36,000 people are in a trance of pure euphoria, only to hear them say after the whistle, "my life is miserable without you"? How does it feel knowing that you took the very people you once shared joy and tears with and made their lives miserable? You and everyone else who sold out—those who betrayed their ideals, betrayed their pride, and shamed themselves just to satisfy a paycheck—you get to sit in front of your TV and watch yourselves tremble at the sight of these "donkeys" after 6 or 7 or 8 years of you systematically dismantling the community you claimed was larger and stronger than any "donkey."
Look in the mirror. Rewind the tape to the years before the mercenaries arrived, and remember that intensity when there were thousands of you acting as one. Remember when those thousands of hands were in the air, when the colors swept you up—the old guard and the new. Look in the mirror and think. Look at what is left now. Look at those few hundred of the most proud individuals who are still fighting—the ones who cannot be bought. They are the remnants of the remnants, and even they are being trampled—by you.
In less than seven or eight years, you went from thousands upon thousands to just a few hundred. Look in the mirror and ask yourself—because I am genuinely curious:
- "Was it worth it?"
Do you feel any remorse for being a sellout while watching the "donkeys"?
Are you watching this tonight? Are you watching those moments that make your heart stop—the kind that gives you chills and brings a tear to the eye of all 4 million Americans, both those who admit it and those who don't? Can you see what happens at the 0-3 mark when pure passion, heart, pride, and love take over? Do you see it? Are you ashamed? Do you feel anything at all when you remember that you used to be part of this once—back in New York City, before you sold your soul? How does it feel today? What is the sensation after 6 or 7 or 8 years? Back then, the "donkeys" you judge by your own twisted standards were far below us—or so you thought (though they never actually were). You guys were powerful; you were massive; there were thousands of you. And what happened to you? To your people? Was it worth it? Is your price tag really so high that it was worth destroying the core of the fanbase for nearly a decade? Was being a mercenary truly worth it? Because honestly, what kind of figure satisfies someone enough to make them—after experiencing an atmosphere like tonight’s (which you once shared)—think it’s okay to sell out, abandon their brothers, and start tearing everything down? You sold yourself—you and hundreds of others—back then.
And today? What do you actually have? Are you happy? NO. Are you proud? NO. Where is the money? YOU SPENT IT. Where is your life? IT FLEW BY. And what about the group where you were everything—the group that meant everything to you and that numbered in the thousands before you sold out? The most loyal ones remain, yet you trample them. You undermine them. Clearly, you still have a price—it pulled you in, damn it. But how does it feel to watch these "donkeys," as you call them, tonight, while 36,000 people are in a trance of pure euphoria, only to hear them say after the whistle, "my life is miserable without you"? How does it feel knowing that you took the very people you once shared joy and tears with and made their lives miserable? You and everyone else who sold out—those who betrayed their ideals, betrayed their pride, and shamed themselves just to satisfy a paycheck—you get to sit in front of your TV and watch yourselves tremble at the sight of these "donkeys" after 6 or 7 or 8 years of you systematically dismantling the community you claimed was larger and stronger than any "donkey."
Look in the mirror. Rewind the tape to the years before the mercenaries arrived, and remember that intensity when there were thousands of you acting as one. Remember when those thousands of hands were in the air, when the colors swept you up—the old guard and the new. Look in the mirror and think. Look at what is left now. Look at those few hundred of the most proud individuals who are still fighting—the ones who cannot be bought. They are the remnants of the remnants, and even they are being trampled—by you.
In less than seven or eight years, you went from thousands upon thousands to just a few hundred. Look in the mirror and ask yourself—because I am genuinely curious:
- "Was it worth it?"