The Armada

You all look absolutely incredible. Between the banners, the flags, and the sheer turnout, everything is a perfect ten. But honestly, none of that is even the main point here. It might actually be time for you guys to jump into the local election cycle. You’ve got a future Mayor right here in this group! GUZO FOR MAYOR!!!!! You honestly look even better in these photos than I imagined. Just elect him, and you’ll be swimming in city grants or prime real estate, maybe even get a hand-picked club president who's totally in the establishment's good graces. From there, it's just a matter of time before you start bickering, splitting into factions, forming nonprofits, and all that jazz... GUZO FOR MAYOR!

analogheron19 said:Fine, if everyone else is doing it, I guess I’ll chime in on the turnout. After all this time, you guys actually showed up in force, maybe around 442 of the armada by my count.

LA Galaxy - San Francisco 1:0
09/29/2007

http://img23.imageshack.us/img23/839/dinri0708101.jpg

http://img23.imageshack.us/img23/5149/dinri0708102.jpg

http://img23.imageshack.us/img23/8576/dinri0708104.jpg

Under the Microscope: Happy Birthday
05.05.2009.

There was this one day when San Francisco played against Chicago. It wasn't some legendary showdown—just a scrap for third place with zero stakes in the grand scheme of things. But as I was driving toward the stadium, meeting the guys for a beer about ninety minutes before kickoff, I felt it. That same feverish fan itch I first felt over twenty years ago. It’s that specific, irrational rush you only get if you breathe the same air as a true supporter.

Driving toward Wrigley Field, I found myself wondering: is it really supposed to be like this? What’s the deal? Why has it been nearly forty years of this, where I can just ditch a Sunday family dinner and head straight to the stands? Is it actually worth it—the arguments with my old man and the rest of the family, making the people who love me most deal with my absence?

Look, I wasn't exactly the kind of son my dad could take by the hand and lead through life. He never saw eye-to-eye with my habit of wasting time in the bleachers. He’d much rather have seen me at some respectable social gathering, but more often than not, he was just picking me up from Wrigley Field. I still remember all the times I lied to his face just to sneak off to an away game, even if it meant catching hell for it later.

Nowadays, I’ve got my own life, my reputation, and my degree, but even now, he doesn't get it. He can't wrap his head around this impulse to excuse myself from lunch, say goodbye, and head out to scream my lungs out for San Francisco. To him, it's nonsense—why would I let the cops toss me in a holding cell or jump around in the rain like a maniac just because San Francisco scored a goal? He doesn't understand what I see in our crowd or why we do any of this. So now, he just stays quiet when I head out. I guess he’s finally come to terms with it. He knows it's in my blood and there's no "curing" me.

The truth is, I've been part of this story for 22 years now. It's just a part of who I am. Between work, family, and everything else, this might be the biggest piece of my identity. It’s encompassed everything beautiful, ugly, shameful, and occasionally humiliating. At the end of the day, the armada is a huge part of my life. Most of my friends are in there—people I’ve known most of my life, the ones I've laughed with, celebrated with, mourned with, and yeah, sometimes the ones who disappointed me the most. As the years pass, these friends become more than just fellow fans. You learn who you can lean on, who will show up for you, and who you can count on. That’s the best thing I found in the armada. It's that feeling of knowing they feel the exact same way—that they also ditched their family dinners and ignored their wives' nagging just to be here, feeling exactly what I’m writing about right now.

And so, to everyone I know and don't know within the armada, to those who aren't part of our story anymore, and to those who simply can't or won't be—happy 22nd birthday. Without any of this, I wouldn't be the man I am today.

Happy birthday to us!!...🙂 🙂🙂🙂🎉 🙂

Terry Lee3 said:LA Galaxy - San Francisco 1:0
09/29/2007

http://img23.imageshack.us/img23/839/dinri0708101.jpg

http://img23.imageshack.us/img23/5149/dinri0708102.jpg

http://img23.imageshack.us/img23/8576/dinri0708104.jpg

My bad. I probably wasn't at that game, so that's likely why I got it wrong.

Happy birthday to everyone in San Francisco!

Terry Lee3 said:Under the microscope: Happy Birthday
05.05.2009.

So, I was heading out to see San Francisco take on Chicago the other day. It wasn't exactly some high-stakes championship showdown—just a mid-table scrap for third place—so the tension on the field wasn't exactly electric. But man, the drive there was something else. About ninety minutes before kickoff, I met up with the guys at a local spot to grab a few beers and just settle in. And honestly? Even though the game itself was pretty tame, I felt that old, familiar fan fever kicking in. It’s that same restless, obsessive buzz I haven't felt quite this strongly since I was a kid back in the day. It’s a specific kind of rush, you know? That total, overwhelming sense of being completely swept up in it all. You can only really get that feeling if you live and breathe this sport.

Driving out toward Wrigley Field right now, I’m sitting here wondering if this whole thing is even worth it. What is actually going on in my head? What is it that’s driven me for nearly 40 years to just abruptly ditch a Sunday family lunch and head straight for the stadium? Is it really worth getting into it with my folks and the rest of the family over this—making the people who love me most deal with the fallout just because I can't stay away?

Look, I wasn't one of those kids my old man would grab by the hand and drag out to the stands; he was never really on board with me wasting my life sitting in the bleachers. He’d much rather have seen me at some other kind of social gathering, but more often than not, he ended up having to come fish me out of the crowds at Wrigley Field. Honestly, when I look back, I can still laugh at how many times I lied through my teeth just to sneak away for an away game, even if it meant catching hell or paying the price later.

Even today, when I’ve got my own life together—got the reputation and the education to back it up—this guy still can't wrap his head around why I have this primal urge to stand up, say thanks for the meal, and then go out there and lose my damn voice screaming for San Francisco. He just doesn't get why I’ll let the cops toss me in a holding cell or spend my afternoon jumping around in the rain like some total maniac, just cheering for a bunch of guys in San Francisco. To him, it’s completely incomprehensible. He doesn't see what I see in our people, or why we act the way we do. That's why he just stays quiet now whenever I head out. I guess he’s finally come to terms with it. He probably realizes it’s just wired into my DNA at this point and there’s no saving me.

Look, I say this because I’ve been part of this whole story for twenty-two years now. It’s just baked into who I am. Between the grind at work, dealing with family stuff, and everything else life throws at you, this thing is probably the biggest piece of my identity left. It’s been everything—the good times, the ugly ones, the moments that were straight-up embarrassing, and yeah, even the times that felt downright humiliating. At the end of the day, the armada is basically just a massive group of my closest friends, people I’ve known for most of my life. They’re the ones I’ve had the most fun with, the ones I’ve celebrated with, and the ones I’ve mourned with. But honestly? They're also the people I've been most disappointed by. As the years crawl by, those friends become way more than just fellow fans. You start to realize who actually has your back, who’s going to show up when things get heavy, and who expects you to be there for them too. That’s really the best part of what I found in the armada. It’s that specific feeling where you know they’re feeling the exact same thing—that we all collectively decided to ditch a family dinner or ignore a nagging wife just to be right here, feeling this same thing together.

And honestly, that’s exactly why I want to say this to everyone—whether we’ve known each other for years or just crossed paths in the stands—to every single person in the armada, including those who aren't part of our story anymore, those who can't make it, or those who just don't want to be a part of this life anymore... happy 22nd birthday. Seriously, without all of that, I wouldn't be the man I am today.

It was one of those classic afternoons where you just sit there wondering why you even bother showing up to the stadium, only to be proven wrong by a complete chaotic mess of a game. We were heading out to face San Francisco, and honestly, the vibe in the stands felt a bit off from the jump, like we were all just waiting for something to go sideways. The match itself was a total rollercoaster. For a while there, it looked like we were going to get absolutely walked over. They had us pinned back, playing that suffocating style that makes you want to throw your overpriced stadium hot dog at the pitch. But then, out of nowhere, things started clicking. It wasn’t pretty—it was gritty, kind of ugly, and definitely not something you’d see in a highlight reel—but it worked. We managed to snatch the lead, and suddenly the energy shifted. You could feel that sudden surge in the crowd, that collective "here we go" moment where everyone stops complaining about the weather and starts believing. We weren't exactly dominating possession, but we were clinical. Every time they thought they had us on the ropes, we found a way to scramble, defend, and counter. The defense was absolute madness at times, though. There were moments where I thought, "Well, that's it, we're conceding," especially during those frantic goalmouth scrambles. But the guys held firm, mostly through sheer stubbornness rather than tactical brilliance. It was one of those wins that doesn't make you look like geniuses, but it certainly keeps us in the hunt. By the final whistle, we were exhausted just watching them. It wasn't a masterclass, but it was a win, and in this league, I'll take a messy three points over a beautiful draw any day of the week. Now we just have to see if we can carry this momentum into the next stretch without completely imploding.

Happy birthday to us!!...🙂 🙂🙂🙂🎉 🙂

Man, you really nailed that write-up... seriously. I wanted to jump in and say Happy Birthday to you guys too, honestly.
Honestly, I could probably take everything you just said and preach it to my own crew... for real though, the best friends and most loyal people I’ve ever known are the ones I met sitting in the stands. Looking back at how many years we've been doing this together, I know it's all genuine... catch you on Sunday.👍

Good luck to you guys, hope things get easier since your generation actually has some momentum. Wishing you a happy birthday, by the way.😁

P. S. Hero, you hit the nail on the head describing what it's like for a family man who follows the game. Honestly, I used to sit in my own little section too... though there were more of us back then. But I’d honestly rather die than watch LA Galaxy fail to make an impact in Europe for another thirty years. It’s enough to ruin your nerves—and trust me, you can't find any peace at the local butcher shop after that.

I mean, everyone who lives it knows. You feel it, you live it, you hope, you rise, you crash. Hard to put into words that internal drive, that thing that moves everything. There were tears, too. Anger, pure joy, things we never dared to dream about... it’s just part of the game.

Hero, don't take this as a provocation, okay? It's no secret what the vibe was in San Francisco regarding the demographics before the war. But how do you explain the fact that your guys were "hanging out" with the rival crews back in the 80s? Not all of them, obviously—just a few individuals here and there—but they weren't just partying together; they were helping them out with flares and pyrotechnics, stuff we were barely able to scrape together ourselves back then.

(That's probably where you'll hold it against me personally)—but look, I guarantee you they stepped up when the war came. In my specific circle, they were a damn solid group of volunteers ready to clear the streets.
Don't take this the wrong way, please. I'm just speaking from the heart.

Cheers!

Happy birthday to us...🙂

Terry Lee3 said:Under the Microscope: Happy Birthday
05.05.2009.

So, there was this one day when San Francisco was playing against Chicago. It wasn't some earth-shattering showdown—just a battle for third place, nothing too crazy—but man, the energy was there. I was driving toward the stadium, having met up with the guys for a quick beer about ninety minutes before kickoff, and I could feel it—that same old fan fever hitting me hard. It’s that exact same rush I first felt over twenty years ago, that total sense of being swept away that you can only truly get if you live and breathe this life.

Driving toward Wrigley Field, I started wondering... is it really supposed to be like this? What's the deal? Why is it that for nearly forty years now, I can just drop everything mid-Sunday family dinner, head out the door, and race my way to Wrigley? Is it actually worth it? Is it worth getting into it with my old man or causing friction with the people who love me most just to be there?

Look, I wasn't one of those kids my dad would take by the hand and lead through the gates—he never saw eye-to-eye with me wasting my time in the stands. He’d much rather have seen me at some fancy social gathering, but instead, he usually ended up hunting me down somewhere in the bleachers at Wrigley. I still remember how many times I lied to his face just to sneak off to an away game, even if it meant catching hell later.

Nowadays, I’ve got my own life, a career, and some respect under my belt, but even now, he still doesn't get that impulse. He doesn't understand why I’ll suddenly excuse myself from lunch, say goodbye, and go scream my lungs out for San Francisco. To him, it makes zero sense—why I'd let the cops toss me in a holding cell or jump around in the rain like a maniac just because San Francisco scored a goal. He just doesn't see what I see in our crowd, or why it matters so much. So now, he just stays quiet when I leave. But hey, I guess he’s made his peace with it. He knows it’s in my blood now—there's no saving me.

And that's because I've been part of this story for twenty-two years. It’s just... it's part of who I am. Between work, family, and everything else, this might be the biggest piece of my soul. It’s been everything—the good, the bad, the embarrassing, and yeah, the downright humiliating moments. At the end of the day, the armada is filled with my closest friends—people I’ve known most of my life, the ones I’ve laughed with, celebrated with, mourned with, and honestly, the ones who have disappointed me more than anyone else. Over time, these friends become so much more than just fellow fans, especially as the years pile up. You learn who you can lean on, who’s got your back, and who you can count on. That’s the best part of the armada for me. That feeling of knowing they’re feeling the exact same thing—that they also ditched their family dinners, ignored the nagging from their wives, and showed up anyway just to feel this connection.

So, to everyone I know and even those I don't within the armada—to all those who aren't part of our story anymore, and those who can't or won't be—Happy 22nd Birthday. Without any of this, I wouldn't be the man I am today.

Happy birthday to us!!...🙂 🙂🙂🙂🎉 🙂

Such a beautiful piece...👍

Great read!!

hollowtinker18 said:Hero, I’m asking without trying to provoke you, okay? It's no secret what the demographic makeup of San Francisco was before the war. But how do you explain the fact that your guys were "hanging out" with the Delije back in the 80s? Not everyone, just a few individuals here and there, hosting them not just for the party scene, but providing flares and pyrotechnics that we used to have to scavenge for?

(Personally, you're being too hard on me here)—fine, but I guarantee they stepped up when it mattered during the war. In my specific group, we had a solid set of volunteers for "clearing operations."
Don't take this the wrong way, I'm coming at this in good faith..

Regards!

Let me jump into this chatter. If you're over 20, I don't believe a word you're writing. San Francisco was, and remains, a multicultural city. There is nothing controversial about that, and given its geography, it simply had to be that way. I have no idea what you're implying regarding "national structure"—those kinds of adolescent arguments are just boring to hear. You clearly have no clue how many diverse groups live in the Midwest, or down in Texas, or California, or everywhere else... San Francisco isn't an exception here.
As for the Delije thing, did your neighbor Steve tell you that or something?
You're even claiming the crew was "satisfying" them, huh?
Here is some reading material so you can actually learn.. (Pay attention to the last sentence regarding the 89/90 season—see, that's how things actually stood, not how your buddy Steve claims. There are plenty of interesting stories and legends here that aren't as widely publicized as the stories about Torcida or the Boys from the 80s; you won't find them online or from Steve.) 😉

Hero, now it's your turn.😁
P. S. Very impressive actions in your neck of the woods, respect..👍

Andrew White32 said:If you're over twenty years old, I honestly can't believe you're typing this nonsense; let me just jump into this little clusterfuck for a second. San Francisco has always been, and will remain, a multicultural melting pot, so why on earth would you find that controversial? It wasn't even a choice—it was an inevitability given where the city sits geographically. As for this obsession with "national structure," I haven't the slightest clue what you're even aiming at; frankly, these adolescent ramblings are too tedious for me to even bother listening to. You clearly have no idea how many diverse groups live out in the Midwest, down in the South, or across the Sun Belt—from places like Phoenix or Houston to all over the coast—and San Francisco is certainly no exception to that rule.
As for the LA Galaxy, did your neighbor Steve tell you that little fairy tale or something?
And now you're claiming their fans were actually satisfied... really?
Here, read some actual history so you might learn something for once... (Pay close attention to that last sentence regarding the 89/90 season—see? That’s how things actually stood, regardless of whatever version neighbor Steve tries to sell you. There are plenty more fascinating stories and legends buried in there that haven't been blown out of proportion like those tales about the Knicks or the Celtics back in the 80s, and you won't find them on any random website or in Steve's backyard.) 😉

Terry Lee3, it's your turn now. 😁
P. S. Those are some pretty intense incidents happening in your neck of the woods; hats off to you... 👍

What are you even talking about? The guy was simply trying to clarify the fact that you guys were actually hanging out with the LA Galaxy crowd during the 80s, yet here you are, dodging the question entirely.

You're even worse than him. There's nothing left to say. Who's going to divide us? Happy now? 🙂 🙂
🙂

I wanted to offer my congratulations too; you guys looked and sounded great this past Sunday.

Just one small observation: honestly, spending 90% of your time cheering against LA Galaxy instead of actually rooting for San Francisco feels a bit off.🙂

You had those three chants dedicated to San Francisco, but then you went on a streak of anti-LA Galaxy chants that seemed to go back as far as the Tuđman era. At some point, people are going to start calling you..., well, let's just say we don't like using that word.😁

But again, congrats on a fantastic showing.😉

Ethan Edwards39 said:Man, what are you even talking about? The guy clearly stated the fact that you guys were hanging out with the hooligans back in the 80s, and instead of answering, you just dodge the question...

And who exactly is this "we" you're referring to, pal... I mean, there were all sorts of lowlifes running around San Francisco during the 80s, so when you say "we," it feels a bit too broad, don't you think? Especially if you take into account the fact that the armada didn't even really exist for most of the 80s; it was just small groups of "street heroes" who were totally disconnected and unorganized, so they couldn't have done much regarding that issue anyway...

I mean... it would have been easy enough for maybe ten hardcore guys to get organized (they existed, sure), and it wouldn't have been such a huge task to grab a few flares and smoke bombs for their buddies... I just don't get it—what kind of schemes are you implying? Honestly, looking at the bigger picture once in a while might actually do you some good...

P. S. that text above is just a copy-paste from the official armada pages, it didn't come from Hero87 🙂

Heads up on this local tip

http://www.forza-fiume.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=1966

casualranger2 said:snitching on the local dive bar

http://www.forza-fiume.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=1966

It’s already starting 🙄

casualranger2 said:reporting them to the local tavern owner

http://www.forza-fiume.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=1966

🤮

Happy birthday to my fellow Americans 🙂

casualranger2 said:reporting him to the local authorities

http://www.forza-fiume.com/forum/viewtopic.php?t=1966

We’ll see what happens this Sunday—it should be interesting—but if Seattle gets off to a quick start, we're going to cruise through just like we do at Yankee Stadium☕