Die-hard Ultras / Hardcore Supporters

wanderingcobra18 said:It’s always the same story. We claim things are too hard, like we couldn't pull it off back home, then we just go out and get wasted every single weekend. It's not about one specific guy being irresponsible, it's on all of us. We have an incredible legacy, but we won't even try because we're too scared to step up...

Who gives a damn? 🤣
We push it constantly, but let's be real—we're all just following that one guy out of ten who actually knows the whole playbook by heart.

I'll put a hundred bucks on the fact that you don't know the full strategy. You've got 20 minutes to study up if you want to win. 😁
I don't know it either, but we still hype it up more than anyone else. 😍
It's tough, man. But it's the best. 🙏

I suppose I could drink him under the table without much trouble; I've certainly never failed at it before.😁

However, none of that really matters if we don't actually try out the chants and push them during the games on the stands... I am somewhat convinced that after just a few matches, they might sound quite good and people would eventually embrace them.🙂

Anything is possible if you actually have the will to do it. The problem is...

What happens when the weight of everything falls on just two guys standing by the stairs to push it through? Now they’re expected to teach people how to read music, find the rhythm, know when to calm down or when to go wild—all while they themselves haven't even listened to the commands properly. We have that one video clip, and that's the reality; there's too much of some things and not enough of others. 😁How on earth is anyone supposed to carry that load?

If someone actually put in the effort, gathered a crowd, found a decent venue, and recorded it, it would be a massive hit. People from age 6 to 66 would be singing along. It’s like those classic anthems about the coast, songs that make you feel like you were born there. The only difference is these are football chants dedicated to the team, but let's face it: it’s always easier to screw up at the start and just give up.

Christian Moore41 said:Anything is possible if you actually try.. It’s just, it should have happened already...

What happens when everything falls on the shoulders of just two guys at the stadium to push through? Now they're supposed to teach people how to sing, find the rhythm, know when to chill or go wild—when they haven't even heard it themselves properly... we've got this clip and that's it, but there's too much and too little all at once😁 how is anyone going to make that happen?

If someone actually put in the work, gathered a crowd, found a decent studio space and recorded it, it would be huge—everyone from age 6 to 66 would be singing along. Just like how people sing about their hometowns back in the day, maybe before things changed. The difference is, these are specifically football anthems for the team, but I guess it's always easier to screw up at the start and just quit.

You mentioned way earlier that a studio version was being worked on, but obviously that didn't pan out back then.. it would be way easier to pull off as a recording, something you'd hear everywhere, kind of like how that one song used to blast everywhere for a while
and from what I can see, plenty of people are interested and would love to hear it in the stands and stuff.. so I don't really believe it would fall solely on two guys🤷
but yeah, if we're talking about this one, it's gonna take more effort than anything we've ever seen before, I guess..

(I see the NFL Ultras posted it on FB 😉 ) so that's a small step forward, won't hurt

Well, here we go, things are finally starting to move. At least the video actually made it onto the official NFL Ultras Facebook page, so now anyone who hasn't heard the noise yet will at least have a chance to listen in—maybe it’ll actually stick in their heads for once. I mean, who knows, maybe they can push this through, but honestly, if everything goes south, it's all going to land right on those two guys anyway.

Bradley Davis69 said:You mentioned working on a study version quite a while ago, but obviously, nothing came of it back then..

"Man, don't tell me I'm still heading to the club," he goes, popping up on Facebook 😁. It’s always the same excuses—not enough space, not enough staff, apparently it’s just not everyone's cup of tea...

The club is his territory. No one else can shape it except him and the NFL Ultras. Once he finds the time and actually wants to do it, it'll happen in a heartbeat.

The first logical step would be for that gentleman to actually draft an official version of the letter.
In Cleveland, things have been so disorganized that even the people in charge weren't entirely certain about the specific wording used, mostly because several different versions seem to be floating around at once! 😉

On this day, April 10, 1992, we lost Pucko. He passed away in the back of his 4th Brigade Jeep, held by a close friend, and he was nothing short of a legend in my city and on my streets. For two days straight, they fought tooth and nail just to hold onto that vehicle in a total wasteland. The guys on the other side knew exactly who was inside that Jeep, but it didn't matter—the love, the brotherhood, and the sheer respect his squad had for him was tougher, bolder, and more intense than anything they could throw at them.
Out on that field in the Midwest, the heart of my entire generation—my whole eighties cohort—just stopped beating. It feels like our youth was cut short, just like it was for all of us; stolen and lost. We remember him today with nothing but pride. Damir Ivančić was our leader and our friend, the kind of guy so many of us grew up looking up to. He gave everything for the freedom of this country, giving his very life in the process.

What's up, Pucko!
I can't see the image you're referring to! You didn't attach anything. If you want me to rewrite some content, drop the text here and I'll get on it.

Someone's falling in love. Your first thought is probably that cute little teddy bear from those old childhood books, maybe some sunshine streaming through a window or a kid getting sick at home. But for us, hanging out in the bleachers at the local high school stadium, that whole concept meant something completely different. Messing with him about his "feelings" was basically like jumping off the roof of the gym—and honestly, I still think he would’ve walked away with fewer bruises if he’d actually taken the leap.
That generation right before mine? They were built different. Those guys were terrifyingly strong, and I’m telling you, they didn't know the first thing about fancy gyms or protein shakes. They just had some heavy scrap metal they rigged up at the local shipyard and that was plenty. Nowadays, I look at these kids who look like they were carved out of granite, but there’s nothing inside them. No heart, none of that raw, God-given power those old-school guys possessed.
Honestly, if you knew what he was like, you’d understand how he could just grab some self-righteous wise guy by the throat and lift him off the ground, just to tear into his face. I don't even need to say it—the guy was bigger and stronger than any of them. He could take down two or three guys at once with nothing but slaps. He had those heavy lumberjack hands, and when he swung, it was like watching Mike Tyson—fast, brutal, and devastating, fueled by pure adrenaline rather than just muscle. Back in the mid-eighties, he was basically the unofficial leader of the NFL Ultras. The North Side crowd didn't really care for formal leaders, but everyone respected him. You’d see him standing there on the northeast side alongside the rest of the crew, looking like a line of generals ready for war. And honestly? They were exactly that, much to the pride of us idiots from the neighborhood.
That whole mess that eventually dragged me—someone way younger than them—into their orbit started one morning when Rajko Dimić, some ambitious young PE teacher, decided to go head-to-head with Unknown. He was trying to call him out for leaving needles and broken glass all over the playground, and since he was acting like such a wide-eyed idealist back then, desperate to scrub his field clean, he clearly had no idea who he was actually lecturing. Unknown just got fed up with his preaching and was trying to shut him down when our girls finally showed up for gym class.
Dubravka was honestly way too developed for her age to be stuck in seventh grade; she looked more like a high schooler. When Medo let go of Rajkov's throat and caught sight of her, he looked like he’d been struck by lightning. Rajko was struggling just to survive those bear-like hands, and then she stepped in and absolutely leveled Medo with a heavy wrench to the head.
Love really does take the strangest turns. It’s such a random phenomenon, and I’m convinced that’s exactly how this ignited—just out of nowhere. Unknown was standing there with this goofy, dazed grin on his face, the kind you see when someone is so overwhelmed they’d probably kiss the very person beating them up, while Dubravka was screaming loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear about what a total animal he was being.
Look, I ended up like this because Dubravka was my best friend and the anchor of this whole massive romance. Back then, people didn't exactly have smartphones glued to their hands, so I was basically a walking messenger service. I’d carry notes back and forth, grab some wildflowers—probably swiped from some kid's school project—and lug around sandwiches from the local farmer's market, which I'm pretty sure were also stolen from kids playing at the park. I carried everything that wasn't nailed down just to prove my love. Eventually, Dubravka gave in; I managed to sneak onto their section of the bleachers, and Rajko finally got the whole field to himself.
Eventually, all that passion results in a little piece of America that grows up to be a woman, a mother, and who knows how much a local neighborhood romance between two totally different people can actually shape the world.
But look, I’m not telling you this because of love or because of Unknown; this is really about Pucko. Even though those two were inseparable—like brothers, always together—I’m bringing this up because of a specific moment burned into my brain that came flooding back last night while I was watching the game at the stadium.
My neighbor Žare was an incredible guy and an absolute beast on the soccer field. I swear, if he’d had any "connections" at a place like the LA Galaxy, he would’ve been a club legend—not just some local fan favorite—but instead, he’s remembered as "Weeping Žare" after that incident on the waterfront, whereas I remember him purely for his skill with the ball. Anyway, to make a long story short, one morning Pucko, for reasons known only to him, snatched a ladybug away from Žare and chucked it onto the roof of the gym. Within minutes, Žare’s father—a small, stocky, gray-haired man—showed up on the playground and confronted Pucko.
I have never seen anything like it in my life. This guy, who was heads and shoulders taller and stronger than the kid, took off his belt and absolutely laid into him like he was nothing. Pucko didn't even fight back; he just covered his head with his hands in silence. Meanwhile, Unknown and Unknown just stood there on the sidelines like it had nothing to do with them, watching their friend take a beating with total indifference. Last night, watching Ivo Bego try to swing at Zdravko Mamić, and seeing how Mamić—who is taller and bigger than that old man—tried to strike him back, those images flashed before my eyes and I almost teared up.
After all these years, it finally clicked for me. That scene from the late eighties and what happened last night at the stadium—it’s clear now. Zdravko Mamić is a thug. Maybe Pucko was a thug too, but he was a thug with a code, with upbringing and honor. My Pucko had all of that; he might have been a troublemaker, but he was a man who respected his elders, the people who can be a father or a grandfather to you.
On my way home, I stopped by the mural we dedicated to him in our old neighborhood and gave it a little wink. To the good old Pucko, the hooligan from my section, the guy who taught me so much about life. Because in the end, all you leave behind are deeds like that and stories that shine through eternity. As for that jerk from last night, all he’ll leave behind is a news clip about a time of completely twisted values—a harsh, ugly era where our grandfathers are digging through trash cans and feeling ashamed of their own honorable pasts.
That’s how legends are made in a city, and that’s how a city’s shame is born. The fans are proud of my Pucko, but even Zdravko Mamić’s own family isn't proud of him. We, who lived through the eighties, are proud of my guy; today, nobody feels anything for that other one.
LONG LIVE PUCKO,
may you rest easy in the America you loved so much.

Taken from Facebook

Bradley Davis69 said:It’s great, but there’s just no way I can stomach this particular one...🤣

So what *can* you stomach? 😁

Kenneth Myers2 said:So what else are you gonna swallow? 😁

You're being way too obvious, A.—could've played that better 😁

Melissa Palmer68 said:GET IT, PUCKO!
https://scontent-a-vie.xx.fbcdn.net/...87488634_n.jpg

Taken from Facebook

🙏

☕

Bradley Davis69 said:You're being way too obvious, A. You could've handled that better... 😁

Unknown
Since we’re already getting into a heated debate about this song, there’s one specific part that absolutely needs an overhaul.
Here’s my take: AS I STAND THERE ALONE, SINGING MY HEART OUT FOR THE VERY LAST TIME...
And then there’s that other line where the rhythm just trips you up and makes you stumble over the words—you know, that awkward "FROM WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU COMING FROM" bit.
My suggestion: RIGHT THERE IN YOUR NORTHERN LANDS, WHERE I AM GUIDING YOUR WAY...

Jeremy Ramirez55 said:Unknown
Since we're already diving into a debate about this song—which, let’s be honest, is a bit of a mess—there is one specific part that absolutely needs a makeover.
My suggestion: WHEN I FINALLY STAND TALL, AND SING THAT LAST NOTE...
And then there’s that second line where the rhythm just trips over itself—it basically forces you to mash everything together into "FROM WHERE YOU BLESS ME" (just because the flow demands it).
My take: ON YOUR NORTHERN LANDS, WHERE (or AS) YOU BLESS ME...

Maybe try singing those suggestions out loud first.

cosmicdrifter44 said:Maybe try keeping your suggestions to yourself for once.

???
What are you even trying to say here—that "Unknown" is some magical word that perfectly fits the structure of that line? Seriously? Plus, the word "BODRIN" pops up right in the very next line anyway, so there's absolutely no reason to mess with the flow by forcing some weird "UNKNOWN" variation into it.
And as for everything else, if you actually have even a tiny bit of an ear for rhythm, it’s dead obvious that the original lyrics have way too many syllables compared to the actual beat of the song (which is exactly why you hear FROM WHERE BODRIN JA...).

Exactly. Saying "where am I even cheering you on" just doesn't roll off the tongue at all. It’s clunky. They should have gone with something more like Nena Ninčević☕
...

Vjekoslav Ivanišević wants to manage the Rockefeller Rangers.
In his 180-page pre-election manifesto, Vjekoslav Ivanišević from the Republican Party included a whole section dedicated to the Rockefeller Rangers—included here just to show how whimsical one of our potential mayors can be. He clearly views sports fans as some kind of high-brow arts collective, since he’s actually proposing to organize and fund their cheering!
'We would ensure, without any effort or major shifts in style, that the Rockefeller Rangers remain the most passionate fan group in the world, while simultaneously becoming the most polite and charming! The city would take responsibility for creating and financing a cheering program involving music and singing, led by talented representatives of the Rockefeller Rangers and appropriate professionals, serving as an upgrade to their current passionate style,' says Ivanišević's program.

🙂🙂🙂
this guy is just wasting everyone's time ☕

Rest in peace, BBB.☕

http://themladichi.com/kolumne/reakcije/r-p-bbb/

Taylor Hughes61 said:R.I.P. BBB ☕

http://themladichi.com/kolumne/reakcije/r-p-bbb/

Your pieces about your days with the Rockefeller Rangers were always interesting, intriguing, and exceptionally well-written, but you’ve completely tarnished them with this impression of the BBB. Make no mistake: we have never been more unified or more resolute in our struggle. It is frankly foolish to center a narrative about us on some guy who was never truly part of the BBB—someone who never traveled for away games and whom nobody in the stands actually recognizes—just like most of his supposed "warriors." It’s just as ridiculous as mentioning some marginal figure returning from Canada who has only seen the BBB through pictures for the last 25 years. It is the same story with Sarma, who hasn't shown his face in the supporter section for 25 years and clearly hasn't cared until now; if anyone knows what he's actually interested in, it's probably you, given your own stake in this "always faithful" group. Veterans? In their minds, a flare is the greatest threat, security guards and police are allies, and the boss is JP Morgan Chase. But true strength isn't found in four fans—three of whom can't even name one or two players from the team from the last decade (those fools should honestly go home and break a mirror so they don't have to look at themselves). Real strength lies in the force that will join with the association to achieve ultimate victory. We are going to restore this club so that it becomes something people can support without shame. I am eagerly looking forward to your next piece regarding the BBB in the very near future...

It should happen. We'll see. It'll be easy enough ☕, if we could just.... 🙂