Let’s get this out of the way now. I have not always been a soccer (futbol!) fan. After getting kicked in the shins too many times in third grade, I said screw it. I wanted nothing to do with the sport that wouldn’t let you use your hands. What a joke.
I was a damn fool. Thanks to the talent of the UNC soccer teams, I started to enjoy the game more while I was in college. You could find me on the bleachers unabashedly cheering them on. I loved every second of it.
Fast forward to post-grad life and now my admiration for the game has grown into a passion. That’s partially thanks to my charming, soccer-obsessed boyfriend and my obnoxious love for Harry Kane (go Hot Spurs).
The World Cup this year was undoubtedly the peak of my love for soccer. I was baptized by the colorful kits and religious fans. I cheered and threw my fists for Germany and screamed my head off for England to win it all. My heart was broken but my fixation got worse (or better depending on who you ask).
While in Romania, I had the pleasure of attending a soccer game that was unlike anything I have ever witnessed. No alcohol was served. The fans were already too aggressive. I couldn’t bring in any coins because people were known to throw them at each other. Fans tossed lit fireworks onto the field as employees in hazmat suits scurried to douse the flames. Smoke was everywhere. The field would fade in and out as it dissipated. Without hesitation, I started shouting chants in Romanian before I even knew what they meant. They were far from sportsmanlike if you know what I mean.
I could go on and on about that game, but it should suffice to say that now I want to go to a soccer game on every trip. Especially the European trips.
HAN SHAW 