Caught in the London football whirlwind, Howard Chua-Eoan navigates the turf of Arsenal, Liverpool, and Chelsea, pondering passion versus prudence, loyalty versus allure. As he juggles emotional goals with financial footwork and contemplates the symphony of team histories and performances, he’s on a quest to find his Premier League soulmate before the next season kicks off. Will it be a love story with a touch of Anfield magic, the Gunners’ fiery spirit, or the Blues’ enigmatic allure? Stay tuned for Howard’s kick-off decision by mid-August!
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By Howard Chua-Eoan
I moved to London from New York nearly six years ago, but every time this question comes up I still have no good answer: What’s your team? That would be football, the British obsession I’ve assiduously avoided because it seemed, well, obsessive. I sometimes respond, “I follow restaurants not football.” That elicits a smirk or a polite “ha.” Then everyone goes back to talking footie and I’m left staring at the froth in my beer.
It’s not just a British thing. Over dinner the other day, my dining companion — a visiting American — told me he was in the country because he’d only just got a ticket for a Liverpool match at Anfield Stadium. He’d been a fan all his life and never seen the team play at home. He was ecstatic — despite a pretty desultory result for the Reds. As he and our server embarked on a spirited conversation about the sport and the standings, I focused on deboning the rather ugly fish that had just been placed on the table.
Another case in point: The barista at a favorite wine bar told me, only half-jokingly, that he decided to move from Kerala in India to London to study because that meant he could live closer to Stamford Bridge stadium and his favorite team, Chelsea. So far, he hasn’t yet gotten into a men’s game. He’s been in the UK a year and watches the team on television wearing the team’s blue scarfs and other kit.
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English football is a form of discourse that’s spread wider than the English language — be it in West Africa or Southeast Asia or, slowly but surely, the US. My relatives in the Philippines and Singapore follow specific clubs and have very strong opinions about the sport. I’m going to call it football — despite the word “soccer” that my fellow Americans prefer to distinguish it from a pastime that barely involves contact between feet and ball. American “football” has maybe 400 million fans worldwide. England’s invention, on the other hand, has more than 3.5 billion.
But I’m avoiding the question again. What’s my team? How do I pick one?
I made a tentative attempt at figuring out by attending my first match on April 15. It was Chelsea versus Everton at Stamford Bridge — and it turned out to be what in baseball Americans would call a laugher, when one team keeps on scoring while the other can’t seem to get a point. The final score was 6-0 Chelsea. That included a stunning performance by the team’s rising star, 21-year-old Cole Palmer, who put four in the back of the net — a perfect hattrick, that is, three from the field (one with his left foot, one with his right, and one headed into the goal) plus a penalty shot. It was also an emotional night for fans because a player who’d made the team after being trained by Chelsea’s academy scored his first goal (the final one for Chelsea for the night). The rowdy but loving cheer: “Alfie Gilchrist! You’re one of us! You’re one of us!”
It’s the kind of rapture that should convert anyone, right? But as it turns out, my wider world of friends and football fans decided to weigh in after I posted an innocuous video of a Palmer corner kick. (That Instagram reel has so far gotten twice as many views as the most popular of my food posts.) My South African pal Tony weighed in: “Chelsea’s a ridiculous team.” He’s pushing Liverpool on me and keeps burnishing its working-class history. Another friend in Washington DC emailed, “You CANNOT become a Chelsea fan.” He roots for Arsenal. When the barista from Kerala saw me, he said, “Now you’re a Blue, right?” I had to say, “I don’t know yet.” Peer pressure is a terrible thing.
Two other things post-game dampened my enthusiasm for Chelsea too. They wasted a lot of chances in a semi-final match against Manchester City, losing 0-1 and failing to get into the Football Association Challenge Cup finals. The other? A bit of financial sleight of hand. Apparently, according to The Guardian, the team was in potential breach of the Premier League’s profitability and sustainability rules, which forbid clubs from having more than £105 million (close to $130 million) in losses over a three-year period. The solution: Chelsea, which is owned by Blueco 22 Ltd., sold two hotels and a parking lot to sister companies also owned by Blueco. That gave the team’s income a £75.6 million boost. It raised hackles among other clubs, but the league did not get in the way of this inside-the-conglomerate bookkeeping.
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I’m not precluding Chelsea, but the choice isn’t easy. Do I favor emotion over accountability? Should it be a team you’d be willing to bet money on? Do I study the roster of players or go with the inspiration of a club’s history? Should it even be a team in the elite Premier League when there are so many others? Do I follow both the men’s and women’s squads of the same club? Or is it OK to split loyalties? Does it come down to how close a stadium is to where I live — and if I can get tickets? Or do I go for shallower things — team colors and emblems? I do like Liverpool’s song, “You’ll never walk alone.” But that’s because it’s an old Broadway tune. Let’s not get into that.
This is where I need help. I plan to pick a team by mid-August, the start of next Premier League season. If you’re willing to assist, email me at the address below with your reasons for picking your football club. But also why you’ve stuck with it through ups and downs.
While I was in New York, I did follow a sports team: the Mets. They’ve been hapless for most of their history, but I still remember that night almost 30 years ago when they won baseball’s World Series. Traffic stopped in the city, cars honked joyously, and everyone meandered through blocked traffic shouting, screaming and laughing. Until then, it had been a quarter-century since the team had won the title. And it hasn’t won again. But I’ll always love the Mets.
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