"The Best of Us are Always Not Here Yet"
A while back, a pretty unprecedented challenge to power took place on the Ides of March. It was the climactic moment for a movement to resist an unjust power dynamic. The proconsul Julius Caesar was fast-tracking himself to emperor status. His behavior unnerved a number of Roman senators, including some of his friends. They felt betrayed by his plan to move the gladiator fights to Austin, Texas.
No, Caesar’s actual plan was to become emperor and wield the power of the empire for his own ends. The senators made jittery by events sliding in that direction calmed their nerves by holding a meeting with Julius on March 15 (the Ides, they called it) to encourage him to resign. They requested his resignation by sticking a tremendous number of knives into him. Even then, he didn’t resign, but he did die, so it was pretty much a victory for #CaesarOut.
I bring this up—and I’ve been thinking about it recently—because it feels like a good example of how causes unite and victories divide. Prior to ventilating the proconsul, all parties of the resistance were united in purpose and action; post-pincushion treatment, their alliance succumbed to competing interpretations of why they'd done what they'd done, and incompatible visions for post-Caesar Rome.
There are some obvious differences between Save the Crew and Caesar Must Die, and I’m no oracle. Still, I suspect that a part of saving the Crew will be a divergence of path and purpose for Crew fans. Unique experiences and motivations led us to fight to save the Crew, and saving the team answers a slightly different question for each of us.
In fact, even as the jubilation lingers, the cracks are beginning to show. The season is coming but it’s still a little too far away. We're all about to start moving on. As we do, it seems worthwhile to reflect on what's happened so far, and what it means moving forward. I've tried to capture what a few Crew fans told me about what it means for them, and to explore the parallels and themes in the hopes that at least something will resonate with your experience.
It’s more, and it’s better than we could have hoped. The future is secure, the future is local, and the future is competent. From betrayal to battle to salvation, it's all too big and too bright for me to absorb. Indeed, I've just generally had trouble absorbing it. Maybe it's because victory came in stages—statements and press releases and parties. And each time, naysayers, journalists and celebrity fans alike reminded us that it still, still, still wasn't over. Maybe it’s because each time Crew fans celebrated a new stage of victory, I was kept away by obligations I couldn’t get out of without losing my job or losing my marriage. So I watched on small screens from a distance. Whatever the cause, it all adds up to a delirious sense of delicious unreality; how can it be over, and how can it have ended like this?
How is a good question, because we’re in surreal territory, past parallels and easy comparisons. Nothing quite like this has ever happened before.
Nothing quite like this has happened before, but because of Save the Crew, the odds are slightly better that it might happen again. It’s a melody ripe for repeating, developing and reharmonizing. The glass-enclosed front room of Endeavor Brewing Company, spacious middle room of that same establishment and sun-drenched steps of Columbus City Hall all stand a chance of becoming hallowed ground not just for fans of the Crew, but for fans American professional sports. They represent an opportunity to change how we view the business of sports. They commemorate a challenge to the idea that wealthy owners (or “meddler-profiteers,” or whatever MLS wants to call them) can do what they want, and the proletariat—heck, even the bourgeoisie—can’t do jack. They’re where a city finally refused to shut up, sit down, and pass the tax breaks.
The idea that cities and sports fans should quietly acquiesce to the wishes of the wealthy is only true if a sufficient number of people allow it to be, and Columbus put a dent in the number.
Again, I'm neither oracle nor expert; I can't guarantee a broader impact, but a foundation is laid for anyone who needs it. If plot twists and favorable circumstances galvanized and supported the movement, and carried it across the finish line, so what? They wouldn’t have mattered if the city hadn’t fought. In many cases, they wouldn’t have happened or become relevant if the city hadn’t fought. No matter what, the outcome means that the next time a great American city is forced into a game of “Can Billionaires be Defied?” they’ll know the answer is “sometimes, yes."
That, in itself, is worthy of celebration. Professional soccer is mostly a playground of the ultra wealthy, who can treat the rest of us like coin purse automatons bearing our pennies to their piles. But Save the Crew is a reminder that our voices can make a difference. Because we watched it happen.
Grand possibilities aside, for most fans, the fight to save the Crew was personal. So is the outcome.
Throughout the campaign to save the Crew, Keith distinguished himself as one of the hardest-working fans of America's hardest working team. In the parched summer of uncertainty with the future of the team hanging in the balance, he told me some of what the fight had taken from him. He still enjoyed being with other fans and seeing the Crew win, but the underlying joy of soccer—the pure love of the game—was gone. He kept working and kept fighting, joy or no joy.
A day or so before the press conference introducing Dr. Pete Edwards and the Haslam family as the new owners of the team, Keith told me “Soccer has never been more joyful.”
“It's back.”
For all of us, victory means relief; letting go of dirty air gone stale in our lungs through a year of shallow breathing. Derric described his feelings to me as a mixture of hope, excitement and relief.
“[I’m] relieved and hopeful that our club is now in the local hands; excited, not just for the future but simply being able to walk into MAPFRE, watch a match without being angry or preoccupied with the question “is this the end?’”
Nate, a Save the Crew stalwart for whom I want only the best told me his thoughts a few days prior to the final press conference;
“I definitely felt different landing in Columbus on December 30. I didn’t expect to, but I did. After Friday’s mutual statements from the league and [the Crew's previous ownership group], I’m starting to feel less stress, and more joy, related to the Crew.”
But it takes muscles time to ease, and tightness shifts our skeletons. As ably as we adapt and as beautifully as human bodies and minds repair themselves, the past finds its way to the present. The trauma inflicted on Crew fans was real and will leave a mark. Our battle to keep the team was inspirational and transcendent in part because of what it cost.
“I’m also somewhat triggered by STC branding,” Nate said, “It symbolizes the fight, and I don’t want to fight right now.”
Even for those of us not as involved in the movement as Nate was, it became a familiar feeling. Staring at headlines on Twitter without clicking, of opening a new email, pasting in an address, and writing nothing. Taking time to rest itself was about recovering enough to dive back in. And if you were like me, your moments of not thinking about the Crew still involved an eye on the headlines.
For a year, we thought doggedly about the Crew. And now, we’ve gained the freedom to forget about the team for a couple of busy weeks or to take time away to recharge and reset and come back as fans, not activists. There’s work to do, but it’s cheerful work: the fighting is over.
For Dana, as it was for many Crew fans I spoke to in the last year, the struggle was about his children: “I’ve always loved my Crew experiences. But now that I have a son that has grown to love soccer, it’s even more important to me. It’s a bond we share. I was extremely disappointed when the bombshell dropped last year, exposing the intentions of the snake Precourt. As much as I would miss the Crew, it killed me that my son’s team might be ripped away from him. For him, the Crew was his first experience of high-level soccer.”
The experience struck a chord. Dana’s son cried in the stands after Portland’s second goal at MLS Cup 2015, and he dreams of playing for the Crew. For Dana, saving the Crew was a battle to preserve the father-son bonding experience. It was also a fight for his son’s dreams. After seeing his son comb through the gameday program on November 4, 2018, to see if anyone with his number already played for the Crew (no one did then, Joe Bendik does, now), Dana decided victory meant an opportunity to invest in the bond, and the dreams.
“...I decided to buy season tickets for my son and I this year, instead of just attending a few games. It’s more than entertainment, it’s a bond that brings us closer as father and son. And now I hope the Crew can be passed to my grandkids! #Crew96.”
Dana's experience of making the saved Crew a bigger part of his life isn't unusual. For lots of us, the threat of losing the team forced us to analyze our relationship with the Crew, how much the team meant to us, and why. The dollars, hours, tears and passion we poured into saving the Crew made saving the team all the more vital. Every new friend and acquaintance, and every old acquaintance renewed or amplified became another reason to save the team. And when the team was saved, those relationships and hours of toil became reasons to rejoice. To lose our minds at Endeavor, or to get teary-eyed in offices, classrooms, parking lots and break rooms. My own list of kids I care about whose fondest future hopes are stitched in black and gold has quadrupled. and now we all share some small part in the miracle of children’s daydreams preserved. Saving the Crew means more now than losing it would have meant a year ago.
Paula, another fan who messaged me about her experience said, “to say I was proud to be a Crew fan before all of this happened is a massive understatement. It totally encompasses my life now.”
My friend Seth, following developments from a five-month road trip in New Zealand told me, “It's an unreal feeling to know that the Crew are staying, and it's even sweeter to know that it's all because of the collective efforts of fans from the best city in the world. I didn't know I could feel this excited about the future of a soccer team and it feels so good.”
We have a team that means more to us, a community that means more to us, an organization that seems to know what they’re doing, and whose culture and leadership reflect who we are as a city and as a community of fans.
Many of the fans I spoke to brought up that last part: the new ownership group is passionate about Columbus, and includes local owners.
As Paula said, “I love how local all of this is. From our new ownership to our new President, to our new head coach, to bringing back the original #Crew96! I know this will be a supporter/fan based team more so than any other in MLS because of the #SaveTheCrew movement.”
Beyond being from here, the new ownership group shows an instinctive comfort with Columbus and an intuitive knowledge of how to connect. Dr. Pete does interviews on radio shows we all listen to, and that he listens to, too. By all accounts (including his), he’s doing interviews on his favorite radio stations. He’s not stopping with his favorites, either—he seems intent on being interviewed by every outlet in the 614. He doesn’t need to make empty promises about buying a home in Columbus; he already owns a home and a business here. He tells stories about Tim Bezbatchenko’s mother. He was in the front row at the rally where Bezbatchenko’s mother signed the banner. He seems to be a kind of a folk-hero with former players and employees.
Nate, who knows a bit about how local ownership drives success in MLS told me he was especially struck by the authenticity of the new ownership group, “When [a departed former Crew SC executive] was out there saying they were going to be “authentically Columbus” it felt forced. I was glad that they were going the route of aligning to Columbus more intentionally… the rebrand, local food and drink at games. That was all good, but they plateaued because they weren’t really committed in their hearts.”
“You think Frankie wakes up and thinks, “How am I going to be authentic today?” Fuck no, he doesn’t. He’s just himself. Same with Pete.”
I don't know that there's a causal relationship, but the genuineness of the new ownership group echoes the authenticity of Save the Crew. From experience, I know that fighting for a professional sports team—proclaiming how much it means to you, your city, and your children—is an act of vulnerability. To folks with nothing at stake, you’ll look a little bit foolish. At least until the dust settles. When it does, you might be vindicated, or you might be proven double the fool. In the meantime, trolls will gravitate to the scene to tear at the nerves you’ve left exposed.
But to point out the vulnerability inherent in the movement is not to suggest that Save the Crew was a collective Pollyanna, glad-gaming our way to an accidental victory. Put on the glasses of cold capitalism, strip away the community service and the message about public service and togetherness, and almost every Save the Crew effort can be interpreted as making one of two connected economic arguments. First, that there was money to be made by owning an MLS team in Columbus. Second, that the way to make money was with a local owner who understood and connected with the city.
If Crew fans were making a parallel argument that they could detect and expose a snake, if state and local officials were giving would-be plutocrats a legal version of the Caesar treatment, and if Atlanta was making the case that the best way to succeed in MLS is with NFL dollars, then so much the better.
Achievement of shared goals ends unity, and that's a good thing. It's a testament to the victory and a reminder of how significant the unity and positivity were. The lack of an existential threat gives us license to pursue our petty squabbles and personal agendas.
As annoying as they are, the internecine spats strike me as a sign of vitality. The diversity of opinions and personalities among Crew fans is a testament to the power of the Save the Crew movement to bring along so many people who think nothing alike, and don’t get along. And even now, we’re united by our love for the team, and by how much it means to us.
Whatever the Crew mean to you, whatever Save the Crew meant to you, you get to be excited about the future. As Morgan put it:
“I’m looking forward to looking forward again. While we were fighting to save the Crew, there was a lot of looking backwards to decode the past, and to look for clues that would expose [a former investor-operator of the Columbus Crew]'s plan to destroy our community. Now that we’ve rid ourselves of him for good, I’m very eager to turn attention back to where it always belongs - the future. We’re human beings, and the best of us are always not here yet. And think about how great those future Crew fans are going to be, because the ones from 2017 and 2018 were pretty spectacular.”
If no new precedents are set, no old ones are challenged and the passing of time shrinks the circle of people who remember and care about Save the Crew to the number who rallied at City Hall, it won't change the basic impact for me; we saved the team.
Whatever comes next, and whatever comes after that, whatever part we play, or don't play, whatever meaning we assign to the future, it's a future that didn’t exist until we banded together and claimed it through struggle. The struggle no longer unites us, but the memory of the struggle and the assurance of the future still do. We’re still here, together, because we’re cheering for a team that didn’t leave. Down with emperors, down with the plutocrats; long live the republic, long live the Crew.