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Los Angeles artist Noe Valladolid continues his illustrated soccer biography

The TIAS Diary Project returns with the 2nd part of a series put together by a young man in Southern California. This is his life’s story, his soccer story in words and pictures. Consider it a stab at a TIAS graphic novel.

For the first installment, I referred to it as a stab at a comic book, but “graphic” now seems to be a better fit, as Noe’s story takes a turn for the darkness…

A Life Toward Soccer, part 2

by Noe Valladolid

We know that futbol is called the beautiful game. But it can be an ugly game. It can bring out the absolute worst in fans and players. I was told a long time ago in school that I shouldn’t speak in absolute terms. There are supposed to be no such extremes in the human condition. But I’m not so sure.

My parents warned me about it. They warned me about being a fanatic. For as much passion as the Mexicans had for futbol–passion that elevated the game in reverence of the old gods–so too do we have those that carried the passion too far. It wasn’t solely the Mexicans I was taught. Central and South Americans, English and Europeans had their own evils determined to make the game ugly.

When I began following futbol I was free to pick and choose from any team… in Mexico. My parents warned me of one group that I should never be affiliated with. One team whose identity was bold, even among futbol fanatics, a team whose following would be spoken like a curse in our house. Although the name is romanticized among the community, I could never become one of the Rebaño Sagrado–members of the sacred flock, the dedicated followers of Las Chivas de Guadalajara.

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The team has a long and honored history. Considered to be the best club in all of North America for decades. They could proudly say that the team has fielded nothing but native Mexicans in their 103-year history. The only other team to even rival their greatness would be Club América. The 90-year-old upstarts with a questionable pedigree. The rivalry between the two clubs was introduced to me through the Súper Clásico, a rivalry the likes of which I could not find a parallel. Imagine the biggest rivalry in baseball, hockey and American football combined. The best part was that these teams played twice a year to cement their status in the annals of futbol history. Many times the two teams played on Mexican Independence Day. My parents tuned in for only a few minutes on the TV. We watched sporadically because the game could get ugly very quick. They wanted to protect me from the passion of the great game, especially the crazed fans that shamed the sport.

They warned me that Mexico was a turbulent country filled with people that wore their passion on their sleeves. Although we all celebrated our ancestry and history with futbol, some of these people took it too far, got too wild in the stands, and did things that most abhor, even the most die-hard USA sports fans. I recalled many of these things when Adam wrote about his experience with Mexico vs the USA in World Cup qualifying. Many reporters highlighted the barbaric ways in which many Mexico supporters treated the visiting fans. I’m not here to defend their actions but instead to explore the ways in which they reflect the ignorance of futbol and social culture.

Fans from the USA might think that that the missiles hurled at players and fans were simply pent up frustrations from Mexican hooligans, and there is some truth to that, but there is also tremendous animosity between Mexico and countries in North and Central America. Some of the grotesque behaviors from the USA v Mexico match happen to Mexican fans when they visit their neighbors to the south. The smaller countries always view themselves as “David” to the visiting “Goliath.” Thugs in attendance think that throwing bags and bottles of piss or vomit are acceptable forms of retaliation for a real or imagined transgression against their country, their flag or their team. Some fans and clubs don’t even have to leave Mexico to get similar treatment. The gross stories of bodily fluids in various missiles thrown from the rafters were relayed to me by my cousins living in Mexico.

But the most frightening story was relayed to me by my mother, a nightmare from her past.

In Mexico some of the tabloids don’t rely on sex to sell. Many of them, like La Alarma, get by on graphic violence. The more gross and disturbing the image, the more likely they are to run it. Pictures of traffic accidents and burn victims are not quite as shocking as murders and drug deals gone bad. A country whose population, drug and poverty levels increase by the minute, whose social and political level of corruption is among the most notorious on the continent can churn out these shocking photos without even trying. When my mother was a child many of these shocking images were played on television. But the one that stuck with her and gave her nightmares came from watching a futbol game on TV.

Fans were cheering the local club when some hooligans began lighting flares in the stands. The cameras moved to one group in particular; they were jumping up and down in the rafters waving a flare. One of the thugs grabbed a child and shoved the flare into his mouth. Within a fraction of a second sparks began shooting out of his nose, eyes and ears. In a great deal of pain and fighting for his life the boy began flailing as if in seizure. One man turned and threw a cup onto the burning child; he seemed to do it without regard as he faded into the panicking crowd. The cup of “soda” was filled with alcohol and instantly caught the child on fire. His face bored out by the intense heat of the flare; his body contorted into a grotesque figure. The child was burned alive, murdered on national television. My mother had repressed that footage for a long time. The ending of the 1989 film Dead Calm brought back the memories. When the satellite TV channel began replaying the movie, she told me about what she had witnessed as a child, and why she’s been unable to shake those images since.

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The origins of these manic fanatic behaviors are unknown. They don’t seem to be reflective of global futbol culture or even all of the Mexican futbol clubs. However I’ve heard many horror stories of violence, racism and other equally disturbing behavior from games all over the world. We all know it exists but why? My parents said it came down to passion. They warmed me of the pitfalls of fanaticism, of passion without restraint.

My parents said that while passion could be the demise of many a futbol fan, it was also the glue that bonded modern Mexicans together. The youth movement of the 60’s was not limited to the USA. Protests, rallies and civil unrest took place all over Mexico as well. Those that protested channeled their passions into a direction. Whether it was good or bad would be up to the scholars to determine. My mother said that my uncles participated in many protests that turned violent while staying in Mexico City. They believed in the cause and were willing to stand up to corrupt politicians and police officers. My mother said it was important that I became passionate about the things that I believed in, to always say what I thought and be proud of the colors I flew, even if those colors were just from a futbol club.

The newspaper clipping of students protesting, throwing rocks and carrying signs was stored away in my grandmother’s house. Many of these students wore dark shirts, but the occasional protester had on a loud team kit in the brightest colors, defying the police with an easily identifiable target. I was assured by my uncles that they were in the fray too, fighting the good fight. They warned me to be careful if I decide to protest for the things I believed in. They would be proud of me no matter what, but expected me to never resort to violence and always protect my fellow brothers and sisters on the street.

It was then that I decided which of the clubs in Mexico would be my favorite. The Pumas of UNAM, Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico, the university in Mexico City where my uncles had studied. One became an architect and the other a doctor. Both maintained a proud tradition, celebrated their heritage and never let their passions go unchecked–living examples for me to follow.

The family still makes time to watch the occasional matches, which remind us of why, despite the tragedies and the ugliness, the game is still very beautiful.

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See more of Noe’s work at 1Up.com

Have a story to tell? Join Noe and the others who over the last four years have produced their Diary Projects for TIAS. Send stories, photos, and ideas to thisisamericansoccer@gmail.com