We’re not fans. We’re not spectators. For us it’s not just a game. It’s the beautiful game.
It’s 90 minutes of pride on the line, throats-raw, hands-numb. It’s a chant, a pulse like a drumbeat, a heartbeat, the pounding footsteps of a breakaway run.
When you take us for granted, when you doubt our passion, when you attempt to push us around? We tend to lash out.
We’re not fans. We dare to be part of something bigger.
We’re family.
