Losing My Religion

April 23 – 2007

West Ham beat Everton on the weekend, reigniting the relegation battle and keeping alive hopes of a “Great Escape.” And you know what? I could care less.

This is the story of how a transatlantic fan finds himself without love for his team. It’s not a fashionable story to tell, as the teller risks scorn from fellow fans, a general loss of credibility, and the deserved label of “pussy.” But it’s the truth, and I read somewhere that the truth shall set you free…or something like that. I think it’s translated from the French.

Straight away: my fandom never had to do with results, and my near certain desertion doesn’t either. In fact, somewhere deep in the recesses of my subconscious, I’m pretty sure I like losing. My favorite sporting event of 2006 was the Hammer’s loss to Liverpool in the FA Cup final. Sure, I was ecstatic when West Ham were seconds away from winning the most hallowed domestic tournament on the planet with a CocaCola squad. But having the cup ripped from our hands by Stephen Gerrard was somehow better. I almost puked. The chemicals swirling in my body, a ridiculous cocktail of natural uppers and downers, left me in total awe of reality. It was tragic and transcendent. I loved it.

Following the Hammers as they went down in 2003 was equally satisfying, as was tracking them through the Championship. The losses of ‘06-’07 are not the issue. It’s more than that:

• The Gambling. “Players are haemorrhaging (sic) vast amounts of money to each other at the card table, as much as £50,000 in one sitting. They have won and lost these staggering sums on the team coach to matches” -The Guardian. Fantastic. I must annually plead my case to the wife about why I need to purchase the recent home kit. I cringe when I plunk down $5 per pint on game day. I plan trips to Upton Park only to cancel them because of the expense. And you lose twice my annual salary on the way to a match? Far be it from me to tell players how to spend their money, but I’ll not lose sleep over the performance of men who’s minds are (understandably, considering the sums) still on the team bus.
• The Tevez/Mascherano Deal. We’ve gone over the details enough here on Soccernista, but the fact remains: Using players for equity in a takeover seriously undermines the integrity of the game, especially when the takeover involves a cesspool like MSI. That Tevez has caught fire in the past month only makes his eventual exit more certain, and I’d challenge anyone to find net positives in the transaction.  Just thinking about it makes me want to take a shower.
• Eggbert’s acquisitions.  My list of Top 10 Least Favorite Players to Watch includes both Lucas Neill and Luis Boa Morte. West Ham spent perfectly good Icelandic Biscuit money to acquire them. Thanks for that.
• Little Yossi, less Dean. Granted I can’t blame West Ham for the injuries to Benayoun and Ashton, but can I afford to ignore the machinations of fate? If it can’t go in the “pros” column, it goes in the “cons.”
• The Sacking of Alan Pardew.  Regardless of results, any manager who engages in a touchline shoving match with Arsenne Wenger is not just a friend of mine, but should at least be allowed to finish the season. I have nothing against Alan Curbishley, but Pards engineered an escape from the CocaCola followed by a breakout season in the Prem. He deserved more time.Â
• Matthew Etherington, Paul Konchesky, Calum Davenport, Nigel Quashie, Lee Bowyer.  I can not spend my free time watching these men play football.Â
• Having to swear off my favorite player. That hurt.

You can isolate anyone of the above pieces of evidence and say they’re merely a feature of the current squad/situation and not necessarily the club as a whole. The problem is this: my connection to West Ham was and is a “tent in the desert.” I’m not from London, have never been to Upton Park, and gave a blank stare the first time I heard the word “Boleyn.” For me, West Ham has been exactly the sum of its parts. A sum which I loved, but a simple sum nonetheless. Now that the sum is coming up negative, I’m looking for the exit.

And maybe that’s why I didn’t care for the Everton win: I want the Hammers to go down. A good soak in CocaCola could do wonders, separating the players that truly want to be with the club from the wantaways and the interlopers. It could allow players like Mark Noble to come into their own and rekindle my man-crush. It could wash the MSI and the Neill off the claret and blue. Â

I won’t be going on a Bill Simmonsesque club-hunt any time soon. I’ll see what the summer brings, do some soul searching, and decide if I’m merely a bad Hammers fan, or not a Hammer’s fan at all.

I have my eye on that Manchester United. Just kidding.Â