HISTORY OF THE RIOT SQUAD Continued

August 18, 2004. Steve Sampson hired. The Riot Squad, and Galaxy fans everywhere, scream “Fire Sampson!”

August 21, 2004. The greatest sign in Riot Squad history, although you had to look quick to catch it. Plain white bedsheet, three simple yet important messages.

FUERA DOUG

HORNS CAUSE CANCER

EZEKIEL 25:17

The last was the Bible verse quoted/adapted by Jules in “Pulp Fiction” (“I thought it was just a cold-blooded thing to say to a motherfucker before you popped a cap in his ass.”)

The first was a reference to general manager Doug Hamilton, who hated us. HAAAAATED us. Part of it was the whole “fuck, shit, ass” thing we had been doing all year, and the waves of complaints our behavior had caused. Part of it was our deteriorating attitudes – after years of success, the history of the team since October 2002 had been straight down the crapper. Unsurprisingly, the banner did not last long, and we were pretty much on double-secret probation.

The second part of the banner was a cause dear to the hearts of the Squad – plastic horns. Evil, disgusting, hateful plastic horns. As we said, plastic horns cause cancer. Not just any cancer – ass cancer. Really, painful ass cancer. Ass cancer that shows up like AIDS on the autopsy so your family has to guess what it was you were doing. Plastic horns also killed Jesus. When Gandhi was shot, his assassin carried a plastic horn. That picture of the little girl running away from the napalm in Vietnam? She wasn’t running away from napalm. She was running away from plastic horns.

Horns were only useful as beer bongs, but once you got above a certain level of quality of beer, let’s face it, you’re better off using a cup. One of the benefits of hanging around a group of soccer supporters is that your taste in beer goes up a lot. It’s like “Sideways” with more swearing. But we digress.

That banner was part of the campaign, but the real hero here was Shooter, who made several fliers and posters reminding Galaxy fans that HORNS CAUSE CANCER. Those golden fliers revealing the gospel started a groundswell that got the horns officially banned during the offseason. According to the front office, something like 40 percent of season ticket holders complained about them specifically, undoubtedly galvanized by those fliers.

Our efforts to ban the Wave, despite the catchy slogan “Waves Kill Indonesians!”, have not yet been as successful. But we will continue the good fight.

September 25, 2004. Real Booze Buses again this time, the last time that would happen, because after this trip, Galaxy fans really stopped caring about San Jose.

Turns out there’s a downside to unlimited uncontrolled drinking. By the time we got to a truck stop in Tracy, silly drunken macho rage burst out, and an ugly fight took place in the parking lot. The sheriff’s deputies arrived, and told the bus drivers, “You brought them here, you get them out of here.”

Talk about a buzzkill! The party atmosphere was pretty much done for at that point. How, how could things have gotten worse?

So we’re shown to midfield seats, which was unusual. Still, we decide to stand, like we did the other fifteen thousand times we were up there. Some local fans complain about our standing and singing and basic disrespect of the home team. So out comes law enforcement.

Basically, what went wrong at this point was that stadium security told fans in the front they needed to sit, while San Jose city cops in the back started dragging people out from the back – people who had no idea they had allegedly been warned to sit.

Then the San Jose city cops started swinging the billy clubs. Even local fans complained, and were pushed by cops for their trouble. It was an ugly incident that by rights should have been far uglier. About half the Galaxy fans were either thrown out or decided to leave in protest.

When some semblance of sanity was restored, former and future friend Alexi Lalas apologized, and asked the Galaxy fans to sit for the rest of the game. Cold comfort to those who had been handcuffed and marched out already, but it was the thought that counts.

And so there we were, after the game, and all we wanted to do was go home. As soon as the buses got back. Any minute now.

Turns out the bus drivers were entitled to eight hours of rest before driving back. And, since we made their lives difficult in Tracy, they weren’t about to do us any favors.

Shoved, beaten, abandoned, and cold. We were pitied by San Jose State university cops (NOT San Jose city cops, who can fuck themselves hard and without any love – you know, the kind of drunken groping where you can totally tell the other person is just lying there pretending you’re someone else), and allowed into the San Jose State athletics building, to be less slightly cold and uncomfortable. The place looked like a Red Cross shelter by the time we all filed in.

About ten years later, we finally got home. The longest trip of our lives.

And that was the end of the Riot Squad.

Nearly.

Even despite some photographic evidence, some people assumed that the stadium beatdown was started by the Riot Squad. Sure, there was a series of pictures of a guy in a blue shirt being shoved down by a female troglodyte in a cop outfit, and to our almost certain knowledge, none of us were wearing fucking Earthquakes colors. Yet people wouldn’t trust the words of people who had spent the whole year shouting “Fuck, shit, ass! Galaxy!” Go figure.

Fortunately, Tommy Mack had filmed the whole thing from the sidelines. Not to put too fine a point on it, the film showed the Riot Squad, despite the confrontational name, as cooperating with the police. It was the police who were out of control, swinging truncheons like we were a Whack-a-Mole game.

The footage was shown to the various front offices, and the Riot Squad was proven innocent as driven snow. Well, in Spartan Stadium, not at the truck stop, but that’s our little secret. Shh.

March 9, 2005. Former San Jose Earthquake midfielder stinks up the field for Bayer Leverkusen against Liverpool. Ha ha! Loser.

March 27, 2005. Landon Donovan indicates he would like to return to Major League Soccer, specifically the Los Angeles Galaxy. “Well, at least with Donovan and Ruiz, we’ll be pretty much unstoppable,” the Riot Squad says to itself.

March 30, 2005. Carlos Ruiz is traded to FC Dallas. “D’oh,” the Riot Squad says to itself.

.March 31, 2005 With a fanfare unprecedented for a Galaxy signing that didn’t end up being a total fucking schlub, Landon Donovan is presented with Andreas Herzog’s #10 jersey.

Donovan and the Squad have taken a little while to warm up to each other – like, how does “Not yet” sound? Loud squeals of anger and protest – totally justified, by the way – from the northern California area alleviates some of the mistrust. Anything those guys hate can’t be all bad, is the reasoning.

April 9, 2005. The Galaxy now boast Steve Sampson as coach, and Landon Donovan as star. They really should have found a way to keep Ruiz, so we could have had the three most hated men in American soccer all on one team. We’re plenty hated enough, though, based on the nationwide horse laughs that followed the drubbing we took in Columbus the week before.

Some white guy wearing #10 scored a couple of goals against Real Salt Lake, though, and won most of the crowd over. Gunner takes advantage of the new green and gold banners adorning Section 138 to make an impromptu slip ‘n slide. Down twenty rows, did Gunner slide. It was a sight to behold. He tried it again, tumbled off, and cut his whole freaking head open. He survived, so it was funny.

April 10, 2005. Oh, my God. Reserve games. They have reserve games now. And you’re, like, right on top of the action. And the players can totally hear you. Unbecredible. Radawesometastical. Reserve games are like, a pushy fan’s biggest wet dream come true in all history. Real Salt Lake benchwarmers and scrubs are the first victims, but the real fun was yet to come. Man, reserve games rule, YEAH they do.

April 16, 2005. Tommy Mack goes to see Chivas USA play FC Dallas at the Home Depot Center, wearing the Dallas Burn gear that had avoided the flames back in 2002. Soccer fan Drew Carey sees him from the luxury box, and invites him to join his suite. This was a fateful meeting.

Carey really should be in 138, wearing some sort of Beatle wig so we don’t hassle the poor guy, but we understand why he doesn’t. No way we’d actually be cool about it – we’d be forever asking the guy to buy us beer. Or cars and homes. Dude is loaded like a Kalashnikov, my friends. You may think David Beckham has bucks, but there’s nothing like creating and starring in a big network and syndication TV hit to make one fabulously well-to-do. Maybe Phil Anschutz has more bread, but Drew’s got a pretty big bakery going on.

Anyway, Carey would later do a TV special of his travels to the World Cup. He would butcher the “You Can Never Rest Easy” anthem, but he would also call the Riot Squad the world’s greatest supporters group.

Okay, fine. We might not actually be the world’s greatest supporters group. We may not even be the world’s second greatest supporters group. But we are the sexiest.

By this point in the story, in fact, several of LARS JR. would be making regular appearances. Children of current Riot Squaders, future carriers of the torch. And, we’re talking objectively here, not just opinion – these kids are just adorable. It’s a complete fucking mystery. The biggest gang of ill-assorted rogues and soccer bums in the country continually produce these ridiculously great-looking children. Maybe being in the Riot Squad magically improves your genes, or maybe we just clean up real nice. Don’t ask us why, we don’t know ourselves.

April 23, 2005. It would take an awful lot to bring the Hamilton front office and the Riot Squad together. And from the murky depths of evil crawled forth the abortionarium known as Chivas USA.

They had actually been announced way back at the 2003 All Star Game, but they took a while to decide where to play. Chivas USA Jorge Vergara demanded, and got, the Home Depot Center, vowing to drive the “gringos” out of business. “Oh, it’s ON, motherfucker,” Doug almost certainly did not say, but clearly could and should have.

Sure, the Riot Squad was great this game, but this was a Galaxy victory for every fan. The atmosphere in the Home Depot Stadium was utterly electric. The majority of the sold-out crowd were pro-Galaxy, and rock solid about it. The Galaxy players showed the heart to match their talent – something that hadn’t happened terribly often in the past two seasons – and thumped the suckers 3-0.

Nevertheless, the Riot Squad was pretty darned legendary. “Rent’s due on the first!” chant made its appearance – Peter Vagenas would later use it as smack during an interview. Shooter provided a goat piñata, the team provided those thunder-stick things from the Angels World Series (really from the Portland World Cup qualifier). Jamesey and Iamthatiam put the chocolate and peanut butter together, and sodomized the goat.

Chivas fans basically acted like we had desecrated the Virgin of Guadelupe, but that was simply the Fort Sumter of the rivalry. The bloody dead of Gettysburg and Antietam lay in the future.

April 24, 2005. Reserve game against Chivas USA. Call it fifteen Riot Squaders, but that was more than enough. Voices carried in the track stadium, and anyone who couldn’t start for the 2005 Chivas USA inaugural team wasn’t professional enough to tune out chants. The Riot Squad would file this knowledge away for future reference.

May 29, 2005. Game two of what was being billed as the Superclasico. When Pablo Chinchilla scores on you, you suck rat ass, and no error. “Hey, goat! Fuck you!” is the new official Riot Squad chant, and this time, the front office is fine with it. It is expected down the road that “Hey, Goat! Fuck You!” will be on the Galaxy crest, like “You’ll Never Walk Alone” is on the Liverpool badge.

This loss cost Thomas Rongen his job, for all the fucking good it would do Chivas USA.

July 16, 2005. Today was another peak in Riot Squad history.

Tommy Mack had this idea that after a goal, the Riot Squad would release inflatable dolls filled with helium, which would rise to the Home Depot Center roof and look like the Rapture. Drew Carey, author of “Dirty Jokes and Beer,” loved the idea of inflatable dolls. So, astoundingly, did the Galaxy front office, which had by this point adopted “The enemy of my enemy is my friend” to heart and soul.

The helium had to go, sadly. In its place, either Tommy or Drew suggested dressing the dolls as “Chiva Girls.” Oh, right, the Chiva Girls. How can we put this delicately – the Chiva Girls were the Chivas USA cheerleaders, but they looked like strippers not attractive enough to find work Saturday nights, even when surgically enhanced by stuffing silicone basketballs under their nipples. Chivas USA – where the men are women and the women are men.

Tommy had a devil of a time finding inflatable dolls that didn’t have big, gaping orifices – the front office was game for a laugh, but not that game. He and the Bardgal spent late nights spray painting red and white children’s wear to look like Chiva Girl outfits, and put them on the uninflated dolls. The task of inflating the dolls, absent helium, was left to the mighty lungs of the Riot Squad, hardened by years of screaming at strangers.

The result was the funniest god-damned thing ever. Fifty inflatable dolls dressed as Chivas USA cheerleaders, with various signs such as “Guzan’s Mom” – a reference to the hapless rookie goalkeeper.

It was ratcheted up to mega-awesome when someone figured out that the dolls’ legs could be used as impromptu thunder-sticks. Perfectly choreographed chants of “LA Galaxy!” followed by inflatable dolls legs taking the place of the five claps followed. The result was seriously the funniest god-damned thing ever.

But wait – for some reason, they weren’t being shown on television! Never fear, true believer. Herculez Gomez scored on the opposite end in the second half. Then, the man ran the entire length of the field to do a Lambeau leap into 138. Inspired, he grabs one of the dolls – the one labeled “Guzan’s Mom” – and gives it a kiss, before rejoining his teammates. It was absolutely without question the funniest god-damned thing ever. All caught on cameras and broadcast, to boot.

Herc would have two goals that game. Counting all competitions, such as the Open Cup – but we’ll get to that – Gomez led the entire United States in goalscoring, and was a runaway LARS POTY winner.

July 19, 2005. Why so much talk about Chivas USA this year? Because the rest of the year, we sucked ding-dong, that’s why. If it wasn’t for the expansion teams, we wouldn’t have made the playoffs. Failure to realize this would cost us down the road, but that’s down the road.

This was an interesting game, though. Real Madrid came to town, bringing along Zidane, Owen, Figo, and…midfielder, English guy. Damn. It’ll come to me.

AEG originally wanted to tell Galaxy season ticket holders to go pound sand, since this was the hottest ticket in town. But the front office stuck up for their customers. The downside was that the Riot Squad couldn’t have its own section. Instead, they were dispersed among ordinary fans.

Pando Ramirez by this point had turned out to be a laughable disappointment – Chalky had kept track of how many shots he had made without a goal, as if he were The Count from Sesame Street. By this time, it was about “Thirty-one! Ah ha ha ha!,” and if you remember Sesame Street, The Count never got much farther than ten, so the whole thing was completely ludicrous.

But Ramirez made his mark on Galaxy history, and nearly changed the course of world soccer, with a cheap shot on the legendary Zinedine Zidane in the first half. I mean, this was pure hackery. Pando missed taking out an actual bone or ligament, but not by much. In retrospect, given what the world would learn about his temper, it’s a wonder that Zidane didn’t take out a switchblade and kill Pando then and there.

Dude Love was just inexcusable this game. “You’ve got Siemens on your shirt!” and “You only cheer when you’re fascist” didn’t win any friends, to say the least. He then let out a string of conversational obscenities, only to be confronted by a man with a small child standing about two feet away. Dude Love was very apologetic, and the man decided not to break his nose.

Madrid won, of course. Wasn’t as close as the score. When Zidane and Owen were subbed out, they left the stadium entirely – no doubt in a hurry to enjoy the pleasures of Carson, California on a Monday night. David Beckham, on the other hand, stuck around to sign autographs. Why not – when was he going to be in Los Angeles ever again?

August 3, 2005: The Open Cup quarterfinal against Chivas USA, in the track stadium. The Riot Squad take their position directly behind Brad Guzan’s goal. And I mean, directly behind. Some of you have bedrooms that are bigger than the distance between us and poor Guzan.

Here are some things that are forgotten nowadays. First, it wasn’t all Brad Guzan’s fault. His defense that year was atrocious, I mean, just horrifying. There were guys on that field that had absolutely no business playing professionally, but Guzan wasn’t one of them.

Second – Chivas actually took a lead in this one. Twice – 1-0, then 2-1. They had never led before, ever.

But then, they completely fell apart. Herculez Gomez got the go-ahead goal just before halftime, and wow, did the Riot Squad – maybe all of ten feet away from Guzan – let fly.

So Chivas USA trudges off at halftime, Guzan relieved if a little unhappy about his defense. Jim LaScala of the Galaxy front office giggles to the Bardgal, “This is great! He has no idea what’s coming!”

The idea was not new. Back when the Chicago Fire played in Cardinal Stadium, Section 8 decided to follow Kevin Hartman over to the other side of the field for the second half. Since the Galaxy were nominal hosts, and since it was feasible to move the fans from one side to the other between halves, it was decided to give it a try.

It was glorious, of course. Chivas USA was as worthless as they had been all year, and they gave up two very late on defensive idiocy. Probably the worst night of Guzan’s life.

Chivas USA had a fucking cow over this one, demanding an inquiry into the Galaxy’s lack of sportsmanship. The USSF told them to eat a dick.

So warm and friendly was the front office with the Squad these days that Doug Hamilton himself palled around with us at halftime.

August 24, 2005. Galaxy won on the road. At San Jose – the Earthquakes would only lose one time at home in 2005, and this was that game. Knocked the fuckers out of the Open Cup, too. Herculez Gomez had both goals.

Post-Beatdown, the Riot Squad wasn’t much on San Jose trips, but it’s quality, not quantity. Iamthatiam sees San Jose assistant coach and franchise jackoff John Doyle, and makes some crack about him looking like David Hasselhoff. After the game, Doyle confronts two Riot Squaders – female ones – after the game, asking after Iamthatiam. Doyle has to be led away by security. This would get even better later.

September 10, 2005. POS game against the Rapids, “Fire Sampson” ringing out like the chimes of Big Ben. The Galaxy draw a penalty, and Pando Ramirez is given the mercy shot. Fucker hits the post, the ball bounces off Joe Cannon’s ASS, and into the goal. 1-0 for the Galaxy. We’re screaming and pleading for an own goal, but they credit it to Pando.

September 15, 2005. Open Cup semifinal, this time in the Home Depot Center proper. The Minnesota Thunder were the opponent. Riot Squader Seamonster had moved to the Twin Cities at this point – he managed to take photographs of Playboy centerfold Lindsey Vuolo wearing a Riot Squad T-shirt. You know, maybe Drew Carey’s right – we are the greatest supporters club in the world.

Anyway, Thunder fans made the trip, and had to watch their team get worked over. Herculez with a couple more goals. Minnesota knocked the Galaxy out of the Cup the year before, so it was all good. At least we’d be in ONE final this year.

September 28, 2005. Well, the place wasn’t packed, but it was our first trophy in three years, so that was fun. 1-0 to the Galaxy, and Herculez Gomez had the winning goal. Wow, where did THAT come from. Peach of a goal, too. A couple of Dallas fans had trouble bringing in an inflatable dinosaur, which struck us as ironic, considering the inflatables we brought in. That’s the last time we’ll have to think about Dallas this year, we thought, but at least we got a trophy. And we swept Chivas USA. Still a crappy year overall, but things would get better next year, once Sampson was gone.

For the first time in MLS history, the winning coach of the Open Cup is booed off the field. “Fire Sampson” would follow him to the end of his Galaxy career. To Sampson’s credit, he was always good-humored about it to fans.

October 15, 2005. The San Jose Earthquakes, having already clinched the Supporters Shield, roll up and smoke the Galaxy in the last game of the year. “Fire Sampson!” chants, constant throughout the year, ring throughout the sold-out crowd. The loss sends the Galaxy into fourth place, where we would actually have to face these same Earthquakes in the first round.

October 16, 2005. Final reserve game of the year. Iamthatiam is READY. He has a boom box playing the Knight Rider theme all game, and passed out lyric sheets so we could join in. After the game, Iamthatiam asks Doyle to sign a picture – of David Hasselhoff. Doyle replies, “How would you like to meet out in the parking lot, you little SHIT!” Iamthatiam, the picture of innocence, says, “What? I just wanted your autograph, Mr. Hasselhoff.” Doyle is led away by fans before he starts an incident. Even Earthquake players are a little appalled.

The moral of this story is – fuck you, John Doyle. You’re a disgrace to the game, and you have no business in our sport. The only thing you were good for is having Alexi Lalas take away your World Cup spot in 1993, and thank FUCK that he did. Lalas is a GM now, and who gives a shit what you’re doing. You belong stacking boxes at Troy Dayak’s fucking soccer shop in Tracy.

October 23, 2005. Approximately ten thousand fewer fans than last week’s sellout, and why not? The Galaxy suck. San Jose fans roll into town expecting a coronation. The Riot Squad trudges into the stadium expecting a funeral.

And some guy named Landon Donovan bones the San Jose Earthquakes like sushi-grade tuna. 3-1 to the Galaxy. The Quakes recall 2003, and anticipate a win the next week. All they need is a two-goal win to force overtime, a three-goal win to win outright. And they hadn’t lost in Spartan Stadium all year…well, once in the Open Cup, but that was a fluke.

October 29, 2005. The last game in San Jose Earthquakes history.

Bwa ha ha ha.

The crowd got hopeful in the first half, but the Galaxy hung tough for a change. Ned Grabavoy, of all people, got the tying goal, and everyone knew it was all over. Earthquake coach Dominic Kinnear, who had spent the entire week bitching and moaning about Herculez Gomez diving, refused to shake Herc’s hands. “Fine, see you in Houston,” replied Herc. He was already LARS POTY at this point – that was just the cherry on the cupcake.

The Riot Squad, braving a repeat of 2003 (if not a repeat of the Beatdown), basked in the sweetness of the revenge. “Houston Earthquakes!” was the chant of the day. San Jose fans came in all ages and colors to have their hearts broken that night – when some Earthquake children tried to cheer on the home team, the Squad retorted with “There’s no Santa!”

Look, it’s sad that any American soccer fan has to lose his or her team. There but for the grace of God, and all that. And it wasn’t because the Quakes weren’t supported – at least, when they played us.

On the other hand, fuck you. Fuck your team, fuck your stadium, fuck your players, fuck your coaches, fuck your fans, fuck your dumbass cops, fuck your shitty little suburb, fuck your whining, fuck your jealousy, and in case you missed it the first time, fuck you. We killed the Clash, we killed the Earthquakes, we’ll kill your next team, and the team after that. In conclusion, fuck you. Love, The Riot Squad. PS, fuck you.

November 5, 2005. The Rapids could have rolled us up and smoked us for all we cared – our work was done. But Shooter and Iamthatiam wouldn’t let that happen, as they cheered Landon and the Galaxy to another decisive win. Not that they saw it, as they were tossed out, pretty much for being themselves.

Fuck, we suddenly thought. We have to go to Dallas.

November 12, 2005. The Riot Squad by this point had a hard-won and fiercely defended reputation for churlish unfriendliness to other fans. Shooter got himself thrown out of the Supporters Bash, to the shock of everyone except anyone who knew him.

Not every Galaxy fan was familiar with the Metroplex, and many were dumbfounded as soon as they left the plane. DFW Airport is big, even by the standards of Californians used to driving long distances. Fortunately, once we got past the airport, all the roads were under construction, so that made it much easier to get to where we were going. Wait, no it didn’t.

Plano and Frisco are suburbs that make Carson look authentic and historic, but there were bright spots. Chalky told us all the gospel of Whataburger. There was an Irish pub that had Chimay on tap, even.

November 13, 2005. The Inferno are, individually and collectively, a wonderful supporters group. They did the best job of hosting supporters in a long time. Certainly much better than the last two years, when Los Angeles hosted and the Riot Squad couldn’t possibly have cared less. The Inferno brought out a wonderful tailgate, food, beer, music, the whole works.

The Riot Squad tailgated about, oh, fifty feet away.

See, here’s the thing. No neutral fan was cheering for us, certainly not your typical Dallas fan, who hated Landon Donovan, Steve Sampson and the rest as much as anyone else in the league. New England was the popular and sentimental favorite.

So we didn’t feel like gearing up for the game by hanging around people who wanted us to lose. We were INTO this. Sure, we had fluked our way in, we finished fourth, our coach sucked, blah blah blah. We still wanted to fucking win, didn’t we? That meant getting into character – we had ninety minutes of cheering to do. (Ha.) We didn’t come all this way to goof around like fools.

Well, most of us didn’t. As we passed by one of the practice fields, we saw last-minute practice for the halftime dancers. The Snow Beast snuck onto the field, joined the last row, and blended.

Seriously, he was great. It’s like he knew the moves, and had been practicing all week. He was Baryshnikov out there. He might have made it into the halftime show itself, if he hadn’t been a foot taller and had more facial hair than any of the other dancers.

After about five minutes, The Snow Beast was finally escorted politely off the practice field, ruining his chances of getting on the field. (Ha!) By that time, though, the Riot Squad had died laughing.

Roksteady showed up for the game in style – trademark kung-fu outfit, ready for business. Some local nuggets look at him and say, “What is that sushi stuff?” Roksteady, in one of the great comebacks ever, shoots back, “Sushi? This is chop suey, bitch!”

The next year, the Inferno would talk to the Dallas front office about what was christened “The Riot Squad factor” – when a group of noisy supporters are placed in a section filled with fans who are far less involved. Somewhere, California-based Real Madrid fans could sympathize. Apparently the Squad was abnormally obscene for Frisco, Texas, but it wasn’t as if the Galaxy were playing Chivas.

Herculez Gomez should have capped off his season with the game-winning goal in MLS Cup, but the fucking linesman blew the call, and fucking Eric Wynalda drew this line that belonged in fucking “Dr. Katz, Professional Therapist” agreeing with the call. The upshot was, New England realized that they were vulnerable, that they weren’t going to do any business whatsoever against Nagamura, Marshall and Ihemelu, and had to shut the store and hope for penalties.

Worked for Italy a year later, but not this day.

Sampson fucks up, of course, by substituting in Pando Ramirez. And he sucks. He’s slow, he’s out of position, he’s giving the ball away – he’s undoubtedly cost us the championship.

And then Matt Reis punches a Donovan corner kick right to him.

The next year, Revolution fans would see a goal scored in overtime, go totally bugfuck, and have their cheers shoved back down their throats. There’s no justice. The Revolution, forced to go forward, nearly get one back, but Ugo Ihemelu heads it to safety. He’d later tell Tommy Mack he tripped.

1-0 to the Galaxy. Steve Sampson wins the double.

It’s hard to pick a peak in the Riot Squad’s glorious history, but what follows was probably it. Don Jaime jumps down from the stands, climbs over the deceptively wide electronic signs, and invades the field. The Snow Beast and Chalky are right behind. Pitch invasion.

All told, over 50 Riot Squaders made their way onto the field. “What the hell are you doing here?” Kevin Hartman would ask The Snow Beast. Don Jaime would hoist Herculez on his shoulders. The PA asked would fans please remain off the field – while the Jumbotron showed pitch invader RobertTheBruce, complete with black cowboy hat.

The Riot Squad BELONGED on that field. This was our championship – we had so many great moments, and even when we didn’t believe in the team, we still supported them. With style and passion. Keep the Riot Squad pitch invaders off the field? They should have gotten rings and playoff shares.

At the hotel afterwards, the one and only Gato Hartman was celebrating, singing nothing less than “Riot Squad, We Are Here.” The MLS Cup itself was brought out, and we all got to pose with that huge, ugly trophy. Random Mayhem posed with the phallic MLS Cup trophy in a way to accentuate the phallusness of it, putting an end to that photo session. Gunner got into the private party as easily as he got onto the field – “The Riot Squad goes everywhere,” he later explained.

November 20, 2005 – a little celebration for the double winners back at the Home Depot Center. Cobi Jones is given a “Ten more years!” chant – and so decides to come back for the next year. Well, the good news is, he would win LARS POTY. The bad news was, well, next year would suck hard.

March 9, 2006. Doug Hamilton died at the age of 42, survived by his wife and young son.

Had this occurred a year earlier, the Riot Squad probably would have celebrated, crass as that sounds. The previous year, though, showed Hamilton at his best, from our point of view. Hamilton vanquished Chivas USA, and brought home a couple more trophies, to boot. He also allowed us to be ourselves, which is why 2005 was probably our best year.

It was bitter and ironic that the team would wear tribute patches to him during what would be their very worst year, but it did demonstrate his importance – without him, the team went into a tailspin. 2005 was great with him, 2006 sucked without him. Maybe that’s not an appropriate memorial to who he was and what he was about, but when the truth speaks for you, there’s no need for eloquence.

April 9, 2006. Reserve game against the Fire. Iamthatiam sees Zach Thornton walk by, and busts out with “Hey, Oprah, what’s up?” Thornton decides not to kill Iamthatiam on the spot.

April 15, 2006. Did I mention 2006 sucked? This game didn’t, but the cracks were showing. Chivas USA led late, and I mean late, in this one. The only thing that saved us was Legion 1908. After their goal, they launched a buttload of streamers at Kevin Hartman’s goal. So Gato complains, and takes his sweet time clearing them off – inadvertently or deliberately giving the Galaxy extra time at the end of the game.

You won’t read much more about Cornell Glen after this, but he got both goals to delay our first loss ever against Chivas USA. The winner was four minutes into stoppage time – exactly the amount of time that it took to clear off the streamers. Thanks, Legion!

As it turned out, this was Steve Sampson’s last victory in the Home Depot Center.

April 17, 2006. Alexi Lalas named President of the Galaxy. Like Zaphod Beeblebrox. Lalas shocks the world and doesn’t immediately fire Sampson. Looking back, he should have. Moral: just because you don’t like someone is no reason not to give them the royal fucking shaft.

April 29, 2006. Herculez Gomez scores a goal at Real Salt Lake. Glad he’s still in good form.

June 3, 2006. John Wolyniec scores a goal in a loss at Houston. Bodes well for the future.

Oh, by the way, the Galaxy didn’t score a goal between April 29 and June 3.

June 6, 2006. 6/6/06 – the National Day of Slayer. Steve Sampson is fired. Hail Satan!

June 7, 2006. Disappointing fans hoping for Juergen Klinsmann, the team hires a former MLS coach. Clip and save, although Lalas wouldn’t take nearly the heat that Sunil Gulati would.

June 8, 2006. Chivas USA finally beats the Galaxy. The Riot Squad were pretty good anyway. Tommy Mack’s Goatbusters banner finally made its debut – it had been scheduled for the match at the Coliseum, but it had been held up at the gate. It is unveiled on Lalas Hill, next to El Dude and Who’s That Guy, dressed for the occasion as Ghostbusters. The PA plays Ray Parker, Jr. It was a good show.

June 24, 2006. San Jose fans flock to the Home Depot Center to see the Houston Dynamo. Man, that’s sad. Landon Donovan and Brian Ching are otherwise occupied in Germany, so this game blew moose cock. The only highlight, such as it was, occurred when Donald Trump waved to his allegedly adoring public. “Hey, rich guy! You suck!” was the response. Turns out that they were filming another season of the unwatchable and reprehensible “Apprentice” at this game – as of February 2007, that episode hasn’t aired, but rest assured, if it’s anything like the game was, it will take Trump off the air forever.

July 4, 2006. We win at home for the first time since that Chivas game earlier. My GOD, we sucked the meat missile this year. Speaking of putting meat in our mouths, Farmer John gives the Riot Squad free hot dogs. Apparently they love having their banner in front of our section, despite the fact that you will see Bigfoot on television more often than the Riot Squad.

Farmer John, though, is no substitute for bacon-wrapped hotdogs, something which this history has gone far too long without recognizing.

Bacon-wrapped hotdogs predate the Riot Squad, and the Galaxy itself. They were there for the World Cup. They were probably there for the Olympics. The 1932 Olympics.

The premise is simple. You take a grill. You grill a hot dog. You grill some bacon. Wrap the bacon around the hot dog, like they do with filet mignon. Pile a shitload of peppers and onions and mayonnaise, and there you go. Your next heart attack.

Except for the bun, bacon-wrapped hotdogs are Atkins-friendly. When Dr. Atkins keeled over, no one in the Riot Squad was even a tiny bit surprised.

It is not possible to emphasize how delicious these things are, or how utterly sinful. The brave purveyors of this tempting feast are usually persecuted by stadium authorities, all in the name of some boondoggle called “public health.” We’re soccer fans! We’re the Riot Squad! We live for thrills! We eat danger and crap – well, crap bacon-wrapped hotdogs, if our digestive system has anything to say about it.

We support the bacon-wrapped hotdog, and all those who provide them. You’re the real heroes. May the road rise to meet your steps.

August 1, 2006. An amateur team based in Dallas named after FC Roma defeated Chivas USA in Santa Barbara some weeks before, earning them a return trip to California for the fourth round of the Lamar Hunt US Open Cup. The gutty amateurs warmed our tiny little hearts, and the chants of “You killed Kennedy!” gave way to “One team in Texas! There’s only one team in Texas!” Even the US Soccer site filmed the love we gave to the guys. The Galaxy won pretty decisively, but we would have been fine with losing. Although no way Roma would have beaten Houston, which we did. Sometimes you need to send in professionals.

The love wasn’t shown until after the game, though. Roma’s 48 year old keeper, a last-minute replacement with the unlikely name of Nestor Merlo, was heckled nearly as cruelly as Brad Guzan had been the year before – and from the same distance, since the Riot Squad reprised their track stadium station. Merlo bungled a shot to give Alan Gordon his first goal ever for the Galaxy, and it was a pretty close race to determine who was heckled more, Gordon or Merlo.

September 23, 2006. Another Riot Squad trip to Chicago. The Squad manages to find some good karaoke, even. At Bridgeview, the Squad poses in front of the brick the club sponsored. Did we win? We did not.

September 27, 2006. Open Cup Final, at Bridgeview, even. A continuation of the Riot Squad road trip. Did we win? We did not. Andy Herron lead the Chicago Fire players over to shake our hands afterward, the bastards. Turns out Section 8 has this FUCKING HUGE banner, though. We’re impressed, and take notes.

The highlight - unless you were a Fire fan, but who cares about them - was the high school marching band performing “Smoke on the Water,” and Haggis dancing along, like, totally far out, man. Groovy.

October 1, 2006. A blowout over Chivas USA, fending off complete failure for the year. Masks in the stands didn’t work, but a sign for the occasion did – next to the by-now notorious Farmer John sign, Tommy Mack hung up a sign reading “Crazy Bob’s Discount Goat Meat”, with a caricature of the stone-faced Chivas USA coach, Bob Bradley. Tommy Mack’s next sign about Bradley would read “Where’s Klinsmann?”

The next week, we lose at Dallas, and miss the playoffs for the first time ever.

October 14, 2006. Kevin Hartman and Herculez Gomez play their final games for the Galaxy, although no one knows it at the time. The season comes to a merciful halt. We take comfort in knowing big changes will be made.

December 1, 2006. Herculez and Ugo Ihemelu traded to Colorado for Joe Cannon. Alexi tries to tell the world that the Galaxy now have three world class goalkeepers. After going “Steve CRONIN? World CLASS?”, the whole world realizes that Gato’s days with the Galaxy are numbered. We steel ourselves for the inevitable.

December 16, 2006. Kevin Hartman traded to Kansas City.

Joe Cannon, by all accounts, is a terrific guy and all, but there’s only one Kevin Hartman. There probably would have been a Riot Squad without Gato, but he was the inspiration. We all hope he tears it up in Kansas City, and manages to get into the national team pool for real. Booing Gato Hartman in the Home Depot Center is expressly forbidden.

January 11, 2007. 1/11 NEVER FORGET

January 12, 2007. The Evening Standard interviews Tommy Mack about the Riot Squad. Seriously, what the fuck?

January 18, 2007. Nicky Campbell writes in The Guardian that he’d rather sit through “The Vagina Monologues” than stand with the Riot Squad. Well gee, Nicky, none of us remember fucking inviting you to begin with. What the fuck were you going to do, anyway, commute from London to support the G’s? Dickhead.

But we’re not above inviting people into our section. Far from it.

January 27, 2007. The Riot Squad announces that it will buy Victoria Adams-Beckham, aka Posh Spice, her own season ticket in Section 138. Specifically, Section 138, Row M, Seat 10. Infamous UK newspaper The Sun, taking the unusual step of covering the Beckham family, promises to announce the invitation in its newspaper. They have so far reneged. Stupid Sun.

Those are the highlights – so far. But the real history of the Riot Squad is made every week in Section 138 and Lot 138. The real banner days are when we’re together, cheering on our team to its rightful place atop MLS and all North America. It doesn’t matter if our star is Carlos Ruiz, Cobi Jones, Landon Donovan, Herculez Gomez, Kevin Hartman, Nate Jaqua, or Michael Benkman. We’re Galaxy fans, and we’re having fun.