My Ultras Story:
I became a 1906 Ultra through serendipity, by way of a series of unplanned events, "accidents."
The first accident was that I played soccer in high school instead of American football. I wanted to play football, and was built for linebacker. I would have been a good one; I was larger, stronger, faster, and more intense than any of my classmates and I idolized Jack Lambert (the Ray Lewis of his day). But my parents wouldn’t allow me because they considered it too dangerous. So, I played soccer, the other fall sport offering. I was lousy — gangly and uncoordinated — and had the misfortune of playing on a team talented enough to challenge for the state championship. I warmed the bench and developed an acute appreciation for the skill sets of my teammates who could do things I couldn’t (like keep the ball aloft for more than a single kick). I was innoculated against anti-soccer bias.
The next accident was that following law school I eventually took a job in San Jose, a town that would gain an MLS franchise. If I had stayed in my hometown of Buffalo or my college town of St. Louis, I might never have attended a MLS match. But I went to Spartan to watch the Clash and Quakes, a couple times a year at first and gradually more often as I came to recognize the players and appreciate the atmosphere. I found that Quakes games were every bit as fun as NFL matches at a fraction the cost. And one of the best parts was the continuous back-beat emanating from the Casbah; every game, win or lose, was a celebration. I didn’t know any of the chants. From my Eastside centerline seats I thought "ole ole" was "away away," and I found myself singing along to the false chorus.
Then, "accidently," if you can call it that, I was stuck in Milan following 9/11. So, I scalped tickets to an Inter game — unknowingly, in the curva. I got to see a European ultras group up close and admire a capo maestro in action. My fascination with "supporters groups" was heightened. And when a small group of Ultras started showing up in the south endzone of Spartan I recognized that they weren’t merely a handful of hooligans but the embryonic makings of something akin to what I had seen in Italy.
The next accident was induced by my withdrawal pangs from no soccer after the Quakes’ epic 2003 campaign. In March 2004 I attended my first ever Club Quake meeting, the one at which CQ president Colin McCarthy asked for a group of fans to work on saving the team. Unable as a neighborhood activist to resist a grass-roots cause, I became the first volunteer. SSV has consumed my life for the ensuing seven years.
When in summer 2007, it became clear that the Quakes would return, I began to consider what should be done, if possible, to ensure the club-like feel the fans had enjoyed about the previous incarnation. As a result, I resolved together with the SSV board to form its community foundation and, acting alone, to offer my personal and financial support to help rebirth the supporters groups.
The final accident is that I offered the exact same support to both the Casbah and to the new 1906 Ultras (I was there at our conception in the stands at a Victory game at Kezar Stadium). I ordered t-shirts and scarves (the ones from Poland with the tell-tale purplish blue) in equal quantities for, and became a dues-paying and season-ticket purchasing member of, both groups. They were each, in a sense, my children. I in no way anticipated that I would become (and perhaps I’m still not truly accepted as) an Ultra. Yet, the Ultras welcomed me, and their leadership, Dan, sought my counsel — even if he regularly rejected it. And in 2008, the most magical pro sports season I’ve ever followed, the Ultras had the most fun both before and during the games and on the road in L.A., where the season began. I became hooked. 
What a long strange trip it’s been.
Objection! Lawyering!
