While some may see it as a semantic argument, there is a very real difference between a soccer team and a soccer club. A soccer team is just a collection of players assembled to play soccer. Any relationships and experiences gained off the field by the players are only incidental. A soccer club, on the other hand, evokes a feeling of community. While playing the game and playing it well are a club's primary concern, the betterment of the individual as a whole is a very important and worthwhile goal. For a team, the future is no further away than the next match. For a club, the future is concerned with not just the next season, but with the next generation of ball players.
The point is that a soccer club's success is not measured only by the number of games won or by the number of trophies earned. For an independent amateur club like the Byki, longevity is a realistic claim to fame. Our beginnings were meager and I had no illusions that the players assembled in the spring of 1983 would aspire to anything greater than winning one match against some young upstarts. The Byki have reached beyond just one game, and after nearly seven years of existence fit the true definition of a club.
The club's most interesting achievement off the field was the creation of our own newsletter, Byki Bouncings. Developed by Mark Sokolowski, the Byki Bouncings have provided a means to communicate the activities of the Byki and the club's members. The Byki Bouncings have been especially useful in keeping fans and former players who cannot attend the games informed.
The contents of each issue has included game summaries, statistics, player profiles, interviews and gossip. This last subject has proven to be the most popular for many readers. Mark, knowing which side his bread is buttered on, provides his audience with a healthy dose of fractured facts. Although the newsletter has had a spartan look about it (A typical issue is two sides of text on a single sheet, reproduced by photocopying.), it never failed to amuse all of the club's interested followers.
Eventually, copies of the Byki Bouncings reached the hands of some of our opponents. They were delighted to read about themselves (when they happened to play us) and marveled that anyone would care enough to take the time and effort to compose a newsletter. There was a distinct tone of envy in their voices; possibly just playing the games wasn't enough for them either.
Mark's untimely departure to Florida in January of 1987 resulted in the Byki Bouncings being published erratically. Both fans and players were outraged. It was true that the Byki Bouncings was little more than a scandal sheet, contained numerous spelling and grammatical mistakes and was written in a generally obnoxious voice. But it was our newsletter, for Christ's sake, and Thursday nights would not be complete without reading about the latest victim of Mark's poison pen. While the Byki Bouncings have continued in one form or another, its original appeal has yet to be matched by Mark's successors. The Byki Bouncings is a great example of the feeling of community. Playing the games does not completely describe what Stare Byki FC is all about. Tony Dallas, soccer manager at the Odeum, was surprised at the level of interest in the club. The loyalty and fervor of Byki fans was unmatched by those of any other team playing at the Odeum. I wasn't so surprised; as long people were interested enough to come and watch us play, the publication of a newsletter, for example, was simply a natural outgrowth of that interest. Why shouldn't our spectators feel as if a part of the club belonged to them too? Are they essentially any different from spectators who participate in conventional sporting events? Our spectators were and continue to be as much a part of the club as any of the players. I have always been intrigued why anyone would spend time watching us play soccer. Truth be told, our team hardly represents the best way to play soccer. We basically play soccer for the fun of playing. After having watched some of our games on videotape, I wonder what makes people want to sit through that. There's obviously more to it than just the game.
Here's where community comes in again. It's not the game the fans are interested in; it's the fact that we, the Byki, are the ones who are playing. As players, our love is for the game of soccer itself. The fans are only sharing our experience by being a part of the game. When the team wins, the fans are the first ones to clap us on the back and tell us how great we are. When the team loses, the fans make our setback easier to forget when they join us for a beer after the match.
For as many stories of memorable games that have already been related, there are as many or more anecdotes originating from the fans. In the early part of the club's history, our most fervent fan was Liz Tomczyk. Liz is the daughter of Frank Tomczyk, who coached the Byki in 1983. Liz was certainly the club's first superfan, and very few since have even come close to such a level of vigor. For the first three years of our existence Liz attended more games than some of our players did. For her loyalty, Liz was presented with a replica Byki jersey in 1985. She offended the team, however, when she declined to model the shirt. It wasn't our fault that the jersey was too small to fit her "personalities."
A humorous escapade involving Liz came during our first indoor session in Palatine in 1983. Mark Sokolowski played striker on that team and it hadn't taken him long to earn title "garbage man" for being able to score goals that required the most ridiculously small amounts of effort. Despite Mark's protestations over the quality of his play, the moniker stuck. He was also desperately trying to get Liz to go out on a date with him. In order to get him out of her hair, Liz told Mark that she would go out with him if he could score a three-goal hat trick in a game. Although indoor soccer provides numerous opportunities for garbage goals, scoring three goals in one game is no easy feat. After watching Mark play, Liz felt pretty safe that she would never have to make good on her offer.
That all changed during the fifth game of that session. Mark scored a typical goal early on, managing to have the ball ricochet into the net off the back of his head. He got another cheap one when our opponents scored an own goal. Since Mark was the closest Byki player to the ball, he demanded to receive credit for the tally. Needing just one more goal, Mark's incentive was fueled by pure adrenalin as his normal two-minute shift on the field increased to five minutes and beyond. There was just no getting Mark off the field. The nervousness began rising for Liz, as she covered her eyes every time Mark touched the ball. Mark got his third one with only minutes remaining and it was with a well-earned shot from the top of the penalty area. One would have thought the Byki had just won the World Cup watching Mark celebrate after that goal. Being a good sport, Liz eventually granted Mark his date and also refrained from making any more challenges which involved her as the prize.
Another loyal fan was sometime Byki player Chuck Dzieciol. Chuck's ability really prevented him from being a consistent contributor on the field, but he proved useful in certain situations. In the few times he appeared as a player, Chuck did everything that was asked of him, which is more than can be said for some players. Chuck's biggest contribution as a fan was his constant abusiveness. He, along with other fans, learned to taunt referees and opponents from the many years of practice while attending the pro soccer matches of the Chicago Sting. Chuck made his mark by being the loudest and most obnoxious of them all. We were dyed-in-the-wool Sting fans and our passion for the hometowners knew no boundaries. Anyone who stood in the way of a Sting victory was a target for our loaded tongues. This unruly behavior spilled over to the Byki as the legion of fans showed up every week. No other team in our league had the kind of fan support that the Byki demonstrated and many fans were not afraid to turn up the volume. Chuck had learned his lessons well and was clearly the most vulgar of the bunch. He was merciless in his baiting of referees by providing a running commentary on the awful job they were doing. While some officials may have deserved occasional harassment, Chuck was on every referee's case all the time. He was no less selective in his treatment of opponents. Any racial, ethnic or otherwise distinguishing feature was enough to set Chuck off on a raucous tirade. While some may consider Chuck's behavior childish (especially because the Byki play soccer only recreationally), he is little different from the typical sports fan. They're living out their own sports fantasies vicariously.
Chuck's antics caught the attention of some referees and players and his unnerving abrasiveness was enough to throw them off of their game. Most managed to ignore such silliness. One fan, however, who was difficult to ignore was Basia Olejniczak. Basia could always be heard at any game she attended, but she was Chuck's complete opposite. She was a perfect example of positive fan support. Her cheering was loud and incessant, leading me to dub her "The Human Megaphone" and "The One-Man Cheering Section." Basia, in fact, holds the distinction of being the only fan who has been able to distract me during a game. This is quite an achievement because I have always tuned out my surroundings once the game has begun. My passion for soccer is so great that, when I am playing, the only people who exist are the ones out on the field. Simply put, nothing else matters to me while I am playing. Basia's shouting and yelling, however, somehow permeated through my protective cover. This is what being a fan is all about.
Our spectators have come to the matches for all sorts of reasons. For the three just mentioned, being a part of the game was important. A lot of the female fans couldn't care less about the game. Seeing men run around in their shorts is reason enough to sit in the stands. In time, the present Byki players will also become fans once their playing days have ended. They will cheer and curse and swill beer as they watch their successors down on the field. "Oh, it wasn't that way when we played," they'll complain to one another. "They can't even string three passes together. When we played, the ball did the work. Where did they get this referee anyway? He must be related to Yoda. What kind of shot was that!? Boy, he shot that one like a girl, didn't he? Do you remember that game against Weinkeller..."
Watching that ball zip into open space, darting from foot to foot. Somehow, some way, it finds its way into the net. And we were there to see it.