It’s only a few minutes in to the first half and the Atlanta Silverbacks goalie already looks mad. Not just a “this is kind of annoying but I’ll deal with it” mad, but an “I really want to go and murder someone” mad. His eyes move between carefully watching the game on the field and quick glares to the sidelines. Every time he touches the ball and hears the yells of “You suck, Quintero!” a grimace plants itself on his face until the ball is safely on the other side of the field.

As the game goes on he continues glancing over at the fan section causing him the trouble, located inconveniently close to his domain. It’s a sea of blue and green, almost entirely men; some have faces painted or hair dyed and many wave banner-sized flags over the group.

The group is reminiscent of the fan clubs for European teams like Arsenal or Manchester: giant, beer drinking brutes, the sort who get in bar fights with opposing fans and are willing to get arrested for their favorite players. Luckily, though, the Sounders fan club isn’t quite as giant, drinks beer only in sort-of moderation at half time and only sings about brutalizing the other team.

“The Internet has made it a wonderful thing to be able to talk to people. We not only take inspiration but we actually have interaction with some groups in Germany,” says the coppa (song leader), a thirty-something man with a bald head, jovial face and Pillsbury-dough-boy shaped body.

He’s here tonight with his wife. Although she’s not as devoted a fan as he is (his comparison: she doesn’t have a tattoo of the team’s logo like he does) she appreciates his passion and is devoted enough to come along with them is their son, who looks to be around two years old. His and his mother’s hair have been dyed blue and green, yet he still seems reluctant to become a true Sounders fan, balking when another man tries to give him the official Sounders scarf. This refusal does not seem to be acceptable and the boy’s mother quickly tries a number of ways to get the scarf on him before succeeding with it tied around his head.

Bringing a child to this fan section is a risky move unless you’re into them hearing lots of colorful language and a few old punk rock songs converted to soccer cheers. One of the most violent: “Take ‘em all, take ‘em all, put ‘em up against a wall and shoot ‘em. Short n tall, watch ‘em fall, come on boys, take ‘em all.”

When someone, usually the coppa, begins to lead this or any other song, the crowd joins in with vigor. Flags and scarves are waved, the metal bleachers reverberate and faces turn red. Even as it winds to its natural close many seem to want to keep it going, and songs often run in quick succession.

But there seems to be another point to all these fans beyond yelling when an opposing player gets injured “Let him die!” or making fun of the refs for a bad call (a personal favorite: “They’re short, they’re black, they’re half way up his crack, the ref’s shorts!”). It doesn’t seem to be just soccer that brings them out, rain or shine, to Tukwila, although a love of the game is certainly part of it.

One of the fans for whom this seems particularly applicable is a nearly obese man, around thirty years old with big, thick glasses and mullet-esque hair. He’s been standing by himself for most of the game, and although he isn’t singing quite as raucously as many of the other fans he’s involved in every step of the game.

Speaking slowly, he tells us “I had the honor of being the only guy cut from my high school soccer team when it was a “no cut” situation. Got a nickname out of it though, which was pretty cool. Blue lightning, which I use on most of the message boards.” Little embarrassment is visible, but his voice cracks when he talks about the origin of his nickname. He showed up wearing coordinated blue and gold, his school colors.

Although we ask many what they think they get out of this fan club, he’s the only one with a real answer. “It’s a way of just kind of putting aside whatever happens to you during the week and focusing all that energy, whether it’s good or bad, into trying to root on the line [team].”

When talking about anything having to do with the team or the fans he speaks with an inclusive “we.”

A younger boy, probably around eight or nine years old, seemed to be circling around the fan group. He looked like one of those kids that would always be picked on: Tevas with socks, shirt tucked into his high shorts, fanny pack. Whoever he came with must have been sitting elsewhere because he seemed to be trying to join the fan club without an official invitation.

Pacing in front of the bleachers, he mimicked their every move. When they sang the national anthem, so did he. When they turned their backs on the opposing team and booed as they ran out, so did he. When they screamed songs about drinking beer and being here, he did too. He picked up garbage like streamers and confetti that the group through around.

One of the big differences between supporting a minor league soccer team and say, the Seahawks, is the face time between the fans and players. For most fans, it’s as close as they’ve ever gotten to being good at soccer, and for some it’s one of the only ways they get to feel a part of anything. This group is completely non-exclusive: there are no try-outs, no tests, not even any cool kids to be intimidated by.

They certainly aren’t docile people; in order to join their ranks a fan has to be willing to sing and stomp and yell. A group of teenagers sitting behind us even compared them to a herd of stampeding elephants. But being a part of it certainly provides something to its members. Who knows, maybe next year I’ll buy some blue face paint and hair dye and go and join their ranks.