Just as sure as I had been that the Quakes would never leave, I knew they would never come back. The old question had finally received its answer: life could indeed be that cruel. But maybe that had never been the question at all, considering that the tragedies this world can bring are apparent to anyone with eyes. Suddenly, the beauty, the tragedy, and the truth of it all stood starkly illuminated before me. What had made my passion for the Quakes so deep, enduring, and refreshing was the way in which it is a sure thing in an unsure world. Yes, the Quakes may lose, they may even go down in the most humiliating way to the worst of all enemies, yet at least they always return to fight another day. The nice thing about the relationship with your club is that hope springs eternal, that yesterday’s cruelties are washed away with each new season, the eternal phoenix rising. That is, unless your team is taken away. What happens when hope dies, when the sun dawns and there is no phoenix to be found, only an empty present haunted by the ghosts of past passions?

I boycotted MLS. What else could a self-respecting Quakes fan do? Fortunately, the sun never sets on the soccer world, and there are hundreds of leagues and tournaments to follow and lose oneself in. I followed these paths, hoping against hope, but just couldn’t seem to lose myself. As a soccer-mad fan obsessed with every intricacy of the game, I could enjoy matches intellectually and aesthetically, but though I searched every nook and cranny I could not find my passion. It was a hollow feeling to watch some other fan’s moment of magic, to watch delirious people hug in the stands when I couldn’t fully claim the moment of victory as my own.

It was in this state of mind that I let my perverse curiosity drive me into watching MLS Cup 2006. I talked myself into it because, after all, I had to keep in some kind of contact with the goings on of American soccer. But it was all a lie. At the end of the day, I had to, no matter how conflicted my feelings, watch the old boys battle for the championship. And there they were. The same faces I remembered. The same spirit illustrated in every pass, tackle, and shot. But in strange orange jerseys, the color of denial dispelled. I was the guilty voyeur, cheering silently inside myself at Houston’s championship, but not daring to let it become an audible sign of approval, not even for one second. No one would ever know of my transgression. I clicked off the TV before the trophy presentation could begin. Some things were just too much, like watching your team and your old players hoist a championship for another city. The bittersweet feeling of seeing your old love happy with someone else. Good job boys, but your their team now.

With the Quakes gone, I plunged into uncharted territory: playing soccer myself. I had not played soccer growing up, except for a few casual pick-up games here and there. In fact, I had grown up an American football fan and that was the sport I mostly dabbled in on the playgrounds and streets of my youth. The story of how this changed is one for another time, but the point is that I plunged headfirst into the world of competitive soccer in the local San Jose adult league. My new passion was found in the jersey I now wore and represented on the field: the newly formed Clockwork Orange A.F.C. Playing with this club gave me a new understanding of the intricacies of the game that watching a million games couldn’t. Struggling and fighting together with my teammates brought back that old feeling of solidarity and defiance that the Quakes always evoked for me. In time, I began to develop my understanding and skills. After bouncing around between fullback and winger, I was put into central defense on a whim and found my natural position. This, combined with our first real win after a season of endless defeat, often by large margins (talk about expansion woes), left me feeling high and confident. Unfortunately, shortly thereafter, as Behind the Music would say, “it all came crashing down”. While playing indoor soccer one Wednesday night, I tore the ACL in my right knee.

Now even Clockwork was taken away from me, and my soccer depression reached a crescendo, a sweetly sad composition that spoke of glorious yesterdays and barren futures. Fortunately, however, the most epic comeback in Quakes history was underway. Quakes fans, many of whom had never completely given up the fight, found their most organized expression in Soccer Silicon Valley. As time went on, the rumors flew, tantalizing promises that I was hesitant to grasp, confident only in disappointment. But they became firmer, harder to dispel. A name appeared: Lew Wolff. Stadium sites were mentioned: Spartan, Santa Clara. I cast aside my reservations. The whistle was being blown again. The call to battle. We believed. So much so that we packed San Jose City Hall with Quakes blue, painting the room with our belief and our passion.

On July 18th, 2007, the San Jose Earthquakes were officially announced as the newest expansion team in Major League Soccer. The Quakes were back. That November, I watched MLS Cup 2007. It was deja vu. There was that orange jersey again. There were the familiar faces. Heck, there even was New England losing again. At first, I tried going for New England, not sure if i could stomach seeing Houston win two championships that could have been ours if they stayed in San Jose, but it was too sad to see the hanging heads of players I still had an attachment to after Twellman’s goal. So I switched and pulled for those boys in orange. Because in the end it didn’t really matter. Because this was the last time that I would be watching with mixed feelings, with a slightly disinterested air. Because it felt good knowing that my old passion was just waiting in the wings for next season. Because as the phoenix dawned in blue and black, the cracks in my soul were burned away.

So hell, win your championship Houston. Enjoy the spotlight, L.A. What they all didn’t understand is that we’re like The Bride in Kill Bill. You can shoot us in the head and leave us for dead, but we’re coming back with a vengeance. At the end of the day nothing feels better than knowing that no matter what happens this season, no matter what little heartbreaks are along the way, however painful, we have all survived the biggest one of them all. And that is what makes us invincible.