THE DAY SON HUENG-MIN FACETIMED ME.
As well as ‘The Beautiful Game’, football is sometimes referred to as ‘The People’s Game.’ A sport that has been accessible to the working class since the Football Association (the FA) was founded in 1863, England. Of course various forms of it existed long before then. But it’s widely accepted the Brits made it into what we know it as today. And it’s easy to see why it’s called The People’s Game. It’s cheap as chips to play. All you need is a few mates, a ball, jumpers for goal posts and a space to kick it around. And even the ball is optional! An empty coke can, a stone, a feckin’ pair of socks rolled into a ball! All of the above I have played with at one time or other. And the space? Well, that can be anything: a park, a schoolyard, a parking lot, a road in a housing estate, a beach. It doesn’t matter.
Outdoor or indoor? Doesn’t matter.
Man or woman? Doesn’t matter.
Black or white? Doesn’t matter.
Hispanic or Asian? Doesn’t matter.
There’s a reason football is the greatest sport on the planet. It’s because it can be played anywhere. With anything. By anyone. With any ability. Yes. Even the shite players. I don’t know how many times over the years we’d be stuck for someone to make up the magic 10 for a 5-a-side and the only option is to call up that one friend with two left feet who couldn’t hit a donkey’s arse with a banjo, and utter the immortal words…
“We’ve only 9. Can you come up?”
And he would. And to show your appreciation, you’d stick him in goal, pray he never asked to come outfield and away you went. 5 v 5. And all was fair in the world.
That’s the beauty of the game. Even if you’re shite, it doesn’t matter. Well, it doesn’t matter unless you’re that one lad on the pitch who thinks he’s prime fucking Zidane yet somehow loses the ball more times than a Galaxy fan loses their way to BMO Stadium.
The point being, football is for everyone…Even Galaxy fans.
And when you’re not playing it with people you know (or don’t know), you’re watching it with people you know (or don’t know). You see, football brings people together. Turn up to a park and ask a group of lads if there’s room for one more: Chances are they’ll fit you in. Turn up at the hotel bar on holiday to catch a few minutes of a match before heading out for dinner with the fam and you’ll end up in a full blown conversation with a complete stranger by simply asking:
“Who scored?”
So with the spirit of that in my back pocket, on August 16th 2025, I headed to Baja’s Grill on Wilshire Blvd. in Koreatown. The venue for a ‘Watch Party’ as LAFC took on New England Revolution.
Now, Google describes a Watch Party as:
“A social event, often virtual, where people watch a TV show, movie or event together, synchronously, with a group chat to discuss the content and share their reactions.”
What I call it is:
“Heading down the pub to watch a match with your mates.”
I will admit that, on occasion, that ‘heading down to the pub to watch a match with your mates’ can, in fact, turn into a party. Examples include, but not limited to:
1) United’s last minute win against Bayern Munich in the 1999 Champions League Final when, having promised a God I no longer believe in, something utterly impossible if he would afford us one goal, JUST ONE FUCKING GOAL! to take it into extra-time, and that goal subsequently arriving via the boot of Teddy Sheringham in the 91st minute, sending me to my knees in elation, only to rise 2 minutes later, heart pounding, and witnessing what I initially thought was a replay of the first goal, to suddenly realise that…
“SOLSKJAER HAS WON IT!”
…Then grabbing my brother, my Dad and my mate Aido in a collective embrace of pure, unadulterated, euphoric, ecstasy! And then racing to the bar at the final whistle to order “something green” in honor of Roy Keane who had been suspended for the match, and knocking back my first (and fucking last!) Créme De Menthe!
That turned into a party.
Or…
2) Ireland’s last gasp equaliser at the 2002 World Cup when Mark Kinsella ‘got it launched’ up to big Niall Quinn - momentarily transporting us back to the glory days of Jack Charlton’s ‘Putt’em under Pressure’ philosophy - who he flicked it on, creating chaos in the infuriatingly rigid German defence as Robbie Keane ran onto it, taking a first touch off his chest that might just have taken it too far away for a second touch, only for him to sail between two defenders and smash it past the oncoming colossus that was Oliver Kahn, off the post and into the back of the net!
That also turned into a party.
And it’s moments like these that can launch celebrations that will be forever remembered. And somehow excuse your decision to drink Bulmers Cider from a saucepan at 1 o’clock in the morning while blasting Rage Against the Machine and telling anyone who’ll listen that you love them all because your team won…or drew, as it was in that particular instance!
I digress…
So, here I was enroute to a part of LA I’d only ever driven through. On my way to experience my first official LAFC ‘Watch Party.’
Now, there are 9 official Supporters Groups linked to LA's only football club. They are:
On any given away day, you’ll have various Watch Parties happening all over Los Angeles County, hosted by some of these groups. So I had a few to choose from. But which one? Well, like any semi-lazy, middle aged father of 2 - I chose the one closest to me! And the winner was…
TIGERS SUPPORTERS GROUP!
(Aka TSG)
A 17 minute drive from the house or a 27 minute walk/metro/walk situation. I went with the latter as, unlike a lot of people in this town, I don’t care for drinking and driving. Don’t come at me, Angelenos! You know it’s true. You haven’t a leg to stand on…Probably because of the 3-4 cocktails you just downed before hopping in your car!
Kick-Off was 430pm. And in the interest of soaking up the atmosphere before the match and perhaps getting a chance to chat with members of TSG, I strutted into Baja’s Grill at 4pm full of anticipation, excitement and…and…Hang on…
There’s no one here.
Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration. There were 4 people in the bar. 6 if you include the bartenders. Which I should. Bartenders are people too. Never forget that.
So, a little confused (I’m wondering am I at the right spot), I walk a little further into the place and end up in a dimly lit backroom hoping to see hoards of LAFC fans assembled. But apart from a couple of horrifically annoying spinning LED lights and a noise that could not under any circumstance be construed as music, it was empty. So, back out to the front where 2 of the 4 customers were propping up the bar. I sat by them wearing my knock-off LAFC jersey (btw, this jersey has been through one wash cycle and I fear it won’t live through another. That’ll teach me!). It was at this moment one of the guys deciphered why I was there…
“You here for the watch party?”, he enquired while nursing a glass filled with some kind of off-red concoction complete with salty rim and sugar coated straw.
“I am”, says I.
“Kicks off at 430”, he kindly informed me.
“Yeah.”, says I.
And that was as far as the conversation went. Fair enough. I did try to offer up a couple more avenues of discussion but he and his pal were so busy not talking to each other, I couldn’t really get a word in edgeways.
Safe with the knowledge I was indeed in the right place, I ordered a Happy Hour pint of Modello (the best kind!) and sat quietly watching what the Americans call ‘Football’ as the 49ers took on the Raiders in what I assumed was a pre-season friendly.
*Side note: Only this week my 6 year old daughter asked me:
“Dada, why do they call it Football when they only use their hands?”
“No one knows, Romy. No one knows.”
Thankfully, my solitary confinement at the bar was short-lived. A family came in decked out in their Black & Gold and headed straight to that ever-so inviting backroom. Okay. That must be where they’re gonna show the match. I grabbed my Happy Hour pint, walked back in, picked my pew and sat down trying not to let the spinning strobe-like leds send me into some kind of fit. It wasn’t long until more people filtered in. Kick-off time ever looming. One such soul was David. A quick and friendly exchange resulted in him sitting with me. See? Football! Then came Mike. And then Patrick. This is more fucking like it, lads!
The match kicked-off and I was in gloriously, familiar territory:
Talkin’ shite about football!
It was great. I got to know more about how the Supporters Groups came about. I shared my own journey from MLS skeptic to die-hard LAFC fan. The match taking a backseat to the beauty of human connection between a group of guys who, outside of football, outside of LAFC, would never have met. And certainly would never have learned that David, while visiting Ireland a while back, was taken on a rather disturbingly Unionist heavy tour of Belfast by a cab-driver who’d ‘seen some things.’ Or that Patrick doesn’t get to as many matches with his wife since the kids came along. Or that Mike fell in love with the club by virtue of wandering into a pub to watch a match. See? Football!
The game ended in a 2 nil win. Delgado opening the scoring followed by our new hero Son getting his first assist for the club as he set up fellow newbie, Mathiue Choinére to score his first goal in the Black & Gold.
Post game, I got talking to a guy called Rich Orosco. Rich is the Chief Brand Officer for LAFC. And you’d be forgiven if you saw him from across a crowded bar and thought:
‘Shit, is that Chilean-American actor Pedro Pascal? Son of renowned child psychologist Verónica Pascal Ureta and fertility doctor Jose Balmaceda Rieral?’
You would be forgiven for that. You’d be wrong. But you’d be forgiven, nonetheless. We chatted for a bit as I told him about my new-found love for the club while shamelessly semi-promoting this blog.
Then his phone went off.
Team Security Paul was Facetiming him. Who is Team Security Paul? Well, he’s the Head of Security for LAFC. And has, over the years, reached somewhat of cult status among the Black & Gold faithful.
Just as Pedro, I mean Rich answered Paul’s call, he summoned the TSG members who had stuck around after the final whistle:
“Hey! Get over here if you want to see something fun!”
And something fun, it was! There, in all his Facetime glory, was none-other than South Korea’s finest..
Son Heung-Min!
What was happening?!
The Facetime Call!
Now, I’ve had many, many happy moments in my life. The aforementioned ‘99 Champions League Final comeback of density (10 points to anyone clocking my Back to the Future reference there!). I’ve celebrated a wedding day with the girl of my dreams. I’ve held that girl's hand on 2 separate occasions as she somehow, heroically, miraculously managed to squeeze a tiny human out of her own body and into this big, bold & beautifully flawed world. But I swear to Superman, the screenshot of me on that Facetime as Son Hueng-Min waved back, tells a story that bizarrely pales all those life changing moments into ‘also-rans!’
It was a glorious way to end my first ever ‘Watch Party’ experience.
I bid farewell to Rich and the Tigers Supporters Group and headed back towards the Metro Station. Happy that Baja’s Grill had been added to the Pantheon of bars I’ve walked into on my own and left having been embraced by people I had never known existed.
Why? Well…Football…
The People’s Game.
The Happiest Moment of My Life…Apparently.
Post Match Photo with the Tigers Supporters Group.