As I walked with the Timbers Army—the “ultras” among Portland Timbers fans—out of Yankee Stadium on the evening of April 19, elated by Dairon Asprilla’s 79th minute match-winner, I was stopped by a stadium security guard. He was not halting me for foul language, or trying to confiscate a flask; rather, he was thanking us for the verve the Timbers Army had brought out to Yankee Stadium that night. “That was incredible. You guys made my night—nah, my week.”
That the Timbers Army will “jump and clap and sing for victory” all 90 minutes of a match may come as a shocking change of pace to someone who is seeing soccer played at their workplace for the first season, but to those who follow the MLS, the robust stature of Portland’s support has long been common knowledge. Since their inaugural MLS season at Providence Park (then JELD-WEN) five years ago, the Timbers have consistently sold out their 20,000 seat stadium, averaging some of the league’s best attendance figures despite being one of its smaller markets. But it is not simply the numbers that are impressive—it’s the noise, the “North End Noise.”
That noise is organic to the crowd in Portland—as opposed to the fake crowd noise in Atlanta—but that doesn’t mean the roots of its grass aren’t being nurtured. The Timbers Army is not merely a moniker for a group of sing-hard, drink-hard die-hard fans; it’s an officially established non-profit. The 107 Independent Supporters Trust is the non-profit organization, with a democratically elected board of directors, that helps provide structural support for the face of Portland soccer fandom, The Timbers Army, helping to coordinate fan attendance at away matches, and provide flags, drums, and even printed out chant sheets for newly-minted Timbers fans at home games.
From corporate-sponsored halftime shows to selling the rights to stadium names, professional sports in the 21st Century seem to be overrun with advertisements, and seem to be less and less focused on the group of people who provide both their monetary, and their cultural capital: the fans. A lifelong Timbers supporter, and a season ticket holder in the Timbers Army section since Portland’s inaugural MLS season five years ago, Aaron Brown is a firm believer that the Timbers Army and the 107ist Supporters Trust provide a crucial counterweight to such rampant commercialization. “As professional sports become ever more commodified, packaged for television consumption and wrapped up in immense money and spectacle, it’s all the more exciting to have a locally-grown alternative to the notion that fandom is an experience to be bought and sold.”
On June 19, precisely two months after the Timbers victory in New York, I was at Providence Park in Portland, and with the North End in full voice, I was witness to perhaps the most remarkable conclusion to a soccer match I have ever seen—but it was not the Timbers on the field that night. It was Portland’s professional women’s team, the Thorns, whose goalkeeper Michelle Betos scored a remarkable diving header in stoppage time to salvage a point for her side, who had earlier been reduced to 10. And in attendance to see that amazing goal were not merely a handful of folks with no other Friday night plans, but rather 15,000 passionate fans, fans who showed up to support the Thorns despite the fact their team were missing eight players to the World Cup, including superstar Alex Morgan. The 107ist “locally-grown alternative” has not only helped to keep Providence Park sold out for Timbers matches, it’s fostered a football supporters culture in Portland that cuts across gender lines.
Above: Portland fans celebrate Michelle Betos’ equalizer
Still, despite the thrill of being in a capacity crowd at Providence Park, and perhaps even more than the Timbers Army’s alternative to a faux-crowd-noise sporting commodity, the 107ist greatest achievements are arguably far from the pitch on which the Timbers and Thorns ply their trade. Blood drives, book drives, CPR training, the list of 107ist charitable activities is truly remarkable. Whether it’s fixing up neglected public space—often in the form of soccer fields—or helping rally donations of books or clothing for children in need, the Timbers Army does not stop marching after the final whistle. For Brown, this comes as no surprise. “It’s a logical extension that anyone willing to sing their guts out for the Timbers can and should be mobilized to make the [Portland] community a better place, and it’s staggering seeing such ethos exuberantly and successfully mobilized to make soccer more accessible and relevant to the broader community.”
Not being a Portland native, or even an Oregonian, when I attended my first ever Timbers match during their maiden MLS campaign, I anticipated feeling, potentially, as an outsider, a participant-observer in a place I had an interest, but where I did not fully belong. This concern was ill-founded, and quickly laid to rest. “If you want to be Timbers Army,” I was told, “you are.” That the game is growing in the United States is a great thing—but that does not mean it has no need for committed stewards to direct its growth toward greater ends than merely more ticket stubs and jersey sales.
In a world where many football supporters are known more for violence than song, and where the commodification of professional sports on a global scale tends to exacerbate wealth discrepancy, the extension of grassroots soccer fandom to community outreach with egalitarian goals might not seem so obvious. But that’s precisely why the Timbers Army and the infrastructure provided by the 107 Independent Supporters Trust provide such a sterling example for American soccer support. Oh, and with the Timbers recent run of wins—including two over arch rival Seattle—it’s not a bad time to watch the Timbers on the pitch, either.