We Are Chivas USA | Official Union Ultras Blog

fellow Ultras, there is an issue facing us that we have to discuss. Some of the guys do it, it’s damaging our reputation as a supporter’s group, and we have to stop doing it at games altogether.

I’m talking about cargo pants.

Cargo pants have the unfortunate effect of transforming perfectly manly dudes into dorky 16 year olds, as these pictures show.

Fatigue cargos…even worse.

I know the Ultras are a family and all,  but we’re supporting the Goats, not going on a camping trip. : D

Pibe

1. Does a great job separating us from the violent, hate filled mullet patrol.

2. The fine Polish craftsmanship. Apparently, we got our scarves from the same people as Section 8.

3. East LA Chiva needs the money so he can finally afford the operation to have his head pulled out his butt.

4. Doubles as a kick ass Christmas scarf.

5. For the ladies, they’re sexy as hell. Wearing one ups your confidence sky high, and raises your attractiveness to the guy standing next to you.

6. For the guys, provides temporary cover for man boobs.

7. Because we’re real Ultras. (Sorry…stole that one from San Jose)

8. Whether you’re Mexican, El Salvadorian, an exotic blend like me, or Jewish like Gameface, everyone looks good in the red and white.

9. Preki would approve.

10. Right now, they’re 2 for 30 bucks! Don’t be a weenie.

Pibe

I would have written this sooner, but I’m still recovering from the trip. I’ve got some painful blisters on my fingers from the guiro and mysterious bruises on my right leg.

7:58 a.m: MIssion Hills. Arrival. Mapquest decided to mess with my direcciones, but a quick call to Assessino and I’m at Michoacano’s place. Nice Ford Lariat, by the way.

Big thanks to Mich for all the hard work in organizing and setting up the trip for us. Though I felt better when I found out he secretly made a fortune selling the movie rights.

Simon is the first to greet me with a warm smile and an alcoholic beverage, also warm. Everybody is in high spirits. Some of the Ultras showed up at Mich’s last night to spray paint banners and cut confetti. After making the rounds, some of the guys got together for a cigar before the trip for good luck.

9:35: And we’re off! And the Tecate and Negro Modelo start to flow. ChivaMayor and Rey Misterio are jumping and dancing, Chimu and Assessino are having fun in the back, Turbo is making bad jokes. A good time is being had. In the front, people are relaxing. Some are trying to sleep.

10:03: Our first stop. Nothing really to report, except for how fun it is watching Jedik try in vain to find empty garbage bags inside gas station trash cans. I must be trashed.

11:48: The bathroom has now reached 127 degrees Farenheit.

-How did I get this Azteca America mike, Mike?

…and out of my drunken stupor and back to the road trip: Apparently we’ve stopped at Ray’s families’ place. Those were sweet tangerines.

A short later, we’re back on the road. Some time passes. Glyco and Assessino try in vain to mark up the asleep. Somebody managed to get me, though “Chivas” on one arm and “USA” on the other is weiner free I suppose.

3:52: Gilroy, California. From my days at neaby UC Santa Cruz, I remembering hearing about Gilroy as a weird little town. Well, true that. The air smells like garlic. There’s a garlic festival. Garlic stores, garlic signs, garlic garlic garlic. Even the girls taste like garlic.

Speaking of taste, the Dutchman Pizza Palace was our next destination. I had The Sampler, an awesome combination of potato skins, garlic bread and chicken wings. Mich made a joke when I claimed the last chicken wing that was “inappropriate”. Surprisingly, the garlic fries were tame. Everyone was scattered. At one point, me and Assessino were jamming inside Guitar Center.

From there, it was a short distance to the match.

6:32: Buck Shaw Stadium, Santa Clara, CA: Arrival! I met up with my twin brother Jon, and it was time to bring it.

7:38: The whistle blows, and the match has started.

8:47:  Rey keeps telling people to go to the bathroom in groups.

8:56: Justin Braun scores. I, for one, was so into our rhythm it took me a few seconds to figure it out. Believe me, there were others.

9:04: “REAL ULTRAS…YEAH RIGHT!!”

9:23: San Jose Earthquakes fans: A collective group of yuppy Birkenstock wearing, iPhone texting dirt merchants.

Could the trip have been any more successful? We successfully muted the 1906 Ultras, and stuck it to ‘em in more ways than one. We had security dancing with us. We put on a f#%&ing show! And the Goats took three points on the road.

After our security escort back to the bus, some of the 1906 Ultras though they’d try waving their fingers around like a bunch of fairies. Naturally, we mooned ‘em in retaliation. That’s the ass of a winning team, my not so Ultra friends.

Afterwards, we celebrated with some tasty In ‘N Out. Glyco donated some of his to the dumpster.

Then the long ride home, featuring an abundance of laughs and crappy sleep.

1:02: Mich is waking people to see if they’re asleep.

1:45: C IS FOR CHAT COOKIE !

2:08: Time to bring out the laptop. Too bad I’m so tired I keep typing the same three sentences over and over. Thanks for the Almost Famous wisecrack, Chimu.

2:33: Customer Service!

(z z z….)

7:25: Departure. Mission Hills. What a day (and night!).

9:03: Here I am at a Starbucks in my old neighborhood. I wanted to write about the trip, but I mostly didn’t want to fall asleep at the wheel. Damn yuppies…there’s a guy wearing a mask to protect himself from swine flu, only he keeps taking it off to sip his coffee and eat his sandwich. I desperately wanted to grab my laptop and beat the guy with it.

9:48: Inspired by the events of Saturday, I make a trek to Sam Ash.

Later that day…I bought maracas!

When all is said and done, boy am I glad I reluctantly decided to go to that away viewing party with Carlos last year. Thanks Union Ultras.

Pibe