Written by: Matt Swift
It was the spring of 1994 and I was 15 years old at the time. I had recently moved to a new town, to a new High School. The friends I made all played soccer, all the time, that’s all they did. They love it.
I had never played the sport in my life but they kept inviting me out to practice with them, to have fun after school just kicking the ball around, scrimmaging, and messing about.
It didn’t take long until I too became fully consumed.
If I weren’t in class, I was on the field, any field, any patch of grass really, playing with my friends.
That spring, I joined a traveling soccer club, playing goalkeeper, a more natural position for someone that had played baseball all their life until that point. I found I was pretty decent, was enjoying it, and started accumulating all the gear that inherently comes with playing the sport. I remember wearing lots of Umbro early on, the 90’s soccer starter-pack brand, my gateway drug if you will.
Then, World Cup ’94 happened and it completely changed my life and really kick-started an obsession.
I Must Have All The Kits
There is one jersey that really and truly started all this nonsense. The Predator Goalkeeper Jersey.
I saw it. I had to have it. As a goalkeeper, it was imperative I get it. I don’t know why exactly, but I just knew that it must be mine. There were a few color combinations of this jersey on display at the World Cup, but I wanted either the Gold and Dark Red or the Blue and Green one . I begged and begged my poor mother to get me one and she finally relented and ordered me the Gold and Dark Red one. I remember getting it in the mail, opening it up, seeing it, touching it. It was glorious. No doubt, it’s absolutely heinous looking for sure, but nonetheless, totally epic.
The kits from that tournament really set the stage for my habit. With me being new and obsessed with soccer, I wanted all the kits, it didn’t matter what country it was from. I would comb through my Eurosport magazine and continue to beg my mom to get me a jersey, any jersey. We were pretty poor so I certainly didn’t get all that I wanted but was able to acquire a few once I started working that summer.
The first two that I bought myself via the catalog were the Italian and German jerseys ( I couldn’t find the absurd denim USA ones for some reason).
Next was the Dutch kit which I still find to be one of the most basic and iconic jerseys I’ve ever owned.
And, I slowly accumulated from there. It’s all I wore in High School. By my Junior year, I switched from goalkeeper to playing out in the field as a “Stopper”, yet on cold days I would still wear my goalkeeping jerseys for the long sleeves. I ate, slept, and breathed soccer, and wearing kits was just part of my identity. I didn’t care who liked it, plus all my friends were doing the same.
Another kit that really stands out to me is one that I bought in the summer of 1997. I was in Sweden, playing in a soccer tournament called the Gothia Cup. I was walking around the city and stumbled into a street vendor selling all types of jerseys. I spotted a unique one, a powder blue, Coventry City kit. Odd, I know. But, my favorite player, Cobi Jones had briefly played for them in ’95 and I remember seeing him in magazines with that jersey on. And here was my chance to get it and I knew that I must have it. Why did I have to have it? No clue, but I bought it anyway.
That is what I like about collecting jerseys, they tell a story or evoke a memory. One cannot begin to comprehend the allure of soccer jerseys without acknowledging the irresistible pull of nostalgia. I love that I can go to my closet and look at any one kit and it will transport me back in time, it will tell me a story.
Beyond nostalgia, soccer jerseys embody a unique blend of design, artistry, and cultural symbolism. I think of some of the Mexico jerseys, the majestic simplicity of Brazil’s iconic blue, yellow, and green kits. I think about the intricate geometric patterns adorning Nigeria’s 2018 World Cup jersey, and the simple but amazing USA “Where’s Waldo” kit. Each design carries its own story. As a connoisseur of jerseys, I am drawn to that.
And maybe this is why I’m never too critical of tops when they come out, as, over time, style and tastes change. Something once ugly may later be sought after. I love that you can see a jersey and automatically think of a specific player or a specific team.
Charlotte FC
So, if you have made it this far, you may no longer wonder why I rush to get every kit or every training top that the team puts out. To me, it’s history. To me, it will one day transport me back to a fond moment.
My first-ever Charlotte FC top is the basic Black and White top that was sold at a fan event at NoDa Brewing. That’s where I met some of the Charlotte FC front-office personnel, I remember talking to Brandt Bronico and Bobby Belair, and it’s also where I met and got to know other fans for really the first time. There is clearly nothing special about that top other than the memories that come with it.
My official first Charlotte FC kit has our first-ever signing, Sergio Ruiz on the back. In a few years, as I look at it, I’ll think about our first year, think about Sergio, and think about the 74,000 + fans at the inaugural home game. I’ll look at the burn mark on that jersey and laugh and remember how I scorched it from a smoke bomb while wearing it at an Open Cup game. I’ll look at the Mint and Black kit and probably say to myself; “I wish they would bring the Mint back”. I’ll look at our Purple kit from this year and remember how much David Gusler despised it. I’ll look at the Pride kits and compare them over time, rating which one is the best to myself, (or maybe I’ll post it on social media-lol).
So, that’s why I’m a little crazy about kits, especially Charlotte FC ones. People like to poke fun at me for it and that’s ok, I don’t mind. To me, these kits serve as a reminder of the profound connection I have for soccer and the memories they evoke.
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