OUR CULTURE

Wir sind der Fußball

Vieles hat sich geändert. Der kleine Junge, der sich in den Fußball verliebte ist groß geworden. Die Stadien seiner Kindheit sind heute Arenen. Die Helden von damals kennt niemand mehr. Fußball ist angesagt und gehört nicht mehr dem Pöbel allein.

Und doch ist fast alles gleich geblieben. Die Begeisterung. Die Jubelarien nach wichtigen Toren. Die Erleichterung nach wichtigen Siegen. Vor allem aber das Gefühl, es ist alles noch da. Fußball war und ist großartig. Er wird es immer sein.

Natürlich spielen Erinnerungen im Leben immer eine Rolle, es geht gar nicht anders. Vor allem dann nicht, wenn man Fußball mag. Besondere Spiele, Siege oder Niederlagen, ebenso wie Begebenheiten rund um die Partien werden immer wieder aufgewärmt, sie sind identitätsstiftend. Es ist also vollkommen klar, dass die Vergangenheit dabei in schillernden Farben gemalt wird, mit jedem Bier mehr und trotzdem weigere ich mich zu glauben, dass früher alles besser war, die besten Zeiten schon hinter uns liegen, Fußball keinen Spaß mehr machen darf. Unser Gedächtnis ist tatsächlich nämlich ein sehr selektives Organ.

Wir vergessen den Regen, der in unüberdachten Stadien auf uns geprasselt ist oder verklären das durchnässte Frieren. Wir vergessen das beschissene Gekicke der unteren Ligen. Und wir vergessen, dass es auch früher Dinge gegeben hat, die uns lästig waren.

Ebenso vergessen wir, dass wir uns immer nach der Bundesliga gesehnt haben. Viel mehr noch nach dem Europapokal. Diese Wünsche wurden uns erfüllt. Es ist also Zeit für neue. Wir wollen einen Titel. Und weniger Showeinlagen rund um das Spiel. Vor allem das. Es liegt dabei an uns, nicht unbedingt den Titel zu gewinnen, spielen wir doch nicht selber, aber es liegt an uns die Rahmenbedingungen mit zu gestalten. Eine stumme unkritische Masse trägt dazu bei, dass Verhältnisse wie in Großbritannien möglich werden. Dort sind essenzielle Dinge verboten; fluchen, pöbeln, stehen, Bier trinken. Nichts davon geht auf den Tribünen mehr.

Sich wehren und Freiräume schaffen ist also alternativlos. Selbstverständlich geht das nicht von heute auf morgen, allerdings und da sind wir wieder bei der Erinnerung und der Tatsache, dass früher eben nicht alles besser war, geht heute deutlich mehr als noch vor zehn Jahren ging. Viele große Kurven haben sich Einfluss und Macht erarbeitet, sie sind nicht mehr auszulöschen, nicht klein zu kriegen. Diese Gegebenheiten wenden nicht alles zum Guten, aber so entsteht ein Ansatz. Der Fußball, den wir alle lieben kann also weiter bestehen. Nicht nur auf den Rängen, aber auch. Zum Glück.

Denn natürlich gehören Freundschaft, Zusammenhalt, Randale, Besäufnisse, Jubelfeiern, Choreographien, Gesänge und weitere schöne Dinge zu unserem Spiel, doch sind sämtliche Begleiterscheinungen nichts wert, wenn es den Kern nicht gibt. Man kann die Begeisterung für Fußball nicht an einen anderen Ort verpflanzen, sie gehört dazu und ist untrennbar mit dem Spiel verbunden.

Jammern zählt also nicht - gestalten muss man!

Fritz Haarmann, Hannover 96

Let’s start things with a presentation of yourself and 12thMan.

My name is Fabio Cavina and I was born and bred in Bologna. I graduated in economics at the university here in Bologna and worked in companies for some time of my life but my passion always laid somewhere else. I have always considered myself a very creative person and I really enjoy what I do now.

I have always loved clothes since I can remember, and growing up in the 80’s during the Paninaro era got me right into that. I think I had always wanted to start something like my own brand.

The 12th Man philosophy is oriented to testing textiles in respect of the traditional Italian tailoring and craftsmanship heritage, which translates into providing a great technical content combined with sports and military-inspired styles, creating garments that are then dyed with exclusive garment dyeing processes.

We are collaborating with historical suppliers of leading brands in Italian sportswear, whose focus is on continuous research and testing, setting the standards for the market.

The collection is entirely made in Italy, and garments are made in limited edition and individually numbered. 

What is your story – how did you end up doing what you’re doing? Any specific and isolated moments that might have set the wheels in motion?

As I was saying I come from a totally different background, I did not have any connection with the clothing industry. I literally had to work hard everyday to get connected with this world. There was not a specific moment that made me “go for it”, it was something that just happened. My motivation has brought me where I am now and, although I know that there is still a very long way to go, I am quite confident for the future.





Besides 12thMan, what other brands have you had the pleasure to work with?

I had the honor to collaborate with the Massimo Osti Studio, with Agata and Lorenzo Osti. Being a great admirer of Massimo Osti, that was like a reward for me. Together, we searched their father’s archive and came up with some images that were used by Massimo Osti in the 70’s to promote the Chester Perry brand (later to become C.P. Company). These 4 graphics were released in the form of limited edition t-shirts, made in Italy, individually numbered and garment dyed.

12th Man is a football term about the significance of the supporter, why did you choose the name?

That is a bit of a tricky question. When 12thMan was started a few seasons ago, in a way it was something quite related to Football but to be honest, I feel the brand concept has now developed beyond that and 12thMan is not addressing a particular market target, so to say. Our goal is to develop what we started and carry on with the Heritage of our Land when it comes to manufacturing high quality garments, entirely made in Italy and adding garment dyeing as a final special finishing. People who understand and rate these concepts will be interested.

Garment dying is something that pops up in my head when you think of 12thMan. Tell us a bit about the procedure and why you use this technique? 

We strongly believe that in today market a brand needs to be able to differentiate itself from the others. Italy has a long history for garment manufacturing and for garment dyeing, we are lucky as we can collaborate with the best factories in the world. To us, garment dyeing is a bit like poetry, really it is. It is what makes a garment special and unique. With 12thMan garments we aim to supply a sense of exclusivity and garment dyeing provides exactly that, assuring that none two items are exactly the same. Plus, it is part of our culture as garment dyeing was “invented” here a few decades ago.

Garment dyeing is not something every brand does and that is due to a series of reasons. Costs, production issues etc. 



Were do you find yourself in the 12thMan evolution?

I honestly believe that we are still at the beginning of it, although 2012 will be the year that will see 12thMan release the first outerwear pieces and that is quite a big step, considered that we started with a few printed t-shirts a few seasons ago. 

We are not a traditional clothing company, we take one step at a time and we are looking at a constant and coherent growth through time. 12thMan is getting known through word-of-mouth, forums, blogs …we don’t buy spaces in big magazines or do trade shows. We prefer to focus and invest in the product in order to be able to offer something special and unique and I honestly believe that the next collections will show that.



Where is your strongest following geographically right now, is there one?

Our strongest following is definitely in the UK, although other countries are now showing an increasing interest into 12thMan. Italy among them, finally.

Design, fabrics and production are all made in Italy. Was this your idea from the beginning or did it just happen?

Made in Italy is one of the principles we have been following since we started. We don’t compromise on it and we will never will. There would be no 12thMan without the “Made in Italy” factor. We firmly believe that an Italian brand should be manufactured in Italy.

What is your dream project as for craftsmanship and fabrics?

We are now testing garment dyeing on a few innovative fabrics and hopefully we will have something ready soon. Testing and experimenting is what ignites our enthusiasm for what we do so we will never stop doing that. 





You have mentioned the paninaro phenomenon as an inspiration before, you were young when that scene really kicked off but do you have any funny memories from that era – maybe something you witnessed as a young boy and was influenced/impressed by?

I was a teenager in the 80’s so I actually lived that time which was something special for a number of reasons. That is when I (we) really discovered brands etc. although confining the Paninaro Phenomenon with just brands would be wrong. It was more like “a way of life”, and right or wrong it made a lot of sense back then. I remember clearly seeing these guys, a few years older than I was, and they looked so cool on they motorbikes and wearing beautiful clothes. I wanted to be like them. Everybody wanted.

The musical aspect of the paninaro –Pet Shop Boys etc… are those bands that you ended up listening to yourself?

Paninari and Music … that is a funny one as everybody thinks we were listening to Pet Shop Boys 24/7 after they released their “Paninaro” effort. To be honest, the big bands were Duran Duran, Spandau Ballet, Wham, A-ha etc. Then I started listening to different music and got into Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Queen, Bowie etc. Real Music I mean, haha!

Pet Shop Boys were popular too but on a different level from the ones I mentioned (as far as I can remember).

Ever been to Scandinavia, and if so… what was your impression of these northern landscapes?

I have been to Scandinavia a few times actually, first time in 89’ right after the Paninaro thing, haha. I have only fond memories about places like Sweden, Denmark etc. I think Stockholm is one the most beautiful cities in Europe and I even got to spend a couple of vacations on the island of Gotland, I am sure you know about that. 



Favorite movie of all time?

It is difficult to pick one …Goodfellas, Scarface, La Haine but I think I would end up picking Star Wars (first two).

Favorite record of all time?

Pink Floyd, Queen, Bowie you choose one of their “good ones” and that could be my favorite record of all time. 

Favorite area/place in Italy that visitors might have missed?

My favorite places are small villages far from the main touristic routes, you know … places were you can still breathe, eat and drink real Italy. There is a few of them very close to Bologna as well. 

Thank you so much Fabio, any last words?

Thank You for the chat and opportunity.

Football: Pride, Passion, Emotion, Belief, Belonging, A Way of Life

The specific social and cultural role that football plays in a football fans life can sometimes takeover over behavioural patterns and they end up living, breathing and eating it - football, that is. Yes, football becomes a way of life. Players and managers are held in such high esteem as Gods by fans with football stadiums/grounds becoming a focal point for fans to worship these divine beings. Then there is also the bonding of football fans who support the same team; a bond formed out of pride and passion for their club. This football bond unites fans, and fans become a football family; a collective, a fused belonging, with one love, their team. True fans are not just spectators. Attending the match is their duty. Proper fans are dedicated followers, home and away, over land and sea, through thick and thin. Fans know their clubs history, not only the successful times. Fans also go through a rollercoaster of emotions while watching a game involving their team; from sheer euphoria, to deepest despair, in a heartbeat. And nearly all football fans have shed a tear over the outcome of a meaningful, vital match; either this be a triumphant win, or a poignant lost. Though most fans will never admit this. Vocally, fans can be the twelfth man motivating their team on to victory. Fans can even effect and influence the referees’ judgement and decisions sometimes. Plus there is also the fierce rivalries between sets fans of different clubs; but we shall put these rivalries aside on Our Culture for our love of football, our game. I, myself, have been through all of these happenings and vehement, and more. Football is in my soul.

My game: The first football matches I attended, besides school games, were Saturday afternoon park pub team matches which my older brother took me to, and so-called ‘played’ in these games. I don’t really remember much apart from blokes with ‘tashes and big sideburns in tight fitting kits chasing their opponents in packs and booting lumps out of each other. The aroma of winter green lotion and Number 10 cigs being smoked wafted through dressing room before the match is a smell I will never forget. This smell of strong tobacco continued at half-time and after the game had finished too. Plus there was always the stench of stale ale. The parks were like mud baths with an all-pile-in mentality. I would be kicking a football about - jumpers for goal posts - pretending to be the player of the time at the side of the pitch.

My playing days started when I joined the local cub scouts, who were a top team for years, winning many league and cup doubles. Left back was my position, the same as for the school team later on, even though I was right footed. This was probably because I wasn’t all that sparkling and no other lad had a left peg. I started getting better every game, never shirking a tackle or challenge, no matter their size. Some lads in the teams went onto play pro and semi-pro, the rest Saturday and Sunday park football usually still half-cut from a skin-full of ale the night before. I also joined a Saturday team with boys from different areas and schools, one whom I’m still big mates with today having been on a round the world trip with. We won a few medals along the way and the main highlight was getting them presented by two of my home town team top players that season - I nearly creamed my shorts!

Also during this period, my sister’s boyfriend had also started taking me on my home, town teams ground. The Spion Kop was the end we watched games from, with its white wall in the middle, asbestos roof and side panelling with a gap at the top where kiddies would gob on fans queuing waiting to come in below. Yes, these were home team fans. A big sweeping end full of lads and boys with scarves around their necks, wrists, heads, tucked in their flared jeans or sta-pressed pants. Scarves were even sometimes used as belts. These ‘must have’ items ranged from silk to wool, some even homemade efforts knitted by their Gran. Jam-jar lid badges, sewn on patches which included the two fingered style ones on Wrangler or Levi denim jackets, that were wore in abundance. This was the age were the scarf was the football fans main accessory, the equivalent of today’s replica shirt, as in those days shirts weren’t produced on the scale of today’s sell sell sell approach to mass marketing.

One Christmas I’d asked my Mum for a football kit of my home town team, so off she trotted down to a local sports shop. Christmas Day arrived and I ripped open my prezzies after Santa had emptied his sack at ours. What the… I now feasted my eyes on a blue top, white shorts and white socks, the opposite of my team. To this day I don’t know who had ballsed up – me, Mum or the shops’ owner. I’m sat there all Christmas day in an Everton Kit with a big sulky face on. So you can see, I’m not from a big football background, although my parents gave me plenty of encouragement and support when I played. I played in some of the best looking kits around in the Seventies too with Mitre or Gola boots gracing me feet from Tommy Ball’s, a local cheap shoe shop where they hung in their hundreds on racks with a piece of sting that held the pairs together. Some said that I’d forgotten to cut the string judging by the way I performed.

My love for football, and my team, grew and grew over the coming years: Since the Seventies I’ve witnessed, partook and been involved in; singing my throat and lungs horse from chanting my teams name from kick-off to the final whistle while holding my scarf aloft. I’ve ran for my life when Bovver Boys have taken our end. Invaded the pitch, en masse, with fellow fans to celebrate promotion on the last day of the season and rejoiced for days on end. I’ve been arrested for venting anger when my team where relegated to the basement league too. Unravelled a Union Jack flag with our teams name painted on with white, gloss paint on a rivals home end. Been part of the rise and evolution of the movement labelled Casual, right from its outset. Observed the erection and dismantlement of fences surrounding our pitch. I’ve not slept a wink tossing and turning the night before a big game, or derby day. Had a clip round the head, felt the wrath of a length of lathed wood on skin, and the sudden, intense pain of my flesh being penetrated from the fangs of a cute German shepherd dog, all from our friends the Boys in Blue. Travelled halfway around the world by plane, train and automobile to watch just one 90 minute game. Slopped ketchup and sweaty onions - off the bun of a greasy burger - down the front of my designer top, ruining it. Made friendships with lads over the years - as piss cascaded down the terraces past our adi’s from overflowing urinals - that are still as strong to this day. Purchased and contributed to a host of fanzines. I’ve seen my teams ground demolished and ripped apart, barrier-by-barrier, terrace-by-terrace, brick-by-brick and be replaced by sterile plastic seating in concrete and corrugated steel benumbed nondescript stadium. I spent thousands of pounds following my team; and a whole lot more. Football ain’t half changed, for the worse, though.





And all this leads me to the plight of the modern-day, football environment: It’s said in today’s football environment that the preponderance of fans of professional league teams feel somewhat disconnected from the clubs they once lived and breathed while swearing an oath of loyalty that they would never wane in their desire to support and follow their team until to their dying day. Yet over the past few years, fans have felt somewhat detached, somewhat disunited, somewhat disillusioned with the state of present-day football. Fans just don’t seem touchy-feely and all loved-up with their clubs and teams anymore. And more so, with the players. This is because the megalocephaly prima donnas are paid megabucks - by their Far East, oil saturated club owners, and the likes - and have no connection and feelings to the fans. Players run towards managers, not the fans, kissing their shirt or club badge profusely following tapping the ball in the net today. The next week, they could be doing the exact same for the clubs archrivals. This after demanding a transfer and also getting a monstrous signing on fee plus a double-their-money contact, at least, which is double what the workingman paying through the turnstiles earns in a lifetime. And all this might be against the club they’ve just left too! Aside from the aforementioned, there’s no sportsmanship in the game; a 50-50 challenge, a feeble tackle or a good old squaring-up usually takes the form of a 10-out-of-10 on the scorecards for a host of acrobatics and prolonged melodramatics. Loyalty and gamesmanship, your having a laugh.



There’s also no standing at the match. On the other hand, there’s sometimes no seats to sit in, no matter what the price, because the prawn sandwich brigade are sat in them following filling the faces in the corporate lounge. There’s OTT stewarding. You can’t swear and curse performances or players or other team’s followings anymore. The list bores into infinite, and I could waffle and rant on forever. Plus there’s no Bovril and Wagon Wheels on sale at the majority of grounds nowadays.

Though some passionate fans and ardent enthusiastic investors have formed new clubs like phoenixes from the flames. Following over 100 years of history, and the relocation of Wimbledon F.C. - which caused outrage amongst fans - AFC Wimbledon were established by a ‘crazy gang’ of supporters in 2002. And within less than 10 years of their formation they gained promotion to League 2. Also, Man U followers pissed-off with a variety of events at the club founded F.C. United in 2005, a team who are on the march to league status in the not too distant future. These heart-filled actions are few and far between though.

Only this season, for the first time ever, something has happened to my Saturday ritual of nigh on 40 years? I’ve stopped attending football, something I NEVER thought I would forgo. Something clicked. This is because the game I once loved is well and truly riddled with a terminal illness. Yes, football isn’t the game it once was, or ever will be again. 





It isn’t our game anymore. 

Bill 

My dad was a big Liverpool fan and began taking me to Anfield when I was 6 which was about 1971. Liverpool in those days was a very poor city and still is but Anfield was a spectacular place for a young kid. The Kop was at its height and the sight of them singing ‘You’ll never walk alone’ from the Anfield Road end is still ingrained in my mind. I remember the smells as much as the sounds, the vinegar from the chip shops, the horse shit from the police horses, the onions from the hotdog sellers, the beer from the pubs and of course the piss from 20,000 men crammed into the kop. Even though I was only small and when Liverpool scored you could end up 50 feet away from your ‘spec’ on the Kop, I never felt frightened and no-one ever really got seriously hurt. There was lots of violence inside the grounds during those days and I remember vividly Chelsea fans below us in the Main Stand throwing slings into the Kop and then my dad leaving early and going through all these Chelsea fans in the corridors who were begging the stewards not to throw them out because outside in the car park behind the stand was a mob of about 1000 scousers baying for their blood. This was the glory days for the old ‘bootboy’ movement which came after the skinheads and suedeheads of the late 60s and early 70s. There was a skinhead revival in the late 70s along with punk and I stopped going to Anfield around 75 when my dad’s car got stolen. I got more into music especially punk around this time and football became less important to me but I still went to the odd game and also followed my local non-league team Runcorn AFC ‘The Linnets’ who were in the old Northern Premier League which was the top non-league competition. Runcorn won it in 1976 but didn’t get into the old 4th division because their ground wasn’t good enough. Wimbledon won the Southern Premier League the same year, got promoted and a decade later beat Liverpool in the FA Cup final whereas Runcorn went worse and eventually sold the ground to housing developers. Some of the worst violence I’ve seen and been involved in was actually at Runcorn games rather than at big clubs because there was only ever a few police and the stewards were old men. 



In the beginning it was never about brands really. There were many different looks that came and went within months, baseball gear, American football shirts, jogging suits, tennis outfits, Adidas was always the main footwear but there was Pods, Kickers, Keos too, cord jackets, hunter leathers, box leathers, sheepskin jackets, bubble jackets, all kinds of different things not associated with labels but by 81, when the likes of Lacoste, Ellesse, Tacchini, Fila, Pringle and Lyle & Scott jumpers and the sportswear look came in, then it became far more about outdoing each other with rarer brands like Munsingwear and Braemar, Jaegar and so on. We were only used to what we get hold of in Britain and no-one was selling this stuff so shoplifting trips to alpine resorts and Germany became important especially with the ski wear and Adidas trainers. Trainers went in and out of fashion all the time; Samba, Stan Smiths, Forest Hills, Trimm Trabs, Munchen and then Nike came along in 82 and then New Balance and Diadora and that broke their monopoly. There was a split around 84 when Mancs began their scruff look which was a reaction against the sportswear look and scousers began wearing more cord and tweed, mountaineering gear and Cockneys went a bit more flash and dressed up with paisley shirts, Farahs, Daks, Aquascutum and classic English labels. 

I think there was a definite parallel with hip hop but trust me, no-one knew what hip hop was or what lads in New York were wearing back in 79, 80. We only really got an idea when the Rocksteady crew video was shown and then there was a split between the scally and hip hop looks. In Manchester the black kids dressed the same as the white kids, even Manchester’s Broken Glass Break Dance Crew were wearing scally clothes when they started and then it went more into that classic hip hop sportswear look in 83, 84 and that’s when the hip hop look went international really and when the whole scally/casual look became sidelined and was only really limited to Britain with maybe a few mobs in Holland, Belgium and Germany really understanding it. That ‘Ultra’ look was more like our old skinhead look and even though Italian and French labels became massive in the mid 80s, we never looked at French or Italian fans as being stylish. Germans and Dutch fans were ridiculed also as trying too hard to copy British looks but not getting it right. Even within Britain, scousers, mancs and cockneys still like to ridicule each other’s dress sense. 



The casual style only really started to creep in after the mod revival of 79. I’m not saying there weren’t ‘scallies’ around as there were kids who dressed in that style who were more into electronic music but the mod revival was massive and I remember we used to shop in Liverpool city centre around Button Street and even in 1980 there was still plenty of punks, skins, mods, rockabillies around. The scally look only became massive around 1980, 81 and seemed to tie in more with the new electronic and Synth Pop bands around like OMD, Human League, Kraftwerk. That was definitely the way it went where I lived. I live in a town about 15 miles from Liverpool but it is split into the Old Town which is more allied to Manchester in accent and new town which was an overspill new town where people from Liverpool moved to in the 60s and 70s. There was a lot of hostility and violence between the two communities and this was when I started to follow Manchester United because I was out fighting scousers every night and it didn’t seem right to be supporting Liverpool. Having said that there were lots of Liverpool and Everton fans in our gang too. A couple of our lads began dressing ‘smooth’ as we called it around 1980 and it was felt to be a kind of betrayal at first because most of our gang were skinheads and smoothies were regarded as scousers only. At the time there was only the scousers dressing like this as far as we knew until one pre-season friendly game at Runcorn around 200 Wigan lads came over dressed in classic scally clothing. When we went to Man United games we also noticed that the mancs were dressed the same and so within a few months maybe from the end of 79 to the summer of 1980, it had completely taken over the North West. At this time I wasn’t dressing like that because I was still into punk and Oi music and then got into rockabilly and northern soul and funk but by the time I left school in 1982, I had converted and remember on my 17th birthday buying a Dubon ‘Israeli parka’ and a pair of Adidas shoes (Tenerifes). That was me hooked from that moment on. In fact I remember wearing these items on a college trip to Paris in early 83 and was surprised to see that most Parisians were dressed like they were in a photo shoot for The Face. 



I don’t think violence was the main goal but the two things went hand in hand. Every team had its own mob, every town has its own mob, violence is endemic in British culture because we are very protective of our own territories and because there are so many towns and cities, there is rivalry everywhere and because Britain is relatively small compared to say France or Spain, then each club only has to travel a few miles before it hits a rival mob. Where I live, there is only a mile between Runcorn on the south shore of the Mersey and Widnes on the other side of the river but each town has its own accent, its own culture, they play rugby league for instance, and of course there’s always rivalry between both towns and I remember getting beaten up over there a few times. If you look at the away mobs of that time, the early to mid 80s, it was almost entirely made up of lads in their late teens to mid 20s and you had to stick together because you knew there would another mob waiting for you. I suppose the main mobs at the time were Liverpool and Everton, Man United, Leeds, Chelsea, West Ham. They had the numbers and reputations but most clubs could pull a decent firm together like Boro, Birmingham, Villa, Spurs, Arsenal. Millwall were always feared but as they were rarely in the first division you never really met them. They got promoted in 88 and it was fun to see them all for that season and the odd cup game. West Ham really set the trend for the smaller groups of travelling fans, rather than turning up en masse on football specials and being herded into the away end, they began making their own travel arrangements and began to go in the stands rather than the away terraces. This was unheard of at the time as stands were felt to be for those who couldn’t cut it on the terraces, the posh people and cowards. 



Casuals never died, it just mutated. There has never really been one uniform which is why it’s lasted so long, over 30 years and still evolving. The acid house look began really as just the baggy scally look that the Happy Mondays had been wearing in the Hacienda and that went against the more dressy clubber look of the time and the retro ‘Rare Groove’ scene. When the hippy look got mixed in, it went a bit silly but none of the main lads were wearing stuff like that anyway and I wore stuff like carpenter jeans, hiking boots, granddad collar shirts and various old school kagools, not Stone Island but Berghaus or Peter Storm which were the kind of things we wore back in the early 80s. In the clubs, the Balearic, Acid Jazz and Garage scenes moved away from Acid House and Rave, and that became more about smarter labels, Nick Coleman, Duffer, Burro, Koshino and that white jeans, bob haircut look. The Britpop look I suppose was a return to the classic casual styles of the 80s. Oasis had that dressed down manc look, plain crew neck jumpers, check shirts, Gazelles when they started and Blur were a kind of comedy pastiche of Cockney casual. That’s when the casual look really became big again with a new generation of younger kids who followed Liam Gallagher although we regarded him as a prick. 

It wasn’t democratization but a middle class appropriation of working class culture. If you read articles from Liverpool fanzine, The End, they always took the piss out of working class attitudes as much as they celebrated them whereas Loaded was a bunch of university educated posh kids snorting coke and wallowing in the kind of sexist, bigoted behavior that we were always fighting against. The British media is a middle class ghetto and it was insulting to see these rich kids pretending to be something they weren’t because they could always return to their previous lives whereas those stuck on council estates and in shit jobs or no jobs lived that way more to escape the drudgery of their everyday lives. 



I get annoyed when casual is presented as some kind of right wing, materialistic scene when in fact it’s an aesthetic not a musical, political or cultural scene. The one thing that unites casuals or scallies or whatever we get called is a love of great clothing and that surpasses any other consideration. I know some very left wing casuals and some very right wing ones, some who never talk about clothes and others who never stop talking about them. it transcends even language, especially in the north west of England where it’s ingrained into the fabric of life, it just ‘is.’ The myth that casuals tried to disguise themselves to avoid police attention is a joke. That may have been a by product but was never a conscious decision and as for being consumerist, well maybe some were but it was never just about expensive labels for the sake of it, otherwise lads would be walking around in Versace and they’re not. None of the looks have come from designers or so-called style gurus telling people what to wear, it’s entirely rooted in the shared aesthetic of working class culture. 

It seems like in a lot of other cultural domains, the time is about vintage nostalgia and collecting rather than evolve into a new thing…I don’t want to believe ‘hipsters’ of today are the ‘casuals’ of yesterday.

Phil Thornton 

Att vara omodern – men att tvingas vara samtidig.

Det är länge sedan nu. Länge sedan det gick att läsa en vettig matchanalys i någon av våra vanligaste dagstidningar. Ännu längre sedan det gick att lita på den kokta korven som serveras på de allsvenska arenorna. Evigheter sedan domarna dömde iförda kavaj och slips.

Det sista kan jag leva med även om det vore oerhört intressant att se i vilken mån en sådan som Martin Hansson skulle kunna bära upp en kavaj tillsammans med kortbyxor. Då är det betydligt värre med det övriga. Vår egen kultur- och idrottsminister som i vars öron ordet kultur ”har en negativ klang” och som hellre skulle vilja bli underhållningsminister, är ganska typisk för det etablerade, välmenande, fisljumma och menlösa klimat där vare sig nya kulturyttringar eller passionerad kärlek till fotboll kan frodas. Allt är underhållning, ta allt med en klackspark, anlägg ett genusperspektiv på läktarvåldet vare sig det verkligen finns ett verkligt läktarvåld eller inte…för nu skall vi ha trevligt! Problemet är väl att de verkligt passionerade på Söderstadion, Olympia, Stadion, The Den, Råsunda eller på Malmö Stadion mycket sällan har trevligt under sina respektive besök där.



Mycket kan sägas om det sinnestillstånd den passionerade supportern befinner sig i – före, under och efter ett derby eller för all del vilken match som helst, men att det varit ”trevligt” är det ingen som skulle hålla med om. Orolig, ångestladdad, lättat, euforisk, lycklig, deprimerad, förbannad, hatisk, letargisk, katatonisk, alla dessa begrepp ligger närmare till hands än trevligt. En högst privat teori är att det hänger samman med att vi redan haft trevligt. Flera gånger under en vecka dessutom. Det var trevligt på föräldramötet på dagis, det var trevligt på lunchen i onsdags, det var trevligt att kunna källsortera soporna rätt, det var trevligt att det inte blev mer än 1800 i restskatt och parmiddagen med Erik och Annika blev oväntat trevlig. Nästan lika trevlig som Thomas Ledin i ”Så mycket bättre”. Trevligt! Som både mål och medel. Vi har det så jävla trevligt att vi inte skulle stå ut med oss själva om vi inte hade fotbollen. Vi skulle kvävas. Så enkelt är det. Fotbollen på liv och död. Kärlek och hat. Vi mot de andra. Svart och vitt.

Allt detta som inte är särskilt typiskt för vår tid går naturligtvis över styr ibland, i liten eller stor omfattning. En fullt normal och fungerande tvåbarnspappa, utan betalningsanmärkningar och med miljöklassad bil kan alltså få för sig att skrika ”jävla domarhora” efter det att domaren lurat honom på dagens andra solklara straff. Vad man än tycker om detta så är det så det fungerar. Det blev jag medveten om tidigt i livet.





En annan tid, ett annat liv.

Jag är sju år. Jag vet var Kuba ligger bara för att han som är kung i Amerika har visat det på en karta på TV. Vår kung som heter Tage Erlander har också varit på TV, i Hylands Hörna. Det var på lördagen och pappa drack en grogg på Eau de Vie och Pommac. Som tur är gillar han starka groggar så jag fick det som var kvar av flaskan med Pommac. Jag kan inte sova så jag ligger under bordet i vardagsrummet och lyssnar på de vuxnas röster som verkar allt mer avlägsna. Pappas starka armar, nylonskjorta, doft av Old Spice och lite tobak. Inburen i sängen och pappa säger; ”Sov nu, vi skall på fotboll i morgon”.

Matchdag. Jag går in gratis och Farbror Sten lyfter mig över vändkorset fast jag gärna velat gå igenom. Högt uppe på läktaren ser jag ner mot gräsmattan och pappa pekar på nummer 9 i vårt lag; ”Han bor i 42:an” känner du igen honom? Hur skulle jag kunna göra det? Jag känner ju knappt igen pappa och Farbror Sten. De svär, biter på naglarna och skriker på ett sätt jag aldrig upplevt förut. Jag tittar på dem och på alla de andra som gör samma sak. Vi gör mål. Min pappa som annars är lite allvarlig och som dessutom kan och vet allt kramar mig hårt och skrattar. Vi gör ett mål till och nu kramar pappa Farbror Sten också. Jag vet inget om matchen, ännu mindre om vad som står på spel, men en sak vet jag; Jag ska för alltid vara en del av detta. Jag vill kunna känna så här igen.



Sönerna.

Stackars jävlar! Födda i den tid då en kokt med bröd ersatts av popcorn-menyer, chipspåsar och ”Gott & Blandat”. En tid då deras klasskamrater inte håller på de lokala konkurrenterna utan på Barcelona och/eller Manchester United. En tid då deras försök att få läsa något intressant om det egna favoritlaget belönas med rubriker som;

”Här hånar han motståndaren” Vad som sades var att; Jag är inte så imponerad av deras anfallsspel.”

”Hat-attacken på motståndaren” Vad som sades var att; Jag har aldrig varit förtjust i dem.

”Värvningspaniken efter måltorkan” Vad som sades var att; Vi är alltid på jakt efter kompetenta forwards.

Fullt logiskt naturligtvis eftersom det som en gång varit sportjournalistik som delmängd av nyhetsförmedling sedan följt huvudinriktningen för all media, den breda boulevarden mot den trevliga underhållningen. Eller för de allra mest ambitiösa, infotainment.

Men ändå, de finns där på klackplats varje match, sönerna. I vita trainers, i rätt jackor och med en medvetenhet som bara kan uppnås genom många och dyrköpta erfarenheter av en värld som ogillar, föraktar och till och med tar avstånd från allt de tror på.

För ett antal år sedan fick jag ett samtal från skolan om att äldste sonen hamnat i konflikt med en av sina klasskamrater. Oacceptabelt enligt hans fröken.

Vad hade hänt? Jo, gossen han konfliktat med hade påpekat att sonens lag förlorat och gjort det två gånger. Sonen som i detta läge har lätt att hålla sig för skratt säger;

Håll käften din jävla fitta. Du vet ingenting. Du har varit på fotboll en gång i ditt liv och då satt du med din nördiga farsa och hejade på Zlatan fast han inte ens spelade. Du kan dra åt helvete! Jävla Camp Sweden-idiot!

Jag lovade fröken att tala med sonen vilket jag också gjorde. Inte som den pappa som jag kanske borde ha varit utan mer som den jag faktiskt är. Och sonen fick tacos fast det bara var måndag.



Att flytta från sig själv.

Vi är många som redan berövats, eller som är på väg att bli berövade en viktig del av vår identitet. Våra hem, våra läktare, stadion där vi vuxit upp. De allra flesta kommer alldeles säkert att flytta tillsammans med sitt lag till det nya där det inte luktar piss på toaletterna och där sponsorerna i sina loger ser matchen bättre på widescreen. Än på riktigt. Där det kanske serveras sushi, ciabatta och kaffet har kanelsmak. De gör så för att de vill följa sitt lag snarare än att de brinner för att omfamna den moderna fotbollen. Ingen skugga över dem.

Men här går min gräns. Jag vägrar att delta i det kulturmord en flytt medför. Jag kommer inte att sätta min fot på den arena som byggts för att underhålla mig på ett bekvämt sätt. Underhållning och bekvämlighet har nämligen inte ett jävla dugg med mig och passionen att göra. Det är främmande begrepp. Jag köper gärna årskort utan att gå på matcherna och mitt behov av fotboll på riktigt får jag försöka tillfredsställa genom att gå på bortamatcher på utvalda arenor. Men det som varit mitt konstanta hem under det att jag varit upptagen med att flytta 12 gånger skall rivas. Jag klarar inte det. Så enkelt är det.

Jag är inte tillräckligt modern.

LL

All photos courtesy of Dokument Råsunda, an ongoing project during 2012 which will document the last year of Råsunda Stadium, by FIFA listed as one of ten most classic stadiums in the world.

E’ passato qualche mese da quando mi sono recato allo stadio con un paio di amici per l’ultima volta. Ormai assisto solo a qualche match di tanto in tanto, in diversi settori dello stadio dove mi capita di acquistare il biglietto.
Fino a pochi anni fa pensavo di invecchiare sulle gradinate, fare cori a squarciagola e battimani fino ad almeno 70 anni.
Ahimè ora la realtà è molto diversa, il calcio per me ha perso tutto il suo “appeal” anzi peggio mi infastidisce.
Al giorno d’oggi vedere una partita allo stadio per tutti i 90 minuti regolamentari è una impresa, una noia mortale, fuggirei a fine primo tempo per spararmi una serie di lager al primo chiosco.



Ma cosa è successo? Il calcio non mi piace più? Mi sono forse dato al rugby?
Niente di tutto questo, io amo ancora il calcio, quello un po’ vintage di cui conservo splendidi ricordi.

Le immagini sono ancora vive e nitide dentro la mia testa: le partite della mia squadra in serie C quando non si rischiava il carcere per una bottiglietta vuota lanciata in campo, oppure i filmati della kop degli anni 70, i derby del nord Italia degli anni 90, i genoani a Liverpool, le partite di Coppa Uefa viste in televisione con mio nonno da bambino negli anni 80, Gascoigne alla Lazio con il codino, le figurine panini, la rovesciata di Pelè in fuga per la vittoria.
E ancora i palloni come il Tango e l’Etrusco che facevamo gonfiare alle stazioni di servizio.



Palloni stupendi fatti per i campi in erba che dopo mesi e mesi di partite nei cortili si spelacchiavano fino a quando non restava altro che un ammasso di tela grigia.
Ai tempi avere uno di quei palloni era un po’ come possedere un paio di scarpe Timberland o una felpa Best Company. Qualità e bellezza.
A proposito ma li avete visti i palloni di oggi? Sfere avveniristiche senza stile ne anima, praticamente dei fottuti dischi volanti !
Poi si cresceva e l’attenzione dal campo, e dai giocatori, piano piano si spostava sugli spalti delle magnifiche curve italiane.

E quindi via con le prime trasferte, i gruppi ultras, gli striscioni, gli scontri, viaggiare per l’Italia in lungo e in largo senza biglietto adottando sempre nuove strategie per evitare i controlli della polizia, la rabbia, la felicità, la paura, la libertà, i racconti dei “grandi”, la politica, i rituali della domenica, le droghe, l’alcol, il rispetto.





La curva era un mondo eterogeneo e vivace all’interno del quale ognuno poteva trovare la sua dimensione, e che nel bene o nel male ci ha aiutato a crescere, a maturare, a diventare uomini.
Il calcio è importante per via della sua dimensione sociale, vera, genuina, è una scuola di vita insomma.
Se si toglie questa componente fondamentale allora il calcio non ha nessun valore è solo una scatola di cartone vuota, come quelle che si usano per conservare gli addobbi di natale.
Per questo motivo, il nostro calcio, - il vero calcio - deve essere idealizzato, cristallizzato e divulgato alle masse odierne.
Quindi, diffondiamolo, ricordiamolo, trasmettiamolo cosi come era e come dovrebbe essere a chi oggi ha 20 anni e non ha vissuto certe cose.
Facciamo innamorare le persone della versione autentica di questo sport, facciamo provare loro quella passione vera e irrazionale che ha guidato generazioni di italiani ed europei.



Bisogna che la gente provi cosa vuol dire fare tremare uno stadio con la voce o illuminare una curva con una torcia, poi vedremo se avranno voglia di tornare al loro squallido seggiolino numerato.
E’ arrivato il momento di dire basta ai soprusi, basta alle leggi liberticide e repressive.



Faremo come nella scena finale di fuga per la vittoria, quando il popolo dopo aver cantato la marsigliese invade il campo travolgendo tutto e tutti.
In fin dei conti anche la nostra è una battaglia per la libertà che va ben oltre il rettangolo di gioco.
Ora più che mai il passato è il futuro.

Etna lad

“The boys just call me camouflage” 

– Stan Ridgeway 

A written piece about why we dig camouflage is like a piece on big tits. Unnecessary. 

Camouflage is not something new or innovative within our ranks or circle of friends either. It has been done on swedish terraces and within different subcultures for ages. Some of which we were a part of in our teens. Stone Island has done it for ages. Ian Paley did camouflage during a time when it was all about posh Italian brands and patterns (Read: Aquascutum). Ralph Lauren too. 

War is not fun, but every boy wants to be a soldier growing up. Maybe it’s the esthetic of our adolescence – it’s in our DNA. We took that as far as we could when we grew up in the eighties, when playing war… a replica M16 just wasn’t enough – you had to be dressed in at least one piece of  camouflage as well. Most idols/role models we watched in the movies were Vietnam vets – Rambo, Mel Gibson in Lethal Weapon, Commando, Predator and the list goes on. If you make it out of a war, you’ll come back a little bit fucked in the head. But your physical strength will be unmatchable (no matter how much beer and shit you put into your body), you’ll be ready for combat 24-7 and you’ll get whatever girl you want. 

So movies were probably a big inspiration for pulling out a woodland tee, M65 jacket, or camo-shorts. So a camo craze swept the western world in the 1980’s, with teenagers and adults (mostly hunters) alike sporting all sorts of apparel in signature splotches of green, tan and brown. Retail experts, journalists and “experts” credited America’s military campaigns in Lebanon and Grenada for the trend and a manufacturer told TIME in 1984, “I think many people wear military clothes because they feel proud of the U.S.”. We are living proof that it was also all over Europe. 

It will get pathetic if we dig much deeper than this. But if a weird band t-shirt or a fucked up hair cut is like saying “fuck you” – a “normal” dressed bloke ads “maybe I’ll kill you” to that “fuck you” when wearing, let’s say a M65 Woodland.

“There is pleasure in the pathless woods, There is rapture on the lonely shore, There is society where none intrudes, By the deep sea and the music in its roar; I love not man the less, but Nature more.”

— Lord Byron



It’s funny how one’s perception of things change so immensely when placed out in the nature. All of our everyday concerns, our worries, our responsibility’s and duty’s that weigh so heavily on our shoulders simply wash away when natures silence and stillness drowns out everything else.
Everyone who has read of Colin Fletcher’s existentialistic journeys understand the overwhelming sense of satisfaction that flows through your system as you find yourself smack middle in a deep forest, on a high peak, or on a trail with a day’s worth of walking ahead.

Which is exactly where I found myself on a chilly Saturday morning by the Sea of Åland along with a dear mate of mine. A long overdue getaway from the rat race one’s work and social life easily turn into in our modern society. We both felt the urge to get away, so our planning was minimal. An early meet at a local bus station followed by two exchanges in just as many hours, and we had arrived at the start of our day hike. It being the off-season and all, we found ourselves completely alone on the trail except for passing a local out for a stroll with her dog. This being early November our hope for the slightest of sunlight was quickly crushed as we gazed up at the monochrome sky. With the last of the morning mist slowly slithering out of the forest we entered the trail we were set on following and started off in a comfortable pace.
Soon enough we came up on the first mentionable sight of day.
Albert Engström was an artist, author and member of the Swedish Academy, well known for the poster he created for the Swedish prohibition referendum in 1922, who had a studio space built on the cliffs outside Grisslehamn overlooking the sea painted white facing the sea and red facing the land like a navigation mark. . I could only imagine the spirit of creativity in such a setting.













We continued on along the coastline, turning off into the surrounding forest on occasion, over cobbled stones, through glades and sandy beach clad coves. We knew from the get go that the amount of daylight available would be limited and already noticing that we were falling behind schedule in our comfortable pace, we decided to pick it up a bit. No stops, only steady walking for the next hour or so to get back some of the lost time. Even with the cool breeze from the sea my wool and cashmere layering were proving to be too much so I packed my jacket in my backpack to avoid sweating.

Our spirits and pulses were high when we reached a stony beach cove with a straw roofed wooden house. The front was equipped with a small step to sit on. The perfect location for our packed lunch. We had been walking for three and a half hours and the faster pace was beginning to make its presence. Limbs and feet were starting to ache a bit. We knew we had a little more than half way of our trip left, so we kept the lunch to a minimum. Before we started off again my companion presented a hip flash filled to the brim with Jaloviina, a Finnish cut brandy. A taste or two and we were off again.

















We had about 17km left and it was getting darker and colder by the minute. A higher pace than I enjoyed, almost like a military quick march was forced upon us, as we didn’t want to walk the last forest part in complete darkness. Passing through another large glade I noticed a hunting cabin in the far corner, as we reached closer to the other side I swear I heard a rifle going off three times. A bullet wound would have been a bitter end to our hike, so we scurried along best we could.

We were now racing against the clock and the time we reached our final destination the sun had set completely and we stumbled out in the dark through a field.

The time was around five, with 25 km behind us in six hours we reached the transportation we had arranged to Skebobruk Herrgård where we would rest our heads.















Skebobruk Herrgård’s fantastic restaurant is accompanied by an eko-farm, local hunting grounds and a microbrewery with a quaint selection of brew. We enjoyed a four course set meal of premium local produce cooked by talented chefs accompanied by a beverage menu handpicked by an enthusiastic sommelier. An Italian wine from grapes grown on the north side of Mt. Etna stood out especially.

Exhausted from the day’s escapades we rounded off the evening with a quiet game of pool while tasting the three brews on offer from Skebo Bruksbryggeri just next door. Next morning with aching bodies and refreshed minds we returned to Stockholm. 

I can’t wait to get out again. 

Vi ha sett för länge mot söder, vi ha lyssnat till fåfänga ord – nu, unga systrar och bröder, låt oss vända vår panna mot nord.

Låt oss känna, utan förblandan, med vädren från främmande strand, den klangen, den doften, den andan av hela vårt vinterland.

- Erik Axel Karlfeldt 

A journey of a thousand miles must begin with a single step

- Lao Tzu



We don’t ride the bike that often but that doesn’t stop us getting all excited about Prima garments. 
A new brand made by someone with passion for every little detail, creating his own fabrics, design and production in Sweden, Prima is really keeping things close and is all about having total control of every step of the production process. After trying their sweatshirt this summer we wanted one of our own and therefore we will team up to make an exclusive Our Culture X Prima sweatshirt that soon will be able to buy. More of that later, until then…here is Henrik of Prima

Henrik, could you tell us a little bit about yourself and your background – how did Prima come about?

I was born in Stockholm in 1980. My mom is from one of the islands outside Stockholm and my dad is from the very northern parts of Sweden. We moved to the island of Gotland out in the middle of the Baltic sea when I was about 11-12 years old. My dad is a mountain man so we spent lots of time in the mountains as well. I kind of grew up in three places; the sea, the city and the mountains. I love them all.

My interest in clothes came early. I remember having my mom tailor things I bought second hand, or even new clothes, to make them fit like I wanted. You know, I could get a pair of jeans and take them straight to my mom and be like “do this and that and make them tighter here and wider there…” and she did. I was really bothered by things that didn’t fit well enough so you could move around in them. We skateboarded and rode bikes all the time and climbed roofs and ruins in the city of Visby, where I lived during parts of my youth. I needed things to be durable and comfortable, but also I wanted to look stylish. Just like now I guess, haha. But I could never settle with one or the other. We had a military outlet store close to my house and we used to go there all the time. They were the only ones that had clothes durable enough. And I thought they were stylish too. After some modification.

The idea of Prima wasn’t born over night. It was more like I was looking for something that I couldn’t find. I decided to do it myself. So I started Prima. 



The label is for both cycling/racing and off-the-saddle-activities. What made you cross the line from thinking about doing the label to actually creating your first pieces?

It became like an addiction. I couldn’t stop. I mean, the more I investigated my possibilities of making this happen, the more realistic it all became.
I even had a factory here in Sweden knit the fabric for the racing jerseys specially for me, because I wanted it a certain way.

You know. It’s like I had the possibility to create something so great, I felt like I was depriving my fellow men something if I wasn’t going through with it.
The idea first was to make garments only for performance riding, but I felt I was lacking casual garments aswell or cross over garments. (Comfortable and functional, but also casual). Things that you could wear on just a normal day. I don’t divide the different lines for racing or more casual wear because I belive in wearing what you want, when you want to. You decide. 

I hate when brands are trying to tell you what to wear and when. Prima is not a fashion brand. Though if someone wants to put us in a fashion spot, it’s up to them. I think brands that make fashion are just always going to be trying, not doing. Fashion is a look, Prima is a feeling. 





What is Prima for you and what would you like the people out there to think of the label?

I belive the clothes I wear is my armour, it’s something to be proud of. People that wear Prima knows what they’re wearing, not just what they look like, you know.
It’s like, I know I’m wearing something made in Sweden by people with true passion of what they do, that takes pride in what they do. And when it comes to the true racing gear, I ride between 10-15 hours a week in them, so does my fellow riders. So they’re constantly beening tested.

These are hand crafted garments. 





Where do you see the label, say five years from now?

That’s a hard question to answer. The company is still so young. I have to give it a while and see what happens.   





You have been racing for some time, when did you start and what made you stick to it?

It’s impossible to describe the feeling you get when racing. You ride for hours and your legs are screaming at you to stop but you battle that feeling to make you keep pushing as hard as you can. The focus I have is amazing. It’s right there right now. I get tough. I’m always nice and fair, cycling is a true gentlemans game, but when I race, I’m able to push myself really hard.

One of the greater feelings this year, was when I chased down a break away to give my teammate a shot at the sprint. (I had been going at it really hard for the whole race, trying to get in a break away or at least drop some people of the back, but without success. There was a guy that got away and had a good lead from the group when we came up to about 2 km from the finish. I was tired. My team mate got up in front and was going to try to chase him down, but I knew he had more left in his legs than me, cause I had been going so hard the whole race, so he had been able to save himself. I went up and sat him on my wheel and drove as hard as I possibly could and chased. I just pushed and pushed to make sure my team had a safe journey towards the line and I timed it perfectly. I cought the break away about 200 m before the line and I left it for my team to sprint it out.

Another great race was in May when I got away in a break after a while. We were about 7 guys and we rode hard. I almost gave up a few times. I was ready to say good bye just when one from my team bridged the gap and my moral boosted and I kept riding. I pushed so hard I couldn’t belive it. My legs were screaming at me to stop, to give them a break. I was hurting and I think for a while tears came out from my eyes. But I knew we were all hurting and I was able to overpower the part of me that wanted to give up and kept spinning the pedals. We held of all the way and I came in 4th. It was great. My best result this year and I came in before a lot of really strong riders. My legs were so tired after the race I could hardly stand up. But I was my own hero. 





What’s your feeling as a pro racing cyclist about the whole fixe thing?

I wouldn´t call my self pro, far from it.
I like when people ride bikes. It’s such a good thing. It gives you time to think and recreate, but also the fact that you powering yourself forward is fullfilling.
Just to be moving is enough for me. 
I see kids ride fixie bikes and I love it. It’s like when I was a kid we skateboarded and rode bikes. We sat our own limits and didn’t let anyone tell us what to do or where to do it.

Some of the pictures here are from your time in the US. Were you there for a specific race or was it more about seeing the fantastic sights from the back of your saddle?

I was there because I just needed to get away for a while. So I chose the American desert, close to the Mexican border. I have some friends there. I guess I was looking for a challenge.

It gets really hot there during the day. Like you can roll over and die kind of heat… but the nights are cool, so I went out on the bike around 6 in the morning 4 or 5 times a week. 2 days a week I climbed Mt Lemon on the bike. Great cycling. I left some of my skin in a corner up there too… we where going down the mountain after a few hours climbing it, really fast and a friend accelerated away to gap me (we do that some times for fun, it´s called “speed play”, really good training) and as I stood up to sprint on to his wheel, my chain came of and I went down superhard. It was bad. But I was able to ride the 20 km I had left to my car, drive home and got in the shower to scraped out the gravel from my wounds. Took me about a week before I was back on my bike…





What are your own favourite labels – shoes/outerwear. What jackets do you tend to wear the most yourself?

For shoes I wear a lot of Clarks. A have a pair of Mephisto that a friend gave to me that I really like. In the winter I have a pair of really old Reischle mountain boots. They are nothing fancy and they’re old, but they work real well. For trainers I wear a lot of Adidas and Vans, also New Balance. I like brands that stick to what they do best. 

Jackets; Norröna, Patagonia, but I have a few good old pieces too, like an old Mandarina duck that is an absolute favorite. But I guess the Down Sweater from Patagonia is the one I wear the most.