I’m a one sport guy, namely soccer—or football, as the rest of the world (and usually I) call it.

While I played once or twice as a youth, it was the 1994 World Cup in the USA that really got me into the sport, and, specifically, it was the great Dutch player Dennis Bergkamp who caught my eye with his elegant yet incisive abilities with the ball.

I followed him to his club team—Arsenal in London—and immediately became a fan, which wasn’t difficult to do as they were entering a golden era under the management of Arsene Wegner and now-legendary players such as Thierry Henry, Freddie Ljungberg, and Patrick Vieira.

I eventually began playing indoor soccer as an adult (continuing to do so, some decades later), and the comparison between being a supporter of a club and playing in ever-changing teams has been on my mind lately. It’s a study between tribalism and diversity.

As a “Gooner” (a supporter of the Gunners, a common nickname for Arsenal), I only have eyes for them and will defend them against all outside critics (bantering with other Arsenal fans is something else entirely). I must also be a sworn “enemy” of Tottenham Hotspur, a rival north London club (which has, quite delightfully, been struggling this season, including two 4-1 losses to Arsenal). Think Hope-Calvin with added football hooligans.

This passion for the mighty Arsenal against all others is something I keenly feel, riding the joy of a win, shouldering the disappointment of a loss or draw, living in the hope that finally—after more than two decades—they could win the league (they’re top with 10 games to go). It’s a thrill amplified when the players combine for a gorgeous goal—or when a pilgrimage to their stadium can be undertaken, a match watched in person, songs sung, victory celebrated.

I’m not only all in for Arsenal, but I’m an advocate for them, pulling in a large portion of my extended family. Generally, it’s a positive form of tribalism, one in which our passions can be shared, whether happy or sad. But it does exclude others (especially Sp*rs fans), whereas my weekly pick-up game welcomes all (even the guy who constantly complains while playing).

And, more so, the teams are different each week, depending on who shows up and whether one is wearing a white or dark colored shirt. There are a few commonalities between Arsenal and the pick-up teams: both come from many nations and cultures, everybody wants to win, and the beauty of a good goal is appreciated.

But I must admit, the enjoyment of playing with a random team beats that of watching Arsenal, even when they’re winning. Perhaps this is because the primary goal of pick-up is to have fun. Perhaps it’s because the stakes are much lower. Or because I have influence over the game (of varying degrees, admittedly, but at least I’m in it rather than just watching). Or maybe it’s because, over the decades, I’ve made friends from around the world while continuing to appreciate the multitude of languages spoken on the field.

I’m one of the senior players now (addressed as “the OG” or “sir,” though not yet “grandfather” as some of my peers have been). I assume I’ll have to stop playing before I stop watching Arsenal. But until then, I will revel in the depth and breadth of humanity coming together around a ball, a field, and a goal.