It’s not yet noon, but upstairs at Abbey Burger Bistro in Federal Hill, the Guinness is already flowing. After all, it’s five o’clock somewhere, including London, where all the soccer fans focus their attention.

The English Premier League club Arsenal is playing, and as they do every time the team takes to the pitch, its Baltimore supporters are gathered at Abbey. Today’s match kicked off at 11 a.m., but some start as early as at 7 a.m., which doesn’t dissuade the Charm City Gooners, a play on the team’s nickname, The Gunners, from cheering on their team.

Ten years ago, owner Russ Miller opened the bar one morning for a friend who wanted to watch an Arsenal match. “He asked me if he could bring in an Arsenal scarf and hang it up,” Miller says. “Somebody else saw the scarf.” That somebody was Mike Kavanagh, who founded the Gooners in 2009.

There are four locations of Abbey, but this one on Marshall Street is the club’s home. Early game days start with donuts or breakfast sandwiches. Beer—especially European brews—and whiskey are popular any time soccer is on TV. Most fans congregate upstairs, giving the atmosphere a clubhouse feel. Miller even had one wall painted red with the Charm City Gooners crab and cannon logo and the names and jersey numbers of notable players.

For a late-morning start like this one, Abbey’s entire menu is available, and that can mean burgers made from any kind of meat. A slider trio with wild boar, red deer, and camel—yes, camel—called out to adventurous eaters. Simon Torres, the club’s co-branch manager since 2014, is superstitious, so he always orders bison with American cheese, lettuce, tomato, and mushrooms. Although the fans are intensely engaged in the game—exalting when Arsenal takes a 1-0 lead, dropping an occasional F-bomb when Wolverhampton scores the equalizer—they’re not rowdy.

A fun, family atmosphere permeates the bar. (Kids are welcome.) “I tell people the wonderful thing about the Premier League is you can get up on a Saturday morning, you can hang out with your friends and family, go to a bar like the Abbey, watch soccer, eat, drink, and shout at the TV, and two hours later you’re done and can go about your day,” says Kavanaugh.

The match ends in a draw, an unsatisfactory result to many Gooners. In the EPL, not all ties are created equal. But if the smiles on the faces of the fans are any indication, it seems not all Baltimore Saturday mornings are either.

The Abbey Burger Bistro: Don your red and white to cheer on the Arsenal Football Club in Federal Hill (or West Ham United in Fells Point). Fans can purchase a $15 Arsenal mug, get their first beer free, and bring it in during any game day for a $3 refill. Multiple locations including 1041 Marshall St.

Sláinte Irish Pub: Though this Fells Point Irish bar is quite diplomatic and doesn’t have a specific team affiliations, Chelsea fans, aka the “beloved blues” pack into the bar for games as early as 7 a.m. 1700 Thames St.

Claddagh Pub: The bar will be decked out with pennants and feature beer specials, food discounts, and 30 TVs with sound. 2918 O’Donnell St.

Smaltimore: Take in a Reds’ game and learn some clever cheers at this Canton spot, where they pass out free shots every time Liverpool scores a gooooal. 2522 Fait Ave.

Sean Bolan’s: This favorite hangout for EPL fans features seven TVs and will be playing the World Cup matches with sound. 12 S. Main St.

Carlos O’Charlies: Expect $3 beers, appetizer specials, and a huge hi-def TV screen, as this bar’s patrons cheer on favorites like Honduras and Argentina. 3508 Eastern Ave.

Todd Connor’s: Cheer on the globally popular Manchester United (kind of like the Dallas Cowboys of the soccer world) at this Fells Point corner bar, which features $3 Miller Lites and $3 Fireball shots, which you’ll consider the real red devils the next morning. 700 S Broadway

Chez Hugo: This might not be the first place that comes to mind when you think about watching soccer, but Chef Steve Monnier is a big fan of Les Bleus. Viewing parties for each of the French matches will feature drink specials and traditional pastries. 206 E. Redwood St.

Ryleigh’s Oyster: Proud Lilywhites make their way to Cross Street on game days to cheer on the Tottenham Football Club, as Ryleigh’s Oyster is the official home of the Baltimore Spurs. Enjoy festive flags and scarves as well as $3 drafts during Premiere League fixtures. 36 E. Cross St.

Soccer Field 101

For the first time in decades, the Baltimore Blast are playing their hard-hitting, high-scoring, indoor-soccer games some place other than Royal Farms Arena. The team’s new home is the smaller, more modern SECU Arena on Towson University’s campus.

In an interview with Marty Bass and Linh Bui on WJZ team owner Edwin F. Hale, Sr. linked the move to his ongoing legal dispute with the city over the ownership of billboards outside Royal Farms Arena. And the deal with the college is the only reason the team is still around.

“Had we not gone to Towson University, there would be no Baltimore Blast this year,” Hale said.

Still, for Blast diehards, leaving may feel a bit like when the Orioles, and then the Ravens, departed Memorial Stadium. Though little about the building could be described as state-of-the-art, the old Baltimore Civic Center is not without its shabby charms and history. But the Blast are all we got and they’re still really, really good at winning games—they’re going for their third championship in a row.

This past Saturday, we ventured out to Towson to check out the new digs and see the Blast take on the St. Louis Ambush. Here are some pointers for enjoying an action-packed game at the new venue.

Buying Tickets

Even though the team’s maximum seating capacity has been cut by more than half (from about 10,000 to 4,000), there were still plenty of seats available for the game against the Ambush. The box office is located beyond the security check-in at Gate 2. With that said, it’s still best to call or check the map on Ticketmaster before banking on walk-up sales.

The small confines and smaller field really do put fans right on top of the action. My buddy and I started out in section 206 and had a great view nearly at midfield. It’s worth it to splurge and get seats in the lower bowl—we checked out club section 112—where you can clearly listen as the players call out directions to their teammates and hear the sound of the ball moving along the artificial turf.

Pregame

Given its location on York Road just off Towson’s campus, local sports bar staple Bill Bateman’s Bistro is, by default, the best place to grab some pregame beers and food. Even then, it’s about a 20-minute walk from Bateman’s to the arena, so you’ll probably still have to drive (responsibly, of course).

I asked our bartender if there were any Blast-related specials and he said there weren’t, but that he was thinking about mentioning it to his manager after seeing an uptick in business on game days. No pressure, guys.

But they did have their regular slate of deals, which on this day featured discounted Bell’s Best Brown Ale ($4.50 for a 22-ounce glass, $3.50 for a pint), and, of course, all the wings, burgers, and pub grub our appetites could handle.

Know Before You Go

SECU Arena is just off Osler Drive and, as the team has heavily promoted, parking is built into the cost of a ticket. As you head south on Osler, the first sign for Blast parking will lead you toward lots near Unitas Stadium. Keep going, though, and you’ll see a second sign that leads to parking near the Towson Center. The lots near the football stadium are much further away.

It took us a little more than five minutes to walk from our spot to the gate and through security. Though not quite as strict as Ravens game, SECU security doesn’t allow bags larger than 12 inches high, 22 inches wide, and 8 inches deep.

The In-Game Experience

Opened in 2013, SECU Arena still has a lot of new bells and whistles, including an overhead scoreboard with crisp graphics and rectangular video boards that wrap around the seating bowl, much like at M&T Bank Stadium. These new amenities give the game itself a much sleeker, professionally produced feel.

As for concessions, professional sports still means professional sports prices, with nachos at $6, pizzas at $8 ($8.50 for pepperoni), chicken tenders and Old Bay chips at $11, and beer and wine ranging from $7.50 to $8.50, just to name a few. There were only three main food areas and a couple of carts, but they all seemed to move customers through briskly. Only at halftime were there noticeable lines. A few things worth pointing out: There are no vendors walking up and down the aisles, and the food stands started shutting down early into the fourth quarter.

The team store is located below section 210 and sells standard sports fare, like jerseys, shirts, and soccer balls, as well as fidget spinners and, if you so desire, Hale’s autobiography.

Otherwise, the atmosphere is the same as ever: Kool & The Gang’s “Celebration” and a T-shirt toss after every goal, the once-per-game playing of the theme from SpongeBob Squarepants, and superfan Rickee Walker—decked out in a hat and vest covered with buttons and pins from years past—banging on a drum, shaking gas fans filled with chickpeas, or playing a vuvuzela to hype the crowd.

Postgame

Per usual, several players will head to the team store after the final buzzer to sign autographs for fans.

The official after-party is at Nacho Mama’s in downtown Towson, where players, coaches, cheerleaders, and their families enjoy a meal together and then mingle with fans. There were no specials there, either, but the restaurant does boast having its house margarita, the sour and salty Graceland, on draft.

With two consecutive championships, how does it feel to be part of a successful sports team like the Baltimore Blast?
It feels great, I can’t complain. When you’re playing any sport that you love, as a professional, you want to succeed. We’ve been back-to-back champions—I’ve won three of the five since I’ve been here—but the reality is, we put in a lot of work to be where we are. 

Last season makes nine wins for the Blast. How did this championship game compare to others in the past?
At the championship in Mexico, they scored on us with 18 seconds left in the game. They had won the first game, so that meant they would win the championship if they beat us. We scored back with five seconds left. Then we went into overtime, and then second overtime, and we won. We still can’t believe we did that. 

How do you feel about the team moving from the Royal Farms Arena to the Towson SECU Arena this fall?
Wherever the team goes, we are going to play. As a goalie, for my personal game, I prefer a bigger field, but we won the last two championships in really tiny fields, which makes me think this will be a good move. It’s a transition, but it’s definitely going to be for the best. Our fans are going to be closer. It’s going to be really loud. 

What do you think sets the Blast apart from the rest of the league?
We play as a unit. Everybody knows that when you’re playing against the Blast, you’re going to have trouble, because of our teamwork. We are so committed to playing as a team. There’s not a single player that is going to outshine the rest.

How is being a goalie different from other positions?
Goalkeepers are always the most pressured player. You can’t really make mistakes. But I love playing under pressure. I like playing away games because all of the fans are against you and I love that atmosphere. The goalkeeper also works really hard during the week but we don’t do much when we perform in the game. You make a couple saves here and there, but you have to be more mentally prepared than physically. 

The Blast has a very loyal fan base.
This is another huge thing that makes us different—and makes people love us. They will likely only meet a Ravens player once in a lifetime, or take a selfie with them and never see them again, but they can be in touch with us easily. They can chat with us and see us after the games. It’s also a family environment. It’s a safe place to let your kids roam and enjoy themselves. 

You’ve been a Fan Favorite for the Blast for five years in a row. Why do you think that is?
When people come to the games and watch me play, they can see how much I care. I really, really love what I do. This was my dream as a kid, and I think I show that side of myself when I play. 

Tell us about your journey with soccer.
I was born in Brazil, and in Brazil, it’s a religion. I started when I was four, and by the time I was seven, I was playing for a travel team and became goalie. I didn’t like to run much, so that worked better for me [laughs]. You had to be a little quicker, smarter, and a little crazy. I moved to a professional team when I was 13 for seven years, and then moved to Italy, where I now have dual citizenship. I was playing for Italy in the 2011 World Cup. The Blast coach saw the game and everything went from there. 

Your team is comprised of men from all different backgrounds and countries.
It’s fun. We have a lot of Brazilian players on this team right now, so we are really close. I played with Elton [de Oliveira] back in Brazil when we were 13. I played with [Jonatas] Melo in Italy when we were 21 or 22. Melo played with Daniel [Peruzzi] in Italy. Soccer is a small world. We are all really good friends. Portuguese is the second language of the Baltimore Blast [laughs]. 

You also coach at Johns Hopkins, McDonogh School, and the Baltimore Celtic Club.
Coaching is very special. It gives you the chance to teach somebody based on the knowledge you have. You watch the improvements and you’re just really proud—I’m like a proud papa. You also get so nervous coaching. It’s worse than playing. You can’t do anything about the outcome. You’re just on the sideline watching. It drives me nuts sometimes, but I love it.

What do you tell kids to motivate them to play?
Play what you love. You have to be happy when you’re a kid. I sometimes think parents forget that and put too much pressure on the kids. I really want them to have fun. The teamwork in soccer is very special. 

What motivates you every day?
I dreamed of being a soccer player and I am a soccer player. How blessed am I? I wake up every morning and go for my dream. Money is important, but for me, happiness is the most important thing. I really, really love this sport, which starts to worry me, because at some point, I’ll have to stop. 

What will you do then?
A friend of mine became a huge soccer player. He stopped playing two years ago and now he does skydiving. He said it’s the same pre-game feeling—the adrenaline. So now I think I’m going to be a skydiver, too!

For a split second, Lucas Roque seemed suspended in mid air, his back parallel to the green artificial turf, his eyes focused on the soccer ball he was about to rocket off his right foot.When Roque’s circus-like flip kick improbably—impossibly, really—sailed past the stunned Missouri Comets goalkeeper, delivering the Blast the decisive blow in March’s final Major Indoor Soccer League (MISL) championship game, he became the latest legend in the storied franchise’s decade of dominance. Most Baltimore fans know the Joe Flacco-to-Jacoby Jones play in Denver much better, but Roque’s bicycle kick, as the rare soccer feat is known, was a sports “miracle” materialized from skill and luck. And for Blast fans—a decidedly smaller, yet no less passionate bunch than their NFL or MLB counterparts—it’s every bit as significant.

“It couldn’t be a better ending,” says the Brazilian forward, who is entering his second season with the team. “I couldn’t say we were going to win after the goal because there was still a lot of time left. But I was praying it would be the winning goal.”

You’ll have to excuse Baltimore sports fans if, after a 2012-13 season that saw them celebrate a Super Bowl win, baseball resurrection, and the Blast’s title, they truly believe that God’s ears were attuned to Charm City.
Call the Ravens run dominant and the Orioles rebirth overdue. There’s only one way to characterize the Blast, a team that has won six championships in 11 years.

As a dynasty.

This season, which began this month with the Blast hanging its latest championship banner from the Baltimore Arena rafters, marks the 34th consecutive year of professional indoor soccer in the city. The sport essentially is an Americanized version of the so-called “beautiful game”—soccer with amped up speed and scoring.

Six men per side play balls off the boards and substitute on the fly, hockey-style. As in basketball, goals count for two or three points, so leads can turn into deficits in the blink of an eye.

“Indoor soccer is definitely end-to-end,” says defender Pat Healey, a Calvert Hall grad. “There’s a lot of action, a lot of goals, and the game can transition very quickly. You’re never really out of a game.”

Like its pro-football history, Baltimore’s indoor soccer lineage includes several franchises playing in various leagues. The current iteration dates to 1998, when developer and former 1st Mariner Bank CEO Ed Hale reacquired the team (he previously owned it from 1989-1992) and changed its name from the Spirit back to the Blast.

While the Blast’s fortunes rose, the vitality of the sport itself wavered. Indoor soccer enjoyed its heyday in the ’80s and early ’90s, when crowds in Baltimore and cities like Dallas and Cleveland threatened five digits. But as the economy shifted downward, sponsorships and ticket sales, which along with merchandise and summer camps encompass virtually all of an indoor-soccer franchise’s revenue, fell. Last year, the Blast averaged about 6,000 fans per game. The MISL, which at one point dropped to just five teams, will include seven this season.

Earlier this year, the team moved its headquarters from Du Burns Arena in Canton to a nondescript office park in Rosedale. It practiced at the Northeast Regional Recreation Center in Baltimore County. Unlike after previous title-winning seasons, Blast players, who earn between $1,500 and $4,000 a month, did not receive championship rings. (Many coach soccer or work at summer camps to supplement their income.)

“Let’s face it: We went through a very tough time in our country with the economy, and I’m proud to say that our Baltimore franchise and the league were able to get through it,” says Blast president and general manager Kevin Healey (and Pat’s father), who was among Hale’s initial hires in 1998. “The overall health of the league is trending upwards.”
After taking over, one of Healey’s first moves was to sign native New Yorker Danny Kelly to play midfield.

That trio of leadership—Hale, Healey, and Kelly—remains intact today. Kelly, now the head coach, has won three titles with the Blast, two as a player and one as a player-coach. He understands that Hale and Healey’s expectations never change.

“Our goal is to reach the championship every year,” Healey says. “If we reach the final and don’t win it, we don’t feel like we had a great year.”

Devout Blast fan Kathy Reynolds was in some serious pain. She had just undergone emergency surgery to correct a bowel blockage and remove a gallstone. Doctors released her from the hospital three days later—Friday night at 7:30. The next day, she went to see her beloved team play. Since attending her first game eight-and-a-half years ago, Reynolds has only missed two, both for “really big” church events.

“My husband and I got married on a Friday before opening night,” she says. “We gave each other season tickets for our wedding gift. We went to the game the night after our wedding and had T-shirts made that said, ‘We celebrated our honeymoon with the Baltimore Blast.’ We won.”

In an era of $40 parking and $10 beer at sporting events, Blast games remain a bargain. Tickets range from $16 to $22 for this year’s 10 home dates. Fans are treated to performances by cheerleaders, contests between quarters, and autograph sessions after the game. Reynolds has been president of the Blast fan club for six years. Last year it had about 250 members, who establish real and lasting relationships with the players at events like bowling nights and season-ending banquets.

“It’s very intimate,” says Paul Kram, who has been going to games with his wife, Sheree, for decades. In 2009 they began attending all the road games, as well. “The players come as rookies, and you watch them develop. You get to know them and their families. If the Ravens or Orioles lose, I’m disappointed as a fan. When the Blast lose, I’m really disappointed for the players.”

A little more than a year ago, Kram’s mother passed away. At the viewing in Dundalk, his wife noticed Ed Hale’s mother make her way into the funeral home.

“A few minutes later Ed Hale came by to pay his respects,” Kram says, his voice cracking. “Neither of them knew my mom. Later that evening Danny Kelly came. They had just found out from somebody and made it a point to come. That was stunning to me.”

“We have the best fans in the league without a doubt,” says forward Marco Mangione, whose father, Nick, also played for the Blast. “They support us through the good times and bad times, and we try to give back to them as much as possible.”

The Blast started last season looking up at rival Chicago in the standings before eventually securing the best record in the league and home-field advantage for the four-team playoff. The team advanced to the final, where it defeated Missouri in Game 1 of the best-of-three series (if needed, the decider would be a 15-minute mini-game played immediately after Game 2). Back in Baltimore, the Comets took a 4-0 lead into halftime.

A power play goal got the Blast on the board and energized the crowd. A few minutes later, Roque electrocuted it. A first-year member of the team who was signed after a tryout, the 25-year-old from São Paulo grew up playing a sport called “footvolley” on the beaches of his homeland.

“We do a lot of bicycle kicks, so I always had the ability to hit the ball in the air,” he says. “When I saw the ball coming off the wall it was high; a bicycle kick was the only way. I couldn’t believe I scored that goal in such an important moment.”

Neither could anyone else in the arena. Roque popped up off the turf, started pulling on his red-and-yellow jersey, and ran as a mob of his teammates chased him. Fans behind the goal reacted as if they’d just seen Muhammad Ali knock out George Foreman.

“I was on the bench, and my jaw just dropped,” says defender Pat Healey. “The place went crazy. You couldn’t ask for a better picture.”

The title wasn’t officially secured until a Missouri free kick was cleared away in the final seconds, but after “The Goal,” victory seemed fated.

When the final horn sounded, Kelly allowed himself to exhale.

“It’s an indescribable feeling, because everything you’ve worked so hard for you’ve accomplished in one moment,” he says.

After the arena finally emptied, a group of players, coaches, and fans walked a few blocks to Pratt Street Ale House, where they kicked back a few pints and celebrated winning another championship. Together.

Will the champagne (and beer) flow in Baltimore for an eighth time when the season’s champion is crowned in March?
“I’m expecting this group to compete for a title,” Kelly says. “We have most of the pieces back. Things look good, but can we put together the same kinds of performances and gel like we did last year? That remains to be seen.”

For fans of Baltimore’s winningest professional sports franchise, finding out will be a blast.

Mike Unger is a senior contributing writer for Baltimore.

Just a minute or so remained in the contest when Yoppe Kalasa intercepted a pass at midfield. His under-16 team, made up entirely of refugees new to Baltimore playing their first-ever Central Maryland Soccer Association match, hadn’t scored a goal all game. In fact, they trailed 6-0 in the waning moments at Perry Hall’s Honeygo Park.

It wasn’t that the boys didn’t possess skills—they’d grown up playing pick-up soccer in war-torn Iraqi cities and Congolese villages, in Nepal, Eritrea, and Cameroon, as well as Ugandan and Ethiopian refugee camps. And they badly wanted to prove themselves, but no one had ever played an organized game on a regulation-sized field with referees. Of course, trying to communicate in a dozen different languages proved an obstacle, too, among the players, their coach, and the referees.

The boys had been kicking the ball around informally for several months with coach Jill Pardini, at the time a Baltimore City Community College-affiliated Refugee Youth Project volunteer, when they began urging her to form a real squad. Despite birth certificate questions about the kids’ ages in the local youth soccer league and skepticism in refugee communities about whether a graduate would stick around to see the project through, she’d managed to sort through the paperwork. A former University of Iowa midfielder and Peace Corps’ English teacher, Pardini understood soccer could be a good hook for boys needing to learn a second language.

“I just forgot to teach them the rules of the game,” she laughs, recalling that initial match three years ago.

Jill Pardini, founder of Soccer Without Borders-Baltimore, coaching refugee boys in 2013.

For example, the boys were unfamiliar with even the kick-off that starts each match.

“The referee must’ve tried six or seven times to explain how the kick-off works before he gave up and just handed the ball to the other team,” recalls Kaltum Suleman, who had recently been relocated from an Ethiopian refugee camp into an East Baltimore apartment with his mother and sister. He spoke virtually no English at the time, but three years later, now captains Digital Harbor High School’s Baltimore City Championship soccer team.

The players didn’t know how to throw the ball in from the sidelines or understand “offsides.” Or, that they needed to keep playing until they heard the referee’s whistle. “If they thought there was a hand ball or foul, they’d stop playing immediately—like you do in pick-up,” Pardini says. “But the referee doesn’t always see things the way you do.”

After corralling the errant pass at midfield, Kalasa first looked to distribute the ball forward as time wound down. Finding no one open, he broke toward the goal instead. Slight and quiet off the field, yet fast and aggressive in cleats, he dribbled past four defenders. Finally, he swept around the goalkeeper, coming out to stop him, and slipped a right-footed shot inside the near post.

His teammates, including Suleman and Warshan Hussin, an Iraqi immigrant whose father had been tortured by anti-U.S. militia kidnappers, ran onto the field and tackled the (now-Patterson High junior) in jubilation. The referees, opposing players and coaches, never having witnessed such a scene by a team about to lose 6-1, stood and watched in a state of shock.

“We were just so happy,” explains Warshan, a sophomore starting forward at Digital Harbor and still part of the program that ultimately developed into the Baltimore chapter of Soccer Without Borders. “It was the first success that we had.”

When she was a Johns Hopkins Public Policy graduate student two years ago, Pardini interned with one of the Maryland Office for Refugees and Asylees programs in Highlandtown. However, she noticed an odd thing: most of the participating students, by far, in the extra-curricular, language, and after-school programs, were girls. Asking the girls where the boys might be, she was told that they were probably playing soccer up on Moravia Road.

Curious, Pardini went to see for herself. Soon she started organizing informal practices and late afternoon pick-up games, grouping kids by size and integrating them by country. The Iraqi kids couldn’t just hang around and play on the same side with other Iraqi kids; same for the Nepalese and Bhutanese boys, which is what had been happening. Previously, rather than bonding over their shared dislocation and affection for the “beautiful game,” refugee boys from different countries had become rivals.

Over coffee, homemade fig cookies, injera, and lamb dinners with parents and leaders of the dozen local refugee communities, Pardini learned about the struggles the kids faced and pitched the idea of organizing a team to compete in the recreational Central Maryland Soccer Association. To her amazement, 62 kids showed up at the first formal practice and, later, two teams were formed. She aligned the nascent soccer program with the Oakland-based Soccer Without Borders, a nonprofit that provided much-needed gear, including practice T-shirts, jerseys, shorts, shin guards, and cleats, as well as technical assistance with insurance issues and website development. Founded by former Lehigh University soccer player Ben Gucciardi in 2006, core Soccer Without Borders chapters in the U.S. have developed in Oakland and Baltimore, with seasonal programs and camps in Boston, Los Angeles, New York, Chicago, and Greeley, CO (a meatpacking center, which attracts immigrant workers). There are also international chapters in Nicaragua and Uganda.

Because of its proximity to New York and Washington, D.C., the availability of affordable, if not great, housing options, and a stable Maryland economy, Baltimore has become a growing arrival point for refugees, asylees, and immigrants. Baltimore City Public Schools now serve more than 3,000 English as a Second Language (ESL) students. Soccer Without Borders, which targets middle-school boys and girls, and high-school-aged boys, with an athletic inclination, serves more than 50 kids year-around. “There’s room to grow,” says Gina Gabelia, academic director with Soccer Without Borders. “The need is there.”

Eventually, the Open Society Institute awarded Pardini a grant to help the Baltimore chapter get off the ground. And today, Soccer Without Borders-Baltimore provides a range of opportunities for refugee students to improve their English-language and academic abilities, engage in community service, and develop cross-cultural skills. Kids in the program receive tutoring assistance from Towson University, Loyola, and Hopkins students, and help with SAT prep, college applications, resumes, summer jobs, and internships. They regularly attend Baltimore Blast games together and have attended English Premier League games—each has their favorite team in the world’s most popular professional sports league—as a group at M&T Bank Stadium.

“Soccer is a powerful tool because it is what these kids love, and it’s something that is familiar, unlike school or their neighborhood. Or even their family dynamic, which changes,” Pardini says. “It’s a place where they feel safe and have a sense of self-esteem—because they are good at this—in the chaos that’s around them.”

When Pardini, just 29, but a coach/mother-like figure for many of the boys, refers to a place where the kids feel “safe,” she doesn’t only mean it in an emotional or psychological sense. Many of the refugee kids have experienced war and its associated strife, and it’s not uncommon for them to suffer post-traumatic stress symptoms. But they are also easy targets for bullying, harassment, and physical intimidation once they arrive and are sent to live in some of East Baltimore’s toughest neighborhoods.

Suleman was born in Eritrea, but for all intents and purposes grew up during his seven years spent in an Ethiopian refugee camp. When he arrived in his first Moravia Park housing complex three years ago, personal safety, the teenager says, was a major concern. Life in the refugee camp, along the Eritrean-Ethiopian border, long in conflict, was certainly challenging with limited supplies of cooking oil, rice, and potable water—and without electricity or plumbing—but generally stable. However, bullying, at the bus stop, in school, and in his neighborhood, quickly became a problem. Rocks were thrown at the family’s front apartment window, breaking the glass, and his classmates mocked his language and clothes. An older stepbrother, he says, was shot at (but not hit) one night leaving the supermarket where he worked. Tragically, one young Bhutanese man was killed and another shot in a 2011 robbery in northeast Baltimore.

“It’s like they [the State Department] bring us from one dangerous place where we are afraid of getting killed to another dangerous place where we are afraid of getting killed,” says Warshan, who came from Iraq by way of Syria with his parents, older brother, and younger sister. Standing next to Suleman at a practice at Abbot Memorial Presbyterian Church’s tiny second-floor gym in Highlandtown, he says, “You don’t know whether you are going to get killed or not here, but you are going to get beat up.”

Many families spend a lot of time at home, sitting in the dark, avoiding as much contact with the outside world as possible, says Pardini, who, along with Gabelia and volunteers, assists refugee kids and their families in navigating everything from landlord-tenant problems to school crises.

Suleman was among the first refugees Pardini met at the first organized practice up on Moravia Road. Skinny but tall, the 13-year-old (at the time) had grown up in the refugee camp playing soccer with balled-up paper and small rocks—“whatever we could find”—stuffed into socks. Naturally bright, personable, and quick to smile, Suleman, however, began to get into fights because of the harassment directed at him in and out of middle school. “I had a bad attitude about everything and anger-management problems,” he says. “But when I play soccer, everything goes away.”

“Coach Jill,” he continues, “helped with much more than soccer. Basically, she taught me English through soccer. She got me to go to the Refugee Youth Project [a Soccer Without Borders partner run by Baltimore City Community College] after school for help with my homework. I can tell her anything. She helped me and my family so much.” Equally important, the regular after-school soccer practices, community-building activities, and academic work provided a feeling of security and confidence. “Soccer Without Borders is like my second family,” he says.

By coincidence, one boy Suleman met several months after joining Soccer Without Borders was a kid he recognized from his sprawling refugee camp in Ethiopia—Kalasa. Not that they were friends in the refugee camp, more like adversaries. Always on opposing sides playing soccer as children there, they didn’t particularly like each other, but suddenly, here they were, thousands of miles away, face-to-face on a grass field in East Baltimore. “A friend said he was bringing someone from Ethiopia to practice,” recalls Suleman, “and then I see who it is and I’m like, ‘Oh no, not this guy. I came to the U.S. first; I didn’t know he was coming.’” The two, of course, became the best of friends. “We read each other’s mind on the field.”

Kalasa’s father, a farmer, took his family across the Eritrean border to Ethiopia to avoid being forced into the Eritrean army. His mother passed away when he was five. One of his sisters has already relocated again, to Texas, but another remains behind in the Ethiopian refugee camp.

“It’s very hard when you first arrive,” says Kalasa. “You don’t have any of your friends. The language is a problem and there’s a lot of loneliness.” As Kalasa tells a reporter his story at the apartment he shares with his father, a new refugee, Robert, from Sudan, gently knocks on the door. Kalasa invites him in and offers him a slice of pizza. “He doesn’t speak any English at all,” Kalasa says, explaining the boy’s shyness. “But he’s going to play soccer with us.”

Coming from Ethiopian refugee camps, Suleman and Kalasa admit with laughter they had expected the America they’d seen in Hollywood films: “where everyone has a big car and money grows on trees,” as Suleman puts it. Instead, they watch their parents struggle even more with the language as well as trying to find work. Still, those problems are not the most daunting for refugees. “I did not expect crazy people,” Kalasa says, referring to the predators who bully refugee kids and their families.

In terms of academics, Gabelia notes nearly all of the kids have “interrupted” educational backgrounds, and many do not possess fundamental reading and writing skills even in their native language. Middle- and high-school students arriving from various countries often have academic skills below the grade level where their age dictates they should be placed. In the Soccer Without Borders after-school and tutoring programs, Gabelia says, the work isn’t curriculum-based, but focused on each student’s individual needs. “It takes a lot of volunteers, we try to have one tutor for every two students.”

Warshan and his older brother Anmar, whom Pardini calls the program’s first “graduate,” were not as naïve as Kalasa and Suleman, but nonetheless didn’t understand what they would face in coming to the U.S. Anmar, who preceded his younger brother as Digital Harbor’s leading goal scorer, and now works part-time and attends Howard Community College, says it wasn’t unusual for people to call him “a terrorist,” and tell him “to go back home,” when he arrived. “The 10-year anniversary of 9-11 was the worst for me,” he says. “I didn’t want to leave the house. I wouldn’t go out and meet anyone.”

“At school, kids would ask if we had military weapons at home—or if I knew how to make a bomb,” says Warshan, an impossible-not-to-like 16-year-old with large round eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a spiky haircut. “Ridiculous things.”

His older brother says the most important lesson he learned through Soccer Without Borders was that he didn’t have to respond to everyone who gave him a hard time or called him a racist name. “I learned how to show people respect and to show them that they can respect us back,” Anmar says. “That’s why we didn’t fight.”

At Patterson High, which along with Digital Harbor, has Baltimore’s highest foreign-born student population and where Kalasa starts at forward, head coach Daniel Callahan estimates nine or 10 members of his squad this past fall were refugees. Most participated in Soccer Without Borders. With its after-school programs, Saturday school, and out-of-season practices and tournaments, Soccer Without Borders fills in the gaps for the boys between school and home, he says.

“These kids have been through so much with their lives already, but they understand the importance of school work,” Callahan says. “Right now [this winter], they’re practicing three times a week and participating in mandatory study halls with Soccer Without Borders. I think it’s been a great influence.”

“These kids have latched on to Soccer Without Borders and then other kids arrive and are latching on because of them,” says Alan Febres, Digital Harbor’s head soccer coach. “What Baltimore is right now is a melting pot,” says Febres, who left Peru with his parents 32 years ago. “Like a really small melting pot for kids from all over the world.”

Anmar and Warshan’s father, Mhmod, who has permanent leg and back injuries from the torture he suffered after being kidnapped from his store in front of his youngest son, says he wanted to bring his family to the U.S. for educational opportunities that weren’t available in Syria where they had fled. Anmar plans to attend a four-year school, “Maryland or Penn State,” after two years at community college, and hopes, eventually, to attend medical school.

Warshan says he would like to play soccer in college, study business, and return to the Middle East, at least a little closer to home, to the United Arab Emirates or Qatar, perhaps, where there is less conflict. However, he seems happy at the moment, in school, playing with his Soccer Without Borders friends.

“We can talk about our experiences with each other, the things that have happened, and know that they will understand because they have been through the same things,” Warshan says. “I like that we are all from different countries and all refugees. We all have problems, but we all came here to have a better life.”