By Jim Davis
“Voodoo” was known all over Ireland. At least to those who played American Football.
I’m not referring to Celtic traditions and fairy rings, “Voodoo” was the nickname of Erin Wagner, a defensive end who stood about 6’4” and filled out that frame with 240 hard-earned pounds. Voodoo was a top-tier rugby player in Ireland, playing many years for clubs in the north. Now he was a defensive end for the Belfast Trojans, and he was good.
I was playing my first game in Ireland and I’d be matched up with Voodoo all day. The rain was only light that morning, which meant McGuire’s pitch wouldn’t be too soggy. I was nervous, but ready.
A Long Time Coming
This game marked the official beginning of a life-changing experience. Before coming to Ireland I’d played football at Knox College, one of the finest liberal arts institutions around (Go Fire). Playing pro football was a life goal. I accomplished that dream with two indoor teams: the Bloomington Xtreme and the Chicago Slaughter (I was not big, strong, fast, or talented enough for the NFL). Still, signing the first contract was a big deal for me and cashing the first paycheck – a paycheck given to me for playing a sport – was a dream come true. But something was missing…
Something in me had shifted. The weekly checks were not enough to live on. The motivation of my peers was different than the “family” feel I experienced in high school and college. Some of the guys were still trying to make the NFL, many had tryouts with the Canadian League where significant money could be earned. I made some friends, met some good people, but the true meaning of ‘team’ was missing. So I was faced with a decision: fight to maintain a spot on an indoor roster, or focus the rest of my football career on enjoying the experience. I chose the latter.
Although I wanted to enjoy the experience, football was not all fun and games… I also wanted to compete for a championship. One night in Chicago I sat down at the kitchen table to get my thinking in order. I’d heard about the European Federation of American Football while playing in college, so I made a list of countries I’d list to visit, then did some research to identify the top 3-4 teams in the country. I had lists and contact info and began to keep a log of my communication with coaches. I still have the red binder I used to keep all of that information together.
If you’re good enough for the NFL, your agent will keep you organized. If you’re planning to be an international semi-pro, you have to do the leg work yourself.
Ireland, Italy, Spain, and France made my list. I sent out emails and highlights to the top teams in all those countries. In Ireland, that meant the Dublin Rebels, the Belfast Trojans, the Cork Admirals, and the Limerick (UL) Vikings. The Vikings were the first to respond.
I exchanged a couple emails with Mark Thompson, an offensive lineman who started his career in the British league before falling in love with an Irish girl (Nicola, who is amazing) and finding his way to the Vikings. In his emails he expressed genuine care for his family, the country of Ireland, and his Viking teammates. Mark told colorful stories of the team and suggested we jump on a call.
After twenty minutes on the phone with Mark, who has become a lifelong friend, I was in. I booked my ticket to Ireland that night.
Gameday
After weeks of training sessions, pints, and battered sausages, gameday arrived. There we were on McGuire’s pitch, watching Voodoo and the Trojans as they made their way to the sideline. I remember the squelch and slap of soggy ground under my cleats as I went lightly through my pregame routine.
I felt confident going into the game because of the team I was surrounded by. I’d been in Limerick nearly a month before our first match. Most of what I’d heard about Voodoo came from walks down by the Shannon River with fellow American Seamus Hogan. While touring local castles with Kieran Coen, I learned that the Belfast Trojans would be a good test. He told of one of their linemen, Jeroen Egge, who had played college ball in the States (turns out he was All-ACC at Duke University), then professionally in NFL Europe. We had a lot to look forward to. There were intense training sessions. Film study. Lifting and running. More pints.
The Vikings were a team of many friendships which, combined with talent and grit, infused us with an edgy optimism.
Though I had found a role on the Vikings, I was eager to see how we would match up against some of the rest of Ireland, and by game week, we were all itching to get started.
The clouds parted as the game began. It went back and forth: defensive lineman Kieran Coen cleaned up a dive in the backfield for a loss, outside linebacker B.Mac took a great angle on a screen pass to tackle the receiver as soon as he caught it; a solid punt return put us in position for Hogan to take a toss around the right side for a score. The Trojans answered back, feeding the ball to Voodoo (who also played fullback) to pick up hard yards, then scoring on a short out route to the flat. We went back and forth like this for a while.
When we Vikings were on offense, I played left tackle and Voodoo was the defensive end directly across from me. He lived up to his reputation. He was strong, fast, and tough. After all his years in rugby, playing with pads must have nearly felt soft.
The lowlight of the game for me was a pair of holding penalties. On passing plays, I kicked back, locked up with Voodoo, punched into on the breastplate of his shoulder pads, kept my feet alive, and blocked him. I shrugged off the first holding call but wasn’t pleased. One of the lads on the sideline yelled, “that’s a shite call, ref”.
As the new guy in town, I made many efforts to be respectful, not overstep, and not compare the European league to what I was used to back in the states. After the second holding call, on nearly the same play, I had to say something. I didn’t want to cost my team any more yards. “Sir,” I started calmly, “with all due respect, I’ve been playing football for fourteen years and I’ve never been called for that. Hands inside the frame all the way – can you please look closer next time?”
That was the last holding call of the game. I played just fine that day. Pretty good, even. All the guys did. And we won.
After the game the ref stopped by to talk about my experience playing in the states and wondered how I was enjoying my time in Ireland. Assistant Coach and friend Eoin “Pinky” O’Carroll said that the refs had never seen Voodoo blocked before, at least not regularly. He suggested that they called holds because they figured something was off. He said I should take it as compliment.
We celebrated as a team that night. Good craic, as they say. Liam Ryan and I talked about what a promising win it was, as the Trojans were one of the more talented teams in the league. I woke up the next morning with a good, hard-earned soreness.
That afternoon, Hogan and I once again walked along the Shannon River, stopped to pick up a breakfast roll, and talked about strategies and plays we would try if we had to play the Trojans again.
My first encounter with Voodoo was an important step on one of the most meaningful journeys of my life.
Lesson Learned
I ultimately played three seasons in Europe and saw all sorts of approaches to the game. Some of the homegrown players are extremely dedicated, some are just in it for fun. The “imports”, as Americans are called, approach in many ways as well. One could easily imagine an athlete coming from an NCAA program feeling entitled to a certain level of treatment, a certain standard of refereeing, and of competition. That entitlement can go quite wrong.
I made an impression that day against the Trojans. The impression would have been vastly different if I’d cursed out the ref, been less respectful, or thrown up my hands in disgust.
Though I’ve seen entitlement in sport, it was not present on the Vikings. Which is why they became one of the dominant Irish teams of the era. The Vikings won three consecutive Shamrock Bowl Championships, went to three more Bowls, and won an Atlantic Cup medal while beating teams from Luxembourg and Holland. The Vikings, when they were at there best, played for each other, and the results followed.
My first bit of advice to any American player going to play overseas would be to have humility. Do not try to recreate home in another country. Instead, try to make that country your temporary home.
Embrace the uniqueness of the experience. Learn the ways of the team, the league, and new friends. Commit yourself to it and enjoy it for what it is. No need to compare it to anything else. In fact, the true joy of the experience is that it’s not like anything else.
Playing for the Vikings changed my life. #VikingsForTheBowl