We do not know who the first person was that decided to take a sharp object and press ink into their own flesh with the purpose of permanently marking themselves. The process is so common and universal that it goes back into the mists of prehistory, before there was writing or record keeping, when mysticism and ritual may have demanded participants mark themselves indelibly. Without the connective tissue of culture, which has shorn away over the millennia, there is no real way of knowing why our ancient ancestors - nameless, faceless, ghostlike - were motivated to draw upon themselves.

In 1991, when Ötzi “the Iceman” was discovered in the mountains that line the border between Austria and Italy, he was found to have 61 individual tattoos. Ötzi lived and died over 5,000 years ago, in a world modern humans would find almost uninhabitable. He was a shepherd in the same mountains he died in, surviving on the meat of his flock and the fruits and nuts he was able to gather in the wild. When he died at 45, he died a brutal death, with an arrow through his back, which shattered his shoulder and lodged in one of his lungs. He had killed at least two people before his own death and whoever killed him attempted to retrieve the arrow, leaving him face down in the ice. In the same position he was discovered 5,000 years later.

Ötzi’s tattoos were tribal in every sense of the word. They crisscross his body in various forms, both pokes and slits, rubbed with the ashes from the same fires that warmed him. Some have speculated that the tattoos were applied to ease pain, due to the location of many on common acupuncture sites. However, some of the locations do not match that theory, so Ötzi’s ink remains shrouded in mystery much like the rest of his life. What is clear is that he may be the oldest example of human tattooing.

A Brief History

In Japan, when tattoos were used by the government for marking criminals (around 1600), a rich culture of body modification that went back millenia was disrupted. For hundreds of years following this, the vast majority of the population shunned the practice. In Russia, multiple ancient bodies have been discovered with tattoos of deer. If these represented worship of the animal or a hunting charm, history has swallowed the truth. Among the Eskimo, ancient tattoos were given to boys on their first hunting kill and to girls after their first menstruation. Tattooing would continue throughout their lives, representing key milestones as they lived.

The Māori people of Polynesia practice the art of Tā moko, the ritualistic tattooing of the body, typically on the face, buttocks, and thighs. Receiving moko marks the passage from youth to adulthood, often accompanied by ritual and ceremony. The word “tattoo” comes to us from the original Māori word Tā which means “to strike.”

In Egypt, as historians and anthropologists discovered tattooed female mummies, some as old as 4,000 years old, the broad consensus was that tattoos marked them as lower class or prostitutes. This matched the modern thinking on tattoos among 19th century academics, but new research reveals other potential explanations for the tattooed women of Egyptian antiquity. Joann Fletcher, an Egyptologist and a visiting professor at the University of York, postulates that “the placing of small figures of the household deity Bes at the tops of their thighs would again suggest the use of tattoos as a means of safeguarding the actual birth, since Bes was the protector of women in labor, and his position at the tops of the thighs a suitable location. This would ultimately explain tattoos as a purely female custom.”

Dr. David Lane, an assistant professor at Illinois State University, highlights that, even in the late Victorian era, “tattoos were a fad among elites in both the United States and Britain in the late 1800s, right about the time that the machine came around and made it accessible, that disappeared. It wasn’t a thing of status any more.” Prior to the machine, all tattoos were handpoked, which meant a client had to have both time and money to get tattooed. In the late 1800s, Sutherland Macdonald set up shop on Jermyn Street in London, which was known for high fashion and tailor shops. He created the terms “tattooer” and “tattooist” to identify himself as a professional and, if you see his work, it would rival any modern ink master.

From Mystic to Modern

In the modern American tattoo tradition, the tattooed sailor is the most common cultural touchstone. Beginning in the late 17th century, it was a rite of passage for sailors to tattoo their bodies to mark milestones in their seafaring. An anchor represented crossing the Atlantic Ocean, while a full-rigged ship indicated sailing around Cape Horn. Other tattoos served as charms to protect sailors working in one of the most dangerous and life-threatening professions on the planet. “Hold Fast” across the knuckles was said to give sailors better grip on the lines of the ship.

Though popularized by sailors, tattooers like Norman Keith Collins would take the art and style of the traditional nautical tattoo and bring it to dry land. Collins is probably the most famous tattooer of all-time and his work hangs in shops around the world. Known lovingly as Sailor Jerry, Collins had worked as a sailor as a young man before settling in Hawaii and setting up shop as a tattooer. His traditional American style, defined by a 2-dimensional look, minimal shading, bold black outlines, and saturated reds, yellows, and blues. set the standard that tattooers continue to copy to this day.

Western tattoo styles have continued to expand beyond the limiting barriers of American traditional. Styles like realism, tribal, watercolor, biomechanical, new school, and neotraditional have sprung up over the last 100 years as artists continue to take on the task of body modification that began thousands of years ago. The basic human desire to mark life’s milestones, tribal connections, and important memories hasn’t changed, as layers of history, civilization, and modernization have scaled our thinking. We want our skin to represent our loyalties, our passions, our dreams, our fears - we want our skin to represent who we are.

Tattoos in Lower Division Soccer Culture

All of the cultural motivations that have inspired tribes for millenia also apply within the soccer subculture in the United States. Supporters of clubs wish to mark significant moments in their fandom, declare their loyalty to their chosen team, and celebrate the victories of the past throughout their lives. Soccer supporters are the modern tribes of the American continent, seeking to define themselves through the lines and colors punched into their skins. Lower division soccer represents an even further microcosm of sports culture in this country, where so little media attention and wide-spread fan support forces fans to truly engage at a personal level to show support. Casual fans are eliminated due to the difficulty of connecting with the local club. The match will not be televised, no highlights will be on the local news - if you want this information, you have to work for it. That barrier drives those interested in lower division soccer to an “all or nothing” approach to fandom. You’re either in or out, because the fence is just too high to allow perching along the top. As Peter Bogdis, a tattooed fan of San Francisco City, puts it, “If you're not one of us, you wouldn't understand.”

Bogdis’ tattoos identify him both as a San Francisco City supporter and a member of a supporter group, making him an “ultra” or “super fan” of the club. His knuckles read IRON and GOLD, the colors of the club, while another tattoo features “the original Northsiders logo, a pigeon wearing a team scarf and bucket hat, with a banner ‘SFCFC NORTHSIDERS’.” For Bogdis, tattoos are a part of his family tradition as well. “I’ve been interested in tattoos since childhood, drawing them on myself etc. I spent a lot of time with my favorite uncle, who was a longshoreman at the port of Oakland, and I'd see these tough looking dudes with old school blurry tattoos that he hung out with, and wanted to get one.” Having a familial example almost certainly removed any cultural stigma of tattoos from an early age.

Nick Beyer, an ardent supporter of Detroit City FC, had a similar early attraction to the idea of getting tattoos. “I've been obsessed with tattoos since middle school but was smart enough to wait until I was 18 to get my first. Game over since then. First few tattoos were kind of random and spur of the moment type things, but if you really ask I can give you a story or meaning for ones I've gotten later in life.” That development of significance falls directly in line with the cultural approach of so many ancient cultures, who saw tattoos as marking the transition to adulthood and maturity. Beyer’s primary DCFC tattoo is a chest piece of a skull and crossbones with the abbreviation DCTID (Detroit City Till I Die).

The tattoo represents Beyer’s connection to DCFC, but also to the other supporters of the club, as he focuses on the memories of “Away days. So many inside jokes are made, you really become closer with folks within the SG [Supporter Group] when you gotta spend a shit ton of time in a car, or bus, or whatever.” Nick is a member of a modern tribe and his skin bears the marks that indicate that fact. David Lane highlights this connective aspect of tattoos as well. “There is a long history of familial, military, and subcultural tattooing. These tattoos are symbolic representations of a person’s membership in a group rather than a way of casting them as outsiders.”

Fellow DCFC supporter Sam Shrum sees his own tattoo as a connection to his SG. “I know a lot of people who have them, more than I've ever known people who had them for the other sports teams in Detroit, despite the fears of instability that have always been there. SG culture lets people bond to teams so much more quickly, even without the intergenerational aspect that so many other team fandoms have here. It only makes the instability of the game all the more tragic.”

For Josh Lauritsen, his Indy Eleven tattoo was about memory more than identification. His large shoulder piece is a recreation of a Laura Mills-designed poster for the club, featuring a stained glass window with Lady Victory. “It wasn't until 2017 when we were faced with the possibility of the club folding during the dying days of the NASL that I really thought about getting a tattoo. The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to make it happen. The club may not exist, but I still wanted something to remember this time of my life. When it came to the design, I didn't just want to get the crest. Nothing against anybody who does that, but I wanted something a little more encompassing. I wanted something that represented not just the club, but also, its supporters, and my Indiana home.” Lauritsen actually reached out to Mills before getting the ink, wanting her permission before getting the work done. She was thrilled and as Josh puts it, he’s now “part of her portfolio.”

Permanent Versus Temporary

While tribalism was the only means of survival in prehistoric times, modern soccer fandom can also force fans to make difficult decisions about their loyalties and the tattoos inspired by them. Lower division soccer in the United States is a chaotic mess at times, with clubs folding at a rapid rate throughout the system. Leagues expect attrition, because it’s the norm. While the lifespan of the average person may be around 80 years, the average lifespan of a soccer club in the United States is in the single digits. Clubs like Chattanooga FC and Detroit City FC stand out because of their ability to survive the constant upheaval. And even those two giants of lower league soccer are only around a decade old.

A quandary facing the lower league soccer fan - should they tattoo themselves in a very permanent way when the track record of American soccer clubs screams temporary existence? Josh Lauritsen faced the potential demise of his club but never had a second thought. “The worst could've happened, but I still would've gone through with it. It represents everything I wanted it to. This ensures the club, its supporters, and my hometown will always be a part of me, literally and figuratively.“ Nick Beyer, on the other hand, couldn’t be more confident in his club’s future. “The tattoo says DCTID. Meaning I'm Detroit City Till I Die. My club's not going anywhere any time soon or taking any hiatus. And goodness forbid it ever does that doesn't take away my love and dedication to the club.”

For Dave Williamson, this reality is born out on his own skin. His right calf features the logo of the now defunct NASL Atlanta Silverbacks. He has so many other tattoos he’s lost count, “probably over 20 by now.” He decided to get inked for the club when he started working for the Silverbacks as a team photographer, after being a fan from the early 2000s. When Dave decided to take the plunge, he visited Ink and Dagger in Atlanta and got the crest on his calf. The tattooing among the fans of the club reflects the players on the field, from Dave’s perspective. “I feel like it goes hand in hand. You see the number of players with tattoos and it shows that it is a growing culture within the soccer community.” His tattoo is now 3 years past the death of his favorite club, but for Dave it’s about the experience. “I don't regret it one bit there were a lot of great memories with this club.”

From Dr. Lane’s perspective, a fan of a club getting tattooed for a club that may soon be gone “isn’t that surprising. If we look back at tattooing historically, specifically in the United States, the kinds of designs we find are religious symbols, memorial symbols, familial symbols, things that involve loyalty to a person’s occupation or profession. Generally, when we look at the totality of symbols, it tends to be symbols we identify with as a kind of in group.” Getting a tattoo to show a fan’s loyalty to a club is

Ralf Jauregui, an El Paso tattoo artist (and the illustrator for this story), says few clients end up regretting their tattoos unless the work is subpar. “For the most part, I think my clientele is pretty sure of what they’re getting. The kind of tattoos I see people regretting the most are home made, or received at a young age.” And that sort of logic makes sense. If a person decides to sit down in the chair and let the needle punch their skin, there has to be some level of forethought in the process. No reputable tattoo shop would allow someone to get tattooed drunk or high, so a sober mind is forced to deal with the uncertainty of the future and the permanence of the ink.

The mindset that defines a lower league soccer fan is marked by an eternal optimism. If not this season, then next. Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow. The fan believes in the club - embracing the possibility of success and recognizing the overwhelming chance of inevitable failure. It’s a denial of reality that permeates the supporter section of any grounds across the country. Every club loses, but no true fan expects it. Instead they pull the pin on the smoke, they chant with their friends and family around them, and settle back in the tattooer’s chair to the stinging in the skin and the buzz of the machine.

Conclusion

No one will ever know who the first person was who sat down by a fire and began poking holes in their skin before rubbing soot over the exposed cuts. Their motivation may have been medicinal, religious, or tribal, the passing millenia have glossed over the details. Did they have help or did another person press the bit of bone or rock into their arm to stain their skin? The facts remain scarce, left only on the few remaining corpses of ancestors. But humans are still human, regardless of the layers of culture and civilization, and the desire to improve our bodies with marks still lingers within our psyche. Our reasons for getting tattooed are as various as the designs of the tattoos themselves. But for the illustrated soccer fan, love of the game is motivation enough.

- Dan Vaughn

And as many know, I also have a soccer-related tattoo.