One Sunday morning last month, dozens of American soccer fans gathered at a Brooklyn bar to cheer on their mid-major Danish minor league club.
Many arrived wearing the team's kelly green gear and used the royal “we” to discuss the composition of the team. As kick-off approached, a statuette resembling the club's bird mascot roamed the room.
“Everyone's patting the owl for good luck,” Joe Gordon, a Lower East Side sales consultant, said as he weaved through the crowd.
For the next two hours, the group continued to scream and curse at the television screen. Shots, beer and traditional Danish pastries were consumed.
The sight of a bunch of Americans enthusiastically rooting for a third-tier Scandinavian team felt puzzling, except for one important fact: They own it.
Some people splurge on beach vacations and handbag and bottle services. A year and a half ago, a group of about 140 people, many of them New Yorkers, pooled their money to buy the struggling Danish soccer team Akademisk Boldklub (also known as AB). The club plays in an unassuming suburb of Copenhagen called Gladaxe. Only a few hundred fans attend the games.
“Buying a soccer club is probably one of the worst investments you can make,” said group member Andrew Leuner of East Rockaway. “But no one is coming into this issue from that perspective.”
They are very different from the hedge funds and nation states that own some of the world's biggest soccer clubs. The group acquired the team in 2022 for just over seven figures, and its members include literary agents, accountants, real estate brokers, photographers, chocolatiers, tutors, doctors, journalists and plumbing supply companies. Owner and full-time househusband.
By investing (mostly between $10,000 and $30,000) these non-billionaires can experience the bargain basement version of the sports owner's dream. They could write the story of a once-proud but now languishing club returning to fame. And yes, they said, if all goes well, you might make some money.
At the same time, the investors knew little about the team or Denmark when they embarked on the project, and faced a series of cultural clashes and learning curves from the beginning. For example, when members gathered at a downtown apartment last year to watch their first game as owners, there was confusion over what to drink.
“I had to Google 'What is Danish beer?' ” said East Village resident Sean Norton. “Luckily we had Carlsberg in the deli.”
The group's monthly(ish) watch parties have moved to Mag's Ale House in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, where Norton has created a website that streams the games (monthly subscriptions cost 79 Danish kroner, or Approximately $11.50 ) is responsible for logging in and getting the game at the bar. big screen.
Last month's gathering was marked by a beer breakfast and an early morning headache, with AB being careless in defending and conceding a goal within minutes of the opening whistle.
“We don't like corners!” yelled Garrett Usina, a stay-at-home dad from behind the bar.
In recent years, European soccer has rapidly become Americanized. Half of the clubs in England's top flight and nine of the 20 teams in Italy's first division have owners from the United States.
Then there's the popular documentary series Welcome to Wrexham, starring actors Ryan Reynolds and Rob McElhenney. They bought a struggling club from Wales in a ploy reminiscent of the AB takeover.
“Obviously, besides the fame, the looks and the money, it's just like Wrexham,” said Matt Michaels, an AB investor in Maplewood, New Jersey.
The project began in 2022 when several friends formed an investment group, Five Castles Football Group, looking for an undervalued club to buy. After narrowing down their hunt to Denmark, they set out in search of more cash.
Introduced to Five Castles by a mutual friend, Gordon jumped at the opportunity and eventually formed a New York-based consortium of 59 individual investors, including friends and parents at his children's schools. I was able to become a member of AB Company's board of directors. The sale was completed that November.
Gordon described his role as a “cruise director” who makes sure everyone has fun. Last year, he organized a 20-person investor trip to Copenhagen. He felt like a sports ownership fantasy camp. They enjoyed finger food and unlimited beer in the (spartan) VIP lounge during the game, toured the training facility and interacted with fans.They sang karaoke until 1am
At home, all investors, regardless of their level of expertise, have access to scouting reports and game analysis from a team's sporting director. During the match, the owner's WhatsApp group cracks commentary and jokes. Some owners' children have also been trained at AB's youth academy.
“You get a little bit of VIP treatment,” Gordon said. “It'll be a great talking point at parties.”
AB was once a big club by Danish standards, winning the league nine times. The list of notable former players includes Nobel Prize-winning physicist Niels Bohr, who played as the team's goalkeeper before getting serious about quantum mechanics.
“He read angles better than anyone,” said Harrison Ellich, an investor in Garden City, New York.
AB won the Danish Cup in 1999, but that was their last victory. Due to financial mismanagement, the team fell into the third tier, the equivalent of American baseball's Class AA, and struggled there for many years.
Alan Benic Gronkjær, co-author of a book on Danish football history, said AB was now seen as “a thing of the past”. (He was also very perplexed when he heard of the American investment, and at first suspected it to be a pyramid scheme.)
Performance since the acquisition has been mixed. The team reached the quarterfinals of the National Cup tournament last season for the first time in decades, but looked inconsistent in league play. The owners have already fired one coach and upended the entire roster.
“There's too much change and it's happening too fast,” said Søren Philipp Sørensen, 69, a Copenhagen resident who has watched the club since the 1960s.
The American owners' immediate goal is to win promotion to the second tier, with an influx of money from media rights and sponsorships that could turn the project into a sustainable business.
For now, the experience remains appealingly unpolished.
On the morning of last month's meet-and-greet, Nina Grieco, a trained chef from Syosset, New York, arrived with two trays of canelstan (Danish cinnamon twists) she'd baked the night before. Her family's investment led her to learn some Danish recipes, and so far frikadeller (traditional meatballs) has become a favorite of her children.
Tina Kerr, Gordon's neighbor on the Lower East Side and a Danish member of the group, added traditional cardamom bread from S'mores, a Danish cafe in Manhattan, between the bar's coffee and bagels. .
A feast can only maintain a good atmosphere for so long. The team stumbled again and ended up losing 2-1.
As time passed, Gabe Leuner, 16, watched along with his father, shrugging their shoulders. He had work to do on and off the field. Wearing team-colored Nike sneakers, the teenager explained how he decided to open an English-language Instagram account for the team. His next challenge is to learn to speak Danish.
“Well, I'm trying,” he said, staring at the screen. “I use Duolingo.”
