This past July, nations of the civilized world offered up their welfare bastards in a jingoistic pissing match between social services departments: a soccer tournament. Street people from all corners of the globe were herded to Austria for the inaugural Homeless World Cup.
In theory, the idea of down and outs becoming soccer stars isn’t so strange. Scraping the bottom of the barrel is a proven strategy in the pros, where Brazil has pretty much dominated by scouring decrepit favelas and sorting through street gangs for the best ragball talent. Unsurprisingly, Brazil’s entry to the Homeless World Cup was the heavy odds-on favorite. That was until the real Manchester United squad spent the summer preparing Team Homeless England for greatness. From there, the situation completely degenerated into unbridled nationalism and planned retribution for actual World Cup defeats.
Host country Austria took the prize for “best fix.” Their entire squad consisted of African refugees (and football superstars) recently granted asylum from soccer hotspots Cameroon, Nigeria and Senegal. The only German speaking (and white) dude on their team was the coach.
As for Team Homeless USA, in the two weeks leading up to the tournament they: learned the rules of soccer, saw their only pro plant (a Peruvian) get deported, appointed a reformed street woman who has zero knowledge of sports as their coach, and hurriedly replaced three teammates who’d completely disappeared.
VICE was fortunate enough to sit down with Harris Pankin, captain of Team Homeless USA, right before he led them to crushing defeat overseas. (The only team they beat was the emaciated Slovenia.) As it turns out, Harris is a true living holdover from the crusty era of NYC punk, when every single band was fronted by an identical misanthropic derelict. For the past two decades Harris has stayed the course, evolving from a squatter to a savvy shelter sleeper. One never really sees 40-year-old gutter punks, yet here I had found the coelacanth of crusty punk-rock idealism. Or so I thought.
When presented with the chance to chat it up with a homeless alleged NYC punk legend, I wanted to find out what it’s like to make it on your own, not having a bank account, not being part of “the system”…
Harris Pankin: Bunch of bullshit. You bunch of poser bullshit mother (clears throat)… You want to be me? Good luck. First off, quit. Go home to mommy. Part of “the system”? You can only think like that if you have money.
VICE: But isn’t this soccer team an extension of the punk ideal?
What was the punk ideal? Punk rock is about going out, adopting a cool pose at the nightclubs, and not paying for your drinks. That’s all punk rock is about. I mean, punk rock is all a bunch of middle-class kids.
What band were you in?
I was the front man of Letch Patrol. I’m like Karen O. or whatever her name is. Is that her name?
Yep. Do you like any of the young bands in the city?
They’re all bastards. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs? Give me a fucking break. The Strokes? Yank me. People, you suck. I listen to your records. I go into Tower and I listen to them for free. Learn how to play rock and roll and then come challenge me. You know? I’ll blow you off the fucking stage like this (slaps hands together).
So you preferred hanging out with James Chance and the No-Wave set.
They’re poseurs.
O-kay. So, um… Why was it so hard to find eight players for Team Homeless USA?
Soccer is considered a third-rate sport here, and a lot of the soccer homeless people have other problems. Look, stereotypes are definitely true. Just remember that. Everything you’ve ever learned about the homeless is true. We’re all drug addicts, and we’re all out to be true artists.
Where is the best place to eat in the city for five bucks?
B&H Dairy on 7th Street. Best soup in the world. You can live on this stuff. I have, actually.
But what about the real hidden cheap places?
Homeless secrets? I really can’t tell you. Well OK, I’ll give you a clue. Eldridge Street, five dumplings for a dollar. We’re talking fresh. One dollar, five huge dumplings. But good luck finding the hole-in-the-wall.
Bum Rush the World Cup
