Master Tutoring Class

Chapter 292 Two Generations of Amsterdam Fans
In May, Amsterdam's air is filled with the dampness of the canals, the faint fragrance of fallen tulip petals, and an increasingly intense restlessness fueled by football.

The afterglow of the setting sun slanted across the winding canal, bathing the ancient bridges and the rows of mountain-walled buildings in a warm honey hue.

However, in certain corners of the city, another color is attempting to cover the entire classical gold with unprecedented force—that is, Amsterdam's red and white.

Rembrandt Café.

Located on the banks of a relatively quiet canal, its name carries an old-fashioned artistic feel.

It's a stronghold for old-school fans like Thomas.

Black and white or yellowed photos of the teams hang on the walls, capturing the glorious moments of the last century.

Claudio's graceful leap, Van Neste's sharp finishing in front of goal, and most importantly—the collective celebration of the invincible youthful Champions League-winning team at the Red Dragon Stadium in 1995.

In the photo, the young Riquelde, Kvey, and Detrim have clear eyes and smiles that exude the pride of conquering Europe.

The air is filled year-round with the rich aroma of coffee, the slight acidity of beer, and the smell of old wood and leather seats.

Time seems to flow more slowly here than outside; even sounds are absorbed by the thick walls and velvet curtains, creating a calm and restrained atmosphere.

But today, this tranquility is being constantly challenged by the surging currents outside the window.

Outside the window, a group of young Amsterdam Sporting fans were walking by noisily.

They wore bright, state-of-the-art red and white jerseys with the names 'Lehmann,' 'Galben,' and 'Wei.L' printed on the back, waving huge flags with a modern, sharply styled team crest—a new version from after 2000—which subtly contrasted with the old, rustic crest on the café wall.

Their slogans were loud and clear, carrying the simplicity and viral potential of the social media age, and clearly came through the slightly open window of the café.

"We go for glory! Conference to Eurasian!"

Behind the bar, Thomas van der Sar was meticulously wiping a commemorative beer mug bearing the logo of the 1995 Champions League final with a clean, soft white cloth.

He was fifty-five years old and in good shape, but his temples were already streaked with gray. The dark red Amsterdam sports jacket he was wearing was old-fashioned, with some wear on the collar and cuffs, but it was clean.

He wiped the cup slowly and attentively, as if performing some kind of ritual.

However, his tightly pursed lips and the occasional, somewhat distant glance out the window betrayed the unease within him.

“Listen to this, from the European Championship to the Europa League,” old Thomas finally spoke, his voice low, with a hint of barely perceptible sarcasm, as if he were talking to the few old buddies in the café, or perhaps to himself; “When did our Amsterdam goal become climbing between the Europa League and its smaller sibling?”

His gaze swept over the most prominent group photo of the Champions League winners on the wall, and his expression became distant and complex.

That was his temple, his Jerusalem.

For him, and for his generation of Amsterdam residents, there is only one true crown—the gleaming silver UEFA Champions League trophy known as the 'Big Ear'.

Europa League?
That was a small honor that Amsterdam won casually during a break in their Champions League campaign, and it even had a bit of a 'consolation prize' feel to it.

boom!
The café door was suddenly pushed open, and the bell rang sharply, instantly breaking the silence inside.

Luca Jansen swept in like a gust of wind, bringing with him the youthful, restless energy of the outside world.

In his early twenties, his face still held a hint of youthful naiveté, but his eyes were bright and full of energy.

He was wearing the same red T-shirt as Atlético Amsterdam's home jersey this season, but with a more stylish cut, over which he wore an open black jacket, and a team scarf around his neck.

His arrival seemed to inject a highly saturated bright color into this dark-toned space.

"Sorry, Uncle Thomas, I'm late!" Luca's voice was clear and loud, with the impatience typical of young people; "We just finished the cheering event in Museum Square, there were so many people! I can't even imagine the atmosphere!"

He is one of the core members of the 'Red and White Youth Fan Group', a branch of the organization mainly composed of fans born after the millennium like himself.

They are active on Twitter, InSight, and Kickstarter, using short videos and online connections to organize a way of cheering that belongs to their era.

Old Thomas put down his wine glass, looked up at Luca, and showed a look of respect mixed with tolerance and a little confusion.

"Museum Square? I remember back then, we would gather outside the stadium or in a regular bar before the game. Now, the whole city has become your stage."

“Times have changed, Uncle Thomas!” Luca excitedly walked to the bar, expertly pulled over a high stool, and sat down. “We want the whole world to see Amsterdam’s supporters! Not just the Netherlands, but all of Europe! Look at the video we just made to cheer on the final!”

He was about to take out his phone as he spoke.

Old Thomas waved his hand, indicating that there was no rush.

"Have something to drink first, kid. You're all sweaty." He turned and poured Luca a glass of ice water, pushing it towards him.

Luca thanked him, took the drink, gulped it down, and then stared intently at Thomas.

"Seriously, Uncle, aren't you excited? The finals are in a few days! We have a chance to win a European trophy! A real, heavy trophy!"

Old Thomas fell silent, his gaze once again drifting uncontrollably to the 1995 photograph. He took a deep breath, as if making a firm decision to have a belated but necessary conversation.

“Luca.” His voice turned low and serious: “Tell me, what does winning the Europa League mean to you, to you young people?”

Luca was taken aback; he hadn't expected Uncle Thomas to ask this question, but he still held his chin in his hands and pondered for a moment.

“It means everything! Uncle Thomas.” Luca’s tone was incredibly sincere.

"This means that all our hard work and perseverance this season have paid off in the highest way. It means that the burning passion of veterans like Mussar and Kakabanja was worthwhile, and that the talent of young players like Lehmann, Zilben, and Wei has been proven. It means that we have once again made Amsterdam a name that everyone remembers on the European stage!"

"To be remembered by everyone," old Thomas repeated softly, a bitter smile playing on his lips. "Luca, do you know what it truly means to be 'remembered'?"

He raised his hand and pointed to the black and white photograph.

"It should be like them. It should be the kind of team that makes all of Europe, from England to Italy, from Spain to Germany, feel fear and respect when they hear the name Atlético Amsterdam, and think of 'that invincible youth army.' Not like now, where every summer we worry that our best players will be bought up like fruit by beIN SPORTS, Atlético Barcelona, ​​or Manchester City. We've become a 'star factory,' Luca, this isn't glory, it's...helplessness!"

Old Thomas's voice carried a long-suppressed sense of loss:
“We used to have the best players in the world and we were able to keep them and conquer Europe together. And now? One Europa League success might mean we have to rebuild again next season. This fragile, unsustainable ‘success’ makes me feel like the ‘soul’ of Amsterdam is slowly disappearing. How are we any different from those second-rate European teams, ecstatic about a Europa League success or a Champions League qualification!”

As Luca listened to old Thomas's words, the excitement on his face gradually faded.

Instead, a complex emotion of understanding and rebuttal emerged.

He shook his head, his hands unconsciously rubbing against the cold glass.

"Uncle Thomas, the 'soul' you mentioned, the invincible Amsterdam, is to me like Napoleon in a textbook or a Rembrandt painting in a museum."

“I know they existed, I know they were incredibly great and laid the foundation, but I didn’t ‘live’ in that era.”

"I didn't get up at 3 a.m. to scream for a penalty saved by Bellani."

“I didn’t argue with everyone at school because of Claudio’s goal.”

"Those are your memories, your glory, they are sacred, but they do not belong to me!"

Luca raised his head, his gaze meeting Thomas's with unwavering determination. "My Amsterdam began with the youthful storm of De Jong and De Vitelli. I watched on my phone screen as they turned the tide against Torino in Italy, as they threw Madrid into disarray in Spain, and it was just a few days ago, with Wei's game-winning goal that lifted the league title on that starlit night!"

"I partied in the streets with thousands of friends, we hugged strangers, we sang until our voices were hoarse! That feeling, that pure, ultimate joy and sense of belonging, was real, it belonged to 'me'!"

Luca was somewhat agitated.

"You think the Europa League is a consolation prize, an arena for second-rate teams. But do you know what our generation has experienced? We have experienced the embarrassment of missing out on the Champions League group stage for many years in a row, watched our teams being dominated by PSV Eindhoven and Elephant in the league, and being eliminated from European competition by teams whose names I can't even remember."

"For us, being able to consistently participate in the Champions League is already an improvement, and reaching the Europa League final and winning it is an even greater achievement."

He emphasized, “That is the Champions League of our time! It is an epic of heroism that I witnessed with my own eyes, that belongs to us and is within our reach! It may not be as dazzling as your ‘Big Ear’, but it is equally soaked in our sweat, tears and shouts!”

Outside the window, another group of young fans walked by, their singing even louder, their new slogans clear and distinct.

From the Arena, to the top of Europe!

Luca turned to look out the window.

“Listen, Uncle Thomas, our summit of Europe may be at a different altitude than yours, but we are climbing! We are writing Amsterdam’s history in our own way! We are not a generation living in the shadow of 95; we are a generation striving to create our own history!”

Old Thomas fell silent.

He gazed for a long time at Luca's face, which was slightly flushed with excitement, and looked at the undeniable sincerity and enthusiasm shining in the young man's eyes.

His prepared lectures on the club's glorious history, its heritage, and the mindset of a true elite club were now stuck in his throat.

He suddenly realized that he and Luca were as if they were standing on opposite banks of the same river called 'Amsterdam Athletic'.

Standing upstream, he looked back at the magnificent and clear snow-capped mountains at the source.

Standing downstream, Luca experiences the sheer power of the river rushing into the sea and the raw, silt-laden flow.

They saw the same stream of water, but the scenery was completely different.

For the new generation, such as Luca, their point of reference is reality and moving forward.

They have come through the team's lows and struggles. Every rise in European competition points and every elimination of strong opponents is a real victory and the cornerstone of their love and support.

They value the process, cherish the joy of 'development', and cherish the bond of growing together with the team.

Hendrick went from being a disappointment in the Premier League to becoming the leader of Amsterdam.

Zilburne rose from the back alleys of the Netherlands to the Amstel Stadium, becoming a rising star in Europe.

These stories resonate with them more deeply than distant historical legends.

They create highlight reels for every goal on social media and send blessings to every player who leaves the team. Their love is fragmented and immediate, yet incredibly vibrant and full of life.

For old Thomas and his contemporaries, the frame of reference is historical and backward.

That 1995 Champions League trophy, like an eternal lighthouse, illuminates the past, but also casts a long, inescapable shadow on the present.

Any current achievement will be compared to the light of that 'lighthouse' and thus appear dim.

The era they miss, when Atlético Amsterdam not only nurtured talent but also retained it, and competed head-on with Europe's top clubs.

They were saddened by the current state of the "star player factory," believing it deviated from the essence of a top club.

Old Thomas slowly picked up the gleaming 1995 commemorative mug, feeling the raised and recessed marks on it with his fingertips. He sighed, but the sigh no longer contained mockery and disappointment; instead, it carried a sense of relief and understanding.

“Perhaps you are right, Luca!” Old Thomas’s voice was hoarse: “We have history, and you are experiencing the present.”

He gently placed the cup back in its place, and turned his gaze to the window again. This time, his eyes held less aloofness and more scrutiny and contemplation.

He looked at the young, energetic faces and the modern flags they waved, so different from the ones inside the café.

"Our generation always hopes that you can understand our past glory and use it as a standard."

“But perhaps we’ve forgotten that it’s unfair to ask you to live for a history you never experienced. Like my father, he always told me about the total football of the 'Claudie' era, feeling that any style of play afterward was a betrayal. I didn’t fully understand him at the time!”

He turned to look at Luca, a gentle smile on his face.

"Your enthusiasm and your way of supporting me may sometimes seem noisy or not 'traditional' enough, but I can't deny that it's love, it's genuine love, the love that belongs to your generation. The club needs this, it needs sparks like you to keep burning."

Luca looked at old Thomas in surprise; he hadn't expected the stubborn, veteran leader to say something like that.

His tense body relaxed, and the resistance in his eyes melted away, replaced by a feeling of being understood.

"Uncle Thomas, we also respect history. Without the generation of 1995, there would be no reputation or youth training philosophy of Atlético Amsterdam today. We know the team is on a different path, but please believe that we, like you, yearn to see Amsterdam back on top of Europe. Just... please allow us, in our own way, to accompany them on this journey and to celebrate every seemingly small victory!"

Thomas and the old-school fans are protecting Amsterdam's 'roots,' a proud tradition of football aesthetics and victory that originated with Claudivin and took shape in the glorious era of the last century.

It is profound and weighty, the cornerstone of the club.

Luca and the new generation of fans represent the 'branches' of Amsterdam, the club's vitality in the new era of football, striving to grow, adapt, and bloom again in the face of the impact of money and globalization.

They may be young and noisy, but they are full of aspirations for improvement.

Only with deep roots can a tree flourish.

Only when the leaves are lush can the vitality of the roots be truly demonstrated.

Regardless of the outcome of the Europa League final a few days later, in some corner of Amsterdam, old Thomas might still retain a somewhat reserved assessment of what he considers a 'consolation prize'.

But deep down, he knows that there is a group of young people like Luca who are using all their passion to cheer for Amsterdam today.

“Uncle Thomas!” Luca excitedly reached out his hand.

"I invite you to come back to the stands and cheer for our team!"

Old Thomas put down his napkin and looked up at Luca.

"Luca, you have your pride, and we old guys have our principles!"

Old Thomas's tone became arrogant.

"You want us to mobilize? First, qualify for the Champions League finals!"

The old men, who had been keeping quiet, began to laugh loudly, a laugh that, for some reason, made Luca feel somewhat embarrassed.

(End of this chapter)