lt’s a bit strange being a Macarthur fan in the United States. For one, I can’t really refute the “LOL Bulls have no fans” jokes because I’m an ocean away.
I can put the game on and hit my cowbell as hard as I want, but no one in Australia is going to hear me.
It’s also nowhere near the spark of personal connection that supporting a European club can be—an Arsenal or Milan kit can practically start a conversation for you, but assuming I even find some Macarthur gear that’ll ship out here, I’d be genuinely shocked if anyone recognized it.
So when the club announced a few days ago that they’d cut ties with disgraced captain Ulises Dávila, I had to process that news, and the end of an era it represented, pretty much alone.
I may have initially chosen this club primarily for the color scheme, but since then, it’s grown into something much more potent. The back half of 2023 was the biggest funk I’ve ever been in, but one thing that consistently got my spirits up was staying and/or waking up at the most random times of night to tune in to a YouTube stream with no commentary and watch my Bulls go around stomping their way through the AFC Cup.
When it got harder to stay awake, I would whisper play-by-play to myself, keeping my mind active enough in whatever way I could to make sure I didn’t miss that next goal. I owe my entire body of work here in 2024 to the fact that, when the knockout rounds approached, I spotted a deficit in coverage of our continental run and realized The Roar was a place where I could provide that coverage myself.
And I celebrated every little moment of glory, whether it came from a star like Valère Germain, a bench player like Jerry Skotadis, or especially Dávila—the man who, until recently, was the heart and soul of our roster.
Dávila’s place in our history felt absolutely massive because, proportionally speaking, it was. For three of our four seasons to date on the pitch, he was our captain. Every time I watched a Macarthur game, I could spot somebody in our section waving the Mexican tricolor in his honor.
When we won the 2022 Australia Cup, we didn’t just win with him, but for him. The sight of him bringing his young son on the pitch to celebrate, and to honor the memory of his recently deceased wife, was just as important emotionally as lifting our first trophy or silencing Sydney United 58’s loudest and most detestable supporters.
Ulises Dávila made a large impact on-field, but what legacy does he leave? (Photo by Mark Metcalfe/Getty Images)
When rumors started to bubble up about Australian police arresting Macarthur players for illegal involvement with gamblers, the possibility of him being a suspect didn’t even cross my mind. Then it turned out Dávila was not only implicated, but an alleged ringleader, and reading that for the first time was one of the biggest sucker-punches any sports headline has ever thrown my way.
More than anything, I hope Dávila’s son was safe with relatives when he got arrested, because the thought of a little boy whose mother died when he was two having his lone remaining parent taken away for reasons he can’t possibly understand yet absolutely rips my heart out.
Whatever happens to the man himself, if the Australian justice system fails to account for that boy’s safety, and for making sure he can have as normal and happy a childhood as possible given the circumstances, that will be a far bigger crime than anything Dávila is up on charges for.
That’s not to downplay the dangers of sports betting—if anything, it’s a reminder of where things go when it becomes this mainstream.
At least here in the States, we kept it contained so well for so long that people forgot why it was necessary to put the monster in the cage.
(Photo by Jevone Moore/Icon Sportswire via Getty Images)
But once you have betting companies begging the audience to gamble in every ad break, networks and pundits incorporating betting lines into the broadcast, and fans who feel entitled to send death threats over a parley gone wrong, it’s only a matter of time before the players themselves start undercutting the game for personal gain.
Ideally, whatever happens to Dávila, Clayton Lewis, and Kearyn Baccus will send the right message to the rest of the league and convince players to steer clear of these schemes before one of them ends up tainting a championship run.
I know that in time, these wounds will heal. We’ll name a new captain, find a new No.10 to orchestrate our attack, and get back out there to chase playoff spots, continental bids, and most importantly more trophies.
The way I see it, I have about the next month to grieve what we had, what we thought we knew about our captain, and what we’ve now lost from him having to leave this way. When that’s over, hopefully I’ll be ready to move on—and when we head to Canberra to start our pursuit of another Australia Cup, I’ll be up at whatever strange hour my Bulls require of me to witness our first steps into a bold new era.
So, here’s to everything we achieved with Dávila, and here’s to reaching even greater heights without him.