Hapoel Speaks: The Story of Tamir Linhart
- Joseph Press IV
- Feb 9
- 16 min read
Updated: Feb 22
Professional sports fan culture is an essential part of the American experience. Indeed, world-famous teams like the Los Angeles Lakers, New York Yankees, and Dallas Cowboys each have a passionate lineage of supporters that spans multiple decades. In many cases, season tickets are passed down from one generation to the next, and levels of support remain high regardless of the quality of performance on the court or playing field. Oftentimes sports fandom begins at a very young age — initiated when, for example, a father takes his son to see his first NBA game where the son gets his jersey signed by the team’s star player. These small moments last a lifetime — eventually, when the son grows into a man and starts a family of his own, he creates a similar moment for his son — the tradition continues.
While the American public inarguably loves their sports — especially American football — fan culture in the States is distinctly different from sports fandom abroad. After all, while professional sports teams in America are franchises principally belonging to one or more billionaires and millionaires, sports clubs in other countries were founded and developed by the communities they belong to.
In America, every sports franchise was established with the primary purpose of turning a profit. But in other parts of the world, such as Israel, sports clubs are an athletic expression of the qualities and values of the communities that created them. Because of this special history and connection between club and community, fans feel a greater sense of ownership of the club and are more personally invested in its success or failure than their counterparts in America. The act of supporting a club — going to games, buying jerseys, engaging on social media, therefore, is not just something one does, it is a fundamental part of who one is. And so, it can be said that while the sports franchise in America resides with the shareholders, the sports club in Israel resides with the people.
The connection that fans feel to their club is enhanced by the direct connection they have with their players — many of whom grew up as fans themselves, belonging to the same community and cheering for the same shirt. Perhaps the best example of an athlete who as a child passionately supported the club they eventually played for in adulthood is former Hapoel Tel Aviv soccer player Tamir Linhart.
A child of the bustling streets of 1970s Holon, located about a mile south of Tel Aviv, Israel’s metropolitan center, a young Tamir could always be found outside playing soccer with his friends. From the moment he first kicked a ball, the sport consumed him. Indeed — when he wasn’t in school he was playing soccer, and when he couldn’t play soccer he was watching it. When he started following professional soccer as a toddler, he did what most children do when introduced to a sport — he supported the best club in the country. And in 1970s Israel, the best club was none other than Maccabi Tel Aviv.
Fortunately for Tamir and the rest of the civilized world, his Maccabi fandom was short-lived. For when his uncle, Avi — an avid Hapoel fan — was told by Tamir’s father about his support of “The Enemy,” Avi did what any good uncle would do when faced with an emergency of epic proportions and sprung into action. Avi hurried over to the Linhart residence and confronted 6-year-old Tamir. He told Tamir that he was going to lock him alone in a room to give him some time to rethink his poor life decision — supporting Maccabi Tel Aviv, Hapoel Tel Aviv’s greatest rival. Upon his return, he expected Tamir to renounce Maccabi and accept Hapoel.
And so, after being locked alone in a room in his own home for an indefinite period of time, Tamir again faced uncle Avi and the decision of a lifetime — would he do the right thing and fall for Hapoel, or would he stay on the dark side and embrace the great evil that was, is, and always will be Maccabi Tel Aviv? In a stunning turn of events, Tamir decided to remain a Maccabi supporter. Thankfully, Avi refused to accept this, and locked Tamir in the room again, but this time for a longer period.
Upon returning to the lonely room that housed his nephew, Avi was expecting a different answer from Tamir — the right answer. And, this time, he got what he was looking for — Tamir Linhart committed himself to Hapoel Tel Aviv.
Just as young Tamir fell in love with playing soccer, he quickly fell in love with Hapoel. He watched all of the games either live on television or in person, typically with uncle Avi, and waited outside of the field after practice sessions to try and get the autographs of his favorite players; namely, Gili Landau. At almost every home game Tamir could be found in Bloomfield — sitting amongst the most passionate, diehard Hapoel supporters — sporting a red shirt, red scarf, and waving the flag of Hapoel. He was, in every sense of the word, a true fanatic.
As Tamir’s connection to Hapoel Tel Aviv grew, so did his ability as a soccer player — he was a natural. The talent he possessed for the sport wasn’t expressed in recreational leagues as it would have been in the States; those opportunities don’t exist in Israel. Instead, his game was one of the streets. Much like the great playground basketball players of 1970s America, young Tamir was a great playground soccer player — a master of the small-sided game called futsal. These games were not organized and records were not officially kept, but the competition was fierce and participants played for keeps. Tamir absolutely loved it. On the streets of Holon he developed his flamboyant style, organically laying the foundation of a game that would eventually take him to the pros — his deft first touch, his ability to retain and move the ball in tight spaces, and his clinical finishing from crowded areas. But, despite his talent and his passion for playing, Tamir was uninterested in trying out for a club and playing at a more organized level.
During Tamir’s preteen years, he was approached countless times by his parents, teachers, and school administrators about joining Hapoel Tel Aviv — the club of his dreams. But he would have none of it — he liked to play soccer for fun, on his terms, and he had no interest in compromising his game or taking on the additional pressures that come with organized sports. Eventually though, after much contemplation, he finally took the opportunity to try and make Hapoel Tel Aviv’s under-12 squad. In the end, it was neither his family nor his teachers that convinced him to test his skills at the highest level of competition: it was his love for Hapoel Tel Aviv — and his aspiration to play alongside his childhood heroes. And so, at the age of 11, Tamir Linhart attended the trials for Hapoel Tel Aviv’s U12 team and made the cut.
The transition from street soccer to organized soccer was difficult for young Tamir. The game was very different — there were more players, the field was larger, and the quality was greater. Moreover, Tamir was late to join the club, as most of his teammates had been with Hapoel’s youth development program since they were 7 or 8 years old. While Tamir’s experience with futsal had endowed him with unique traits which would eventually allow him to rise to the top of the youth game, he needed to learn the basics in order to actually earn a spot on the matchday squad and playing time on the pitch.
Under the watchful eye of Pesach, a Russian coach notable for his heavy Russian accent, Tamir slowly adjusted his game to the needs of Hapoel. Together, they worked on technique and tactical intelligence, both of which were essential to Tamir’s understanding of the game, and his ability to apply that knowledge to the pitch. By the time Tamir turned 13 and began playing with the U14 side, he had hit his stride — his peers respected him as a key player on the team and his coaches recognized him as one of the most promising talents in the entire youth development program.
After 4 years of success in youth soccer and with a skillset that was rapidly improving, David Schweitzer, then head coach of Hapoel Tel Aviv men’s first team, decided that Tamir was ready for the big leagues — 17-year-old Linhart would skip the last level of youth soccer (Under-18) and turn pro, sharing the pitch with the heroes he grew up worshiping.
By 1986, when Tamir was called up to the first team, Hapoel Tel Aviv had already established itself as the greatest Israeli team of the decade. So while he was ecstatic to join the team of his dreams, he was also very nervous. Was his game ready for the highest level of Israeli soccer? And would he be able to add anything of value to the reigning Israeli Premier League champions? Thankfully, there wasn’t much time to ponder these questions, nor was there an opportunity to wallow in self-doubt — for he had to report to his first practice with the big boys.
“The first practice was so special; I can’t even describe it -” said Tamir. “When I walked on the field, all of the players that I followed for years, collecting their posters and player cards, watching them play in person and on TV, clamoring for their autographs after training sessions and games; they were all right there with me. They came and they welcomed me, not as a fan, but as one of them — as a teammate. So it was not just ‘turning pro’, or making the first team — it was being part of a team filled with players that were my idols. The feeling was surreal.”
Shortly after joining Hapoel’s first team, Tamir made his debut in the 1986 Intertoto Cup — a now defunct summertime European competition — and what a debut it was. He hit the ground running scoring 2 goals in a 2–2 draw against Maccabi Haifa in his first professional game, a brilliant performance that he followed with goals against Austrian giant, Grazer AK; and Denmark’s Lyngby BK. He ended the summer as the competition’s leading scorer.
Tamir couldn’t have asked for a better start to his pro career — he was playing regularly, earning the trust of his coaches, and was respected and liked by his teammates. Then, just as he was getting acclimated to the pro game, he was drafted into the Israeli Defense Forces (Israel’s armed forces). And so, during what was supposed to be the first season of his professional career in the Israeli Premier League, Tamir was unable to practice with his teammates or participate in games.
The transition from youth soccer to professional soccer is difficult enough without military service — the pro game is played at a much faster pace, the technical quality of the players is far superior, and the athletes are bigger, stronger, and more physically fit. Typically it takes a young player at least a full season to adjust to the changes, if they ever fully adjust at all. Most youth players in Israel, or any professional league around the world for that matter, are incapable of making a career out of soccer — they just aren’t good enough for the pros. All of these challenges were exacerbated by the fact that Tamir was called up to the first team before most other players — he skipped the U18 level of youth soccer — so his body was especially underdeveloped compared to those of his peers.
Ultimately, Tamir was able to overcome these obstacles, make the adjustment, and carve out a respectable career as a role player with one of the greatest Israeli soccer teams of all time. He credits his teammates and coaches with keeping his spirits high and guiding him through the tough periods of his first two years as a professional. The support from his teammates was especially important for Tamir. After all, these were the same men that he worshiped as a toddler — and here they were, embracing him as one of their own, taking him under their wings. They were all nationally famous — the best of them played for Israel in international competition — but they were so welcoming, friendly, and helpful. That meant a lot to Tamir.
While all of Hapoel’s players were eager to assist Tamir with his transition to the pros, including his childhood hero Gili Landau, the teammate who had the biggest impact on his development with the first team was none other than Moshe Sinai — one of the greatest players in Hapoel Tel Aviv’s history. His soccer IQ, his vision, his sense of the game, and his raw talent were all prodigious — but it was his ability to break down the game into its composite parts for his teammates, to help them see plays and runs and open space the second before they developed on the pitch, that was so helpful for Tamir. When Tamir was around Moshe, he was a sponge. Slowly, but surely, his game sharpened, his body strengthened, and his mentality hardened — Tamir, the once flamboyant street baller from Holon, had disciplined his game and turned himself into a pro’s pro through hard work and dedication.
Tamir was also fortunate to receive mentorship from another Hapoel legend throughout his career at the club — Rifaat “Jimmy” Tourk. In his prime as a player, Jimmy was not only the best player on several great Hapoel teams — he was also, perhaps, the greatest player in all of Israel. While Tamir never had the pleasure to share the pitch with Jimmy — Tamir debuted in Hapoel’s first team two years after Jimmy left the club — he did have the opportunity to play under Jimmy when he coached the team in 1989. He was a man of great integrity and character — giving Tamir advice and support both on and off the soccer pitch. Jimmy was the first man Tamir called when, many years later, Tamir considered going to America for university; and the two remain friends to this day.
When Tamir first joined Hapoel as an 11 year old boy, he was less than enthused about playing in front of huge crowds. Huge crowds meant huge pressure, and what he loved most about soccer in his youth was the camaraderie he had with his friends and, most importantly, the ability to creatively express himself through the game. That all changed once Tamir joined the first team and earned consistent playing time in the league. The energy at Bloomfield for home games was intoxicating. The stadium was always packed, the seats were always filled, and the fans were always engaged — living and dying with every dribble, pass, and shot. The intensity of the games was incredible and the magnitude of each fixture was immense — the tens of thousands of Hapoel supporters who were always in attendance made every league home game feel like it would decide the championship. And yet there was another level to reach — a higher plane of passion, emotion, joy and sometimes anguish — that was reserved for derby days.
While rivalries in American sports are friendly in nature, rivalries in Israeli sports are deeply personal. And there are no more personal rivalries in Israeli soccer than those between Hapoel Tel Aviv and Maccabi Tel Aviv, and Hapoel Tel Aviv and Beitar Jerusalem.
The atmosphere when Hapoel plays Maccabi is one of a kind. “The feeling on derby day is indescribable,” said Tamir. “In American sport you don’t have this. American sport is entertainment. When Hapoel plays Maccabi, entertainment is secondary. The energy you have in the stadium is crazy and the passion in the crowd is incredible. You walk on the field and you immediately get goosebumps.”
While Hapoel’s games with Maccabi were certainly heated, the nature of their games against Beitar Jerusalem were far more contentious. “The traditional rivalry with Maccabi is a classic derby…but with Beitar it is different,” said Tamir. “When we played against Beitar in Jerusalem, I remember one time they did not let our bus into the city of Jerusalem without police escorts. A mile before we reached the city, the bus had to stop, and we had to enter with 6 police escorts — two cars in the front, two in the back, and one motorcycle on each side. That’s the only way we can enter the city, not the stadium…just the city. When we arrive, there are police officers everywhere, on the roofs of buildings, on horses. That is how Hapoel Tel Aviv goes to play in Jerusalem.”
While Tamir grew to relish the passion innate to Israeli soccer and the intensity of the supporters, over time it wore him down — slowly eroding his love of the game. By 1991, 5 years after he made his debut in the first team at the young age of 17, Tamir knew he needed a change. The opportunity for that change presented itself when an Israeli soccer agent named Ronnie Schneider approached Tamir about the possibility of playing soccer at an American college. The expenses would be fully paid for by the university he selected, and he would be able earn a degree as well. Tamir, who to that point knew very little about the USA, was initially uninterested. But, after thinking it through, he decided he’d give it a shot. After all, what did he have to lose?
When Tamir opened himself up to recruiting from American universities, the first college he committed to was William and Mary — a small liberal arts school in Williamsburg, Virginia. But, after learning about turf, a synthetic grass-like surface that was applied to a concrete floor, and learning that William and Mary played on it, Tamir decided against going there. He wanted a change, but not that kind of change — he still intended to play soccer on grass. After reopening his recruitment, Schneider told him about George Mason University — a public school also in Virginia that was considerably larger in size than William and Mary. Schneider began his George Mason pitch by telling Tamir about the school’s facilities and amenities, none of which were of particular interest to Tamir. Then, eventually, he mentioned that George Mason’s coach, Gordon Bradley, was the man who brought Pelé to America in the 70s to play for the New York Cosmos. Once Pelé, arguably the greatest soccer player ever, was mentioned, Tamir was sold.
And so, in 1991, with almost no knowledge of American history or American culture, Tamir Linhart, aged 22, boarded a plane to Fairfax, Virginia to enroll at George Mason University. Once he arrived in the States and began playing for the Patriots, it became quickly apparent to him that American soccer was nothing like Israeli soccer. For one, the season was incredibly short — no more than 4 months — and the level of play was lower than that of Hapoel Tel Aviv. On top of that, the crowds were very small, and not particularly passionate. Nonetheless, Tamir enjoyed each of his 3 years at George Mason, and he loved playing soccer for the Patriots. Playing in a lower stakes environment with much less pressure, he rediscovered his passion for the game — the same feeling that first attracted him to the sport when he started playing futsalwith his friends on the streets of Holon all those years ago. Most of all though, he enjoyed playing for coach Gordon Bradley.
Given Tamir’s advanced skill level compared to that of his teammates, his game did not considerably improve at George Mason primarily due to the short season and lack of practice time. But the mentorship Coach Bradley gave Tamir was far more valuable than anything he could have taught him on the pitch. For Gordon Bradley was a person of great integrity and humility: a man with an altruistic spirit and an admirable moral compass. He always had time for his players — not just for soccer related matters, but to inquire about their lives, their interests, their goals. He was invested in them, it seemed, not just as athletes who could contribute to the team’s efforts on the pitch, but as full human beings. Tamir appreciated that, and was immensely grateful to Coach Bradley for helping him develop into the man he is today.
After graduating from George Mason in 1994 with a degree in Communications, Tamir briefly returned to Israel, intent on continuing his soccer career with Hapoel Tel Aviv. Alas, it was not to be. After playing one final season at Hapoel, he moved back to America — this time for good — in hopes of playing for a fledgling soccer league called Major League Soccer (MLS). But that opportunity never came. Instead, he played briefly for the Washington Warthogs, a Maryland based team that competed in the Continental Indoor Soccer League. Shortly after joining the Warthogs, however, it became apparent to Tamir that indoor soccer simply wasn’t for him. The game was played in an enclosed arena — the Warthogs, for example, played their home games in USAir Arena, the same venue that hosted Washington Capitals hockey games — so the pace was lightning fast because the ball was always in play. For this reason, players fatigued quickly and shifts only lasted 2 minutes, with players being subbed on and off the field countless times over the course of a single game. Needless to say, this was a far cry from the game he knew and loved.
Tamir retired from professional sports in 1996 and, at that point, was uncertain about what life had in store for him next. He knew he wanted to stay in the USA, for he loved America, but he did not know what he wanted to pursue now that his career as a soccer player was over. Unbeknownst to Tamir at that time, the way forward had already presented itself.
In 1996, in the final days of his professional soccer career, a former friend from George Mason who had played on the women’s soccer team reached out to Tamir to inquire about his interest in privately coaching a 9-year-old girl whom she had previously worked with. Tamir, who at that point had free time on his hands and not much money to his name, agreed to work with her.
“At that time, when I started working with this girl, I had no intention to start Golden Boot,” said Tamir. “I had no intention to start a soccer academy or go into coaching. It just happened organically! I worked with her 1-on-1, then she brought a friend, then the friend brought a brother, then he brought other friends. From there we started forming small groups and, eventually, it grew. When the winter came and we couldn’t practice outdoors, I thought: what are we going to do now? So I rented an indoor place and promoted this opportunity for coaching. The Washington Bullets helped me with promotion, and on our first day of practice, 200 kids signed up for the program! And it was then that I thought, ‘you know, maybe there’s something here.’”
Indeed, as Tamir thought in 1996, there was something there. That “something” was Golden Boot Soccer — the youth development academy Tamir has now been running and managing for over 25 years. As it turned out, his timing was perfect. Soccer was just starting to grow in popularity in America — Major League Soccer began in 1993, the USA hosted the Men’s World Cup in 1994, and the Women’s World Cup was hosted and won by Team USA in 1999.
When Tamir started coaching the young lady and her friends in 1996, it was primarily a way for him to make a few extra bucks sincehis career as a player was winding down. But after running Golden Boot for a couple of years, Tamir came to love the academy. Moreover, he developed a mission, a guiding star that inspired his work for years to come — to grow soccer in America. “The beginning of my serious involvement in youth soccer was not business or money. There was a group of us, from all over America, who came from different countries. We felt like we wanted to make soccer as popular here as it was in our countries. It was a mission for us — I really want to make soccer happen here.”
Tamir’s mission of making soccer a mainstream sport in America meaningfully shaped Golden Boot’s approach to player development. Unlike most academies, Golden Boot was open to boys and girls of all ages and all skill levels. Now, 27 years after founding the academy, Tamir’s approach to growing the sport has evolved. He recognizes that, in America, soccer is a cost prohibitive sport that is almost exclusively accessible to middle and upper class families. By investing in and promoting initiatives to build futsal courts across Northern Virginia, Tamir wants to give American kids the opportunity to fall in love with the game just as he did — by playing with friends for fun and organically developing their skill; training not under the watchful eye of a coach, but out of a desire to express themselves through the sport. It is fitting that a man who has largely been defined by Hapoel Tel Aviv — first as a fan, and then as a player — has embraced a mission rooted in the principles that make the club he loves so special: community, egalitarianism, and equity.
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