Om Arvind was my friend. (Was. It’s still hard to even write that. Was my friend. Regardless–) I knew him for a surprisingly long time. That meant that I had the pleasure of watching him turn into the man he became: a caring, committed, principled friend, someone who was willing to stand–even publicly!—for the right things, even when it was hard to do, when it required being a voice in the wilderness.
I’m honestly not sure how much has been said publicly about Om because it’s been hard for me to think about him–much less read other people’s words, much less write my own without feeling like I’m going to break down. I’m sure many wonderful things have been said; but far less than he deserved. I know the Managing Madrid community is still in mourning; I’m not sure if the shock of his loss has faded for you all yet, replaced with a sort of pain in the gut when you think about him. That’s where I am.
But enough about me. That’s not the point. The point is to celebrate the man Om became, the life he lived, and the legacy that he’s left.
I’ll start here, at the end: one of Om’s final requests was that we set up a GoFundMe in his name. But it wasn’t a traditional end of life GoFundMe, one that so many of us have seen. Instead, Om asked that we donate to the National Women’s Soccer League Players Association (NWSLPA), the union that represents the women who play professionally for teams in the US.
That speaks volumes. Not just of Om as a person, but of his legacy, as a truly brilliant tactical analyst at Managing Madrid, and as a champion of the women’s game around the world–even during the years that few people cared.
Om’s time at Managing Madrid began as a member of the community at large, offering smart thoughts on matches in the comment section–as a high schooler (MM handle: Ronaldom; ifykyk). We brought him on to our staff in 2015, when he was 17. Before he could vote. Years before he could legally drink. He quickly became an editor. Then a constant podcast guest–one of the most beloved and called-for due to his lengthy and brilliant tactical analyses of every Real Madrid match. Then he became a beloved co-host. It was amazing to watch.
Over the years, Om and I became friends–as one does when one talks with someone for hours at least once, but many times twice, or even three times per week. That’s also how Kiyan, Lucas, and I became friends. And I came to know Om beyond football. As a man with a deep commitment to justice, and a revulsion for those things–people, institutions, power structures–that delay and undermine justice. We talked about a lot of things; I won’t bore you with them. But when Real Madrid finally decided to field a women’s team in 2020–and, channeling Om, it’s a travesty that it took so long–he was the natural person to take over the coverage of the women’s team. Over the years, Om grew the site’s coverage, turning Managing Madrid into the best place online for Real Madrid Femenina analysis and information in English (and, to be clear, MM is the best place online for Real Madrid coverage in general). I admit I may be biased about that, but regardless–the site’s in-depth Real Madrid Femenina coverage is among the world’s best. And that is mostly thanks to Om.
He also grew the podcast that we at Managing Madrid decided to create as part of that coverage. Las Blancas (a great name, if I do say so myself (it was my idea)). He devoted hours to the show, growing it and bringing on fantastic talent, including Yash Shakur and Kanita, the team that hosts today.
He covered the women’s team when it was in its infancy–on one of the first Las Blancas episodes in September of 2020, he complained to me and Jess Houwen about how the camera angles for womens matches in Spain were so bad he could barely see the full pitch (we later joked about how it was like watching a match filmed on someone’s phone). This was still when the women’s game was at the beginning of its upward progression, especially in Spain, who, four years later, have now won the World Cup, and where nearly a hundred thousand people came out to watch Barcelona (a continental powerhouse) beat Real Madrid’s young team at the Nou Camp. He was a voice in the wilderness and I know it sometimes felt like he was shouting into the void. But he continued to cover the team, bringing his own brand of deep tactical knowledge and witty prose to every article and every show. This meant staying up late watching grainy footage of a pitch in north-central Spain that looked like where you’d play a pickup game in a public park. He was one of the only people in journalism spending hours dissecting these matches.
He did all that because he loved Real Madrid and cared about the success of the women’s game, in Europe and the US. Obviously.
But he also cared, just as deeply, about the players who make up the game, the professionals who had to play on those public middle school-looking pitches with maybe a hundred people watching. He knew how badly these women were being treated by their teams and especially their leagues and federations. He saw that years before the Spanish Federation repeatedly and publicly told the Spanish players to go to hell–first when they refused to play for their abusive coach (the RFEF ended up firing Vilda despite the team winning the World Cup), and later when Luis Rubiales, the president of the Federation, sexually assaulted star Jenni Hermoso on international television (Rubiales, despite casting himself as the innocent victim of “false feminism,” would eventually resign. He now faces a criminal trial for sexual assault and coercion.). Om saw these professionals being treated like children, in Spain, in the US, around the world–their work belittled by the very institutions that profited from their labor. He also knew that the best way to stop that was solidarity–workers standing together, united, to stand up for themselves and their rights. And, slowly, we’ve seen that happen in the women’s game, and we’ve seen conditions begin to improve. But there’s still much, much more to be done.
That’s why we’re raising money for the NWSLPA in Om’s name.
And that’s the part of his legacy I wanted to highlight. Because it speaks to who he was as a man. And as a friend. Take some time to hold your loved ones tight, and remind your friends how much they mean to you. As we say in my tradition, may Om’s memory be a blessing, to you all, to his family, and all his friends. I know it will be for me.
And I’m going to miss him a lot.
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If you’re struggling with thoughts of ending your own life, please know that you are deeply valued and cherished. The world is infinitely brighter with you in it, and your presence enriches the lives of those around you in ways you don’t even realize. You are loved, you are important, and you are not alone. There is hope, and there is help available–including, if you’re in the United States, the National Suicide and Crisis Lifeline, which is available 24/7 by dialling 988, offering confidential and compassionate assistance. Please reach out to someone you trust, a friend, a family member, or a mental health professional: there’s always someone willing to listen and support you.
