Football, like life, is rarely perfect.
A speeding ticket on the way to the game, the defender blows his coverage, the referee missed the call, you lost the girl and the other bastards win the game. It’s mostly tragedy with a dash of horror, tears, and, above all else, heartbreak.
Yet, it keeps you coming back because deep down you realize that sometimes the imperfection is what makes it perfect. The pain of the imperfection allows you to see joy in the sublime.
You catch every green light, a beautiful cross, the ref missed the call for the other guys, maybe she does like you and the good guys get the job done.
It’s not perfect, but it feels damn close to it.
[PRBREAK][/PRBREAK]
The 2011 season is already long. If there ever was any hope for TFC fans it’s mostly gone. Even the Voyageurs Cup seemed an ask too much, with Vancouver bossing the Reds around whenever the two teams met.
And when the ref missed the call and the other bastards came damn close to perfection on the free kick it seemed like it was going to be another day for fans to slam their head’s against the (hopefully) figurative wall. From the Whitecaps goal until the 24th Minute BMO Field was as quiet as it has ever been. There were no boos and no emotion, only defeated silence.
But then came the unexpected.
Whipping boy Julian de Guzman slammed it off the crossbar, TFC scored except it didn’t and The Reds looked like The Oranje for the first time in Aron Winter’s time.
The crowd shifted. Hope, rarely seen at BMO over the last 2.5 years, started to seep into the halftime discussions. The energy TFC fans were once known for was back. Yes, it was only the Whitecaps and yes it was just a little four team tournament, but none of that mattered. The pitch and the 11 were all that did.
The goal was going to come. It was understood. And when it did, a second was surely to follow.
It’s been a frustrating four and a bit years for the Reds’ fans, but for the last 20 minutes yesterday no one in that stadium cared about Mo Johnston, ticket prices or overpaid Spanish DPs. The voices were full, the cynics silenced.
No, it wasn’t a perfect performance. But, it was a perfect afternoon.
And sometimes in football, like life, that’s all that matters.