It’s a well-worn theme here. Canada is not an easy thing to do. And I genuinely feel for those who have been dedicated to it far longer than myself. My expectations for last night’s game were so low heading in I only bothered to procure a ticket at the last minute. I arrived at the stadium uncharacteristically early and sober, and was pleasantly surprised to see so many Canada jerseys milling around outside versus relatively fewer Jamaican ones. That feeling deflated as I entered section 114 prior to kickoff and realized the stadium was only half full. The entire west side upper deck and north end sat depressingly barren.
Even the Voyageurs seemed subdued, which I judged as okay, given some nights are more prone to high energy than others, and mid-week friendlies against experimental opposition are low on that scale. When the Jamaicans scored in the 30th minute it was immediately apparent there were far more opposition supporters in the stands than the sprinkling of yellow shirts initially indicated. “Jesus fuck,” (or something to that effect) was the first phrase through my head. It’s great to make self-deprecating jokes about Canadian soccer and to relish in how futile it all is. Especially if you delude yourself into believing you are somehow cut of more robust cloth for sticking through it. But the generally shittiness of it all eventually gets to everyone but the clinically insane. The idea of losing to whatever ideas Jamaican manager Winfried "Winnie" Schäfer was testing with his squad selection made me wish I’d stayed home. (An interesting note on Winnie, from our vantage point he looked very much like either an old-school television evangelist or a fading Dutch porn star.)
And then out of nowhere, boom! David Edgar wonder strike. I wouldn’t say the south end exploded in the sense fans often explode after a huge goal. And given how rare Canada goals are you’d think there would be enough pent-up frustration. But the vibe I felt was more of a “Whee-hee, this ain’t going to be so bad after all!” And as the match wore on, my fear that Canada was going to do what it always does - lose frustratingly - slowly melted. Two goals and three beers later I even broke into something resembling a dance.
I wanted a “we’re going to Russia” chant. I wanted Benito Floro do saunter over to the supporters' section and take a bow and do whatever the equivalent of a mustache twirl is for men with a cleanly shaven face. I was purposely getting ahead of myself.
Two days later I’m still happy with the result, if not convinced Canada is a dramatically better team than the one that went 16 games without a win, while being outscored 29-4 in the process. Yes, Canada controlled play, but this was a Jamaica far removed from full strength. Goalkeeper Andre Blake put his inexperience on full display, and the islanders’ attack was an uncoordinated mess. Marcel de Jong scored a sweet free kick but also attempted several wild interventions that failed spectacularly. Canada would have been burned in actual qualifying.
The narrative was one of progress, but I’ll cling to the other trope about enjoying enjoyable moments when they come your way. We rarely get to watch Canada win by multiple goals and, hey, here’s to feeling good instead of feeling bitter, disappointed or feeling nothing at all as a way to cope.
Add in Jonathan Osorio, Tesho Akindele, Will Johnson, Lucas Cavallini, maybe even Junior Hoilett and this team starts to look like something. I’m still concerned about not having a keeper who receives regular playing time, and apart from David Edgar the defensive line is nothing but question marks.
But after Tuesday I’m again giving in to hope. I mean, I’d always be giving in to hope, just not publicly. Rationally concluding the team lacks quality and predicting loudly it will suck is one thing. But you always secretly hope the that won't be the case. Otherwise there’s no point.
Ah Christ. The 2015 Gold Cup, the 2016 Copa America and the 2018 qualifying process. At some point during those three competitions, something meaningful and exciting and totally worth celebrating maniacally in the company of other fans will happen. And it will have a far bigger impact than Terry Dunfield scoring a screamer against Ecuador. I hope.
Edit: The last paragraph of this post has been changed to show that Terry Dunfield scored against Ecuador, not Peru.