It started out promisingly. Excellent seats secured at the last minute for the most important cup final in Canadian soccer history, and sunny enough skies to make us believe the rain in the forecast wasn't going to come.
But when it was all said and done, I had seen about 15 minutes of football.
[PRBREAK][/PRBREAK]
At about the eight-minute mark of the first half the skies opened up, slowly at first but the rain got faster and heavier quickly. I stuck it out with my girlfriend for about 10 minutes, but our lack of any kind of rain gear made the decision easy and we retreated under the west grandstand at BMO Field, joining a sizable chunk of the people who were sitting on top of it when the game kicked off.
After about 10 minutes of milling and exchanging banal jokes about how at least we were all "closer to the beer," we tried hiking up the west stand to where a short overhang provides protection for the top six or seven rows. Unfortunately many others had the same idea, and when the rain is coming in sideways it doesn't really matter what is over your head.
I was pretty pissed at this point (angry, not drunk) because being so high up actually provides a great view of what's happening all over the entire field. I sat there cursing the rain driving into the side of my face, muttering silently about how I'm always getting "screwed over" by the weather whenever I plan something fun, before retreating a second time. I'd like to say I was being chivalrous, but I was already past my own "alright, fuck this" moment too.
We watched the monsoon raging out through the entryway into the stands, sipping cold hot chocolate and grumbling about the lack of televisions like they have at "every other sports venue in the country." It was about then that Vancouver scored, and the wet, cold and semi-drunk masses began to lose patience.
Not that anyone truly lost patience. It was more sort of a collective acknowledgement that the gig was up, that the rain wasn't going to stop and that even though it wasn't even halftime, it was time to face the elements and go home.
I suppose that anyone dropping in from a "real" footballing country would have found the whole spectacle kind of pathetic. The country's cup final? The biggest game of the year on the domestic calendar? Not only did the crowd as a whole seem barely interested (in fact, based on snippets of conversation many people were unclear as to what they were actually watching), but people were perfectly content to actually get up and physically walk out of the stadium at halftime under their own auspices. The worst thing was that I could hardly pass judgement because I was one of them.
I wasn't aware to the extent of the exodus until we got outside. There were a surprisingly large number of red-clad TFC supporters making the journey with us on the Bathurst streetcar, east on the Bloor subway and then north up the Yonge line. They were easily spotted not just by what they were wearing, but by how they staggered through the subway stations, drenched and sullen and wishing they were already home.
It wasn't until I got back to my apartment that I learned the game would likely be cancelled. And as everyone knows now, it was. But after the whinging and ribbing from both sets of supporters dies down on the social media fronts, people will recognize this washout for what it really was: something Canadian soccer supporters are going to be talking about for years and years to come. Our soccer's very own version of the Fog Bowl or the Ice Bowl or the Snow Bowl or whatever weather-influenced iconic sporting event you want to compare it to. The Vancouver goal that never-will-be just adds more spice to this already tasty dish.
As time passes the tales will grow longer, about how so-and-so were the "only ones left" in the stand at the end and how there was "two feet of water" to wade through in the bathroom. I saw one or two Whitecaps fans, but by now theirs will have been an entire away supporters' section in full song. The barstool boasting will reach its fever pitch with the story about how we "almost got hit by lightning."
I joked on Twitter that my waterlogged and bloated match program might some day become a collector's item, but the more I think about it that idea may not be a joke at all. I'm not sure yet who would actually want it, but I do intend to think hard about who I pass it on to.