When I was growing up, we'd routinely collect the neighbourhood kids for games of road hockey on weekends. One of them was a Portuguese kid named Tobias, about five years younger than me. He'd bring his stick and plenty of enthusiasm -- but at around 4 p.m. on any given Saturday or Sunday, his broom-toting mom would beckon him back to the house with shrill calls of "Tobias!... Tobias!"
It was too late for lunch and too early for dinner... quite frankly, none of us really understood why he was being ripped away from our games at 4 p.m. with such regularity. But we'd come to expect it. Check your watch. It's getting close to 4 p.m. Time for what we all know is coming.
"Tobias!.... Tobias!"
[PRBREAK][/PRBREAK]
Every once in a while, she'd fail to emerge at the expected time. We'd take this as a positive sign. Maybe she'd finally calmed down. Maybe he'd actually be able to stick around for full games. Hell, maybe she'd fallen down the stairs and we wouldn't have to hear that shriek anymore (hey, kids are assholes, what can I say?)
But soon enough, there she'd be, twice as loud -- as if to compensate for her delinquency -- with the cry we all knew was going to come. Why, oh why, did we think she'd ever stop? We would need to always keep an eye on our watches at 4 p.m., even if she missed a week here and there. We'd never truly be rid of her interference, no matter how our games were going, or how old we got.
I tell this story for two reasons. One, as an attempt to take everyone's minds off of another catastrophic, points-dropping, last-minute concession by Toronto FC. And two, as a way of reminding us all that the occasional hiccup should not make us forget certain inalienable truths about the universe: Tobias's mom will always call him back in the house at a strange time. And Toronto FC will always, always, always make things terrifying at the ends of games.
Now, on this occasion, many TFC fans will take solace (if "solace" is used as a synonym for "pint-glass-shattering rage") in the fact that the team was more or less in control of the match for the lion's share of 93 minutes -- unfortunately, though, the match was 94 minutes in duration. And yes, despite the fact that everyone's sphincter tightened once Toronto conceded a corner kick deep into injury time, that doesn't take away (well, except in the form of two points) from what was otherwise a solid performance against a quality Houston team.
At the end of the day, both teams earned a point... in the same way that a homeless dude "earns" the loonie a guilty parent tells their child to plop into a dirt-encrusted baseball cap. The nature of TFC's non-win was probably even more cruel than the seemingly five million other occasions on which Toronto has played with fans' hearts into the dying minutes of the match, given that a full three points would have been a just reward for the boys in red on the day.
That's not to say there weren't high points: Jeremy Hall scored a nifty goal and looked to show some aptitude in the holding midfield role he now finds himself in. Despite the same-old, same-old in the game's dying seconds, a young and patchwork backline again looked solid, shutting down the Dynamo before they could create much of anything. And on the other end, some creative work did provide TFC with a number of impressive scoring opportunities -- of course, all but one of them went for naught.
So, here the Reds sit, with seven points from seven games... and a fanbase likely participating in one (or, in a bit of cognitive dissonance only long-time TFC fans can successfully pull off, both) of the following activities:
- bemoaning the fact that it could have very easily been 12 points, if not for the late concessions against Philly, Los Angeles and Houston
- happily shrugging "hey, that's seven points better than last year at this time! Progress!"
Both of those are a little bit dangerous. The first, because if you're still thinking about what might have been when it comes to points TFC could have earned, you're surely on the verge of driving yourself batty. And the second, because it's not especially helpful to use the worst start in the history of the league as a benchmark of any sort.
That being said, clearly there is some progress (it'd be nearly impossible for there not to be). Clearly there is some depth on this team (relative to previous years) and clearly they are attempting to establish some sort of a rhythm, even if the final product isn't there yet. Ugly as it may have been, a point acquired is a point acquired -- even if it really coulda, woulda, shoulda been three.
And as for the late-game collapses?
Well, it's potentially instructive to know that one week, Tobias never came out to play road hockey. We knocked on his door, no answer. The next week, same thing. Turns out, he moved away without telling any of us. Something we'd come to expect after years and years of the same... all of a sudden, without explanation, it stopped.
So, hey. There's always hope.