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 in ... well, not much of anything, really. You can only slam your head against the wall so many times until you eventually slump into unconsciousness, as it were.
At the end of the day, both teams earned a point... oh, wait, sorry, scratch that, New York got three and Toronto got none. Damn, I can't just totally cut and paste it this week.
That's not to say there weren't high points... I guess, maybe. I just watched the "Game in Six" highlight pack, so all I can say is, uh, that Jonathan Osorio kid's really coming along, eh? Maybe he'll get the call for Canada before too long. Though then he'd probably have to miss TFC games, which would make their situation all the more dire. Sigh.
So, here the Reds sit, with seven points from eight league 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 13 points, if not for the late concessions against Philly, Los Angeles and Houston and New York
- 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)... probably. I guess. I dunno. I'm starting to think it'd be much, much better for all of us is they just got thoroughly shellacked so we wouldn't need to holding our hearts in our hands all the way into second-half injury time. Remember, two losses and a win earn you just as many points as three draws.
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.
Even if, y'know, it's getting harder and harder and harder to actually believe that.
.