(This is what "Tobias" means, for those of you who didn't know. I've already done this post here, here, here, and probably some other places too. I'm doing it again because it's the same old garbage, and if this team can't be bothered to play 90 minutes, I can't be bothered to come up with new stuff to write about them. Because there's almost literally nothing left to say about a team that has essentially gone beyond self-parody at this point.)
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.
So yeah, we got a bit of a break there, TFC. A few weeks where all we had to deal with were dull, uninspired losses. Whatever, we're used to those by now. And yeah, there were times Tobias's mom wouldn't call him in at 4 p.m. But of course, before long, there she'd be. Everything would be back to normal.
That's the terror of complacency.
I tell this story for two reasons. One, as an attempt to take everyone's minds off of YES, INCOMPREHENSIBLY, YET 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. (Although, at this point, how in the hell could we forget it, when the lesson is rammed into our heads every damned week?)
Anyway, here the Reds sit, with a lot fewer points than they could have. Wanna know why? Oh, probably because of the late concessions against Philly and Los Angeles and Houston and New York and Colorado and yeah, y'know what, what the hell, Philly again.
Blah blah, one week Tobias moved away. Whatever, read the previous versions if you want the whole scintillating narrative. The long and the short of it is, Toronto FC sucks. In other news, water is wet.
In the immediate aftermath of the game, I angrily posted on Twitter that the team should just get it over with and fold, and spare us all of this ongoing heartache. If and when I change that stance, I'll let you know.