(About a year ago, Toronto FC striker Danny Koevermans famously referred to the squad as the "worst team in the world". Some days, it's difficult to disagree with that assessment. And by "some days", I mean more or less every day as of late. So here, unbelievably, incomprehensibly and unforgivably, is the same stupid bullshit joke post for the FIFTH TIME IN A ROW to vaguely cover the exploits of this group of ostensibly professional athletes.)
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 THE FIFTH FUCKING STRAIGHT (if you can believe it) 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?)
I'm not even going to bother with the "TFC fans can take solace in..." paragraph because, fuck it.
If you want an actual match recap, go read a mainstream media website where they get paid for that sort of thing, or just shell out the cash to get MLS Live and rewatch the full match yourself. Some people played well, probably, but in this context, who gives a hot damn.
Anyway, here the Reds sit, with seven points from 10 league games... and at this point, there's really only one activity you can reasonably be indulging in:
- bemoaning the fact that it could have very easily been 15 points, if not for the late concessions against Philly, Los Angeles and Houston and New York and fucking Colorado and holy slapstick shithell San Jose too, are you serious, how the fuck can this keep happening?
Blah blah, one week Tobias moved away. Big deal. We're never going to be free of that stupid little runt, so just watch the games as mild entertainment for 80 minutes or so -- if you can still stomach it, at this point -- but don't expect anything especially encouraging or uplifting, unless you're a fool that hasn't been paying attention.
Whatever. TFC still exists so, I guess I still care. But to follow my lead on this subject would be idiotic.