FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Gavin’s Back Office
Rose City, Cascadia
Official Match Statement for PORvSTA Simple Invitational
Dear Mighty Timbers,
Here we are again on the brink of the unknown.
We’ve been here before, like so many of the precipices a relationship trundles upon in the slog towards blissful love, and my hand is always clammy as it squeezes harder every time.
It’s an odd relationship we share. An unbalanced confluence of needing and getting. Anthropomorphized it is an abusive marriage bound for divorce. I’d file domestic abuse charges. You’d file a restraining order. I mean, the sex is great, but sometimes I don’t cook dinner right or forget to take out the trash and you always go out on the road.
I work all week to just come and see you play or spend too much money at a bar when you leave. I get to just live a life where you are part of the fulfillment. You represent something that all humans need and some more than others. An outlet of unconditional love. A place to direct unabashed support and endearment. We’d defend you to depths of any failure and we have before.
And you take care of the dirty work of making this club exist and function and in so many ways reflect the faces and hearts of the ones that adore you.
Your risk is your failure.
Our risk is our hearts.
But the joy of a win and the sting of goal smoke are rewards that we carry into our memories and dreams as we clutch our lovers and drift into sleep. You sleep alone, lights turned off, thinking of mechanisms, the last lingering remnants of our love converted to currency and invested into the machine.
And even when you fail to earn the result we wanted, an expectation brewed from opinions and punditry gobble-de-gook, we still love you. Because we love football and you are its conduit and you’re so easy to love because you are just part of us.
We’re lucky to have you. You’re lucky to have us. It’s an unbalanced cycle of consumption and love that is at its heart football as a metaphor for life.
So the Simple Tournament can go fuck itself and the Vancouver Whitecaps too. Let’s invite teams like the Norse side who played the true football. Played hard and quick, dare I say simple and balanced.
Our depleted first team threw Asprilla on the wing, and he did dirty work of sending in balls his teammates didn’t know were quite possible and turning their left back around in his shoes. He’s gonna score some goals. Rodney was modest on the left-wing but played his game but not his best. There was a moment the wingers switched sides on attack and envisioned a horizontal pivot working the wings as our center pivot destroyed box-to-box.
Wouldn’t be this match though. Our pivot was Jewsbury, our Salty Dog, and trialist Gavin, who played respectfully but is just a sloppy Zemanski. Jack does what is asked with the skill of a journeyman. He’s the best he can be and that’s better than most. We are both lucky to have him.
Adi finally tapped in a sitter on a lovely ball from Villafaña that just begged for the net. He’s missed easier and made harder but this one counted as the game winner. Nagbe, dear lad, continued to suffer a lack of courage and foot yet also continued to create moments just by pace. He created moments for other’s chances. He needs more meat on his guile.
Borchers and Ridgy stayed strong and true and Powell was dynamic and scary as he flashed his maturing youth. Still the young vikings were able to get in lots of looks and five of them were saved by our new keeper who if I didn’t like before (I didn’t), I do now.
It was a good match of football. We were always going to win. You could feel it in the air. There was never really a moment, that we know so well, where an impending gloom settles on the eyelids.
The result didn’t mean much after a revelatory yet disappointing midweek draw with the Fire that let Vancouver take home a trophy or framed certificate.
But in a way it meant everything.
I think we are as ready as the wheels of time and fate have let us be. I know this season may be bumpy. It may be fucking absolutely amazing and beyond any conceivable expectations. It may be agonizingly hard and full of loss. It may not even start on time as our overlords debate how to fuck everyone over.
But no matter what, it will be football.
And you will be loved.
Am I squeezing your hand too tight?