Author’s note: If you like your blogs clear and simple, artless and dry, y’all might want to sit this one out. If that didn’t toss ya, let’s walk:
[PRBREAK][/PRBREAK]
And sure, you knew it was inevitable for the longest time.
It all started out so well, but such an aching chasm of hurtful time ago. The situation opened doors. It validated your deepest dreams. It was all so giddy, so impossible – so good.
Not that folks didn’t tell you from the start this could be trouble. You’re in there working it with all your heart, but The Other Side is so cold and distant. You can’t find anything in your many interactions that actually seems overtly hostile, but what’s all this distance? And why does everything seem so cold?
Moment one: Toronto FC’s 2010 season, up to the D.C. United loss on September 11.
All that spring and summer, voices all around were screaming it was time to break up. Abuse stories were rampant, and like any good little victim, you weren’t telling your story to anyone.
It couldn’t really be that bad, could it? You’re still doing what you love to do. It’s still a pretty cool life.
But you’ve seen The Other Side do this terrible thing where someone just like you gets it all torn away and stolen, while someone else you secretly swear can’t do half of what you do gets protection and approval, like some pampered cat that purrs and smirks and turns into a slathering monster of doom-slash in your dreams at night.
Try waking up from that and dancing through your daytime like there’s nothing wrong.
Everyone In Here smiles and says it’s fine. But everything You touch out there goes south. It’s ridiculous! You have to be better than this, right? How’d you get here in the first place if you aren’t?
You heard tell, long ago, of bad people who rise in the world by sucking the talent, dreams and joy out of good folk. And then a dear friend whispers on a midnight sidewalk that you’re dealing with “a terrible, terrible, terrible man.”
And though your conscious mind would never tell you this, your deeper, inner self is seeking a way to fall, plummet, hurtle deep and deep and downwards – all in just the tiniest, most desperate hope that someone’s going to – has to – catch you.
And then, on a screaming, noisy stage, on a day you can and must succeed, you see The Other Side smirking, and realize that the one and only way you can win today – is lose.
And you do.
Moment two: Toronto FC 1 at Seagull City SC 4, CONCACAF Champions League, September 15.
The break-up came so fast you almost missed it. The serpent’s gone. Heck, they even sucked the poison out, too.
Suddenly you’re on a plane, out of town, in the air … on your own.
You feel like you’re standing on a mountain top – and look at that! You are! It’s so beautiful and simple now. No one’s really expecting anything. The year’s essentially been written off. Anything good that happens now is a bonus.
And in those giddy opening moments, you feel free and creative and six-years-old and great. Simple moves that seemed so hard just days ago are flowing, popping – scoring! You’ve got one, and could easily have two more. This is freedom! This is fun! This is … EASY!
And it avalanches downhill from there. The setbacks mount up. In the end, you’re buried. And don’t you just hear the abuser’s voice, saying you’re not that good; never were that good; never will be that good?
This is when the doubt pours in. This is when you could actually miss the way things used to be. Coming so soon, this hollow landing is a saddening shock. Maybe you were actually better off before. Maybe you never were that good after all. Maybe you’re just another of those myriad mistakes The Other Side made.
But – for a few reckless, fleeting moments there, free and frolicking in the twilight of this new day that has unexpectedly dawned – wasn’t it …
Fun?
Moment three: Toronto FC 2 at Houston Dynamo 1, MLS, September 18.
Tonight, it’s just the same old disconnected bag of crap. No flow. No link-up. Nothing going right. Keeps on like this, and people are going to start thinking it wasn’t His fault after all.
And that’s when The Anger kicks in. Anger was a dangerous emotion before. You lived in a soap-bubble world of illusion, where any outburst could destroy something you’d really prefer to cling to.
But He’s not Here now. So let’s start calling a spade a damn shovel! The work, right now, is horse****. What are You – free of Him – going to do the effing heck about it?
Explode.
But not in some random, unfocused, just-tear-it-all-down-and-die bout of destruction. This is going to be … surgical. Some pressure here, some daring there. All to create the possibility. All to stand in the moment. All to have the chance, see the goal – and connect.
Twice.
And just like that, you did what you had to do. You beat the doormat, and stood astride the rival town. You’re battered and exhausted, and you can’t go home just yet. But at least you’ve crawled back into the river, and there’s faltering sails ahead you might yet catch.
Perfect time for an impulsive trip to Mehico, yes?
Moment four: Toronto FC 0 at Cruz Azul 0, CONCACAF Champions League, September 21.
Okay, let’s be honest. No one really wants to be here tonight. So a few crazy friends decided to travel down and offer some support, and they’re just having themselves Ye Grande Olde Tyme. Makes you smile. Feels good.
But this is a grim bit of business tonight. Something to be survived more than anything to be won.
No point offering your best. You’ve been through too much, and will desperately need every ounce of anything you can muster when you finally go back to face the mess at home.
And you’re not even that good, right? Really?
And they come at you. In waves. You feel the kill-shot coming any minute. It’s exactly like that last time out before the break-up. Just lose, and leave.
But the kill-shot never comes.
And what the heck does that mean? This is that nightmare you can’t wake up from, where the Big-Time Boxer is pounding you from one end of town to the other, and there’s no referee to stop the fight.
It’s not like you were at your best tonight. Bless your heart and pass the clams, you weren’t even close to your best tonight. Yeah, they dogged it, too, but they had everything they needed to wipe you out, and the kill-shot never came.
It’s a funny game, sometimes!
And ain’t this the moment when The Other Side would be phonin’ up the FAN590 demanding to get on the air to preen and strut after refusing to talk to Anyone about Anything for three whole years?
But he’s gone. You’re still here. And this – is a famous achievement. Your achievement. History, it turns out, is rarely written on anyone’s best night.
Time to go home, feel your power, claim your space, and – whatever yet may happen – begin your new and single life for real.
Onward!