In the end, I decided to take Friday evening off. I cooked up a steak, cracked open a cold beer, and settled in comfortably in the fan-cooled living room of Onward!’s palatial East York estate.
With all preconception and argument set aside, I watched Toronto FC lose 5-1 to Spanish giants Real Madrid. And, through my eyes, here is what I think I saw … through theirs.
[PRBREAK][/PRBREAK]
Emmanuel Gomez: Eighteen years old, and Cristiano Ronaldo, Kaka, Karim Benzema and Raul are bearing down on you. That’s one of the finest strike forces in human history.
You’re still trying to get used to this new place called Toronto, thousands of real miles and millions of cultural ones from your distant home in Gambia. And now you’ve got to deal with this.
You’ll go crazy if you watch Ronaldo’s feet. Those step-overs are a blur. There’s no possible way to read them. And he’s not there anyway. He’s already gone, streaking goalward with blinding confidence – and pace. Trying to read the others won’t do you much good either. There’s too many of them, and they’re just too good.
So forget about them. Watch the ball. Even at the feet of the Galacticos, it’s still just a ball. Just like back at home. Just like any game you’ve ever played. When you see it coming just that way, and you put your foot just there, the ball stops. The ball is yours. Then, just keep your head, and get it going the other direction.
And no, of course it’s not that simple. But that’s what Gomez mostly did. He ignored the bravado, and played the ball. As cool and composed as the greatness all around him. So what if he couldn’t equal their talent? He held his purpose, and won a couple of well-earned possessions. And he didn’t throw them away, either.
Keep your dismissive talk of this just being a pre-season scrimmage for the soccer gods from Spain. This kid hung in there – by keeping his eye on the ball.
Brian Edwards: He hasn’t complained, but lord this has been a wrenching season! How’d you like to be a second-year pro on a mediocre team – who is only allowed to play in international friendlies! A full game against River Plate, and now the second half against Real Madrid.
A lot of what you see out there discourages. Two Real players – two! – unlock seven Torontos in your six-yard box and hammer home Real’s fourth goal. And then – you had to know this was unavoidable – you see your overmatched, struggling central-defender teammate Marco Velez get sent in to man-mark Dutch superstar Arjen Robben.
That’s as close to inevitable as an imminent goal can ever be. It comes quickly, with Robben wearing Velez like a badly fitting bathrobe all the way to beating you soundly for goal number five.
But that’s not all you saw – thank the soccer gods! Two other times, the swirling white dragon that is Real Madrid sent dagger shots flying for your goal. And twice – once leaping high, once straining to your side – you got an outstretched hand on the ball and deflected away the danger.
Your eyes burn with righteous confidence. You scream in joy.
Does the bench hear you? Does coach Chris Cummins catch the empowered victorious roar of perhaps the most captive and underrated player in all of Major League Soccer?
Heck if you know. You weren’t looking his way at the time. Hell! Why should your eyes be anywhere near the Toronto FC bench? You’ve already seen far too much of it, in this cruelly stolen season of 2009.
Gabe Gala: And then, we all saw what could easily be the greatest moment in all of this hard-working young man’s life.
Getting late. You hear Cummins call to send you in. Chad Barrett went on at halftime. The struggling striker’s only been out there 26 minutes, and it’s time to make a change.
You’re hopping up and down on the sidelines while the fourth official signals your number to the referee. Here comes Barrett. He’s not happy, but he slaps your hand for luck and respect on his way off the field.
Two years older than Gomez. Also born in Africa, but raised from boyhood in Toronto’s northwest suburbs, way out past the airport in Brampton.
You don’t think. You just run. Those are Real Madrid shirts you’re running past. And even though a lot of the front-line stars are sitting now, this is still way more opponent than you have ever even remotely gone running against.
It forms up off to your right. Big Danny Dichio makes a cunning turn off the ball. It creates room for O’Brian White to shoot. Real goalie Jerzey Dudek dives, gets lots of fingers on it, but can’t hold on.
Your eyes are huge! You know you’ve got a step on whatever superstar is marking you. You know where the ball has to go. Has to! You put everything your heart and legs and courage can give you to get … to … that … spot!
You do. The ball’s there. Kick it clean. Watch it fly.
Way up in the broadcast booth, a Spanish announcer shouts the world “goal” many times in a row.
And then we all see his ecstacy. This whole crazy business of the mid-season friendly. The seventy-odd teams that didn’t want to come and play on BMO’s plastic grass. The expensive temporary real-grass field. The supporters upset about the price of tickets and wrenching around of the schedule.
And here, in Gabe Gala’s eyes, is the astonishing joy and miracle that makes everything worth it. The “1” in a 5-1 loss. The one moment from this entire odd exercise of hope and hysteria true Toronto FC fans will never, ever forget.
No, it was never Toronto’s “game of the season.” But that moment is surely going to take some beating.
It goes in the books, forever, as Kaka’s first game for Real Madrid. But I’ll remember it for Emmanuel Gomez’s composure, Brian Edwards’ scream for freedom – and Gabe Gala’s goal.
Onward!