Columbus Part 2
This part of the story is very visual. Come and join me for a little stroll.
In a curving nook of Interstate 71, there's a large, open expanse of Columbus, Ohio, flatland. In the centre of this, impressively, sits Crew Stadium – focal point of this afternoon's invasion.
Funny the optical illusions you encounter with stadiums. Crew really isn't that much bigger than BMO Field back in Toronto, but from down here it looks utterly massive. You can still see the exact opposite effect in Philadelphia. If you stand across the street from the old Spectrum, the legendary home of the Broad Street Bullies looks ridiculously small. You think you must be looking at the end, but you're not: it's the side. That something that small could ever contain a big-time hockey rink – let alone a ravenous, kill-crazy crowd – just doesn't seem possible.
BMO's cousin, in terms of the simplicity of the thin-girder architecture, Crew Stadium has upper decks on both sides. It looks oddly graceful, and very inviting. The back side of the scoreboard looms over a gigantic plaza. The team's logo, three hard-hat construction workers posing under the word “Crew,” looks down hugely – more like a freeze-frame from a Village People video than a soccer logo.
(Not that there's anything wrong with that.)
On a lengthy, grassy greensward to the west side of the complex, bus after bus rolls in. The overwhelming colour? Red. Red shirts, red scarves, red jackets, red coats, red hats, red gloves. The scarves read “Toronto FC,” “U-Sector,” “Canada.”
This rolling expanse of green offers a lovely contrast, but it's a bit of an illusion. The ground underneath is sopping wet. One Toronto bus just found this out the hard way. It drives onto the grass – and sinks. The rear wheels are hopelessly mired, and there's nothing this well-intentioned red mob can do to push it out.
It's still a couple of hours until game time. One enterprising spark of a Toronto fan is doling out donairs and very large cans of north-of-the-border beer. I must have turned down a half-dozen free malt beverages. I'm surrounded by people who could easily have downed every drop I passed on, but one beer still has quite a profound effect on me. On the road, on two hours sleep, when I'm working? Nothing but iced tea for me, thanks.
As bus after bus adds to the rising red mob, we are quickly becoming one of the 300 largest communities in Ohio. A town with no police – for the moment – and only three toilets.
And it's a good bit of a hike to the rest stations. Once there, I get my first interaction with Columbus fans. There's two of them standing beside the portajohns, telling every Toronto fan who wanders in that Trailer Park Boys, The Movie really sucked. I view it as a thoughtful attempt as cross-cultural outreach.
Back on the grass, the urge is rising. The desire – the need. There's a team to support. Noise to be made. Beer to be absorbed. Food to be devoured.
Not much mass singing yet, but the big bass drums are beginning to boom. TFC flags and banners are waving. One fan, dressed as a cartoonish Spartan warrior, is up on the roof of a car – his own, we hope – waving a Toronto FC banner in the swirling, rising wind. He has a TFC logo stuck to the centre of his breastplate.
Fans on their phones report that some of the buses left Toronto late, and got held for an hour at the border. It looks like four or five buses will be arriving right at game-time – a second wave of invasion after the main force is already in place.
To the tune of Jesus Christ, Superstar: “T-O-R! O-N-T! Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, TFC!”
