The Floor Is The Basement
The FC failed to win at home again last night in it’s ninth attempt. I smirked and screamed as Brek Shea pushed a late game winner over a flailing Vermeer. Shrinking into my seat at the front of section 219, I contemplated if this was the true breaking point for the fans. This would imply we aren’t already broken of course. What is truly upsetting is I was happier to lose 1-0 than to endure another meaningless, goalless draw. A draw would force us to endure Jaap Stam’s pained excuses about how close it was to three points.
The truth is we have been ‘one play away’ for many of these games. One moment that could have made the difference between a possible third wooden spoon, and scraping the edge of playoff position. The fact that ‘one play' never happens is the point. While in MLS, we’ve consistently been the team without the indefinable ‘winning edge’ every other squad can at least sometimnes muster. I’m well past blaming individual players; although they earn my scorn during the games themselves. The FC is close enough with this roster, warts and all, that the lack of killer instinct has to be placed on the manager. Viewing things from far outside like we do, it doesn’t seem as though Jaap has ‘lost’ the locker room yet, but he’s lost everything else.
Fans are demanding more action from supporters to show our anger and frustration, when reality says the season is baked in the cake. Gerard is gone, Jaap feels like a lame duck, and the city waits once again for the hope of ‘next season’. Progress has been made, but it feels like your illiterate friend getting into better shape. He can help you move your couch, but he still can’t read. Less blowouts is nice, but points per game increasing only .1 is shameful.
Next week the team faces the only club lower in the table than Cincinnati; Toronto FC. In any just world, a loss at home would mean the end of Jaap Stam’s time here. I wouldn’t count on it. We are stuck with this exhausting existence for the rest of this season. If you’re like me, hopefully it’s a blip on a lifelong commitment. There’s comfort in knowing I will always be there for them, and sadness for the same reason. I made a blood pact when things were peaking, and I’m prepared to die a thousand deaths as things crumble in perpetuity. All the while I’ll be wearing the same stupid ‘wow Brek Shea just scored in the 90th minute’ grin.