SOCCER fans do some weird things.
"Honey, have you seen the Ziploc bags?"
"Great idea, we should bring sandwiches to the game. The bags are under the sink."
"Sorry baby, no sandwiches. I'm going to fill these with my urine while we're in the stands and then throw them at the other team's goalie. If you're really hungry, we can stop on the way to the stadium and get some Arby's."
Just an FYI: I'm not being gross for gross's sake. That actually happens in some soccer-mad countries. But soccer fans also get a lot of things right.
Here in North America our live sporting events sometimes leave a lot to be desired.
Baseball's biggest selling points are beer, sunshine and the crack of the bat. I can easily enjoy the first two things on my patio, and here in Vancouver I'm sure I could walk a couple of blocks and find some crack.
Hockey games leave little room for independent thought. Every second that the puck isn't in play you're being told what to do. Now clap rhythmically.
Now sing along with Guns N' Roses. Now feel sorry for the team's owner because he can't afford a backup yacht.
Football games contain less than 15 minutes of actual game action. The rest of the time is filled with cheerleaders, hot dogs, and people from the suburbs saying horrible things.
Soccer doesn't have those problems. What it has is 90plus minutes of action - or as grumpy North American sports fans like to call it, "action" - with no rock music or commercial breaks.
Serious soccer fans are brilliant at filling the noise void with chants, songs and hilarious swearing. When the Whitecaps went big time a couple of years ago, joining Major League Soccer, Vancouver developed its own fun little soccer-supporter culture. I've been on baby-raising duty for a couple years, so I haven't had the chance until recently to see for myself, but with the Whitecaps on the verge of becoming the first Canadian team to make the MLS playoffs, I had to check it out.
I made plans with a guy from the Vancouver Southsiders supporters group to meet up before the game and join their traditional march to the stadium. On the day of the match I popped out of the SkyTrain station late, fuming over missed transit connections. As I walked through Yaletown, certain that I'd missed the march, I heard a strange sound that lifted my spirits like the Grinch on Christmas morning.
When I finally caught up, it was quite the sight. Singing, chanting, flag waving, costumes - it was the best co-ordinated activity I'd seen in these streets since the big Stanley Cup fire sale of 2011.
I watched the first half of the game from the press box, curious to see what the atmosphere inside cavernous but newly renovated BC Place would be like. I was dubious about the idea of watching soccer in that huge space, but the team's plan to put some lovely drapes over the upper bowl actually worked pretty well. Nice to see someone finally get some use out of that HGTV program Holmes on Domes.
Having failed to rendezvous with my guide outside the stadium before the game, I decided to take a shot in the dark inside it.
"Pardon me guys," I said to a quartet of dudes wearing Southsiders scarves. "Would any of you happen to know Brett?"
"Yeah, we know Brett," one replied. "He's dressed as Wario, purple from head to foot."
"Thanks," I said, walking away from one of my favourite out-of-the-blue conversations ever.
I found Brett down low in the Southsiders section. His buddies failed to mention that he was also wearing an amazing fake moustache. Cheering alongside him were men dressed as Mario, Luigi and Toad. I snuck in beside them, standing out like I was Stephen Harper trying to join a drum circle. Soon enough, though, I got caught up in the fun.
For the rest of the game, the supporters kept up their songs without a moment of silence. The official chants were led by a man with a megaphone who was dressed like LMFAO. Unofficial chants rang up too, one particularly funny and slanderous verse accusing the Portland goalie of inappropriate distribution of candy to children. The mood was only slightly spoiled by the huge poop the Whitecaps were taking on the field - they lost 1-0 without generating a single good scoring opportunity. It just goes to show, no matter how many Marios you cram into the stands, it's up to the plumbers on the field who decide the actual outcome.
This story is a bit of a cliffhanger. I'm writing before the Whitecaps play a one-game playoff in Los Angeles, but by the time you read this it'll be over. If they've won, they'll host their first-ever home playoff game. Go check. Buy a ticket. Join the fun.
If they've lost, well . . . I guess I'll have to find something else to do with all these Ziploc bags.
