Massively Melancholy

The Nordecke, earlier in the season

3-2.

Salt Lake advances, Columbus packs it in for a long winter.

When the final whistle blew, everyone around me in the stands was in the loudest state of disbelief you could ever imagine. Normally disbelief is quiet, but tonight in The House that Lamar Built it was deafening.

We stood and we sang for our team, just like we have after every other game – home or away – but tonight there was a solemness in our voices. We were sad. Not just that our boys had lost, but that the season had ended before our very eyes. I don’t want to compare it to a funeral, because this is sport and no one is dead, but it was as close to that atmosphere as you could get without having a casket in the room.

No one expected this. No one thought it was possible. The Crew always performs under pressure. Columbus always gets the clutch goal or Jesus-save that it needs to stay alive. Not tonight.

As the Nordecke emptied, it’s citizens seeking shelter from the cold, I sat down on the bleacher where I had spent the game and looked around the stadium. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want it to be over. It was a great season and I knew that once I walked through the gate it would be finished. I wanted to force it to last for as long as I could.

After a few minutes of watching the crowd clear out and the players give on-field interviews, it occurred to me that after 18 games this year, I had never been to my seat; the one that I own. I actually didn’t know where it was. I knew it was section 141, row 4, seat 5, but I had no idea where that was. So I went there and sat down. It’s a good seat, close to the field with a great view, and near the aisle. I should sit there for a game sometime next year.

As I was sitting there, stretching the season out as long as security would let me, a kid walked up to me and patted my shoulder. I’ve been standing beside this guy for the past few games, I have no idea what his name is or where he’s from, but we’ve shared the moments as they came and went, told jokes, cheered and jeered. We shook hands and said our goodbyes, and we could both tell that it was hard for the other man. Neither of us wanted it to end.

The Nordecke really has become my summer family. Yeah, I’m closer to some than to others, and we’ll still see each other a lot: Saturday mornings at Claddagh for EPL games, National team games, and random parties or whatnot. But we’re always closer when the Crew are playing.

I’ve spent the past 32 weeks with these people, plus 32 last year, and I’ve grown quite fond of them. I know their stories, I know a couple of people’s moms, and I miss folks when they’re not at a game. I’ve met some of my closest friends through the Crew, and most of the guys I play soccer with are guys that I watch Crew games with. I even met a (now ex) girlfriend at a Champions League match. I know we’ll all stay friends, but it’s not easy to say goodbye to these kids – even if it is just for the winter.

After sitting like a bump on that bleacher for a while, I took a few quick snapshots for Sam, and then it was time to go. I walked out of the stadium the same way I walk out after every game. I took the same path back to Ruby’s that I’ve taken for two years (I could probably walk it with my eyes closed), but this time it felt different. It felt more, I don’t know, somber.

Last year was different. Last year we won The Cup and everyone went into the offseason happy. This year, the ending is less joyous.

I know that come March 27 we’ll all be back together again, screaming our lungs out for our Yellow Soccer Team, but until then it’s going to be a long winter.