NATURAL ORDER BACK IN TORONTO
RENEWED HOPE GIVES WAY TO SPECIAL KIND OF MISERY
About six months ago, a certain columnist wrote a piece about the frankly bewildering success of Toronto’s sports franchises. Given the many years of misery in these parts, the fact that all the teams suddenly had bursts of competence was both surprising and, if we’re honest, a little unsettling. What was even real anymore?
The column closed by noting something else that had changed: “Toronto’s expectations are high now. Failure, once inevitable, would only be that much more disappointing.”
I’d like to claim that this was Shakespearean foreshadowing on my part and that I saw all of this coming, but no. It was foreshadowing, but just the accidental kind.
It hasn’t even taken that long for rousing optimism to turn into the familiar bitter tang of defeat in these parts. Less than two weeks ago, Toronto was alight with post-season possibilities. The Maple Leafs, though in tough against Boston, had won a couple of games and had a chance to avenge their brutal Game 7 loss in 2013 in that city. Toronto FC was about to play the second leg of their CONCACAF Champions League final in Guadalajara, which was an opportunity to not just complete their remarkable trophy run but to do something that none of the U.S.-based teams in Major League Soccer had ever managed to do. And the Raptors, coming off their franchise-record season, had finally managed to win a Game 1, had just retaken the series lead against the Washington Wizards, and for a bonus were watching LeBron James and his Cavs struggle to put away the Indiana Pacers. At one point on that Tuesday evening, everything was coming up aces for the Toronto teams.
Cue the gathering thunderclouds and other literary devices that foretell doom.
Moments after the Raptors won Game 5 at the Air Canada Centre, LeBron hit a buzzer-beating three-pointer that restored his Cavs into a series lead while also appearing to defy physics. Moments after that, the Maple Leafs began the third period in Boston with a lead and promptly surrendered four goals and their dignity. And, to cap off the night, Toronto FC did the highly improbable and scored to level the final in Mexico, raising the hopes of those who hadn’t allowed themselves to dream of such things — and then they missed a chance to win the game late and lost on penalty kicks. Not just lost on penalty kicks: lost when their captain booted his attempt over the bar and into the 50th row.
I mean: Ouch.
The rest of the nation is presumably united in its schadenfreude. Toronto: bringing Canada together in joy since, oh, last week some time.
At least the equilibrium has been restored a little. The shine hasn’t totally disappeared, but the Leafs have punted their general manager and the possibility remains open that president Brendan Shanahan will misfire with his next move. Toronto FC, after the ridiculousness of the CONCACAF schedule that had them going back and forth to Mexico like drug mules, must now confront the fact that they are beat up and tired and in last place in Major League Soccer, having poured so much into the Champions League campaign.
All of which means it falls on the Raptors to give the local sports scene a little of its playoff swagger back. And, er, they have to go to Cleveland to do it. Could they win a game or two on the shore of Lake Erie and turn their story back around as quickly as it has fallen apart on them? Sure they could, but there’s definitely a Charlie-Brown-approaching-the-football vibe with them and the Cavaliers at this point. Will they finally figure out a way to keep LeBron from beating them with a sack of doorknobs? Will Lucy finally not pull the ball away?
All of the sudden failures, it should be noted, came just after Toronto experienced an actual tragedy, with the unexplainable murder of innocent people on a busy sidewalk. It should help put things in perspective, but for many it won’t. There are some fans who are their most passionate when they have something to be ALL CAPS angry about.
That is the thing about sports, though. Sometimes the right moves, the right plans, still end up with you watching a goalie flailing around on the ice, or a spot kick sailing into the stands, or the best basketball player of a generation casually torturing you with fallaway jumpers that cannot be defended. Toronto’s teams have still delivered an awful lot of joy to their fans, especially when contrasted with five years ago, when they were just awful.
But with hope, it turns out, there also comes the potential for a special kind of misery. Toronto, over the past week, has been delivered the harsh reminder that with sports, to believe is to expose yourself to heartbreak.
It beats always losing, right?
Right?