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Category Archives: Timbers

A few words about Boyd.

10 Jul

Let’s just get this out of the way: if you think Kris Boyd’s response to Cubbie from The Oregonian is because he’s thin-skinned, you’re delusional. Boyd’s been in the game a long time and, for the love of Pete, he was a Ranger. In Glasgow. A Glasgow frickin’ Ranger. That alone should make you think twice before assuming he’s a shrinking violet.

For those of you not following along with the Twit-stupidity today, here’s a brief rundown:

The Timbers beat writer for the local paper, a man many consider a pot-stirrer of epic proportions, tweeted something I would consider, at best, stupid. He has every right to his opinions but his timing was off and his target chose, in his own way, to shoot back.

So, what did Cubbie tweet?

A thought: Ironic that the guy hyped as the savior – Kris Boyd – hastened John Spencer’s demise by blowing PK against Cal FC. ‪#RCTID‬

Someone somewhere pointed out the tweet to Boyd who, as far as anyone knows, is not on Twitter, and he took exception to it, refusing to speak to the media after today’s training session until Cubbie was excluded.

Meh.

If someone blames me for my boss getting fired and my boss is a guy I respect, a guy I moved to the other side of the world to work for, I might get a little pissy, too. Add to that the fact that I’m Kris Effing Boyd, all-time leading goal-scorer of the Scottish Premier League? Yeah, screw Cubbie.

When I caught wind of this whole thing this afternoon, I was on my break at work, sitting in the lunchroom by myself. It was in this exact place that I listened to Merritt’s statement yesterday.

What a difference a day makes.

Yesterday was doom and gloom and I felt like the world was caving in. Well, maybe not the entire world, but a least a portion of my Timbers world. Everything felt heavy and listening to Merritt’s voice break as he spoke brought tears to my eyes.

Today, I read through the tweets regarding Boyd and Cubbie and Cubbie’s friend-who-used-to-hate-soccer-before-he-liked-soccer-before-someone-hurt-Cubbie’s-feelings-and-he-threatened-to-hate-soccer-again. Tears again, but this time it was from holding in the laughter.

I didn’t stop smiling all afternoon.

Is it because of my big fan-crush on Boyd? Maybe. I love this man unreservedly. Is he the savior that Cubbie says he was supposed to be? Not yet. But he could be. Regardless, he’s turned the story from being dark storms on the horizon and the end of the world as we know it, to “Let’s all laugh at Cubbie.”

What I believe here is this: as Kris Boyd goes, so go the Timbers.

When he plays well, the team plays well. When he’s pissed, the team is pissed. He’s become the de-facto captain.

With all outward indications pointing toward the conclusion that the Timbers franchise has all but given up on this season, today’s exchange between Boyd and Cubbie tells me this: Boyd still cares.

When he did speak to the media today, we got some stock statements about moving forward, being a professional, doing the job he was brought here to do. They were statements any other player in a similar situation might have made but they don’t tell the story.

The story will begin with what happens Saturday.

And I’m hoping the first chapter is written by Kris Boyd.

 
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Posted by on July 10, 2012 in Timbers

 

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Requiem for a dream.

09 Jul

There was what I, at the time, considered a minor Twit-splosion last night just before 10:30.

A press release. Normal, I’m told. Run of the mill. Nothing terribly unusual. Notice of a closed training session.

Like many others, I blew it off. The team just suffered a pretty spectacular meltdown in Salt Lake. If it were up to me, I’d close practice, too. I was more irritated that I’d tried to get to bed before the inevitable 11 p.m. Rangers Twitter news dump and had been thwarted by a weekly news release that people were trying to make into a bigger deal than it was.

Turns out, it was a pretty frickin’ big deal.

By 9 a.m., rumors were swirling. By 10, a full four and a half hours before the scheduled press conference, the story broke.

John Spencer. Wee John Spencer. Former Ranger John Spencer. Coach John Spencer.

Today he became former Timbers coach John Spencer.

I get it. I accept it. I’m disappointed by it.

There is no other person in this world I would have rather had as coach of the Timbers in their first MLS season. His fire, his passion, his wit were the perfect fit for this city. I don’t know that I can say anything here that hasn’t already been said.

I haven’t been able to bring myself to watch footage of the presser yet. I listened to Merritt’s statements via an audio link posted on Twitter while I was on a break at work. Poor choice on my part. The emotion in Merritt’s voice was enough to make me a wreck for the rest of the day. Maybe there’s no crying in baseball, but there sure is in soccer.

So, what now?

I have absolutely no idea.

Gavin Wilkinson has been named interim coach and will lead the squad for the remainder of the season. I’ve seen a lot of negativity leveled toward Gavin but, at the very least, he knows the players. He brought them here, let him take a shot at coaching them. If it turns out that he’s as awful as so many people believe, well, here’s the opportunity for that to come to a head. It’s not the end of the world. It’s been made clear that he will not be in the running for a permanent placement as manager. However, if he manages to get some points on the road…

I’ll reserve judgement. Admittedly, I wasn’t around for Gavin’s greatest transgressions, but wasn’t there a season with him as coach when the Timbers had a 24-game unbeaten streak? He can’t be all bad, can he?

I was lucky enough to find myself across the table from a long-time, fairly level-headed member of the Timbers Army tonight at the Bitter End. I didn’t ask him if I could quote him as I didn’t really think I’d be writing this, but here we are.

“I’ve been around a long time,” he told me. “I’ve been around a long time and I don’t know what to think.”

Well, brother, you’re not alone.

Emotions will run high this week. I think I’ve been through at least three dozen emotions so far today. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?

We, collectively,team and TA, have about ten minutes to pull ourselves together and start preparing for the next match.

I listened to Popinski 23 on my way home from BE tonight. Fangirl here has burned a cd of it to play in the car. I look to the Popinksi popcasts as the standard, the most perfect reflection of the mood of the TA available. Popinski 23 was released into the wild in the week leading up to this year’s home opener against Philly. It is both raw and polished, filled with expectation and anticipation and hope. Punctuated with pride and bravado, it encapsulated everything I felt at the time. I hope I never forget any of those feelings.

We’re halfway through the season. I stand by my previous statement: I think we have the right team to make the playoffs. We’ve hit a major bump in the road, but the road is still there.

Let’s go.

Onward, Rose City.

 
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Posted by on July 9, 2012 in Timbers

 

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Still?

07 Jul

This was the question posed to me via Twitter tonight.

A simple, one-word question. “Still?”

Yes. Still.

The question comes after an exchange about whether the Timbers story post-match would be about what happened on the pitch rather than off.

The Timbers didn’t win. They played an hour of 90-minute match and then just unravelled. There’s your story.

As I’ve said repeatedly, I’m no sports analyst. I can’t tell you tactically what went wrong, though I’m learning more with every match I watch. I can offer opinions, though they may be considered naive and misguided by the uber-soccer folks.

There’s no lack of writers and analysts arguing the finer points of strategy and conditioning elsewhere on the internet. I’d be happy to point them out to you. That’s not what I do.

I could rant. I could tell you who I’d like to see traded, where I think the responsibility and blame should be placed. Doesn’t matter. Until the Timbers offer me a position as GM or coach or whatever, it just doesn’t matter.

It is what it is.

Here’s what I can tell you: I still believe.

I believe that we have the right combination of players to be successful. I believe we can – and will – win the Cascadia Cup. I believe we can still secure a playoff berth.

The tiniest part of me, a little mouse-like voice in the back of my head, believes we can lift the MLS Cup.

And I will continue to believe all of those things until such time as they may become mathematically ruled out. May. Such time as they may be ruled out.

We’re halfway through the season and we’re pretty much exactly where we were at this point last year. The difference? We want more. We expect more. We’re not getting more. We’re getting precisely what we had before.

I’m not entirely sure that’s the worst thing in the world.

I love this team. Each and every last one of them. Even the ones I don’t particularly like. If I’m being perfectly honest, I love this team more than I love some of my own family. It’s completely ridiculous. Having said that, I’ll add that I want more for them.

When I say I believe we can lift the MLS Cup, I don’t say it just because I, as a supporter, want it for bragging rights or to lord it over some other distasteful supporters group. No. I want it for my boys.

I want that moment when the Cup is handed from player to player on the pitch immediately following their hard-fought win. I want that sort of joy for them, for them to know that they’ve accomplished this grand thing. I want to see that star above the crest. I want the celebration and the parade and some sort of presentation at Pioneer Courthouse Square where we will all stand in the cold rain on a December day, thousands of us in our Ponderosa greens and our Rose City reds, all cheering our boys.

I want that like you wouldn’t believe.

But if I have to wait a bit for it, I’ll still believe.

So, the answer to the question “Still?”

Yes. Always.

 
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Posted by on July 7, 2012 in Timbers

 

I just don’t like soccer fans.

28 May

Yeah. Someone actually said this to me today. “Yeah, I know I give you a hard time, but I just don’t like soccer fans.”

I’ve been to four Timbers matches in the last five days: an international friendly, a U23, a reserves match and an MLS derby. I’m tired. My throat is sore from singing and yelling. I have a huge bruise on my knee that I’m pretty sure is from the match on Wednesday. I’ve got a sunburn from this afternoon’s game. In short: everything hurts.

I say this so you understand my mood. My nerves are, perhaps, the tiniest bit raw where all things soccer are concerned.

I can understand folks not liking soccer. They don’t get it. That’s fine. They have other things they understand and enjoy.

Last Saturday, I walked with a team at the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation’s Great Strides event here in Portland, a team that included several other soccer fans and Timbers keeper Joe Bendik. When we were done there, a fair few of us made our way to the St. Baldrick’s event where a bunch of other soccer fans, members of the Timbers Army and a handful of past and present Timbers players had their heads shaved to raise money to fight childhood cancer.

Timber Jim, a legend in the Portland soccer community and beyond and a man I’m proud to call a friend, will host an art and memorabilia auction next Sunday benefitting the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society (tickets available here). The Timbers Army, in addition to all the other charity work they do (Friends of Trees, Oregon Food Bank, American Red Cross) recently committed to raising another $40,000 to fund Harper’s Playground, a playground meant to be inclusive of children with disabilities who might not otherwise have a safe place to play (more info here).

This is just a fraction of the stuff fans in Portland are participating in. There are nineteen MLS clubs, each with a pretty hearty following doing some pretty amazing stuff. (Well, most of them. I don’t know what they do in Seattle other than complain about Portland but that’s for another post.)

So, sunshine, what is it that you don’t like about soccer fans?

Is it that we’ve found something that unites us like nothing else could? That we’ve found a passion you envy? That you’re jealous of our flag-waving, scarf-twirling, clever chant-writing abilities? What? What is it?

Here’s where I get all sentimental and repeat things I’ve said before.

Though I’ve attended occasional soccer games for half a decade, it was just a year ago, at a time when I’d lost the identity afforded me by long-term employment or by my status as a student, that I was adopted by an Army. With open arms, I was welcomed. “Here,” the Army said to me. “Come, stand with us. Watch this game. Break bread with us. Become one of us.”

And I did. I bought in wholly and completely. Headlong into the deep end of the pool. I am grateful for every minute of the ride, even the more painful ones.

What is there about soccer fans that pissed this guy off?

I’m not saying we don’t have your fair share of idiots. We do. But for every idiot I’ve encountered, there’s been a dozen really phenomenal folks. The kinds of folks I want to know for a very long time.

The guy who says he doesn’t like soccer fans? Well, let’s just say I don’t feel the same way about him.

Image

 
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Posted by on May 28, 2012 in Timbers

 

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A secondary obsession – believing beyond reason

08 May

When I started shopping for a second team, many folks suggested Arsenal. Ups and downs and dramatic turns, they told me. A team that would forever be looking for new and exciting ways to break my heart.

But no, I thought. I don’t want a big English club. Not yet, anyway. I want a club with, perhaps, a little more grit, a storied past, perhaps some controversy. And I wanted a club to which I felt some connection. Soccer is not always neat andd tidy. I didn’t want to go the easy route.

With the arrival of Kris Boyd in Portland, the choice became clear: my second club would be Rangers.

(Here’s where the Gers fans, the diehards, will yell at me that Gers deserve more than to be anyone’s second-place club. I will smile politely and point to the three Rangers who wear Ponderosa green – two players and a coach – and thank them for their passion.)

I’ve been hearing the rumblings about Rangers financial situation, but I set them aside in favor of a club with a vast history and a rivalry that outstrips even the Portland-Seattle rivalry. Aside from the political underpinnings and the violence of the past, the contempt Gers fans and Celtic fans have for one another is something that is, in essence, vaguely familiar to me, though it goes far beyond anything we’ve yet experienced with POR/SEA.

I watched my first Auld Firm match on a taped delay from a bar in Portland on a Sunday morning in March. Fifty thousand people were at Ibrox that day to watch Rangers win and Celtic’s Neil Lennon make a spectacle of himself. I fell in love with the style of play, with the passion of the fans, with the boys in blue. If I had doubted my choice to support Rangers, that doubt was erased before the end of the first half. I started to shop for some blue to supplement my mostly green wardrobe.

I listened to the Scottish Football Podcast from the BBC for updates and discussion of not just the team’s play, but its financial situation. Bids were made. Bids were withdrawn. Sanctions were meted out. Bids were restructured and resubmitted and, in the end, an American – a tow truck manufacturer from Tennesee – emerged as the preferred bidder.

An American from Tennessee.

This blew my mind. A club with the history of Rangers possibly being owned by an American? In my mind, this is akin to selling the Packers to France. It just didn’t make any sense to me.

But what do I know? I’m still considered relatively new to soccer as a passion. I’m lucky to have found that passion here in Portland, Oregon, Soccer City, USA. We have a team with about as much history as you can find in U.S. soccer. We have an owner, though his knowledge of soccer has occasionally been questioned, whose passion for his club, his city and the fans that is unmatched in North American soccer. We have a supporters group that is almost wholly responsible for Portland’s ascension to MLS.

Rangers deserve the same passion.

Bill Miller, the American bidder for Rangers, does not have that passion.

I know, I know. His decision to retract his bid after being named the preferred bidder by the club’s administrators was mostly due to the club’s financials, but his comments about the ire of the fans toward an American bidder are the only thing I see right now.

Soccer, despite the opinions of many American sports fans, is not for sissies. It has been called the Beautiful Game though it is often rough and physical and dangerous. I’m thinking of the Sanna Nyassi hit on Portland goaltender Troy Perkins two weeks ago in Montreal. I’m thinking of Perkins holding a towel to his bloodied face. And I’m thinking of the fire that was still in his eyes as he walked off the pitch.

I doubt Rangers would have ever seen the same fire from Bill Miller, a man who, in a statement released upon the retraction of his bid to buy the storied club, essentially blamed the club’s fans.

Yes. He blamed the fans.

I blame Miller’s sensitivity. If this is how he reacts to the unkind words of a few when the vast majority of Gers fans – including legendary Ranger Sandy Jardine – supported the bid, then he has no place in soccer and never did.

This isn’t baseball, Mr. Miller. This isn’t the NBA or the NFL or the NHL. A soccer club is not just a business proposition, it is a responsibility. We fans are not timid. We do not back down. We support our clubs to the very end and beyond. Anything less than that is unacceptable.

There are those who say this may be the end for Rangers. The one viable bid has been withdrawn and both time and money are running out. But I believe in miracles and, with any luck at all, but the time I post this online, another bidder – one with heart and passion and an understanding of what it means to own Rangers – will have already stepped forward.

 

 
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Posted by on May 8, 2012 in Timbers, Uncategorized, World stage

 

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A new day dawning…

31 Dec

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you’re wonderful, and don’t forget to make some art (write or draw or build or sing) and I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself. – Neil Gaiman

This has been a whirlwind of a year.

Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do today? Lament how quickly this past year has left us? Then we’ll talk about all the wondrous things that await us in the new year.

We’re creatures of habit so here goes:

2011, we hardly knew ye. 2012, I am looking forward to meeting you.

For me, 2011 started off sideways. I lost my job of seven years immediately after the new year dawned. It was a job, looking back, that pretty much sucked the life out of me. My workplace defined my identity, became the center of my world. This might have been okay if I’d been doing something I was passionate about, but I wasn’t. I wasn’t saving the world or curing cancer or creating something beautiful. I was being passed over for promotions and not getting a raise for four years.

I had some truly, truly phenomenal coworkers over my years there, many of whom I count among my friends. And, I might add, many of whom escaped following my departure. Chapter closed.

And then I had my wisdom teeth pulled. Because being suddenly unemployed didn’t quite suck enough. Did I mention that I was fired by my Secret Santa? Worst. Secret Santa. Ever.

So, lost job and lost wisdom teeth. Happy January. The year was shaping up to be a bust already.

But I’m blessed by an abundance of good friends who reached out, offering encouragement and support and words of wisdom. I reconnected with many I hadn’t seen for a very, very long time.

I spent mornings in coffee shops with Layn, also unemployed at the time, talking books and movies and music and zombies. I spent afternoons with Sean, discussing writing and world affairs.

I wrote. A lot. Sean sponsored my entry into the NYCMidnight short story contest and I came in fourth in my group in the first round, a pretty good finish for someone who writes as slowly as I do and has never entered such a competition before. But where I placed seems inconsequential to me when I remember that someone who knows my writing was willing to step up and say,”Hey, I believe strongly enough in your ability to string words together that I’m willing to put money on it.”

Sean will be on the acknowledgments page if this book ever gets published. He won’t be the only one. So many of you have encouraged me this year: Heather and Laura, Dora and Jennifer, Patrick and Jeanette and Richard. That sweetheart bartender at the Horse Brass who remembers I like cider and rye toast with my breakfast. Aaron and Stacy and all those who offered me space to write (or didn’t fuss when I showed up, disheveled and crazy, looking for a quiet space in which to put the words together). I sincerely offer thanks to each and every one of you.

As a news junkie, I would be remiss if I didn’t at least mention some of the big stories of the year: Gabby Giffords, the Japan and New Zealand earthquakes, the Joplin tornado, the royal wedding and the uprisings in Egypt, in Syria, in Libya. The downfall of several world leaders, the deaths of terrorists and dictators. That crazy World Series game. The Occupy movement.

I watched them all happen, from the comfort of my home, and was grateful for all that I have.

I saw a few shows (opened the year with Social Distortion and closed with Shed Culture Live) and more than a few movies. I read a few books, though fewer than I would have liked. I sent out hundreds of resumes. I spent a couple hours in the presence of Neil Gaiman and Amanda Palmer who inspired me and reminded me that it is possible to find love in the unlikeliest of places with the unlikeliest of people.

I volunteered with the Bus Project, at Sock Summit and at the Oregon Food Bank. I spent an October day in Oregon’s wine country making wine and spent Halloween night in a graveyard as a guide for the Tour of Untimely Departures. I performed two weddings. I completed NaNoWriMo, 50,000 more words for the novel, all written in November.

I joined the Timbers Army. This turns out to be the best decision I’ve made in the past year.

At a time when it would have been easy to curl up into a ball and cry myself to sleep, the Portland Timbers’ first MLS season began and I found myself caught up in the current of green and gold love flowing through the City of Roses and through the world’s soccer community.

I’d put down my season ticket deposit years ago when the idea of MLS coming to Portland was little more than a dream for a faraway future. I went to matches occasionally but wasn’t a true supporter. I usually knew if they were winning or losing, but that was about it.

But MLS did decide to come to Portland and the time came a year and a half ago to fully commit: I bought two season tickets, not knowing if I would go, or if anyone would go with me, or if I would just sell those tickets later if I decided I wasn’t into it.

As it turns out, I was into it.

I bought in wholeheartedly. I got caught up in the excitement of the game and the love of the Timbers Army for their club, their city and all of Cascadia (minus the rave green encampment to the north).

I met some fantastic people through the TA: writers and artists and winemakers and more IT guys than you can shake a stick at. I marched in a parade alongside them, packaged food for the hungry with them by my side and, yes, managed to find myself in an episode of Portlandia. I watched home matches from my perch high in 221, the prefect vantage point to witness the Timbers Army in their native habitat, the North End of Jeld-Wen Field. Sharese, who had the good sense to buy my second ticket, and I had our pictures taken for the We Are Timbers campaign and, in addition to having said pictures hanging on the concourse, our likenesses are also sold in the team store. We’re all in.

We’re moving to the North End with the coming season where we will be yelled at by Pong and where Barnacle Brian will spill beer on us and where we will jump and sing our way into the playoffs surrounded by the greatest soccer supporters group the world has ever seen.

So, that’s my year in a nutshell: I lost my job and joined the Timbers Army. Lots of other stuff happened, but those are the two events that will forever define 2011 for me.

What’s on the horizon for 2012? More time with friends. More opportunities for creativity. Perhaps a little more financial stability.

I’m not one to make resolutions. Resolutions are nice, but they set you up for failure. Me, I’m just going to wait and see what happens next.

As for you, I offer you the above wish from Neil Gaiman and add my own:

May you know love and laughter and joy this coming year. May you see a place you’ve never before seen, may you meet someone who makes you laugh, if even for a moment, and may you raise a glass and toast to your past as you look to the future. Your past is what brought you this far, but your future is where you will shine.

Much love to you all.

 
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Posted by on December 31, 2011 in Master Plans, Timbers, World stage, Writing

 

Aftermath and the afterworld – October 15/16, 2011

16 Oct

Last night was rough. Everything felt wrong from the moment I got to the stadium.

Often when I get these weird sorts of feelings, it’s safe to assume it’s just me being vaguely crazy. I don’t claim to have any sort of psychic abilities. I don’t see the future. I can’t tell you next week’s winning lottery numbers or anything like that. I sound like a lunatic when I talk about this stuff but, like many people out there who have probably made the right choice to not say anything lest they sound like a lunatic, I think I’m just slightly more sensitive to certain energies.

And last night was one of those times.

I went downtown earlier than I normally would for a Timbers match at Jeld-Wen Field. Looking back, I’ve been on edge for days. And, reading Twitter, I know I’m not the only one. The last regular season home game of an insane first season in MLS with our playoff hopes on the line had somewhere in the neighborhood of 20,000 people just as jittery as I.

October folks, stay with me here. I swear there’s an actual October Thought coming.

I strayed from my normal routine a bit and went to meet a fellow NaNoWriMo participant and his in-laws at the Bitter End. We talked of our love for our team, our commitment to the Timbers Army, our admiration of team owner Merritt Paulson and wondered at the fact that he’s on Twitter and will respond directly to you if you have a question or a complaint. You don’t get that from Paul Allen, that’s for sure.

About an hour before the game, I headed over to the park. Said hello to a few people on the way, settled into my regular place high in 221, overlooking the pitch and with an excellent view of the Army in all its glory. I wasn’t inside the park more than five minutes before Merritt was up on one of the capo stands leading a chant. He gets it.

But even in such familiar surroundings, I felt out of place. Maybe that isn’t entirely accurate. It just didn’t seem right. Something was off. It felt like things were moving too fast.

We sang the national anthem. There were fireworks. The massive Tifo went off without a hitch. We sang. We clapped. But then it started to unravel.

Reading later Twitter and Facebook posts, we know something went down in the TA section. Some big names got caught up in part of it and park security didn’t step in to lend a hand. An influx of 1,000 tourists with giveaway tickets from Adidas probably didn’t help. I can’t say with any certainty what happened because I wasn’t in the midst of it but people are still talking it out a day later. What I can say is that the Army was more subdued than I’ve seen it in a very long time.

The on-field action was much the same: our guys getting slammed around on the pitch by a thuggish Houston side and little help from the ref. An injury to Zizzo and a thoroughly flattened Chabala as the result of some dangerous play turned the crowd negative. I’m not sure I was breathing the entire time Chewy was laid out face-down on the pitch and even less sure I’ve ever had a happier moment than when he finally got to his feet.

And then it was over and we’d lost.

We made our way to the North End to see Perkins awarded his Supports Player of the Year belt. Said hello to Timber Jim and a few more people, folks we may or may not see until next season depending on the results of this coming week’s matches.

Stood on a street corner and ate Timbers-themed ice cream in the rain and then got in our cars and went home. Should have gone to the Bullpen or BE, but didn’t. Couldn’t.

Came home sad, but not totally deflated. We’ve got two more matches ahead of us. There’s still hope. Obi says,”Believe beyond reason.” That’s what I’m focusing on now.

And then there’s this. The part that made me cry is at about 3:35. This is one more reason to love John Spencer:

I woke up this morning hoping that none of it had happened, but it had and it’s time to put the cleats back on and get back to work.

Finally, October people, we’re on the verge of an actual October Thought.

I got up this morning in a mood that, were it a color, might be a heathered charcoal grey. In fact, it’s the same color as the shirt I was wearing yesterday. And I woke up pondering the symbolism of spending half my day in a cemetery.

Today I went to a meeting of tour guides for the Friends of Lone Fir Cemetery’s Tour of Untimely Departures.

Ha, say the October folks. Cemeteries!

So, on a really pleasant October afternoon when I was in an already dark mood, I found myself in what has recently been revealed as one of National Geographic Traveller’s top ten cemeteries to visit. Weathered grey stone, shiny black granite, the red and oranges of fallen leaves, it was like walking into the center of all things October. Surrounded by an estimated 25,000 burials, I started to feel a little bit better.

This, my friends, is where I plan to spend most of my Halloween.

Friends of Lone Fir stepped in about a decade ago to preserve and protect this crumbling pioneer cemetery in southeast Portland. Lone Fir is a treasure trove for historians, home to burials that predate Oregon’s statehood and span the breadth of Portland history: unnamed Chinese immigrants lie yards from those for whom we’ve named streets and bridges. Of note to those of you who partake in the occasional beer: the resting place of George Bottler, Henry Weinhard’s partner in his first Portland brewery. Daniel Boone’s granddaughter is there, as are any number of mayors and newspaper editors and other notables. A lot of them are on the website.

Lone Fir has long been a target of graffiti and vandalism and, as the Friends of Lone Fir noted years ago, such activity spikes around Halloween. So, what better way to combat crime than to fill the cemetery with people who are there for some other purpose? They started offering tours during trick-or-treating hours about six years ago. In that first year, they had 200 people. Two years ago, they had more than 2,000.

That’s where we come in. I spent about two hours today following along as one of the tour directors ran us through the talking points and the tour route. Most of the other folks there had been involved with the tours before. Near as I could tell, I was the only one who had not even been on previous years’ tours something that I’m wholeheartedly regretting.

I had some concerns as to whether running 2,000 people through a graveyard in costume on Halloween might be seen as disrespectful to those interred there or to their surviving relatives. But having seen the preparation and care that goes into it, those concerns are gone. I was incredibly impressed with the amount of information our guide threw at us, much of which won’t even make the tour because we just won’t have time for all of it. There’s really no way to put a century and a half worth of information into a 45-minute tour. A lot of research has been done (and is ongoing) and one of the chief concerns of the organizers is that we all have the correct information so that any portrayal of the cemetery’s residents is as accurate as possible. A far cry from when I was a tour guide elsewhere and it was “Well, if you don’t know, just make up something interesting.”

So, if you’re looking for something to do on Halloween that’s vaguely creepy and still somewhat educational, here you go. Advance tickets are available online through the Friends of Lone Fir website (linked above). Dress warmly. Wear comfortable shoes. Don’t be scared.

Happy October.

 
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Posted by on October 16, 2011 in October 2011, Timbers

 

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Something simple…and kind of convoluted- October 14, 2011

14 Oct

Warning: if this is the first time you’re settling in to read something I’ve written, don’t. Come back tomorrow when I’ve gotten myself back on track. Seriously. You’ve been warned.

Okay, so I had this whole other thing I was going to write but today, October 14, 2011, is the date of the Portland Timbers’ last regular season home game. Coming into the season as a fairly casual observer of soccer, but not really a fan, I honestly had no idea I would have gotten so caught up in all of this. I love the game, I love my team, I love nearly every fan in the stadium (with the exception of Asshat McDoucheypants who sits across the aisle from me when he bothers to show up). This match is occupying a lot of my brainpower right now and I’m much more emotional about the whole thing than I probably should be so I’m going to attempt to skip into the October Thought and call it good. But there, look. All of a sudden I have 150 words relating to you my undying love of the Timbers. Rose City ’til I die.

See? That’s exactly what I didn’t want to do. We should be talking about October. Leave the sports writing to the folks that can actually write sports.

So, we’re going to go with something simple because, as evidenced above, I’m distracted and slightly ridiculous.

Candy corn.

That’s right. Candy corn. What’s more October than candy corn?

Here’s the Wikipedia page. I’m stupidly amused by it because, honestly, it looks like someone lifted most of it from past years’ October Thoughts on the subject. Not that I mind. It’s important information that all people should have access to. Candy corn is October’s lifeblood.

***Did I mention that Sal Zizzo is opening a food cart in Portland? No? Well, he is.***

Years back, I found a quote somewhere online that called candy corn the “crack cocaine of the confectionary world.” Truth. It’s too sweet. It’s made of corn syrup in most cases. It’s bad for you. It will rot the teeth right out of your head if you’re not careful (ha! much like crack!) And there’s no way you can stop after the first one. There is no substance known to man that’s more addictive than candy corn.

Why do I not have any right now? How the hell did this happen? I’m writing about candy corn with no actual candy corn in sight. I’m blaming this on Mike Chabala. Although there’s the possibility that Pete Lowry as already eaten all of it since earlier this month he tweeted that if he’d been eating carrot sticks at the same rate he was eating Halloween candy, he’d be orange by Halloween.

Candy corn used to be one-size-fits-all. Not so much anymore. There’s the traditional, the Indian corn (with the chocolate-flavored part), caramel apple-flavored candy corn (don’t do it, trust me) and about a bazillion other kinds. You can get it year-round now in colors that coordinate with whatever the nearest holiday is. Red and pink for Valentine’s, pastels for Easter, red, white and blue for Independence Day.

But I’m a traditionalist. Make mine plain – orange, yellow, white. And I don’t want the fancy Brach’s candy corn. Just gimme the cheap, waxy stuff.

Then, if you do want to get all fancy, make me some of these: Candy Corn Butterfinger Pops.

***Time out for me to imagine a Darlington Nagbe cross to Kenny Cooper and the possibility of the KCHT.***

That’s really all I’ve got. Go get yourselves some candy corn. Share it with your friends. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.

Did I mention we’ve got a guy with a chainsaw?

And this guy? I love this man.

 
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Posted by on October 14, 2011 in October 2011, Timbers

 

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Pre-October reflection on some major life events

28 Sep

I know lots of people have gone through some seriously life-changing events this year and I in no way mean to belittle those experiences. Births, deaths, marriages, divorces, graduations. Hugely significant happenings, all of them.

But I’ve had two pretty big events this year myself. The first was losing my job of seven years. It was a job I enjoyed where I was lucky enough to work with dozens of people that, over the years, had become more like family than coworkers. But, looking back, it was a job that hindered any sort of creative pursuits, limited pretty much every other aspect of my life and once asked me to make the choice between a promotion and my education.

The second “event” is that, through a couple lucky turns along the way, I ended up being a season ticket holder for the Portland Timbers.

I’ve never been a sports nut, never played sports when I was a kid unless it was a required part of my academic career. I followed the Winterhawks, our local major-junior hockey team, when I was in junior high and high school. I profess to be a Packers fan, but that’s mostly just genetics. I do my best to avoid the Trailblazers if at all possible, a very difficult thing to do when one lives in Portland.

So, no, I know nothing about soccer. I had no idea what I was getting into when I put down the deposit for two seats several years ago before the team made the jump from the USL to MLS, essentially taking the Timbers from being a lower-tier venture meant to sell tickets when the local AAA baseball team was on the road and putting them on par with teams featuring marquee names like Beckham and Donovan and Henry. To me, this prospect was less about the big names in soccer and more about finally having something that might compete for headlines vs. the Trailblazers. It was time.

When my number came up last summer to finally purchase the tickets, I wasn’t sure it really was for me. I’d been to a few matches over the years but still didn’t really understand the true appeal of the game. But I remembered a chance encounter with a few members of the Timbers Army (see this for details) and I decided to dive in.

Best. Decision. Ever.

So, unemployed me has spent the better part of the last six months as a fulltime Timbers supporter. I think I’ve almost figured out the offsides rule. Almost.

I’ve seen some phenomenal matches and some heart-wrenching breakdowns. I was there for the home opener when we stood in line for hours while it rained sideways. I’ve witnessed keeper Troy Perkins create magic. I’ve marveled (like many others) that our mascot carries a chainsaw. A chainsaw.

But there’s more to it than surviving the weather or following the events on the pitch. There’s a sense of unity here as well as a sometimes overwhelming sense of community pride. We sew patches onto our sweatshirts that sport the Portland municipal flag. We collectively find ways to volunteer, to give back to the city we love. We support not just our team, but each other.

We’ve been lucky to get where we are. And I know I’m late to the party. I don’t count myself among the faithful who have stood with the team since the ’70s, or even since its reincarnation ten years ago. I was not among the 18th Street Ladder Crew who were relegated to the sidewalk for a full season after demonstrating their displeasure with choices made by the team in the 2006 season. I didn’t take up the Timbers Army trademark scarf until just a few weeks ago. I don’t know why I waited so long, but I look forward to making up for time lost.

I know that in the years to come, the novelty of it all will wear off for some. The crowds may thin, the faithful will be tested. The New York Times will eventually stop writing about us.

I look forward to moving next year from my cheap seats into the North End to stand side by side with those who shouldered the heavy burdens that were necessary in order to bring us all to where we are now. And I hope to pick up my share of the burdens we face as we group and progress, both as a team and as the greatest football supporters the world has ever seen.

Rose city ’til I die.

 
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Posted by on September 28, 2011 in Timbers

 
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