This is my favorite image of Montreal. From our seats, we have a view of the tops of the trees that overlook the north stand, their silhouette contrasting with the blue sky iridescent with orange reflections, above the perfectly squared lawn, the pearly mast of the Olympic Stadium enthroned, imperial, on our left.
“There is no place in the world where man is happier than in a football stadium”, said Albert Camus. Journalist and analyst Vincent Destouches recalls this in his book From the Impact to CF Montreal, which retraces 30 years of the history of our professional soccer team and has just been published by Éditions de l’Homme. It’s not me who’s going to contradict a Nobel Prize for Literature.
“It will be 20 degrees on Saturday! “Son, who is not used to being interested in the weather, pointed out to me this week. It is not a refusal after a week of rain. We are lucky: every game Saturday since the beginning of the season, we have been treated to good weather.
We have been going to the Saputo stadium more and more often over the past few years. We have taken the leap. I bought two subscriptions for this team that I will never stop calling the Impact. It’s my Régie des alcools, my Commission des liqueurs, my Berri-De Montigny…
Since we are subscribers, our little habits are on the way to becoming rituals. We leave the house after a hasty supper. It’s Fiston, his learner’s permit in his pocket, who leads to the outskirts of Maisonneuve Park, which we cross on foot to the stadium. Strategy to review at the end of the evening, when it reigns pitch black in the park. You can’t distinguish a water fountain from a fox from the surfaces.
I love this march, almost as much as the game. Even if it is mostly silent. Matching my stride to that of my son reassures me. It’s a reminder that we’re still in sync, in tune, despite the passage of time and the cruel, inevitable feeling that the older I get, the less I must seem for a boy of almost 17. He walks faster and faster; I adapt my pace to follow him.
I have always liked “going to the stadium”. I have old memories of the Manic at the Olympic Stadium, of the Supra at the Claude-Robillard stadium and of the Impact at the “Big O” and at the Saputo stadium (even at the Molson Centre).
I have witnessed exhilarating victories and bitter defeats, triumphs and disappointments. Heated games attracting more than 50,000 spectators in the early 1980s and mid-2010s, and lackluster games played in the early 1990s in front of just a few hundred fans.
I saw one of my childhood idols, Alessandro Nesta, play in blue-white-black, and the most formidable opponent of my amateur career, Mauro Biello. I vibrated with Marco Di Vaio, Didier Drogba and Ignacio Piatti. There is nothing, however, in the vast spectrum of emotions that these great players have inspired in me, that surpasses the simple fact of finding myself at the stadium on a match day with one of my boys. Win or lose.
Obviously we prefer to jump for joy, arm in arm, ecstatic and incredulous because Romell Quioto has just scored in stoppage time, than to return sheepish from a packed Olympic Stadium after a Champions League final lost against at Club America.
Victory always tastes better. However, for me, the result will never be as important as the experience of the match itself. Than these few hours of complicity shared with my son.
He probably doesn’t see things the same way. Fiston is a true CF Montreal fan, aware of the latest club news, trade and transfer rumours, results (in real time) of other MLS matches and their immediate impact on the standings.
Saturday, for us, is now soccer night. We watch the matches on TV when they take place abroad. Otherwise, we are at the stadium. Yesterday, we were there to see Patrice Bernier, our eternal captain, inducted into the Wall of Fame. Next Saturday, we’ll be there to see Toronto FC get screwed (when it comes to Toronto, the exception proves the rule: the result matters to me).
I find myself hoping that this new ritual will turn into a tradition. That in 10, 15 or 20 years, we will still find ourselves at the stadium, side by side, Sonny and me. Watching the sun go down on the north stand, after crossing Maisonneuve Park, at the same pace.