Quick: Please: I beg you:
Keep doing what you have been doing.
Your ritual, yes. Keep doing it.
Your belief, yes. Keep believing.
You put on two different color socks? You wore a black shirt with a rip in it? You used a pizza as a hairnet the night before and puked at Kelly's Olympian?
For the love of all that is holy, do it again.
We are this close. THIS Close. We, not them, not they, not anyone else, but we... the players, the fans, the front office...
Portland, we are 90 minutes away a championship.
Some of you have been waiting 40 years. FORTY years of dedication, belief, frustration, loss, and growth. You grew up watching Charles, Hoban, Withe, Kelly, and the boys from the 70's and you went to Civic Stadium.
Some of you were there in the dark years, the 80s, indoor, outdoor, all the iterations.
Some of you have been around since 2001, with the Cascade Rangers, pickle buckets, "O Tennyson O Tennyson, He'll score on you again again", and the formation of a group of people that came together for the Timbers time and time again, this time at PGE Park. I cannot imagine how it feels to walk the streets, the grocery stores, the libraries, the city of Portland and see people in green loving the team that you watched fight so hard just to stay alive and relevant for so many years.
Some of you sang "It's a Wicks.... House", Wee Tommy Poltl, S-C-O-T, Hugo, and let's not forget Byron Alvarez. Some of you knew that man who swam here from Japan and who also so happened to be "the fucking man."
Some of you actually saw the miracle shot that pegged Nyassi in the nuts. Don't throw shit on the pitch, but if you do (and don't) that was the legendary one in 10,000,000 shot. You knew the juice, you knew when Giselle passed out scarves or when Row N went bowling.
Some of you came around in 2011, watched the game in the rain, Perlaza racing down the field and Jewsbury patrolling and the unbelievable passion that poured through at Jeld-Wen Field on that rainy night.
Some of you watched an Army lose their mind in 2012 and all of the heartbreak, passion and love in the North End ate itself alive and poisoned the stands.
Some of you came in 2013 when Porter came on board, Will Johnson was captain and the team renovated their status from basement dweller to competing and Tetris was for closers.
Some of you came on board in 2015 and only knew Ridgewell as captain and Valeri coming back from injury and the crazy run at the end of the year that happened because of injuries and a coach that took a chance on a lineup in which he believed
And yet, however you got here, however you arrived at this love of the team and town and no matter the player that you watched play, you are here now. You are a Timbers fan, and now we... all of us -- 70's - 80's - 90's - 00's -10's have arrived at being able to watch something that none of us have ever seen before. That is, watching the boys in green raising a cup as the last team in the country with a victory.
You went to Columbus as the Timbers went to the promised land. You went to Columbus in great numbers. A vast army, not in theory but in practice as well. The drums are loaded, the flags folded, and pvc being cut for Sunday. Even the Timbers Army drum "epic" was loaded into the bottom of a chartered plane to be delivered to the lucky souls that made it. There are nearly 2000 of you there ready to see if what we dream about can actually happen.
I beg of you,
Sing your heart out.
For the team, sing. For the Argentine god who tore his ligaments in our service, sing. For the young Jamaican right back who needs to play smart for 90 minutes, sing. For the tough Colombian midfielder whose intensity belies his size, sing. For Darlington Nagbe in all of his effortless, graceful gliding who returns to where he started, sing. For captain Will Johnson who might not be in green going forward, sing. For our boys, for all of them, sing.
Sing for for the people who couldn't make it on the trip to Columbus.
Sing for Matt, Cori, Hoss, Andrew, Seth, Scott, Rebecca, Amber, Don, Sierra, Jordan, Mike, Hannah Banana, and for all of us that couldn't make it who had the fates of life conspire against them at the worst possible time. Know that we would do nearly anything to be there right next to you. Know that we are all there with you, pulling for the 11 on the field.
There is one game left.
Clive above, there is one game left.
Let's win it.
South Deck, North End, From Anchorage to Patagonia, From Astoria to London and beyond, lets win it all, the fucking league, together.
Let's have it.