The hardest season

The importance of our soccer communities

Photo by Andreea Popa on Unsplash

When I think about the early years of Toronto FC it’s not the losing, I remember most. Or the all-too-rare wins, for that matter.

It’s the people. Having just moved back to Toronto after five years away, the game day experience of TFC acted as my entire social calendar. And what a calendar it was. It was exhilarating to be part of those hot, new and oh-so-boozy days. People that I had kind of known for years as handles on a message board became real. New folks came into my life with big personalities. Those game nights became long. Often game early mornings, really.

Most of us — especially men — only develop multiple lasting friendships at two times in our lives. High School and, for those of us that go, in first year of college or university. But, here I was, getting a third opportunity to do so.

TFC was essentially a second Frosh year for me — only it lasted more than a decade. I happened to run with the supporter’s group U-Sector, but there were and are other groups that many of you reading may have found when going to TFC games, or other MLS, USL, CanPL, or wherever, games.

Soccer in North America is unique in this way as compared to other sports. I’m not here to tell those who aren’t part of the groups that you are lesser fans. You aren’t. At all. But, you are missing out on something that can be very special if you do not involve yourself in the groups.

They aren’t for everyone, but for many people the groups gave them a community — a purpose even. And that is incredibly value.

They are also fun. Too fun, sometimes. As I said, it’s sometimes hard to imagine the party ever ending. But, it does. In my case, I can remember the exact moment.

It was at about 12:02am on January 1, 2018.

My friend took a phone call in the hallway of a house party up by Casa Loma. It was from our mutual friend. We couldn’t believe what it was they told us.

Our friend, Harris, was dead. He had taken his own life at the Jane subway station hours before.

Harris (his name was Chris, but pretty much everyone called him Harris) was one of those big personalities that I had met back in 2007. Yes, he was physically a big guy — a bit chubby in the early days, but later rock hard from Muay Thai training — but his bigness was something more encompassing than just his physical form.

This was a man of big opinions, big voice, big habits and big loyalty to those that he called friends. Although not one of his closest friends, I was friends with him. Almost despite myself — Harris and I were not politically aligned, to put it mildly — I quite liked him, actually. It was largely his honesty of self that made me like him.

He also loved TFC. He would often come up to me and debate some obscure point about the club that I had written about weeks before. Harris knew his stuff. I’m not sure everyone in the group understood how much.

So, the news was pretty sobering. It hit me harder than any death I had experienced before, not because he was the first friend I had lost or even the closest person I had lost.

No, it was something more personal. You see, here’s the other reason I got along with Harris more than you’d expect: He reminded me of myself a little — especially as it related to our standing in the group that had come to dominate my life by this point.

We were both insiders, well known to a lot of people in the south end of BMO Field. But, we both also took a lot of shit from people too. I don’t want to make this about my side of it, but it is…draining. You have to have a thick skin to brush those things off.

I wasn’t perfect at it, but I was better than Harris. He struggled. As the years went on, it was clear that he was struggling a lot. He added another big to the mix — big anger (which was likely masking a big darkness).

That just made things worse, and he grew more and more isolated from the community. I’m not entirely sure he even saw TFC win the MLS Cup weeks before his death and that saddens me.

What also saddens me is how we collectively failed him. Every single one of us that was near him in that final year could see him spinning and we did nothing. I will live with that for the rest of my life.

Here’s a thing about being part of a community: They take care of each other. I made a promise to myself in the days that followed Harris’ death. It was simple. I promised myself that I would never watch a friend die again. Not without making sure they knew I was there for them.

Harris’ death was also part of the motivation behind making significant changes in my own life. I started to move away from a lifestyle that was more than starting to make me a middle age cliche. I’m not a better person today than I was on Jan 1, 2018, but I am a more realized person. I feel that I am becoming the man that I was always capable of being.

I don’t experience TFC in the same way anymore, but I appreciate the community around the club more than ever. Having a community is important. Let’s make sure we are doing all that we can to protect ours and to keep the people in it safe.

I miss you, Harris.

If you are thinking of hurting yourself, please reach out. Message or call someone. Anyone. And if someone reaches out to you, please take the time to compassionately and seriously listen to them. Encourage them to contact professional support.

In Canada you can call 1-833-456-4566. In the USA, text 988, nationwide.

Links to suicide prevention resources can be found here.