#EdGoesToRonto- We're not at St Andrew's anymore, Toto...

This is the second blog in the #EdGoesToRonto series, detailing the trials and tribulations of my Year Abroad at the University of Toronto. The first blog, recording the first week, can be found here.

It is ten minutes from the end of the game. Toronto Argonauts, my adopted 'football' team for the night, have meekly surrendered a healthy lead and now trail by a considerable margin to Montreal Alouettes, some cocky upstarts from out of town. Instead of yelling 'fucking rubbish lads', slamming seats up and marching out with a quick 'wanker' sign to the opposition supporters, I pick up my free t-shirt, thunder-sticks and miniature football and amble towards the exit, without a minute's thought to the result of the game.

It's live sport Jim, but not as we know it.

***

So I'd given in. Less than five days since I'd arrived in Toronto, I was sat watching sport in an actual stadium. Far from simply being a drastic solution to numbing the boredom of the international break, this was a complimentary ticket with my 'Frosh' pack. The game in question, taking place at the multi-purpose Rogers' Centre near the harbour, was Toronto Argonauts vs Montreal Alouettes, in the Canadian Football League.

I know very little about American football, and try as I might, I don't really think it's a particularly entertaining sport. Multiple stoppages, thousands of rules and a necessity for padded equipment make it about as far away from soccer as possible, which perhaps explains my reluctance to embrace it.

The spectacle itself was, however, immensely enjoyable. Fan interaction, blaring music and barely a moment's peace were enough to keep me entertained for a good majority of the duration, despite hardly paying any attention to the action on the field.

Birmingham City, my team going through severely testing times, have experimented greatly with this Americanised idea of the 'match-day experience' in recent times, and it has, truth be told, been met with a considerable amount of opposition. There are those rugged supporters of days gone by who highly resent the idea of a 'welcoming' stadium, and I completely agree with them. I can't entirely put my finger on why, but I don't particularly like the idea of a family of four wandering up to the ground in full away replica kits and being welcomed with a foam finger and a picture with a bloke in a mascot suit.

No danger of that here, in this futuristic, mega-stadium. When Montreal scored, I looked around, expecting to see away fans jumping up and down and giving it what we call in England 'The Big-Un' to the home fans.

Not an away fan in sight. My first instinct was to stand up and belt out 'shit province, no fans', but when you consider it's roughly 600km from Toronto to Montreal, and I can't be bothered to travel any further than Leicester for an away game these days, it's probably understandable. As a most partisan sports fan, it made for a truly bizarre atmosphere. I needed somewhere to direct my ire, someone to yell 'F*CK OFF BACK TO QUEBEC' at, and yet I found nothing. I shouted into the air, but nothing came back.

As a rule, English football doesn't do external entertainment. You get your ninety minutes, and if you're lucky, that'll be half-decent. If you want something else, son, go to the theatre. Or, alternatively, support a 'family club', like Charlton, or Norwich. Opening ceremonies and flag waving by attractive models in body-suits is derided and cast aside as 'naff' or 'artificial', and the most entertaining thing that's ever happened at half time was when thirty thousand Brummies booed an on-pitch marriage proposal. We once had a competition where you had to fire a football at a shed, but that was quickly ditched when the club realised the name- On me Shed son!- was the best part of the game. By far.

Not so, in this cavalcade of North American wonder. A bizarre game of musical chairs took place at half time which quickly descended into an on-pitch scrum. Someone chased a bloke dressed as a coffee cup round the pitch midway through the half, whilst blindfolded. A family of squirrels was released into the stand, and the first person to catch one won a lifetime's supply of nuts.

Okay, I made the last one up, but you get the impression. It's a Knockout looked like a serious documentary about the dangers of inflatables compared to this. At one point, the big screen showed a picture-perfect family of four happily smiling and waving, the newly crowned 'Argonauts Family of the Game'. I'm sure a camera or big screen probably caught me, my Dad and my Great-Uncle at the Blues together once, but it probably screamed 'years of disappointment and a Vitamin D deficiency' rather than 'Family of the Game'.

All in, you could have a half-time show featuring Michael Jackson, Elvis and The Beatles, and if we lost 1-0 to Barnsley, I'd still come away feeling miserable. Conversely, when I was 6, and went to my first game, I didn't care what the result was as long as I got a hot dog and a lollipop. Luckily for the 'match-day experience', as far as American/Canadian Football goes, I'm closer to bright-eyed infancy than grizzled pessimism.

So...

Let's go Argo's, let's go *clap clap*
Let's go Argo's, let's go *clap clap*