In the fairly distant dystopian future, it is my dream to one day be an old man sitting in a rocking chair with even less hair on top than today and more grays in my beard. I will sit and hold my son’s child in my lap, a nice glass of scotch in the other, and tell them the story about how their father and I developed a deep bonded root over our favourite football club: Toronto FC.
“Grandpa, tell us about how you and dad first started going to Toronto FC games,” they’ll ask. “What do you remember.