I’m told this is a soccer town.
I’m told this with relative frequency, in fact, by prophets young and old, male and female in Portland. I’m told this by people I never asked. I’m told this by the existence of an MLS franchise in place of minor league baseball at Jeld-Wen Field and by the growing number of green jerseys I run into on the MAX lately. I’m told this in a bar at Second and Ash, and then I’m told again 20 minutes later. There is, it would seem, no debate on the matter.
After a stubborn, temperamental June, it can be said with relative confidence that summer is finally in full swing. We now begin our tentative and openly giddy transition outdoors, stretching and shuffling out into the light like groundhogs. Sleepy, a bit disoriented, relying on muscle memory to recall how a human being is meant to walk without the benefit of a hoodie and a scowl, we join together in communal appreciation of those precious few months when casual conversation doesn’t have the weather to fall back on anymore.
And just like that, we start again.
The 2011–12 NBA season is officially over. LeBron James made sure of that on Thursday, coming through with a rare triple-double and controlling the flow of the game that clinched his first finals victory. There will be a parade in Miami and a trophy presentation and a few more precious days of reprieve to allow the moment to really sink in. For the rest of us, that’s all just a headline now—and it’s an old one. The 2012–13 season starts in Portland tomorrow.