You couldn't have asked for a better day for a home opener and Toronto FC took full advantage of it..

After three games on the road, the last one a dramatic 3-2 over the Galaxy in Los Angeles, Saturday was simply one of those days a sports marketer dreams of. Sunny, warm and eager fans filled with optimism from the away win.

The only people moving faster than the players were the beer and merchandise vendors. Most of the stadium ran out of beer, souvenir shirts were flying off the shelves. Patience would also prove to be a short commodity.

For my seatmate, Vanooch, and myself, patience was tested coping with our boys who wanted every new t-shirt, scarf or hat they set their eyes on. Last year's shirts that were put on with pride a few hours earlier were already diminished by updated styles.

Updated prices on beer also had us wondering about the wisdom of lining up for many minutes, missing most of the warm-up and a chance to get our first up-close look at three important newcomers, all midifielders.

On the way in to the game, Vanooch, a cultured Milanista, lectured on the merits of playing with one striker up front, backed up by attacking midfielders, or trequartistas, in support.

A week earlier, Toronto's dramatic win in L.A. was keyed by the playmaking skills of midfield newcomers Laurent Robert on left wing and Amado Guevara in the middle. On this day, they'd be supplemented down the right by the pace and daring of speedy Rohan Ricketts.

No one quite knew what to expect from the trio lined up behind lone striker Danny Dichio. We weren't expecting too much from Ricketts - he hadn't played a competitive game in about four months after being released by English club Barnsley. Media reports had told us about the temperamental nature of Robert and Guevara, but their play in L.A. had been crucial in achieving a rare road win.

Again, patience was what was called for and Vanooch and I were prepared to wait a couple of games before passing judgement.

If only the two guys seated behind us were so gracious. From the opening kickoff, every play produced negative comments. With a strong wind blowing crossfield from the east, not the normal direction, longer passes were drifting astray.

No matter. Our critics were ripping every last miscue. Comments flew on almost every play. It wasn't enough that Toronto were utterly dominating the first half, pegging Real Salt Lake back time and time again. Robert was showing his smarts getting into gaps out on the left that granted him time and space to float tempting crosses or roll well-weighted through balls. Guevara was quick and decisive in his ball handling.

Ricketts, though, could do nothing right in their eyes. He was terrorizing the RSL left side and getting into some great positions. The fact that these chances fizzled out didn't bother Vanooch and I. We were delighted to see someone beat his man one on one and start stretching the opposing backline. He was taking chances, paying a physical price for it and winning fans. The pair behind us, though, began unfavourably comparing MLS skill levels to those of the Premier League and Serie A.

Vanooch and I were exchanging quiet elbow nudges and shakes of the head. Both of us were getting close to losing it. When a daring run down the right produced an errant cross, the louder of the two hollered for Ricketts to go back to England. When I explained that the player involved was actually Maurice Edu, an American, the loud response was, "It doesn't matter. He's ####, too. He's been making mistakes all game long." If they could have seen the looks on the faces of the loyal TFC fans seated behind them.

About a half hour in, a nifty pass-and-run play produced a foul on Guevara at the top of the box, resulting in a free kick. From our view straight down the line of the RSL wall, we couldn't see all the details. But Robert slyly played the ball low, through a gap in the wall and into the net setting off bedlam in a packed BMO Field. It was the only goal of the game.

Our neighbours refused to grant Toronto any praise, claiming the goal was a lucky one, caused by deflection. When you see a breakdown of the goal, you see a very craftily arranged set piece, well executed.

By half time, I could take no more. I was determined not to let the day be spoiled by two antagonists. Heck, they weren't even Salt Lake fans. Vanooch and the boys chose to stay in the seats, I headed off to take advantage of the gorgeous light and use the camera and ultra-wide lens I'd brought to shoot some stadium views.

When the second half began, I found myself on the railing in the beer garden behind the Salt Lake net, hoping for a shot of Toronto's cliinching goal. The play stayed far away, as Salt Lake pressed for an equalizer. Beside me, though, a lesson in abusive Spanish was breaking out. Several young men of Argentinian descent began loudly questioning the family morals of Nick Rimando, the Salt Lake goalkeeper. A few English language chants went up, Rimando gave them a wave and everyone was enjoying themselves.

The second half was clearly going to be played at the other end, so I journeyed over and found a great spot on the deck that runs at the top of the south end stands, where Toronto's most fanatical supporters are found. With the sun behind me, and banners, streamers and raised arms in front of me, this was the place to shoot a great stadium shot.

But the floor kept moving under me. To my left, a gent in a grey beard and TFC jersey was bouncing and cheering on every play. He was like a big kid. His own kids had season tickets elsewhere, but the section was too quiet. He loved the noise and action of the supporters stands, so he bought single game tickets whenever he could and migrated over to join in the songs and chants. He said he loved everything about what was happening with the team. We got along great.

As he clock wound down, I was about to head back up and rejoin Vanooch and the boys. Rounding a corner, I found myself face to tace with them. We walked back along the deck and watched the final moments, twirling our scarves at the final whistle.

"So did you make some good pictures?" asked Vanooch. I showed him on the screen on the back of the camera and he made his requests for copies. 

"How was the second half?", I asked. "Did you have to put up with more of those comments from the two crazy guys?"

"No. It was beautiful," said Vanooch. "They left. They went downstairs at half time and those guys behind them spilled beer and peanut shells all over the floor under their seats and dropped cheese and nachos on the seats. The two guys came back up, saw the mess and just left."

"One of the guys behind them said he used his last beer to make the mess and couldn't buy another because they ran out. You owe him one at next week's game."

Whaddya know? Good things do come to those who wait. Consider that beer already bought.