I attended my first Portland Timbers game in 2001, when the pre-Timbers Army "Cascade Rangers" were about 10 members strong. We gutted the Seattle Sounders, 2-0. Because I loved the team and the game, and because my dad plunked down the money for season tickets, I have been privileged to observe as the stadium has filled to the brim and gradually stratified into various subregions. From an expensive seat at midfield that I don't pay for, I eat free hot dogs and piss off everyone around me with my yelling. In that seat, I'm an outlier—and I know there are many like me—but I also know you can often tell where someone's going to sit when they walk through the gates.