There is no roof overhang in Section 99 at Jeld-Wen Field. It's just you and the heavens above. Also, a happy couple in Row U that high fives and kisses after every Timbers goal. And a guy farther back who announced in the second half on Monday that he Googled the Timbers Army chants and memorized them for the occasion.

I stood in the pouring rain for two-plus hours and watched the

in the season opener. Nobody fired T-shirts from cannons at me. There was no house music pumping. No blimp dropping prizes. No tricycle rides or frisbee dogs. A large number of those inside the stadium never sat down. And if you haven't already discovered what I learned on Monday night, you are even later arriving to the party than I am.

Get yourself to a Timbers game sometime this season. Find a ticket. Bring your kids. Come on a date. Marry someone who has season tickets. Do what it takes. Because what this soccer organization is pulling off is the perfect case study for the Trail Blazers and any other American sports franchise that wants to matter anymore. And beyond that, it's a blast.

It rained so hard, for so long on Monday, that I was afraid to buy a hot dog at halftime because someone once told me you shouldn't go swimming for 45 minutes after eating. The score at half was 0-0, and I have to say had the two teams simply played out a scoreless second half, everyone would have gone home perfectly joyful to have been a part of something bigger than themselves for a few hours.

They cheered. They sang. They bounced around. And by "they," I mean me and the others here. There were women here on dates, wearing UGG boots and jeans. And their soaked dates, making trips back from the concession stand with Widmer beers in both hands. One couple in Section 99 arrived with only one pair of gloves between them, and by the second half, he was wearing the right hand and her, the left, and that is the kind of moment that children are told about one day.

The Timbers want this second MLS season to be about soccer. They appreciate all the talk about great stadium atmosphere, and family environment. And they love that business owners are falling all over themselves buying sponsorships, and clamoring for a piece of the buzz. But owner Merritt Paulson and coach John Spencer will kick a puddle of water at you if you ignore the soccer. They're done being a cute story, and want to be winners.

So yeah. There's good soccer being played here. In fact, Kaliff Alhassan has a pair of poems for feet. And Jack Jewsbury never quits on a play. And if you want to study human instinct watch striker

for a few runs, and see how the ball finds him in front of the goal, occasion after occasion. Boyd is so dangerous around a net he should have gills and a fin.

I hear parents all the time tell their children if they want to amount to something in life to pay attention in school and use their heads.

Wrong, parents.

If you want your children to apply themselves and use their head properly, have them watch Boyd for a half. Because on Monday, Alhassan crossed a pass in front of the goal, right to left, and Boyd instinctively bolted toward the ball, a half-step quicker than the defender riding the back of his shoulder, re-directing the pass into the back corner of the net for a 2-1 Timbers lead.

That --- children, is how you use your head and make $1.25 million a year. Not sure if they're teaching that in school. But I learned it at Jeld-Wen Field, courtesy of Professor Boyd.

There's something fundamentally Portand about the experience here. Soccer and all. Timbers Army, included. The pouring rain, the chants, the guy wearing a Timbers cap on top of his rain hat, the standing for hours, and the fact that the sport alone is enough to carry the evening. It's so Portland here that a Timbers game now feels as essential to quickly understanding this city as a visit to Powell's Books and Pioneer Courthouse Square and the Rose Garden at Washington Park.

Maybe more, because there are fragments of Portland all over this place.

I stood for more than two hours in the pouring rain in Section 99 at Jeld Wen Field on Monday. When I got to my car after the game, I peeled off my soaked jacket and started the engine, and turned on the heater. I sat for a moment, and wrung my cold hands. As I squeezed, water dripped out everywhere.

Nothing between you and the heavens here.

and