Twenty-nine years of longing for major pro soccer spilled into Jeld-Wen Field on Thursday night as the Portland Timbers returned. The team awoke, Rip Van Winkle-like, to an established and growing culture that didn't exist when the sport alighted in Portland in 1975 in the North American Soccer League.

At 107 minutes before kickoff -- the stadium section where the

was born -- members of the burgeoning supporters group burst onto the concourse with whoops and yells and hugs of ushers for

Portland's home opener in Major League Soccer.

After team owner Merritt Paulson stood at midfield and greeted the sold-out crowd of 18,627, he turned to the Timbers Army, bowed and blew a kiss.

Such a deeply entrenched and growing fan community was almost unimaginable at the May 2, 1975 home opener. The Army -- and the wider soccer-playing and -appreciating culture in the Portland area -- is part of a movement reshaping the game from business operations to stadium architecture.

On Thursday, the Timbers Army encompassed the stadium's entire north end -- about 3,500 general-admission seats -- and before the game unveiled one of the biggest fan displays in the 16-season history of MLS. A triptych of giant, hand-painted banners depicted city landmarks, Mount Hood and larger-than-life Timbers fans.

"When I saw the banners I poked Mark Abbott, our president, and said, 'This is pretty cool,'" said MLS commissioner Don Garber, who attended the game. "'Let's get this on Twitter.'"

To their 1975 franchise opener against Seattle, the Timbers drew 6,913, just below the NASL average of 7,500. Portlander Don Cox attended that game and was awed by the strange spectacle.

"I'd never seen soccer, didn't know the rules," said Cox, a lifelong Timbers fan who was at Jeld-Wen on Thursday. "It just blew me away what athletes could do without their hands."

What was then called Civic Stadium was a multipurpose venue, used for everything from dog racing and baseball to ski jumping. Portland and the NASL rode a rocket of popularity until 1982, when the Timbers folded. In 1984, the NASL followed.

This Timbers incarnation rose from a much more solid foundation. Years of lower-level pro soccer had fostered a small but loyal fan base that built its own culture. When Paulson began the push for an MLS franchise, the Timbers Army showed up to City Council meetings. Without that support, Garber said, the team would not have landed the $31 million in stadium renovations necessary to reshape the stadium for soccer.

Once the franchise was secure, Paulson deepened his commitment to the Army. He sought its leaders' input on everything from the team logo to stadium layout. He gave them a few percent commission on any season tickets sold in their sections, and they got "tens of thousands of dollars," which they pump back into support of the club and soccer in the area.

He agreed to erect several "capo" stands for Timbers Army leaders to use in leading songs and chants, including a sizeable platform that overhangs the tunnel from which the teams emerge. The team explored creating standing-room-only terraces for the Army -- most of which never sits during a game anyway -- but reshaping the concrete bowl proved too difficult.

With an eye toward upholding the fan experience, Paulson covered about 2,500 seats with tarps as a hedge against overcrowding in the 1920s-era stadium's narrow concourses. He didn't want nightmare lines at bathrooms and concession stands. But the move was controversial given that the season is nearly sold out, freezing out some fans who want tickets.

"We just wanted to be conservative," Paulson said. "It probably cost us a million bucks in revenue."

He also added four aisles on the old west side to facilitate traffic flow.

Before the game the streets were jammed with fans, who made a giant "L" around the stadium, stretching to the Multnomah Athletic Club, to get into the Timbers Army section. Christy Payne, who has been attending games since 2004, recalled the Timbers' days in the lower-division United Soccer Leagues when fans could linger at the pub until half an hour before kickoff and still get a good seat.

"Be careful what you wish for," she said, smiling. "It's not a bad thing, but you also have to be prepared for what that brings. To see the city go nuts like this is great. We said it would and it did."

The Army's energy, and the team's facilitation of it, has pulled new fans into its orbit. Lane Scheideman said he attended games in the 1970s but had drifted away from soccer until last season, when MLS's arrival grew close and the Army cranked up its game.

"Many years it was hockey, NHL, Winterhawks," Scheideman said. "I've switched allegiances. It's all soccer, all the time."

The Timbers sold out their home opener in hours, and is close to selling out for the season. Garber said he hoped the rest of MLS would follow the lead of league newcomers Vancouver and Portland, already in a heated rivalry with Seattle. Supporters groups are an engine driving excitement in the league, Garber said, and on Thursday one even handled an American rite.

Instead of a rock star singing the National Anthem on Thursday, the entire Timbers Army did.

A May 1, 1975, story in The Oregonian asked, "Can professional soccer make it in Portland?" After Thursday's home display the question seems to be, "Can Portland help pro soccer make it in America?"

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