It’s a whole different Toronto FC world, for a bunch of us.

Shortly after their second league win of the season — only the ninth time they’ve strung together a “streak” of that length in club history — Jermain Defoe was fighting his way to his locker.

Defoe sat down. The camera lights turned on. He looked stupefied for several long seconds. Then he said, “You tryna get a picture my willy or something?”

Lights abruptly off.

This will take some getting used to for all of us.

For Defoe, he has become an object of constant fascination in a far more permissive media environment. Up-towel shots aside, he appears to be warming to his new role of Toronto Soccer Jesus.

He scored the game’s only goal, which was a one-off rationale for the club’s financial splash.

Michael Bradley made the inlet pass. Debutant Gilberto strung the defence along with him, and forced the D.C. United ’keeper into a sprawling save. Defoe was there to tidy up.

That was a $100-million goal, and the way these fans celebrated it, it felt like a bargain.

As Defoe dressed very carefully, Bradley was getting his own reminder of how it works back home.

He was once again the game’s most dominant force, a bull with a Mensa-level brain out on the pitch. Early in the contest, he rugby tackled the badly out-of-position ref, and left him lying in his wake. When the ref caught up to him later, Bradley seemed more in the mood to receive apologies than give them.

In the second half, he went up for a hard head-to-head challenge with United’s Davy Arnaud. Arnaud ended up in a pile. Bradley came up irritated.

Blood was pouring from a gash in the back of his head. He walked off the field, still looking mildly annoyed. Arnaud was still down, and eventually removed.

Bradley was wrapped up on the sideline. After the game, they stapled the wound shut.

Someone asked him, “How many staples?”

“Dunno,” Bradley said, like it was the stupidest of many stupid questions he’d had to endure. (For the record — 13).

Bradley only really warmed when he was asked about the resurgent atmosphere at BMO Field. The sell-out crowd outdid itself in deep freeze conditions. The last couple of years have often felt funereal at BMO. On Saturday, the corpse sat up.

The highlight came during the anthems. They returned to a lovely old tradition for O Canada, trusting the supporters to furnish the words to a soundtrack.

“That was special,” Bradley — a stalwart of the U.S. national team — said.

If you follow the international game, you know that no crowd is better come anthem time than the travelling American support. Coming from Bradley, that’s the highest sort of praise.

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The culture shock was probably greatest for Gilberto.

Defoe and Bradley are classically cultured professionals, the sort who see the layout of the field as it will be 10 seconds in the future. Based on his performance Saturday, Gilberto lives slightly in the past. When he runs — and, man, can he run — he runs like he’s trying to catch up.

At times, he drifted well out of his forward position to chase the action backwards. Gilberto plays as if he can’t bear to be without the ball. On the occasions when he found himself with possession and time, he was a terror going forward.

He’s been injured. Coach Ryan Nelsen guessed that he’s only had 10 days of training in the last two months.

After Defoe scored, Gilberto was subbed out. As he came off the pitch, he turned to the spectators and gestured wildly for them to stand up and cheer. Lots of guys do that. No one does it for as long as Gilberto managed — a good 20 or 30 seconds.

Asked to explain the gesture afterward, the Brazilian took on a very serious expression. He almost looked worried. He asked his translator several times to repeat the question.

“I wanted to show the crowd that I’m here to play,” he said finally, with touching urgency. “I want them to know I am here to win.”

Here’s a guess — in a month, Gilberto is the player everyone who cares about this team feels most protective of. He’s a gentle spirit who can’t believe he gets paid to play this game.

Even Nelsen seemed just a little daunted by the occasion and that new feeling of competence.

He talked about “the expectations” as if they were something that might land him to bed for a week. He also talked about the rough action — and it was very choppy out there — and the mangled pitch. By the half, it looked like an incipient bog.

“The field’s not great. (thinking) But that’s no fault of the groundsman. I blame God for that, for the winter he’s given Toronto (thinking harder) Oh, geez. Don’t, don’t … I don’t want all the religious people after me.”

I wouldn’t worry. If anything, after seven cursed years, it’s beginning to seem like God has finally taken a positive interest.

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