On a cold, wet night in Stoke-on-Trent, England, a father and son wandered the streets, looking for a sign.
Okay, it wasn’t wet, and it wasn’t nighttime. But for a couple Floridians it was plenty cold. The directions we had from the train station took us to the town “centre,” but there was no stadium in sight.
Past a 13th-century church, past a row of houses, past one pub and then another, bet365 Stadium, Home of the Potters, emerged. A stadium on a hill.
The white trusses supporting the four-sided canopy roof offered a glimpse into what Orlando City’s stadium will look like in just three short months. In the parking lot, a food truck sold hamburgers and hot dogs – you know, traditional English fare.
“Far from home, are ya?” one of the attendants asked, noting my accent.
“Just a little bit,” I laughed.
Three hours before kickoff, it was time for a tour.
Our friends at Stoke City FC, Orlando City’s English partner, showed us around the old Britannia. We stood in the ad board cubicles we’d seen countless times on TV. We went into the locker room and took a photo with fellow Yankee Geoff Cameron’s No. 20. We walked down the players’ tunnel and onto the pitch.
The resemblance between our stadium and theirs became even clearer. The tunnels are in the same corner, the video boards in the same corner; even the supporters’ section is on the same end – though there are seats in Stoke’s.
After a hot meal in the pressroom and a pint on the concourse we made our way to our seats for our first Premier League game.
The opponent: the reigning champion Foxes of Leicester City.
“We know what we are, we know what we are! Champions of England! We know what we are!” sang 2,700 Leicester supporters. (Even on a cold, dreary evening in Stoke, they’re still enjoying their moment in the sun.)
Champions or not, they were no match for the 25,000 Potters traditionally singing a slightly revised version of Tom Jones’ Delilah.
“I saw the light on the night that I passed by her window…”
It was surreal. The feeling of being in that stadium, voices echoing under the roof. The crowd was as much a spectacle as the game.
And the resemblance with Orlando City became clearer still.
But without the game there would be no crowd, and the first half was all Stoke could’ve asked for. A Jamie Vardy red card, a penalty kick conversion and another goal at the stroke of halftime gave cause for celebration, three points surely in the bag.
But the champions, sly as the foxes they are, fought back. Leonardo Ulloa tallied just minutes after coming on and a header in the 88th stole a point for the Blues.
Down the stairs, an usher asked if we’d had a good time.
“Amazing,” I said.
“Good! Come back again soon,” she replied.
My dad and I walked to The Harvester as we waited for a cab to take us to the station. A Stoke supporter asked where we were from.
“Oh, Orlando! That’s Kaká and Brek Shea’s team.”
We finished our beers and said farewell to our new friend. Everyone – from the strangers who gave a few wandering foreigners directions to the people of Stoke City – was incredible.
We were far from home when we arrived. We had a new one when we left.
It was the experience of a lifetime.
So to you Potters, enjoy your cold, wet nights. But if you’re ever on holiday, come visit our stadium and its white, trussed roof. Come on a hot, humid day.
