Week four would see me remain in Toronto, such was the multitude of activities to do in the city. It began with an attempt to watch the FA Cup Final, which unfortunately I was unable to do as a snoring OAP ensured I was not up by tie 10am start time. Despite the fact that the train luggage system had managed to destroy my shower gel, I enjoyed the most refreshing shower of my life, after spending the past 4 days in the same clothes. It was comparable to a night with Edwina Curry in the joy stakes. After this, it was time for me to lose my MLS virginity, as I headed to the BMO Field to see Toronto FC take on DC United. The journey was a simple train trip across the city, and also lead to the discovery of the Irish Embassy - a pub that offered Magners on tap, and would thus prove very popular for the remainder of my time in Toronto. After arriving at the ground, I collected my ticket and did a lap of the stadium, before entering and purchasing the grey Toronto away shirt in an attempt to blend in with the yocals. A pint of Carlsberg was then purchased, which I was able to drink on the patio overlooking the pitch. The lure of Subway, popcorn, sushi and even a Greek hog roast could not tempt me away from the footballing food of the lubricated penis hotdog, and I took my seat high in the main stand. The national anthems were played before the game, and I took great pleasure in joining in with the booing of the American one, before the game kicked off. It was unfortunately rather tedious, ruined by a referee who didn't seem to understand the concept of contact sport of playing advantage. In a fine Americanism, every free kick, corner or any set piece was greeted with mass celebrations, shouts of "wooo" and "yeah" and followed by high-fives all round. The competitions also followed this pattern, with an entire row winning a slice of pizza, t-shirts being fired into the crowd, and a competition in which you had to kick footballs to knock over crates of Carlsberg. Toronto took the lead with a goal that was criminally off side, which was greeted by the chap next to me screaming "nice", before DC pulled it back thanks to a cracking own goal, and then scored the winner from the spot, which was happily shown over and over again on the big screen to show what a pigs ear the referee had made of the decision. He was greeted with the highly offensive "you suck", before the match finished. A 2 hour wait for a train back was in order, during which I witnessed the attempted hooliganism of the Canadians, during which a black man and one fat bloke seemed to think they were part of the Green Street Elite. I then returned to the hostel for a relaxing evening, reflecting on the shambles that was the MLS

Toronto was already in awe of its new Minor Celebrity	McCarthy, with pint, inside the BMO Field
This end was the Kop of the MLS	The tallest building in the world, the CN Tower, can be seen behind this stand
This end was made up solely of beer tents

A first decent nights sleep in a long time saw me up early to explore the city of Toronto. I headed to a large mall, where everything was disapointingly shut due to the Victoria Day Holiday - celebrating the birth of Queen Victoria, which bizarrely we in England do not celebrate despite the fact she was our Queen. I decided to therefore take in the labyrinth of underground paths that allows the residents to navigate the city in the winter, despite the bitter cold that descends. Once I had navigated my way out of the underground system, which took around 2 hours to do, I purchased some grocery shopping and the customary crate of beer. The evening taught me one very important lesson, and that is that pink may not be viewed in the same way in Canada as in England, where it is acceptable to wear and not be considered gay. My pink t-shirt here drew me to the attention of one chap wearing a tank top, and the cardinal error of socks and sandals. As we began talking, it was only when I shoke his hand and realised what a homosexual hand shake he had I twigged what was going on - I quickly made me excuses and headed off to talk to two young attractive German women, before heading to bed, making sure to be on my guard of the gay man

The bank holiday-eqsue Monday off to celebrate Victoria Day, which I also discovered celebrates the start of summer saw me explore the underground city some more. With everything being shut, I was forced to admit that there was very little danger of me achieving anything today, so I did what the McCarthy of England would do when bored - headed straight to the Irish Embassy. My first Magners in 3 weeks was consumed, and I had never tasted anything so good. Accordingly, it took me around 5 minutes to sink the entire pint of those beautiful apples, and I would go onto drink 6 in total. This was constantly interrupted though by my needing to excrete, including one which I can only liken to exploding out of my rectum. I fear this has been bought on by my chefs skills the previous night, with an undercooked sausage looking the likely culprit. I then headed back to the hostel, where I enjoyed a curry dinner and several more beers, before turning on the McCarthy charm to invite myself to a fireworks display with the two Germans, who turned out to be Swiss. Joy did turn to confusion however, as my excretion problems kicked in, and this meant them leaving without me. I was then thoroughly raped as an Asian taxi driver took me to the wrong fireworks display, and left me there with no money. I soon met a homeless man from Ghana however, whom I gave a beer to despite the fact I was unable to understand his monkey language. After the fireworks, which were infact bloody impressive, the only option was to walk back to the hostel. In any other city in the world, this would never have been possible - but Toronto has the CN Tower. The building, with is fabulous light displays, towers above everything else, and by heading towards it I was able to navigate home after a 90 minute walk, including part of the way on one of Toronto's highways. I decided to risk another bacon sandwich, before heading to bed completely knackered due to the terrorist of a taxi driver

The Swiss girls that I would have been attending the fireworks with had my excretion problems not dictated otherwise	McCarthy on a flyover on his 90 minute walk back to the hostel

Following last nights shenanigans, I awoke at 12 today and headed straight for the building that saved me last night - the CN Tower. My booking into the hostel had supplied me with a free ticket for the tallest free standing building in the world, and this proved to be a bargain. As the elevators sped to the observation deck, the speed and height ensured that ears were popped on the way to top. The views afforded over the city were fantastic, and on a clear day if you know which way to look, Niagara Falls is visible. One novel feature is the glass floor, which people are scared to stand on for some bizarre reason. I took great joy in lying on it, rolling on it and jumping up and down on it, knowing that should it have broken, I would have been famous as the first person to die by falling through it. The outside observation deck was incredibly windy, and unfortunately had netting around it which prevented the classic dropping of a 2p coin to see how much damage it was cause experiment. The upper observation deck was the highest in the world, and left me of the opinion that it would be a classic suicide spot. After spending several hours at the tower, I headed back to the hostel in preparation for tomorrows big day of soccer ball

The CN Tower	Looking north
Looking over the city	McCarthy stands on the glass floor
McCarthy on the glass floor	Looking west
Looking south over Lake Ontario, towards Niagara	McCarthy high above Toronto

Wednesday didn't start in the best of fashions, when it was revealed the suspected homosexual has now been moved into my room - and he is on top, in the sense that he has the top bunk. Concerned about these events, I instantly took refuge by heading to the Irish Embassy to take in the Champions League Final between Liverpool and AC Milan. 6 pints of Magners were consumed during it, along with meeting Trevor, the Southampton fan who now lives in Toronto, an Exeter City fan, and some interesting Canadian soccer followers who all questioned why Peter Crouch was not playing. After the disappointment of the final, I headed off to the BMO Field for the friendly match between Toronto and Benfica. On arrival in the ground, I instantly befriended a Toronto fan and his wife on the beer patio, and they even bought me a pint. We swapped contact details, and I agreed to play a few matches for six-a-side team, my first taste of soccer in Canada. Unfortunately, my drunken state denoted I would go onto lose the number. The match was a 0-0 draw, which was satisfying as in theory Rui Costa and co should have crushed Toronto. The train home was suprisingly on time, and I rounded the day off with a 10th pint in the Embassy, before returning to the hostel, where I instantly began talking to a group of French students. Unfortunately, I don't speak a word of French, and these frogs didn't speak a word of English. After being moved on by what I suppose was a teacher, I got chatting to a Preston fan about the finer points of Wayne Henderson, before heading to bed to pass out and await the inevitable hangover that would follow 7 pints of Magners and the piss water that is Carlsberg

Toronto v Benfica	Mo Johnston must have been taking fashion tips from Mark McGhee with this suit
The BMO  lit up in all her glory

Today was a full day of recovery after last nights heavy session, with myself only achieving some shopping and the customary hangover cure of Gatorade. It did the business once again, and within minutes of drinking it, I felt as though I could run a marathon, or at least start a marathon, get a few hundred meters and then give up. Feeling refreshed, I even turned down a few beers with the Preston guys in order to attain an early nights sleep on what was easily by most bone idle day thus far

This industrial sized bottle of water was a bit extreme	Trump Towers - coming soon to Toronto

My first week in Toronto would end with a visit to the National Hockey Museum. "In Canada there are two seasons - summer, and hockey" as the saying goes, so it was with great anticipation that I headed to the museum. With the entrance being via the underground city, I made the grave error of attempting to navigate my way to it without the use of a map. This catastrophic error was compounded when  I emerged above ground, an hour and a half after beginning my journey, further away than I was when I started. Eventually, I found it, and the wait was well worth it. Inside were all manner of memorabilia, ranging from shirts and equipment of the greatest players in history, to a full scale replica of the Montreal Canadians changing room. There was also a large interactive zone, where you could play as a goal tender and attempt to stop the puck as it flew out of a machine. This provided great comedy, especially when one stereotypical North American of around 25 stone took his place between the posts, including the ritual of tapping each post and his pads with his stick. He was so large, I could see very little way in which the puck would get past him, but I hadn't counted for his lack of mobility, which in the end proved to be his downfall. The jewel in the museums crown though was the chance to not just see, but touch AND have a photo with the Stanley Cup. It is awarded to the overall NHL Champions, and is the richest prize in the game. It carries the emotional weight of the FA Cup, Premiership and World Cup rolled into one, and it is huge. It has been known to bring grown men to tears when they see it, and it was certainly a moment of great magnitude - possibly the greatest moment in the trip so far - for me to touch it, and I am not even a huge hockey fan. Having seen it, felt it, even kissed it, I felt a more complete human being. After the antics of Wednesday, I took the decision not to visit the Embassy on my way back to the hostel, and thus settled for a night of tv once again

The replica of the Canadian Montreals changing room	A Great Britain hockey jersey
The Stanley Cup	Two great legacies meet - McCarthy and the Stanley Cup

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