2001 Grey Cup Weekend
by
Anne Yanchyshyn
Although we were not able to foresee the future, we in Winnipeg were right in more ways than one in saying that the Eastern Final between the bombers and Hamilton was our Grey Cup game, here in Winnipeg. It certainly gave us reason to cheer and feel elated, for our win put us in line to take on the winner of the Western Final in Montreal's Grey Cup contest come November 25/01.
Who would the new champions be? We prepared ourselves for the big event by looking back at the past season of 14 wins to four losses, where we'd set more than one record, where four Winnipeg Blue bombers were nominated as the best in the Canadian Football League (CFL), three of whom would win their respective coveted awards. We had reason to feel optimistic.
But always there was the nagging feeling that our momentum might not carry us through to the end where it mattered the most. The Calgary Stampeders had beaten Winnipeg in their last game of the season here — their injured players were healed and were back in play — and they could do it again. They had already beaten Edmonton handily in their Western Final.
The big day neared. I flew to Toronto on Thursday, the 22nd, did some Christmas shopping next day, and proceeded by car with son Gord and wife Candace on Saturday straight through to our Delta Hotel in Montreal. Grandson, Ben, because he is a student at McGill and rents a fair-sized suite, was able to accommodate his brother Matt, who had already come in from King's/Dalhousie in Halifax. Candy's other family members soon arrived: Mom Elaine, brother John, sister Caroline, and hubby Kevin and their crew of four children, as well as brother David and wife Katie.
The situation was ripe for a big bang-up celebration dinner at a fancy French restaurant — it was, after all, Saturday night and we were in Français Montréal. I am sure Kevin had mixed feelings about having to stay back and baby-sit the children — he would be able to catch up on his much-needed sleep instead of being bleary-eyed like the rest of us next morning.
Next morning — Grey Cup Day — finally arrived. It was cloudy and wet, but not wet enough to keep us from moving about. After a sumptuous brunch at the Delta, John, Gord and I, for instance, toured through Old Montr#233;al and walked to Grey Cup Village while the others did their own thing. In my meanderings I had hoped to feel the full impact of being in a unilingual French province, to try my own means of communicating with hand gestures and smiles and clearly-articulated English words in the hopes of being understood just enough to get by. But it never happened. Everyone was very accommodating. Not once was I made to feel like a stranger. Montreal, I reaffirmed, was very much a part of the same country as Winnipeg. My hat's off to them.
And before long, it was time to go.
How to dress? A woman in Toronto had told me that the "cavernous Olympic Stadium" was full of cold drafts, that I should "dress warm." You'd think I was headed for Antarctica the way I followed her advice.
It wasn't necessary. With over 65,000 of us pressing to get through the gates, and through surveillance checks, the lobby felt more than warm — it was hot and clammy. I peeled one jacket off while Elaine complained of claustrophobia (which within the week would manifest itself as a not-so-slight coronary problem). Not too auspicious a beginning.
We were finally seated — up high enough so we could see the whole field below without having to strain. (I don't want to know the price of those lower seats — ours were steep enough at $150.00 a shot.) John sat up front and left, Kevin and Caroline in front of our line of grandsons and grandmas, and Gord and Candy a few rows behind — the perfect hosts, keeping the least advantageous seats for themselves. The weekend was a special treat from them to their sons and their mothers: us! (David and Katie had had to leave earlier for Jamaica, and Ben had found a reliable baby sitter to stay with the children.)
Opening rituals. The excitement mounted. Most of O Canada was sung in French, but the ending was in English, and that seemed to please everyone. Next day's Globe and Mail put it very succinctly: "The nation's only true made-in-Canada sports event...in both official languages. from the opening kick-off through the half-time hoopla to the final play, English and French sat side by side, unified behind a single, enthusiastic celebration."
The fans they interviewed were equally eloquent. Said one, "It's half English, half French here, and both sides are as crazy as the other," and another, "It's not French Quebec against English Canada — It's one gang that loves football." I'll vouch for that.
I'm not normally superstitious, but during the opening scene as I awaited the coin toss, I felt a foreboding. "Back in Winnipeg," I said out loud, "we would usually lose the toss but win the game. I wonder what will happen here."
"Oh, they've already had the toss," said Kevin. "The Bombers won."
My heart sank just a little. Was this the way the rest of the day would unfold?
The air was electric as the players strutted their stuff. Our Buzz and Boomer mascots with their placards (capital D and fence gate for D-E-F-E-N-C-E) tried hard to spur us on to cheer louder for the Bombers, but this was not Winnipeg — they were largely ignored. After missing out on two field goals in the first period, the Bombers needed all the support they could get from the fans, and they did get it in spurts. But much to my surprise — and dismay — the majority seemed to side with Calgary, the supposed underdogs.
Their fans had come well prepared. Two whole sections at ground level were filled with people in red and white, the Stampeder colors. At one point I cheered for them too, quite inadvertently. It was not hard to cheer at the wrong time, for I had been conditioned in Winnipeg to cheer whenever the crowd cheered. Here in Montreal the crowd was pulling for the "wrong" team!
The half-time show bears mention. It was a panorama of the kind you would expect at the World Olympics. Ever-changing, colorful, precise. My only regret was that the trio from our group who went into the lobby to purchase hot dogs for our supper missed the whole show because service was so slow. It just went to prove that perfection in all areas is not always possible, and it prepared me, for one, for the imperfect ending to the game that we were about to witness.
But the whole event met most expectations. The game itself was not clinched until five minutes before the end, when our Bob Cameron's punt was blocked and Calgary ran the ball in for a touchdown. The final score: 27 to 19. Calgary were now invincible. They had played well and were deserving of a win.
Next day the Globe and Mail rightly gave Calgary full credit for the upset, with top honors going to their quarterback, Marcus Crandell, for "coming from nowhere to be the game's outstanding player." They also sang the praises of Montreal for the great festive atmosphere they'd created, and they very diplomatically gave the Bombers full credit for the way they had performed, singling out our #17 quarterback, Khari Jones, and #1 running back, Charles Roberts, for the way they "played their hearts out." Both had been noticeably injured during the latter part of the game, but that did not stop them from fighting for control to the very end.
Our own Winnipeg Free Press gave detailed accounts as well, and I couldn't wait to read Justine Jones's column (Khari's wife) when I got home. "It wasn't supposed to end this way," she began. And the picture of a dejected Khari and his dad walking alongside told the whole story from their point of view.
But we as long-time fans of the Blue Bombers are not complaining. Coach Dave Ritchie and Khari Jones and team have given us many good moments to celebrate during the year. It's been a year of fun. So we lost the last game and thereby the honor of bringing the Grey Cup home. Yes, Justine, it wasn't supposed to end this way, but it was one of the best seasons of football we've had here in recent memory. Thanks, Bombers. We love our Blue and Gold.
