Last night I had the pleasure of being a part of the
Winnipeg Blue Bomber Legacy Dinner. As many times as I’ve played a role in the
evening’s festivities – it remains a thrill. I try to never forget what
an extraordinary event it must be for those inducted into the Bomber Hall of
Fame. How can one help but reflect on all of the years, actual years, of sweat,
ache and toil that brought them to this day? I have difficulty committing to an
entire hot yoga class, never mind a lifetime. I’ve always found the discipline of
athletes remarkable. I must clarify that I am referring to discipline in a
strictly physical sense. I have spent enough hours alongside post game
celebrants to know that many players have far from mastered discipline in a
variety of other areas. But when it comes to hitting the gym – you’ve got to
give them that.
Milt Stegall was brought in for the dinner last night, to
help pay tribute to #97, Doug Brown, who took his place among the Hall of
Famers. As I watched both of them be inundated with fans, all just wanting a
personal moment and a quick picture, I couldn’t help but think about how
exciting it is to be close to your heroes. I was awestruck my first year
working the home games. I still couldn’t believe that I could ever be on the
sidelines, that I had genuine friendships with actual Blue Bombers, that Milt
Stegall knew my name! I realized last night that in all that time, I never
asked him for a picture. I never considered that I would need one – there would
always be another chance. There is both
comfort and folly in the delusion of endless opportunity.
As I stood behind the scenes in the lobby last night, the
team lined up in their groups awaiting introductions, I was reminded how
quickly time flies. It couldn’t possibly be 30 years since I went to the games
holding my Grandpa’s hand, far more interested in the pretty cheerleaders and
the prospect of an ice cream cone than anything to do with the fracas on the
field. Could it really be 20 years since, as a U of M student, I became a
season ticket holder in the legendary Section S? Has it really been 12 years
since the most surreal of all things transpired, and I was brought in to work
for a team I have always loved? Suddenly, standing before me last night was a
group I barely recognized (with the exception of the wise veteran Cvetkovic),
full of young men looking more like my friend’s children than my peers. Most of
the players I considered friends have moved on to other lives, other careers,
and I find myself in the familiar position of wishing I could go back. I
promise I would remember more deliberately, I would pay more attention. As always, the answer is no.
No matter what building they play in, or how the schedule
unfolds, all I ever hope for is that the Bombers are in it right to the end.
That they play smart, that they play hard, and a Grey Cup Championship would be
pretty nice. Oh yeah – and could you please be sure to beat the Riders? Man I
hate the Riders….
Go Blue!!
