OH, THOSE NERVES OF MINE AT THE CLASSIC OF ’89
A YEAR IN A CAREER: 1989
A decade ago, I wrote a book that was one of the top three best-sellers in the history of my family.
“The Greatest Grey Cup Ever” was about the assembly, achievements and aftermath of the 1989 Saskatchewan Roughriders, who registered the second CFL championship-game victory in franchise history.
At the time, I was in my early years as a sports writer at the Regina Leader-post. I was also at Skydome for the Roughriders’ clash with the Hamilton Tigercats.
I didn’t cover the game, though. Instead, I was in an upper-level seat, without a pen, notepad or recording device.
Thanks to Gregg Drinnan, the Leader-post’s sports editor of the day, I was able to take the weekend off and fly to Toronto to partake in the Grey Cup experience strictly as a long-time season-ticket holder.
It was the most torturous great experience of my life.
I genuinely wish I could say that I enjoyed the game — one of the best I will ever witness.
Honestly, though, I was a nervous, drooling disaster for the first 59 minutes and 58 seconds. My head was pounding. My fingernails were chewed up. Not until two seconds remained, when Dave Ridgway’s 35-yard field goal gave Saskatchewan a 43-40 victory, could I finally sit back and exhale.
The tension had started to build the morning of the game. I remember sitting in my no-star hotel and flashing back to another day in Toronto, 13 years earlier, when a 12-year-old me was at Exhibition Stadium in Toronto to watch Saskatchewan meet the Ottawa Rough Riders with CFL supremacy at stake.
The Green and White, starring Ron Lancaster, was heavily favoured. Undeterred, Ottawa won 23-20, thanks to a last-minute touchdown catch by Tony Gabriel.
I responded with dignity, snapping a green horn over my left knee. And, yes, I cried. It was the worst day of my life until my dad died.
So there I was, once again in Toronto, knowing that by day’s end I would be experiencing an emotional extreme. Elation or devastation. No in-between.
Early on, it appeared that a reprise of 1976 was unfolding. Hamilton assumed a 13-1 lead, leading me to conclude that the Roughriders’ Grey Cup curse would continue.
Then came the best second quarter I will ever see — an exhilarating 15-minute period in which the teams combined to score a touchdown on five consecutive possessions.
The Cfl-sanctioned track meet was such that the Tiger-cats were still celebrating a touchdown, by Derrick Mcadoo, when Kent Austin threw a bomb to Jeff Fairholm to complete a one-play, 75-yard scoring, drive.
The next opportunity to breathe was at the beginning of halftime, which I remember as vividly as anything that happened on the field.
There was a steel bar in front of my seat. At some point during the first half, I had started gripping that bar, without even realizing it.
It turned out that I kept squeezing, squeezing, squeeeeeeeeezing that bar for the remainder of the first half.
Come intermission, I looked at my knuckles, which were completely white. I pulled my hands away from the bar and attempted to stretch my fingers. They were locked in position, and so sore!
Once the action resumed, the tension returned. It seemed like the back-and-forth game could change on every play.
It was that way right until the end, by which point I was a lifeless blob.
Everywhere else, people were jumping around. I was too drained to stand up.
Completing a phone call was also a challenge. Once I got back to the hotel, I tried to phone Mom. Good luck. All the circuits in Saskatchewan were jammed.
The next day, alongside my dear friend Patrick Davitt, I flew back to Regina — on the same plane as the Roughriders, coincidentally.
As the aircraft approached Regina, the Roughriders’ players engaged in a pillow fight for the ages.
I remember Austin ducking behind a seat, popping up, firing a pillow at a teammate, and again crouching.
The craziness did not subside until the pilot made it clear that the plane would not land until order was restored.
Finally, there was another Roughriders touchdown — at Regina International Airport.
Mom, of course, was there to greet me.
“To think you were there,” she kept saying. “To think you were there ...”