The Whole Damn Fire

It’s late, and I’m tired.  I have been having trouble settling for the past few nights, with my mind focussed on the news out of Aleppo.  So this will probably not be a very polished post.

I usually love Christmas. I love the decorations, the baking, making or shopping for the right Christmas gifts.  I love the lead up to the day, reflecting on the age old traditions of the Christian church.  For Christians, the season of Advent leading up to Christmas is one of preparation, of anticipation of the hope, love, joy and peace of the season, and the birth of the Prince of Peace.  Even for people who do not celebrate the religious aspects of the season, there is a sense of excitement and anticipation.  The decorations, the lights, especially in big cities, the special events, all create the “holiday spirit” with which we are so familiar in our society.

This year, however, I am struggling with the idea of Christmas. Instead of feeling hopeful and joyful, the overwhelming realities of our world are causing me to feel despair.  News broadcasts bring stories of violence, poverty, and now, daily, the horrifying and distressing news out of Aleppo, where civilians broadcast their goodbyes via social media in the wake of the violent war there.

Last year, Syria and the plight of its refugees was very much in the forefront of the news, and in my life.  I posted here about the efforts of my town to sponsor a Syrian family.  We were excited and busy with preparations for our family.  Since then, we have welcomed two families to our community.  But a year ago, Syria, the refugees, and the realities of the world were still very abstract and faceless.  It was something that was happening somewhere else, and did not affect us personally.

A year later, and the story has become so much more personal.  Now I know people who lived in Aleppo and Syria, who fled their homes and arrived in Sackville with all of their worldly possessions in four suitcases, whose family and friends have also fled their homes, have died, have drowned in the Mediterranean.  The situation in Syria is not so abstract any more, because now it is the story of real people with faces and names that I have come to know and love. 

Yesterday, I decided to start some Christmas baking, and I turned on some Christmas music.  One of my favourite albums is Steve Bell’s “The Feast of Seasons.”  On it, he sings  “I Heard the Bells.”  It has never been one of my favourite Christmas carols, but today, with thoughts of Syria not far away, I found myself listening and appreciating it so much more than I ever have before, especially when I heard:

    And in despair I bowed my head;
    "There is no peace on earth," I said;
            "For hate is strong,
            And mocks the song
    Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

I had to stop what I was doing when I heard that.  It sums everything up for me right now.  Longfellow wrote the poem on which this carol is based during the American Civil War.  His son had been horribly injured, and his wife had died tragically.  He felt deep despair, maybe similar to what I am feeling.

We have been at this crossroad before in recent history.  Bosnia.  Rwanda.  The Holocaust.  All situations where hate was strong enough to prevail.  In all of those cases, “The World,” the powers-that-be, the politicians and diplomats and military forces, had the knowledge and the power to stop what was coming.  They did not, however, have the will.  I fear that it is the same with Syria and Aleppo now.  Many people have opined over the past few days that Aleppo will become another name synonymous with Bosnia and Rwanda, yet another moment in history that will mark the failure of The World to avert catastrophe.  We, The World, had the opportunity to avoid this.  We chose not to.

I wish I were powerful enough that I could intervene in Syria and in other places in the world that are ruled by hatred and violence.  I wish I were rich enough to make a difference in the lives of all who are refugees and displaced persons.  I am neither.  I am an ordinary person, in an ordinary town, with a pretty ordinary life.  The fact that there are nations and people who do have the ability to make a difference, but choose not to, fills me with despair. 

And yet, in the midst of despair, there are signs of hope.  The two families that our community has sponsored to date have brought so much joy to those of us who have had the privilege of getting to know them.  Our lives have been changed by their presence, and I am a better person for knowing them.  Their hope and faith in their search for a better future give me hope.

There are young adults all around me who are engaged, both globally and locally.  Only yesterday, my BFF’s youngest son celebrated a short but very successful fundraising venture for cancer research by shaving his head when the goal of $15,000 was reached (he actually raised almost $16,500, and donations are still coming in).  My daughter is passionate about social justice, and is searching to find the right career path for her to work with children or young adults who are somehow disadvantaged.  My son wants to coach high school football and be a teacher, and influence children in one of the most profound ways.  Our university students are learning and sharing about the issues of our world, and I hear the passion in their voices as they discuss and argue and set out, determined to change their world.  They bring me hope with their lofty ideals and their awareness of the world and what is wrong in it.

Yesterday, my daughter and I packed bags for our town’s Christmas Cheer programme.  The generosity of people who donate gifts and money for struggling families in our town gives me hope in the face of global despair.

I mentioned to a few friends that I was having trouble getting into the Christmas spirit this year.  One person told me that now more than ever, the world needs hope to triumph over despair.  Another friend reminded me that each person can only do so much, and that I can be the one drop, one light, and one friend for the people around me.  Maybe that’s what hope is, the realization that while those of us who are ordinary mortals can not change the whole world, we can change the spaces around us.  I might be powerless on a grand scale, but in my spheres of life, maybe I am not as powerless as I feel.  

I saw a quotation that reads “It’s OK if you fall down and lose your spark.  Just make sure that when you get back up, you rise as the whole damn fire.”  I have fallen and lost sight of my spark temporarily, although I know it is still there.  When I get back up again, I want to bring the whole damn fire.  I want to make sure that in my life, and in my spheres of activity, right will prevail over wrong, and hope will triumph over despair.  In this season of hope, joy, love and peace, I want to be reminded, like Longfellow was, that peace on earth and goodwill will triumph.  I want to be regenerated, re-energized and made ready to burn brightly.

So maybe it won’t be a Merry Christmas in the same way it has been in the past.  Maybe I will be more deliberately thoughtful and grateful about things I take for granted, and about the things I need to change in my own life in order to make my world more just and peaceful.  I hope it will be a Christmas when we, individually and collectively, take up the challenge to be the whole damn fire and to be the change our world needs to ensure that what is right is what wins in the end.

I heard the bells on Christmas Day
Their old, familiar carols play,
    and wild and sweet
    The words repeat
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And thought how, as the day had come,
The belfries of all Christendom
    Had rolled along
    The unbroken song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Till ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day,
    A voice, a chime,
    A chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

Then from each black, accursed mouth
The cannon thundered in the South,
    And with the sound
    The carols drowned
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

It was as if an earthquake rent
The hearth-stones of a continent,
    And made forlorn
    The households born
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!

And in despair I bowed my head;
"There is no peace on earth," I said;
    "For hate is strong,
    And mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good-will to men!"

Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:
"God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;
    The Wrong shall fail,
    The Right prevail,
With peace on earth, good-will to men."

A Tale of Two Grey Cups

A few days ago, I returned home from my second consecutive Grey Cup weekend.  The Grey Cup is the championship game of the Canadian Football League.  Like the Superbowl, only Canadian, and better.

Last year’s Grey Cup, my first, was in Winnipeg.  This year it was held in Toronto.  My team, the REDBLACKS, who employ my son, played in both.  This year, they won. That’s right.  My son is now a member of a Grey Cup championship team. 

Having been to the Grey Cup two years in a row, I feel that I am now a veteran Grey Cup attender.  Two very different cities, two different stadiums, and two unique experiences. 

The Game, of course, is the centrepiece of the weekend, but the days leading up to The Game are also fun.  Events such as the CFL Players’ Awards, the VIP Tailgate Party and Empowering Women and Community through Sport Luncheon are included if you have lots of money to spend, but for me, one of the real strengths of the CFL is that the VIP experience is actually not where it’s at; in my opinion, it is the mingling of CFL fans on the streets and in the more accessible events that makes the Grey Cup Festival what it is.

One of the things I love most about the CFL is its relatively small size.  There are only nine teams, and many of the players have played for more than one of those teams.  Other professional leagues like the NHL and NFL have many more teams and players, and correspondingly huge numbers of fans; their stadiums and arenas hold many more people than CFL stadiums.  For instance, in 2015, the highest average attendance for games in the NFL was in Dallas, where the Cowboys attracted 91,400 fans to every game.  The St. Louis Rams, who attract the smallest crowds, averaged 52,400.  The CFL, by comparison, had an average attendance ranging from 31,500 in Edmonton, to Toronto’s 12,430 (but Toronto is a bit of an anomaly in terms of CFL football).  The whole atmosphere of the CFL is intimate.  And you really feel this intimacy, this feeling of family at the Grey Cup.

Last year, I flew from Ottawa to Winnipeg via Pearson International Airport in Toronto. Frankly, I was astounded to see people wearing various team clothing greeting each other in the Toronto airport like long-lost friends (Ti-Cat fans hugging Argo fans???).  Listening to their conversations, it became clear that they had not seen each other since the previous year’s Grey Cup.  It seems as if there are a lot of people who attend each Grey Cup, no matter which teams are playing.  And it doesn’t matter what jersey you wear.  If you’re wearing a CFL jersey, you instantly become part of that CFL family.

This year I took the train from Ottawa to Toronto, and was seated beside a Calgary Stampeders fan named Ken.  He was probably in his 70s, and he was on his way to his fifteenth straight Grey Cup.  We chatted off and on for the trip, and then went our separate ways.  Over the course of the weekend, I randomly ran into him twice more: once at the Grey Cup Festival headquarters, and then at The Game itself, where he was sitting about ten rows directly in front of me.  Both times, we greeted each other with hugs, as if we had known each other much longer than our five-hour train ride. This is why I love the CFL.

Each team hosts a party.  Some of the parties happen every day of the 3-day festival; other teams have a single afternoon or evening event.  Some are free, and others have cover charges. 

Only in the CFL can you attend an annual party for a team that has never actually existed.  Last year, we decided that since we are Maritimers, we had to pay the $20 cover charge and attend the Atlantic Schooners party.  Who are these Atlantic Schooners, you ask?  In the early 1980s, Halifax was awarded a conditional CFL franchise.  The organization hired coaches, sold preliminary season tickets, and came up with a name and branding that would represent the four Atlantic provinces.  Unfortunately, funding to build a stadium of appropriate size never materialized, and the ownership group had to withdraw its franchise bid in 1983.  I am told that every year since then, the Atlantic Schooners have hosted a party at the Grey Cup Festival.  Their mascot is a lobster (of course), and their two mottos are “Still Undefeated” and “Keeping the Dream Alive.”  Some day, Atlantic Canada.  Some day.

So we paid our cover charge, believing that we would receive a lobster roll as part of it, only to discover that we had to pay extra for the lobster roll, and the Keith’s (Maritime beer) that was being served at the bar cost almost as much as the cover.  They had a live band playing mostly Great Big Sea covers, and they were pretty good.  Ironically, the band was actually from Regina, if I recall correctly.  This is why I love the CFL. 

Next, we hit the Saskatchewan Roughriders’ party.  We didn’t actually pay the cover charge to go in, as it was spilling out into the hallway, and we had no trouble hearing their live music.  Rider fans are unique, even for the CFL.  I’ve been to several regular season games over the past years, and it doesn’t matter whether the Riders are playing or not, I always see at least a couple of fans dressed in their Rider green.  They show up at all kinds of sporting events: NHL games, the Olympics, curling.... you can always pick out the Rider fans. So we had our obligatory photo-with-the-crazy-Rider-fans taken, listened to some of the music, and moved on.  This is why I love the CFL.

We attended the REDBLACKS team party, an afternoon event at a local pub.  It was very crowded, an experiment, perhaps, to see what the fan base would look like for this new franchise.  It was just a little bit cool, being Winnipeg, but also being Winnipeg, regardless of the frigid temperature, the party spilled onto the outdoor patio.  This is why I love the CFL.

Winnipeg held a joint Santa Claus/Grey Cup parade (Toronto did not).  We stayed well past the point where we could no longer feel our fingers and toes, and left while the parade was still in full swing.  Winnipeg also had a dramatic procession of the Grey Cup on game day from Festival headquarters at the Convention Centre, to the Forks.  Fans took turns carrying the Cup.  When we got to the Forks, the Cup was put on a helicopter and flown to the stadium.

My first experience of a Grey Cup was a thrill.  CFLers were visible all over the city.  I admit, even though I am a mum of grown up children, I went a little fangirl crazy, especially when Travis Lulay, the quarterback of the BC Lions, sat down for breakfast a few tables away from me, and when Mike Reilly, the Edmonton quarterback, sat at the table right behind me with his family at lunch time.  I am pretty much a lifelong CFL fan, and it is just a little thrilling to see these stars up close in real life. 

This year, the atmosphere was a little bit different.  The sports market is very competitive in Toronto, and the Grey Cup did not have the same all-encompassing influence that it did in Winnipeg.  For example, the hotel where we stayed had no idea what the Grey Cup was and could not help us with any information about the Festival or The Game – despite the fact that one of the teams playing in the Grey Cup was staying at the same hotel!  The Game was not even listed on the Events calendar that the hotels receive.

As it got closer to Game Day, though, there were more people on the streets wearing CFL gear.  We shared several serendipitous moments with other fans, walking for several blocks with fellow REDBLACKS fans (that I had never met before) and discovering our mutual connections to the team.  (I also ran into some of them later in the weekend). 

This year, my darling daughter was able to join us for the weekend (last year, it was my son’s best friend).  We spent Saturday afternoon at the REDBLACKS team party, another crowded event (I think they will need a much bigger venue next year) and then headed down to Festival HQ.  There are all kinds of fun drills and competitions: the obstacle race/footwork course, throwing the football for accuracy and speed, and trying to catch a pass in midair while jumping into a big pile of foam blocks (and then trying to get out again).  Last year in Winnipeg, we dressed up in shoulder pads and helmets, and were filmed running out of the “tunnel” onto the “field” at the beginning of the game.  If you are so inclined, you can also be a TSN anchor person, or go into the virtual huddle and hear the play calls.   

After some friendly familial competition (where I am proud to say I actually held my own), and some live music on the outdoor stage, we headed in to check out some of the parties, but not before running into a friend of ours, Andre Durie, and some of his Argonaut teammates.  I love that you can “run into” someone you know at a Grey Cup event.

The Atlantic Schooners did not have any live music when we passed by their venue.  In fact, it sounded a little bit like they were having a trivia night.  So we passed. 

Surprisingly, the Roughrider party was also a little bit downbeat from what it was last year.  So we moved on.

The Argonaut party, in The Shipyard, was rocking, with a cover band, the Dwayne Gretzkys, providing live music.  Good vocals, good instrumentals, and a nice variety of music, with different band members taking the lead.  We found a table, got some refreshments, and settled in for the evening.  My daughter, being the social one in the family, ended up on the dance floor, and immediately had fans from various teams hugging her and welcoming her to the floor.  I think she probably made a dozen new friends in the space of ten minutes and received invitations to a few tailgate parties.  That’s my daughter. 

Having received some advice about the best parties to attend from my Stampeders friend, late in the evening (or was that early in the morning?) we headed over to the Spirit of Edmonton party at one of the downtown hotels.  Ken was right.  You need to be there well in advance of the party.  When we arrived, the line to get in was up two flights of stairs and down the hallway, and it was late/early, so we did not stay.  Next time, we will know better!  (We also missed the free Calgary Stampeders pancake breakfast, but that's another story).

And The Game!  The centrepiece of the weekend and the season!  Last year in Winnipeg, it was so cold that I spent most of one quarter and the entire halftime trying to track down some hot beverages.  This year in Toronto, it was mild and the lineups were not half as crazy.  Each stadium is different; Investors Group Field in Winnipeg is actually a bowl, and is deceptively large; it feels like a college stadium in size.  BMO Field is beside Lake Ontario, with a view of downtown Toronto, and has great sightlines.

This year’s game was made more exciting by the fact that our team won!  And it was dramatic.  I will resist the temptation to rehash the game, as that information is readily available elsewhere (like here and here), but the shoestring tackle by Abdul Kanneh to prevent Calgary from scoring a touchdown and then the overtime bobbling touchdown catch from Henry Burris to Ernest Jackson (two of my favourites), were mind-bogglingly thrilling!
 

After the game, families and friends were able to go down on the field and celebrate with our team.  There were fireworks and confetti, and tears and excitement.  And lots of hugging.  We eventually made our way into the locker room shortly after the traditional champagne spraying, where the hugging and excitement continued, this time through a thick haze of cigar smoke.  The music and dancing continued on the bus ride back to the hotel for the celebration party.  There was more champagne.  And some food.  And photos with the Grey Cup.  And more hugging. 

The highlights of this year’s Grey Cup for me?  Well, the win, of course.  And experiencing it with both my kids.  And running into former students from Mount Allison University, sometimes randomly (like our waiter at the REDBLACKS party).  And running into our friend Andre a second time just before The Game, after he searched us out to give us one of his signed jerseys (Thank you, Andre.  We are presently negotiating custody arrangements for The Jersey).  And meeting new people (I’ll be looking for my Stamps friend Ken next year) and finding connections between players and people you actually know.  And talking to CFL legends (like Pinball Clemons and Henry Burris) and legends-to-be and “hanging out” in the same space and chatting with the Grey Cup champions, who also happen to be my kid’s friends and coworkers. 

Next year?  The Grey Cup will be hosted in Ottawa.  It will be a time, as they say out east.  I am excited to see how Ottawa will compare to these two experiences.  It is a venue with a lot of potential for excitement.  The stadium and the area around it will be filled with CFL fans, and it will be an extra special celebration in the nation’s capital for the nation’s 150th birthday.  Hopefully it will be extra special for our family too, and we will ALL be able to experience it together.

This is what we’re made of, and all of this is why I love the CFL.