Olympic Addendum Pt 4 - Top Of The World Ma!

[The following is a Maniwaki account of Olympic events from Feb 28, 2010. Gold Medal Sunday.]

There's a Canada flag slowly fluttering on my balcony right now from the Olympic winds that still circulate through the city. Propping up random flags on random balconies for those that still revelling in the remnants of golden light set off from the Aurora Borelis bomb detonated last Sunday. The following is a tale from within the blast radius, near the epicenter.

So it was Sunday. And one of the biggest games in Canadian hockey history was to be played in my backyard. Somehow over the course of the Olympics, Team Canada had managed to face their fears, find their form, and frighten the shit out of us. Here we all were at finale of the tourney with the only acceptable ending still a possibility.

Although the chances were slim, I absolutely owed it to myself to make an attempt to infiltrate the Olympic Rink. Prices were beyond outrageous to get through the doors ($3000 a pop for lower bowls) but I figured that perhaps the luck of laps of GM Place past might follow me.

Any good battle plan requires an allotment of acceptable losses. I was prepared to forego the first period. I was prepared to spend everything the bank machine would spit at me. It was time to circle around the grounds. I headed to the stadium that soon would see its last match of the 2010 Olympic tourney.

How much was I prepared to spend to get through the doors? Let's just say enough to feel it. I remembered the stories from my compadre Gary, who dropped a ton back in '93 to get to Game 6 of the World Series, who saw the Carter blast first hand.

"Once in a lifetime. Best money I ever spent," he said over one of our many Jays conversations from years ago.

Once in a lifetime indeed. The mood during the two week span had ranged the spectrum of somber, subdued, elated and for the most part, absolutely electric. On this day though, the city's charge had exceeded far beyond capacity. If someone lit up a cigarette, the whole place might have gone up. Puck drop was in an hour.

As expected, scalpers were few and far between, re-sale outlets were asking ridiculous amounts and many random stragglers had the same idea I did and were on the hunt. It appeared that there was a scalping section near the entrance to Stadium Station. It was here I tested the market. Only to be presented a very sobering reality. $1400 to start.

"Meeting in the middle," was not going to be an option.

Meeting old friends, however, was. As the aforementioned Gary was in fact in the scalping scrum, attempting to negotiate a fair rate for him and his companion. We had a good laugh, and I told him that his Skydome successes helped fuel my mission. We weighed in on The Games and The Game, and then I continued on in search of my deal for gold.

Which appeared to be non existent as there were very few sellers to be found. It didn't matter, because I was content to do a lap of the rink this day. I hustled passed Ontario House and Hockey House where mass congregations of people were gathering. I walked along the Science World Seawall upstream against rapids of red that were churning and swelling towards the stadium.

Upon my second approach to scalper's row, the puck had already dropped and I hoped prices would follow suit. Not much though. Nowhere even remotely close to the zone. And warnings were floating around about alleged counterfeit stubs flying around. Another concern.

I reentered the floor of the market. Gary was still on the scene, remaining resolute. A first period write off was more than acceptable in these circumstances. We allied ourselves, but could not crack these vendors. Some of these guys definitely weren't from around here, looking more like they could've been cast alongside Vigo in "Eastern Promises." They weren't budging.

Then the goal siren sounded, and cheers reverberated through through the entire city. Over the Beatty St Drill Hall and off the Wall Centre. The Woodwards "W" spun around few times faster. Looks like we had scored. And I was starting to get antsy. The first period was already over half done. We were on the board. I decided to cut my near losses. I wished my compadre good luck and ventured back downtown. Past the massive Canada House roof screen that showed that Toews had tallied, and a few blocks over to the destination that I always knew I would end up at.

The city's upper deck.

*****

I walked through the doors of my buddy Jordan's pad. At the corner of Cambie and Robson, this place sits stacked 17 floors up facing Robson. BC Place is only a few blocks away and can be seen from the balcony. Jordan, as well as some of the lads from the hockey pools were strewn about on the couches, looking tense. We all came quickly to life, as the lads filled me in on the first, I regaled the story of my failed mission. This was the squad to watch a big game with.

It was the intermission and more beer would be imperative to get through the next few periods. I exited hastily and emerged back on street level. Tall condos and apartment buildings surrounded me as I hiked up to the bar on the corner. Canadian flags were hanging at every storey, from many balconies. Pockets of people, all wearing red jerseys, could be seen in different units. Had Google Maps taken a satellite shot today, it would most certainly appear that Robson/Cambie grid was some sort of neo Canadian Colleseum. The whole city had literally transformed into a massive stadium.

Testing this assessment out and en route to the beer dispensary, I attempted to lead the various sections in cheer.

"Lets Go Canada! clap-clap-clap-clap-clap I bellowed out. (yup. I was that guy.) Which came back at me 100 fold from the upper decks. This was getting beyond surreal.

Got my six, and headed back. Draped from one of the condo balconies was the opposing flag. The residents of this US luxury box were all decked out in Polo blue jerseys. They were blasting Hendrix's Star Spangled Banner. It was so good for hockey. I had to hand it to them.

Got back to the pad. The second was starting. We were losing it. It was tense. We were playing our game, but it did appear that there was elements of fancy sneaking it, as we all screamed at the tv at times for excessive cycling. Look, these young gun Yanks were hard to contain, plain and simple.

Perrey finally poked through to make it 2-0 and we as well as the rest city leapt out of our seats screaming. Dare to dream? Not yet. We weren't even at the halfway point of the match. And this US squad definitely wasn't going anywhere. Brian Burke really should be commended for icing this team.

The second ended without incident. We were walking the razor's edge above Robson. Around our elevated section, flags were flying, beers were flowing. And much pacing. Each unit showed a flurry of nervous activity. Ours was definitely not exempt. Random jerseys would duck in and out of balconies. The same jerseys would strafe from kitchens, across living rooms, ending up on a couch. But only for a few minutes, then back up again. There was a lot of smoking happening as well.

The third started. Then you know what happened. Kesler fired one in early. Apparently all the pacing and smoking was justified. While this was a Team Canada squad playing, an Olympic game in Canada, there was still one fact that could not be over looked.

We were still in Vancouver, the game was still at GM Place, and Bob was still between the pipes.

As Canucks fans we didn't want to say it, and didn't. But tucked away in the darkest, ugliest recesses of our collective lower mainland sports psyche, we all knew. And quietly prepared ourselves.

Actually it was kind of fitting that it was Kesler who got the goal. And to be fair, although it was a bit of a softy, Bob was playing well and had gotten us to this point. Playing at home for the Gold. I tried my damndest to banish all unfavourable yet very possible outcomes from my mind.

Which became exceedingly difficult to do as the US kept pressing in the final minutes. I was climbing up the back of the chair with my feet. An uncontainable reaction that only emerges during truly monumental matches.

Sid somehow got that breakaway which looked like it could put it away. Not to be. This must've been another huge spark for the US bench, as that last minute of the third was undoubtedly the most excruciating, gut twisting, kidney squeezing minute of hockey I (and I'll go out on a limb and say you too) have ever watched.

Miller on the bench. The extra attacker. Gold within our grasp. Desperately playing on our heels.

And then Parise.

How did you feel when that one went in? If it was particularly dramatic and excruciating please feel free to share it, and send it to me. I'd love to know.

In our unti, six guys all keeled over, some practically puking, screaming and wailing like they'd just been severely wounded on the Braveheart battlefield. Or it was like we all just drank a pint of the Jonestown Kool aid. That goal was sheer poison.

Then the intermission came. Then the pacing began. Out to our balcony. Others on their respective balconies joined. Much pacing. So hauntingly quiet outside you could hear the birds chirping in Stanley Park.

I figured there was two ways in which this could go. One of two ways which I could face this. Already the moans were understandably growing from our camp. I allowed myself a split second glimpse into viewing the possibility of a national tragedy. But only briefly, when Parise scored. And then no more.

I would refuse to budge for OT. We were still in The Game, this was still Team Canada, we were still in our back yard. And there was still only One. Acceptable. Outcome.

Remembering the Slovakian scare, I remained resolute. I would not waver. I grabbed the Maniwaki Mobile device and sent an urgent coast to coast message. To family, friends, to random people in my address book that I haven't spoken to in months.

"Remember what The Great One said."

And turned boldly and confidently to OT.

What an absolute treat of the game of hockey. We came out harder than we did in the first period against the Russians. Wave after wave. A West Coast pummeling so great it dwarfed any Tofino storm, as well as the Stanley Park windstorm. Shot after shot on the Miller and US net. There would be no denying us.

Yet, the the Yanks got their chances. And Bob held the line. Making four saves in the extra frame, one point blank that could have put it, and all of us, away.

Then before you knew it we were back in the US zone pressing, then light went on, the crowd roared and jumped to its feet and before anyone knew what was what...

WE SCORED!!!!!!

And we all jumped up and screamed like Canuck maniacs. We ran around, bouncing off the walls. We high fived. We screamed in each others faces. We went out to the balcony and screamed over the streets at everyone who was screaming back at us. The upper deck stands of the city stadium were erupting. Flags waved. People hollered. I screamed so hard that I hit a pitch so high, I'm sure I'll never hit it again.

"WE WON!!! WE WON THE GAME!!! WE WON GOLD!!! WE WON!!!"

I faced upwards and howelled to the heavens:

"TOP OF THE WORLD MA!!!!!!!!"

It felt like I was screaming with the whole city, the whole nation, every hockey fan, every Olympian, everyone who had taken part in The Games with me. Everyone who couldn't.

Everyone.

****

We were shock. We turned back to the TV. Who had done the deed?

Sid.

Of course.

From Iggy. Of course.

We stood and watched as the lads accepted their medals. We cheered for the team with extra emphasis for Bob and Sid. We sang Oh Canada at the top of our lungs when the flag was raised. And cheered some more when Crosby got to take his victory lap, waving the flag. Unreal. Just unreal.

Back to the balcony we retreated to smoke and reflect. Looking down from our vantage point on this west coast Canyon Of Heroes, we waited for the streets to fill and the ensuing Great Canadian Street Party to kick off.

Geoff, a big burly guy in Team Canada jersey, weighed in;

"I feel like we just won the Olympics."

Holy smokes had we ever.

******

We watched and waited. The streets were filling. We hurled streamers. We watched all of it. It was amazing. It was beyond euphoric. It truly was the top of the world.

Our celebratory squad got larger. We exited the apartment and joined the fray. Then it got insanely larger. What felt like the entire population of Canada all took to the streets. We went Robson St and headed for the Square. It was insane. Burrard Bridge apparently had shut down and there was a mass exodus of people flooding into downtown.

The downtown swell was the biggest and most boisterous sea of red seen during the entire Games. We wavered and wandered through it, savouring every step. Gold. At home.

******

ADDENDUM TO THE ADDENDUM.

If ever there was a day to drink in Canada, this surely was it. Our group dissipated and ventured off in the different directions the city pulled them in. A few of us were headed down Granville to find a bar to hole up in for the rest of the night.

For those of you who read these e-pages regularly, you know that the cast of characters that help create the tales in said e-pages is quite extensive. And as I mentioned during the beginning of the Olympics, expect most of our roster to make an appearance.

However there has been one guy that we haven't heard from yet. A big contributer to the Maniwaki Mauler cause in ways more than just writing, and guy that has an uncanny knack to show up at just the right place at just the right time, and saying the right thing. One Simone Gagne.

So of course, it was more than fitting that out of a crowd of a billion he spotted me marching past the Roxy, and flagged me down. What you think he'd disappear in the Big Game? We had an impromptu post-game, weighing in on the magnitude of the day and also of the previous two weeks. I said he should join our posse to hit the bar, but he said he was just doing a quick loop of the streets before catching a charter back to the 'Loops.

We assessed the defensive pairing of Niedermayer and Doughty.

And both agreed that it worked out pretty good.

****