Find out more at Save Ivor Wynne Stadium dot com.

How early impressions, made a lasting impression for one little girl.

Saturday was my eldest’s second visit to Ivor Wynne Stadium. Browsing through some old images of her last trip to Ivor Wynne, going by her uncanny resemblance to our two year old (or vice versa), I realized it had already been two years since the first time daddy shared this very special place with his then little girl.

Now almost four, packing for our day trip was much less laborious. No stroller, no thermos full of warm milk, no toys, diapers or any such supplies. Just a camera, binoculars, and a big foam Tiger claw.

Dressed in our Oskee wee wee best, hand and hand without a care in the world, we walked over to the game early to enjoy the family day inflatable festivities at the adjoining Brian Timmins Stadium prior to the game.

“Look at that daddy” she admired, pointing over and beyond King George School at the stadium lights that shoot high above the rooftops.

“That’s where we are going, honey”, I smiled. If the anticipation of taking my girl hadn’t been enough, the excitement in her voice as we neared Ivor Wynne, had me grinning from ear to ear.

Before we left, my daughter had drawn a picture that she wanted to give to the ticket person at the football game. She handed it to the woman at the Will Call window, who with a big smile, expressed that ‘they don’t get many drawings’, and how ‘the walls could use some color’.

My daughter shyly smiled, but then started to cry; big sad tears and all. Apparently, daddy’s choice of footwear; purple Dora the Explorer Crocs, were not all that suitable for our 20 minute walk over to 75 Balsam Ave. She had a blister on her ankle from where the strap had rubbed up against her bare skin.

The very kind and sympathetic Will Call employees scrounged around in search of a band-aid, meanwhile a couple of sincere cheerleaders stopped to ask my daughter what was the matter. She stopped crying and looked up at the two girls standing over her with big, bright smiles. I imagined to her, they were like princesses which of course, are any girls favourite.

The game was still an hour-and-a-half from kick-off, and the Tiger-Cats organization had already turned a negative “I want to go home”, to a positive “I just met a princess” and “I have a new band-aid”.

TC (Tiger-Cat), one of two mascots (and our oldest), would be my daughters next positive impression at Ivor Wynne Stadium. Well, first was the balloon lady who made her a pretty flower, but as we rested in the grass amongst the inflatable carnival, she nervously watched on and up, as hoards of people surrounded her and TC, for some photo opportunities.

My daughter had been scared of both TC and our other mascot, Stripes, at her first ever game, and two years later, there was still a bit of an uneasy reserve as TC stood next to her. When he walked by her though and moved on to the next crowd of admirers, a giddy smile returned to her tear-filled face. Suddenly, forgetting her boo boo, she watched his every move as he wondered around the Brian Timmins grounds. For the rest of the day, she would continually ask me where the Tiger-Cats were. To her, the players on the field were just a bunch of men running around the field. TC and Stripes were the Tiger-Cats.

The injury kept my girl from enjoying the bouncy pre-game festivities, so we headed back into the stadium, found a bench under the bleachers, and enjoyed a hot dog before the game.

Carrying my wounded warrior, we headed up to our section 30 seats, and settled in with plenty of time to go before kick-off. Of course, the 5th largest outdoor video board in North America was the first thing that caught her eye.

“Daddy! Look at that.”

I took the camera out and the two of us spent the rest of the afternoon taking turns documenting our game day experiences.

There was so much for her curious eyes to take in as she looked around the stadium, first noticing the parachuter’s. She couldn’t understand why someone would willingly jump out of a plane, although she got a kick out of all the excitement as they made their way to centre field.

She admired the other planes from the Wartime Heritage Museum as well, never having seen an airplane fly so close to the ground except at an airport. Even I thought that was pretty cool.

The flag ceremony is impressive for adults and children alike, and my daughter loved seeing all those people holding onto the edges and gathered underneath the Canada flag that spanned the better part of the length and width of the field. It reminded her of a game her and her classmates played in her pre-school.

My shoeless babe had all but forgotten about her wound by this time, and was in awe of all the people and excitement surrounding her. The cheering, the music, and the Tiger roar. “Row!”, I always say to my girls at home. “Tiger-Cats.”

I am trying.

Just before half-time, we escaped downstairs for a bathroom break and some sight seeing. My daughter got quite a kick out of the many characters that make up the game day crowd, from funny wigs, a ‘big man’ on stilts, cheese heads, and of course, the now infamous (corn on the)‘Cobb’ heads inspired by our star running back, DeAndra’ Cobb.

“Look daddy. That man has cheese on his head.” I can only imagine what was going on in my little girls mind, as she took all of this in. When you really pause for a moment and look around, the football crowd is quite a motley crew.

“That’s silly”, she concluded with an equally as silly chuckle.

Later on in the game, I remembered that I had brought my binoculars and from that moment, the search was on for TC and Stripes. She knew where one or the other were pretty much the rest of the game.

“Look daddy! I found the Tiger-Cats.”

Besides her endless search for the striped mascots, another early game day impression had my daughter pointing to the Cheerleaders dancing on Tiger Vision and on the field, every time it was their turn to dance.

“Those are the girls you met before the game. Do you remember?

“Ya daddy”, she said with an exuberant smile.

Although the opening day return of the Tabbies wasn’t the outcome the home crowd had anticipated all winter long, Marcus Thigpen once again kept fans on the edge of their seats for the second week in a row, with a kick return to the house, and a second TD on offence. He has certainly become an early fan favourite this year.

We waited until most of the crowd exited, before making our way downstairs and back over to the inflatable carnival. After testing out a couple of ‘rides’, we grabbed a drink for the journey home.

It was nice being able to walk to the stadium together, and to enjoy rare moments between my big girl and I.

The day could have ended before it really began, but thanks to a certain Will Call lady and two very pretty and concerned cheerleaders who took a moment to comfort my little princess, it was a remarkable day for daddy and daughter.

Thank-you, Ticats.

One more cherished Ivor Wynne Stadium memory on what was another Beautiful Night(afternoon) for Football.

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Daugher’s view of the game

My eldest daughter on her first to IWS

The folowing, is a link to my latest article as published on ‘Raise the Hammer’ in response to the dilemna surrounding the proposed new Hamilton stadium site.

There are some great comments following my story from many others who are dissapointed that our beloved stadium wasn’t even considered in this whole 2015 Pan Am Games process.

Below, is a video that coincides with this story. This presentation exhibits what is special about the area surrounding the current stadium, and it’s high accessibility to downtown and multiple highways.

As well,  the video shows how we could utilize adjacent lands (if we must build a new stadium), to construct a new venue in the neighborhood that Ivor Wynne currently calls home.

Front and Back cover art.

To read the history behind this short story launch and to read the story, visit my other blog at http://www.abeautifulnightforfootball.com/blog/?p=360 or http://www.abnff.com/blog/?p=360.

Cheers,

It’s mid march, and I am back on the road again. I guess I can’t say that I am on the road with Julia (Cameron), as it is only Jack Kerouac that fills my pack on this trip. I always have one book or the other in my backpack for the daily commute back and forth to work, and today was Jack’s turn.

I am writing to you from not so sunny (well dark now as it’s 10:34pm), Windsor, just checking back into my hotel room after a few hour detour to Detroit to see a hockey game.

In all actuality, I guess you could truly say that I am on the road every day, as I would consider my 1.5 hour daily commute back and forth to work is almost like two little mini road trips a day. They can be eventful and if you love to people watch, there are so many stories to be told each and every day. If only I had the time, the stories I could tell. I do write down ideas as events inspire me so hopefully as the year plays out, I will be able to give some of my train adventures a page or two in this years blogging journal.

This is my first real ‘road trip’ though, since my crazy adventure down the I90 to Boston back on New Years. Windsor is a little closer and the event wasn’t quite as historic as that Legends Classic at Fenway Park, but the company you keep makes a road trip a ‘good’ trip more so than the reason for your travels, and both my mini-road trips today, were amongst good company and old friends.

Today’s overnight trip was actually for business purposes, but I won’t beat around the bush in saying that when I realized I needed to make this visit, I tried my best to plan it around finally seeing a NHL hockey game in Detroit.

A co-worker of mine from the Windsor area and myself, have been saying for years that we should catch a Wings game sometime but until tonight, we had never been able to make that happen. This trip seemed to be that opportunity so my friend and I finally made the arrangements, he hooked us up with some tickets, and now I have the memories of what is now a great rivalry, and seeing the historic JLA (Joe Louis Arena), up front and personal.

I won’t talk too much about the hockey game here, but it was quite an event. I never seen Gretzky play so the opportunity to see Crosby was something I wanted to make sure I jumped on in my adult years, and this turned out to be a great game to be at. The atmosphere was electric. It was like a playoff game. It was loud, and the funniest part of the game for me, was that every single time Sidney Crosby stepped on the ice, the crowd chanted ‘Cros-by sucks.’ I was quietly rooting for the Pens, but it was all in good fun. I was a good little visitor and did what the Roman’s do when they are in Rome – voted for the home team.

Mr. Hockey himself (Gordie Howe), was also present at the game, and the announcer as it turns out, was calling his 3,000th game so it was a fairly eventful night all and all.

I have a few souvenirs from the game to remember the event by, including the ticket stub and the free game-day program, but the one souvenir actually has nothing to do with hockey, except for maybe it’s ties to the game.

Who amongst us orders their Tim Horton’s coffee double cupped? Too damn hot to hold with your bare hands, I am a culprit of always ordering that extra layer when I go to Horton’s on the weekends. Well, I had to drive all the way to Detroit and order a coffee at the hockey game for this souvenir (and I’ll add I ordered a hot dog with my coffee instead of a donut which was fun all in itself), to finally see what a Tim Horton’s cup cozy would look like. Perhaps I’ll take a pic of it for those of you out there who have also never seen one. Why aren’t these in Canada? Even their lids are better engineered than ours. We may have perfected the coffee (if you can call it perfection), and the donuts (they are better than Krispy Kreemes any way), but the Americans stepped up with the lids and the cozies. Nicely done. A lid that actually snaps into place. Go figure.

‘Cozy, where have you been all my life.’

As for the actual road trip itself, there is a bit of significance to this one. Nothing earth shattering or anything, but this is the last road trip (I would imagine anyway), that the work van that I am driving will ever see. The felt on the roof is falling down, the power steering seems to be making a little noise, and the color has faded to show it’s years, not to mention that the odometer crossed the 250,o00 km’s threshold mid-trip this afternoon, but somehow the thing is still ticking.

This particular van has been in our department for quite sometime, and although I do not get out on the road much with work, I have done some traveling around Ontario within the old clunker both by myself, and with co-workers. Many of those trips, were first times traveling to those destinations. I have ventured to far off places like Cobourg, Huntsville, Peterborough, Windsor, Kingston, Ottawa, Niagara, and Toronto. I have seen some roads with the old beast, so I guess it’s kind of special in some weird way, to be sharing in if not the last trip, at least one of the last trips this van well ever see dressed in blue and yellow.

Cars to me have always been about memories. When you part with them, yes they have been causing you grief and money and in the end you know it’s time to say goodbye, but in those last days of ownership, the memories do come back that were shared amongst the mobile cabin. Even though this is just a work van, it too holds some fond memories.

Friendships and new bonds are created amongst co-workers on trips such as these. There is always work conversation to be had, but when you are sharing a vehicle for 3 or more hours, that conversation always leads into the family life and you are truly able to get to know your co-workers a lot better. Understand them more, and to add a stronger friendship, outside that ‘co-worker’ title that your relationship may have only previously known. After all, you see these people more than your family, and certainly more than your friends. If you can build strong friendships amongst the work environment, work can be that much more rewarding.

I will have been at my present company for twelves years in just over a months time, and when I look back at some of the fond memories of these past years, the road trips both with co-workers and even just by myself to visit co-workers, have been some of the most memorable moments. Quite possibly because I have always loved hitting the open road which was my biggest attraction to Jack’s book (On the Road), but I know it also has a great deal to do with some of the friendships that I have built both with internal co-workers, and the ones I have made with my colleagues from around the province.

Even during the hardest of times at work where I didn’t know if I wanted to remain or start looking elsewhere, it was these friendships that made the difference in wanting to stay, and not passing GO and just taking my money and running for new opportunities. I still don’t know some days if this will be where I hang my hat forever, but I do know that I will never forgot the friendships I have made here, and I can only hope that if I do one day make the move, that some of these friendships will be everlasting.

Well I guess I can finally say that a quarter of my way through this 2010 project,  I have finally truly sent a post out into cyberspace that I didn’t check and re-write a dozen times. Isn’t that what blogging is supposed to be anyway? I think I look too much into it like I do everything else. It is nice to just blurt what’s on your mind out once in awhile. I think I’ll try this a little more often.

Well, time to get some sleep. An early start to the day tomorrow.

Until the next road trip.

“And here I am in Colorado! I kept thinking gleefully! Damn! damn! damn! I’m making it.” ~ Jack Kerouac from On the Road (The Original Scroll)

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The drive home along the Mass Turnpike.

Well, we arrived home from Boston safe and sound on the Sunday, after an 11 hour, slow, snow filled journey, at 9:30pm.

I drove my friends car most of the way home, while he slept. He had to go straight to work after dropping me off. It’s been awhile since I have driven stick, so it was a fun switch for me.

In my first post I did while in Boston, I forgot to mention another funny story.

I eluded to how the GPS had us turned around a bit once we arrived in Boston. Three trips around the same landmark was definitely the funniest, but this folly ranked right up there.

We had no paper maps, so we relied heavily on our sometimes hesitant guide. We were circling an area with tight street openings, the snow was falling, we were running very late, we had just circled one area three times, and couldn’t  afford another wrong turn. We were getting so close to the hotel, when the GPS took us on another detour. It told us to turn right at one laneway, but my better judgement, and my friend in the passenger seat begging me not to do it, did have me second guessing this particular decision. But as I would later blurt out to a confused police officer, “the GPS told me to do it.” How could it be wrong?

The Green Stairs - 3 times' a charm

The snow covered streets were cobble stone, and all the people wonering everywhere almost immediately had me further second guessing my decision to listen to the GPS. It was like a town square, surrounded by shops and shoppers. Finally, mid way through the square and beyond the point of no return, a female officer casually walked toward our vehicle as I rolled down the window and said to her “I guess we aren’t supposed to be driving in here?”, and then I proceeded to innocently ask her how to get to Portland Street.

I heard her mention to her partner as we drove away, “he said the GPS told him to to it.” Scary at the time, but these are the stories that will be told over and over, as we remember this trip for years to come.

Our night in Boston was fairly uneventful.  Probably because we left the driving up to the cabbies, and walked everywhere else.

I did end up closing my eyes for probably an hour or so of broken sleep after my first Beantown blog post. I set the alarm for 8:30pm so we didn’t sleep all night, but it was actually 10:30 before we finally headed to The Fours on Canal Street for dinner.

Who knew Balsamic vinegar would be good on a burger? I had a concoction called ‘The Gorgonzola Cheese’ which was a 1/4 pound homemade burger with mushrooms, bacon, and of course, that yummy Gorgon cheese. A little bowl of brown beans, and a side of spiced fries, surrounded the mountainous burger which I washed down with a Samuel Adams.  Somehow driving 8 hours for a Bud, didn’t seem right, although that was the drink of choice for last call.  Which I might ad, comes quite early in the TD Banknorth Gardens district. We were lucky to find a watering hole open past 1 o’clock.

We headed back to the hotel after dinner, to except our complimentary drink at the Red Room at The Onyx. There we met Neil (I believe that was his name). I also am pretty sure he said he was from the Cape, but I do know that he had worked in bars from San Fran and Chicago, and surely had many more stories to tell beyond the few he shared with us over our Sangria’s and Martini’s.

He was a very personable young guy, who was trying to subject a few patrons to the wasabi flavored lime green martini he concocted. One guy nearly choked it was so hot. Just the smell was enough for me. I felt bad not trying his masterpiece in the works, but with no sleep and a Gorgonzola cheese filled belly, I wasn’t up for a date with the porcelain gods.

We headed out into the blustery  Boston streets for last call, which we spent with half a dozen young locals at what seemed the only open door in the district. We sat quiet, and tired, as a group of friends enjoyed a night cap of some deadly shot, before making our way a few doors down to our hotel.

It had never felt so good to crawl under the sheets, and sleep came immediately.

You learn a lot about yourself and your travel partner when you are on the road for 48 hours (41.5 to be exact)  with someone. No time alone with your thoughts except for the can, the shower, in your own head, or in your dreams.

It’s easy to pick apart the little things that annoy you about that other person, but in a year of change and self-discovery, I tried to look at it from another angle.

There is a song that describes me in a nutshell, with a few lines that go something like this:

“I’m in a hurry to get things done
I rush and rush until life’s no fun
All I really gotta do is live and die
But I’m in a hurry and don’t know why.”
~ Alabama

Head in the clouds. Eyes on the puck. Looking up before I have hit the ball. Thinking about tomorrow when I have barely opened my eyes to today.

I lost $260 at an ATM in Niagara-on-the-Lake this past summer, because I don’t take a moment to check to make sure I have everything before moving on. If you see me behind an ATM, watch for free cash.

An umbrella and two lunch filled lunch bags (one also containing a pair of black mittens), have found new homes courtesy of one absent minded commuter the past couple of months.

Most recently,  $100 US dollars went the way of the Dodo, somewhere in transit betwen Niagara Falls Canada and Boston Massachusetts. I just hope that that $100 is at least, in a collections tin back in Scottsville, NY along the I90, and that a family who lost everything to a house fire, is the beneficiary of my blunder – Hoping that I had mistaken a $1 bill for a $100. Easy to do when the bills are all the same color. Can’t really mistake a brown spot for a loonie back home, but I am not making excuses for my careless ways.

I watched my friend check, check twice, and check a third time while we were running late to make it to Fenway for the 2pm game – our whole reason for being in Boston. Making sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. I realized as I watched impatiently with one foot out the door, that although I thought he was going way overboard in the time he was taking to double check, that that is the reason he knew where every dime had been spent, and he still had all his money in his pockets.

Slow down. Take a look. Note to self.

So I end this post with a quote from a song by a Canadian band who I listed in my On the Road Jukebox while Twittering on our recent road trip. “The good in everyone. (You see)” – Sloan

It’s easy to find someone’s faults, but if we take a moment to look at ‘the good in everyone’, we might just learn something about ourselves.  We all have our little querks. After all, it was me who had us circling Boston and driving in town squares wasn’t it.

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Watch the slide show from our trip below, or see it full screen from the Photobucket.com website here. I took these pics with my Blackberry, having forgotten my digital camera in the hotel room. Some of them turned out not too bad, but blurry or not, the feeling is still there.

Under the grandstands at Fenway Park

Happy New Year. It’s 2010!

Well, it’s 6:24 pm on January 2nd, and my first post in 2010, is literally coming from on the road.

I am in Boston Massachusetts to be exact. Working on very little sleep. My traveling compadre who finished work back in Canada at 3am this morning, is having a catnap; snoring logs as I sneak a quiet moment to do a little writing. No seriously. He is very loud.

Myself, the kids woke my wife and I up around 7:30am New Years day, so other than closing my eyes for a few moments here and there, I just watched two outdoor games at Fenway Park, one in the comforts of my living room back in Canada, and one in person; all during one waking period.

We left my house at 4am this morning, and made it to Boston in great time considering poor road conditions for much of the trip and the first couple of hours in the blustery darkness.. Then, I took the wheel the last 20 minutes, and hour great time went to pot. 20 minutes to go turned into about 45 (perhaps an hour), after the GPS had us driving in circles around Boston’s North End. One wrong turn kept adding 10 minutes to our ETA. The running joke was “Look kids. Big Ben. Parliament.” My friend and I were laughing so unbelievably hard, I could not see from the tears and snow outside we were in such hysterics. We past these green stairs three times as we circled the area. I think I need a picture of them before we head home tomorrow.

Road trips. These silly moments are what they are made of, and what we will remember fondly over beers for years to come.

It’s been almost 9 years since our last road trip together, which also included an east coast road trip to New Jersey to see Ray Bourque score in game 3 of the 2001 Stanley Cup finals. That same trip also included our first and only trip to Yankee stadium, and rolls of shots taking in and around the World Trade Center. Just months before it fell to the cities floor.

My friend and I don’t just take road trips. We witness history together. We have been friends since grade two, and there isn’t a doubt in my mind that no matter where life takes us, we’ll be doing stupid shit like this until our final days.

Well, my toes and hands are just regaining feeling, but I keep having to pinch myself to realize that I just finally visited Fenway Park, and there was hockey being played there under the lights of the historic stadium.

I have to tell you, that place is magical. We sat under the grandstands in a section of rare original stadium seats. There wasn’t much elbow or leg room and they are a little hard on your arse, but I would sit in them time and again if they decided to keep that part of the stadium original. Thanks to the folks on either side of us today, who provided us with a little history of the park.

I am not sure how my friend is sleeping right now. I made lots of snacks for the trip, but I had to run to a corner store to sneak some food into my inside coat pocket to bring back to the room. I was starving. They have snacks here, but $5 for a big bag of chips; I just couldn’t do it. It’s only $5 for a Heineken though. I might break down for one of them if buddy sleeps too long. I am feeling a little parched.

Perhaps I should catch 40 or 100 winks myself before we head to The Fours for dinner, but tomorrow I’ll be back in Canada and the road trip will be over. I miss my family, but there is just something about these kinds of road trips that energizes the soul. I had the opportunity to catch some shut-eye last night, but I was too eager to hit the highway and get here.

This is my third trip to Beantown, but it’s the first time I actually seen a sporting event here. I had driven by all the stadiums before, but finally today, I seen the inside of Fenway Park. I never made it to the Gardens, but Banknorth and Gillette Stadium are in my scope. And Fenway hopefully many more times in my life to see some baseball when I can’t see my breath.

I wanted so much to be at yesterday’s event, but I am not sorry that we had to settle for watching many of the guys I grew up watching today. I miss hearing the announcers call names like Rick Middleton, Cam Neely, Ken Linsman, and so many others. Ray Bourque and Bobby Orr would have been a nice touch, but at beggers can’t be choosers.

Here is the roster for today’s Legends charity game.

BLACK: Bob Beers, Andy Brickley, Lyndon Byers, Cleon Daskalakis, Gary Doak, Joel Finley, Mark Finley, Charlie Jacobs, Claude Julien, Neal McDonough, John McKenzie, Rick Middleton, Terry O’Reilly, Bob Sweeney, Don Sweeney, Kiefer Sutherland

GOLD: Ken Casey, Ken Hodge, Bobby Farrelly, Pat LaFontaine, Denis Leary, Brian Leetch, Ken Linseman, Bob Miller, Jay Miller, Cam Neely, Brad Park, Tim Robbins, Dave Schultz, Rick Smith, Tom Songin, Tom Werner

There was something new in the air in Hamilton this year. Sniff. Sniff. Victory. Sniff. Sniff. Optimism. Sniff. Sniff. Hope.

It’s always nice to end the year off with a victory; espcially a championsip celebration, but Sunday’s Eastern Semi-Final in Hamilton,  was probably the next best thing.

Read my latest blog post on A Beautiful Night For Football dot com.

Overtime symbolized the New Hope that surrounded this organization all year long.

As I drove downtown mid-morning, I spotted a CBS truck making its way towards Copps Coliseum. Then I remembered. It was Friday. It was Make It Seven day.

When I returned home a short while later, I stuffed my pack with a recent garage sale find, The Rink – Stories from Hockey’s Hometowns by Chris Cuthbert and Scott Russell, several drafts of a short story I am in the final stages of writing about growing up a hockey child, and a folder full of double sided sheets of foolscap paper on which I wrote my first novella as a child, about the dream of professional hockey in Hamilton. At the front of the stack, a Sports Illustrated magazine with an image I had waited 22 years to see, of Raymond Bourque holding the Stanley Cup. Mission 16W (Wins). A true image of determination, and what it means to never give up on your dreams.

I felt the need to keep what hockey has meant to me all my life, close to my heart this day. A note pad, pen, and my laptop, all weighing me down, but I was ready to feel hockey in my bones.

I walked up the stairs to the top of Jackson Square with supporting Jim Balsillie and the dream of the NHL on my mind. I don’t usually attend rallies, but this entire battle has had me intrigued since the early stages. Something inside of me just had to be a part of this.

As I approached the main stage, closer to the Coliseum, I found it encouraging to see hockey so alive in Hamilton in June.

There were Tiger-Cats fans and Argos suck signs; a foreshadow of what would surely become another animated cross-highway rivalry. I see the McMaster Marauder’s mascot, many corporate sponsors, radio and television crews and a sea of signs and posters made by hockey fans from all walks of life. I see NHL jersey’s like the Jets, Bruins, Pens, Team Canada, and many others. There are families and business people a like.

Some were on celebrity watch. ‘Hey, isn’t that so and so?” one man whispers to his wife; pointing at someone just over my right shoulder. One father dances with his daughter, energized at the thought of the NHL finally coming to town.

A couple of fans carried nets and hockey sticks to the top of Jackson Square, looking to get a good game of street hockey going. There were quite a few different characters in the crowd, but for the most part, they were all there to support professional hockey in Hamilton.

Denver Post / The Sporting News

I walked around to enjoy many different vantage points; to get a good look at all the faces and what was going on around the rally. Overhearing fans all around me talking hockey; people watching, all the while taking in what the various speakers had to say on the main stage.

I attended Friday’s event with the thought of writing something about NHL hockey, but then I started to notice a lot of jersey’s from the professional hockey team that already calls Hamilton home, and has done so for the past 13 years.

Throughout this entire bid to re-locate the Phoenix Coyotes to Hamilton, I have wondered about the fate of the Bulldogs, but it wasn’t until reading that Mike Andlauer was considering the possibility of moving the Bulldogs to the Mile One Centre, and bringing hockey back to the passionate and hockey hungry fans of St. John’s, that I realized that the Bulldogs have been neglected throughout this whole process.

The Dogs are the first and only team for which I have been a season ticket holder. Even the early years that I wasn’t a season ticket holder, I still attended most of the games. The AHL is great hockey. Fast paced, physical, and loaded with talent. Guys fighting to make it to the big show. Working hard every day to realize their childhood dreams of playing in the NHL.

The first time I was ever published in the Hamilton Spectator, was a story I wrote about the Bulldogs and the excitement in this city and in the hearts of area hockey fans, when we hosted the Houston Aeros in a game seven of a winner takes all professional championship game. The game, and the moment I held my first published article in my hand, will always hold a very special place in my heart. If that wasn’t extraordinary enough, the Bulldogs also published an extended version of that story with photos, on the home page of the their website. I stared at the Bulldogs website on and off for weeks; enjoying my moment in the spotlight.

I am a father of two young girls now so I haven’t been to many games over the past few years, but I still love the Bulldogs. I remember sitting with my dad and my first born when she was a baby, and watching the television as the Bulldogs finally brought championship hardware to the great city of Hamilton.

My Ticket to Game 7

Hockey Night in Hamilton

I was hoping this coming season, that I could finally take my oldest to her first professional hockey game. I would like it to be the Bulldogs because they have been there for us, when the NHL continually denied us the opportunity to realize our National League dreams. She loved her first Tiger-Cat game last season, and I know she would love the Bulldogs and bruiser and seeing all the other kids as well. I also realize now more than ever, that her first hockey jersey has to be a Bulldogs jersey. They deserve to be remembered for everything they have meant to this city, and for everything they have given back to this community.

The Bulldogs have given me some fond memories. I hope there is some way we can make them part of our long term plans. I can’t imagine never again hearing the announcer calling out over the PA at the Dog Pound, “Hear are YOUR Hamilton Bull-dogs”.

How long can we continue to support and fight for something, that won’t even give us the time of day? I realize this is truly the fist time a bid actually makes business sense in a revitalized Hamilton, and with someone with the money, support, and devotion to make this happen, but I am not sure I can continue to sustain my appetite to see the NHL come to Hamilton, when they continually turn up their noses on something that on paper, makes business sense – never mind a passion for the game kind of sense.

After the GMO’s played one final song to end the rally, I looked into the crowd for the Bulldogs jerseys, and made my way over to chat with some of them. I was curious as to what their main reason for attending the rally was.

“We want to see the NHL come to Hamilton just as much as the next person, but we also wanted to show our support for the Dogs. I think it stinks that the Bullodg’s have been overlooked throughout this process. I heard them saying things today like Let’s bring a hockey team to Hamilton,’ ‘un-served hockey fans,’ and I think to myself, but we do have a professional team. We are being ‘served’. How many great players have we seen develop right here in this city? We seem to be forgetting that. You know, they didn’t mention the Bulldogs once. I just think they deserve more respect than that.”

One couple, talked about traveling to many away games and the support for the AHL in places like Syracuse and Manitoba. There was also talk that perhaps we could support both the NHL and AHL like Philadelphia and the Flyers/Phantoms.

Perhaps if Hamilton played home to its own farm team?

Many of the people I had the pleasure of chatting with this past Friday were true hockey fans. Fans of the Fincups and Hamilton Canucks; the Steelhawks, and the Bulldogs. They remember the Dukes and have been to many Kilty B’s, Real McCoys, and Hamilton Red Wings games. They have been supporting Hamilton hockey all this time, no matter what team the organizers put before them, or whether it was professional or otherwise.

Oddly enough, every Bulldog’s fan I talked to was a season ticket holder. They have been supporters of the Bulldogs through good and bad, for the better part of the past 13 years.

When I go to a Bullodgs game, I see a lot of special needs, kids groups, youth hockey teams and large families taking in the games. I wonder how much they will be able to support an NHL team? How many games could they or community groups, be able to afford?

The Cities AHL Future Looks Bright

I’d love to see an NHL team here. I think of the jobs that could follow as a result, perhaps less eastbound QEW traffic if more people could find work locally instead of having to travel to the GTA. I think of a revitalized state-of-the-art Copps, and a new waterfront home for the Cats. There are so many thing that excite me when I think of what this could mean for Hamilton, but I can’t help in the back of my mind, thinking of what we might be sacrificing to bring something to Hamilton, that really hasn’t shown any interest over the years to include our city; our home, into it’s plans.

The NHL isn’t ‘hockey’. I think that is the main thing we have to realize and remember. Hockey is in our hearts. On the streets, in parking lots, in the family room on a Saturday night. It’s not about one league, it’s about what the game means to our communities.

Maybe it’s time to take a long, hard look at our professional hockey dreams, and what we stand to lose; not just what we stand to gain.

Now with the talks of a possible move of the Bulldogs to St. John’s, and a few obstacles in our NHL plans, there is a chance of having no professional team in Hamilton. That wouldn’t be good for this city on so many levels.

I thank Mr. Balsille for his determination and what he is trying to bring to the City of Hamilton and Southern Ontario in general. I truly appreciate his efforts. I am a supporter, but I just think there is one important thing we are forgetting about.

Let’s give our existing professional hockey team the respect they deserve. They are and have been, hockey Hamilton for as long as I can remember. I am not sure I am ready to watch 13 years of history thrown away.

GO Dogs GO. No amount of time will ever erase the memories you have skated into our heartts.

My first CFL related fan blog.

By Larry Thomas Pattison Jr
(Published in the Hamilton Spectator, June 26th, 2003)

A couple of weeks ago, we were celebrating the record breaking season of our Hamilton Bulldogs. Last Friday, we were welcoming home ‘our’ boys of summer.

It’s opening night. Something I looked forward to every summer. Sunny days, blue skies, looking out over Hamilton, and watching Canadian Football.

As I walk through the streets, within a km or two of Ivor Wynne Stadium, I come across hotdog vendors, the locals sitting on their porches with Ti-Cat paraphernalia everywhere. Signs that read ‘Parking $5.00′ held by 8 year old kids encouraging people to park on their front lawns.

Music is playing, people are talking about football. The streets are lined with fans carrying their Ti-Cat cushions, and waving banners, and wearing their favorite players jersey’s.

There are father’s and sons, grandfather’s and grandchildren, entire families, friends, and even people by themselves just looking to watch the game live instead of on their television – something I have done when everyone I know is busy and I want to catch the game. Nothing more relaxing than a sunny day, a nice high seat with a view of this great city, and our Cats out there playing their hearts out.

As you approach the stadium, you are welcomed by a Tailgate party, and busloads of crazy football fans making their way to cheer on their team – and the fun part is that it isn’t always our Cat’s. There is always the poor Eski’s fan, or dare I say ArGO fan.

People bussed in from not only the many local establishments who support our Cats, but even out-of-towners who love their team enough to support them on the road.

I take my seat amongst the large group of friends I am with. Hand shakes, how have you been, and wow that new turf looks great!

It’s the first day of summer. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, and thousands of awaiting fans are here to welcome home their cats. Sun glasses, sandals, Grey Cup Champion hats, and the smell of hotdogs wafting in the air. This was what summer in Hamilton was all about. CFL football and more importantly our Hamilton Tiger Cats.

As the game progresses, halftime and a few trips to the washroom later, I meet up with old friends who I haven’t seen probably since the end of last season. Then, as I do most games if am not already sitting with them, I run into two of my uncles. Two guys I have sat with at most of the games I have been to at Ivor Wynne. I am not sure why, but for some reason, they started to reminisce. Maybe it was because it seemed so far off since the last time we seen our Cat’s play.

I listen as my Uncles tell me stories about when they were kids, sitting right here in this very stadium – their many brothers, their father and grandfather, all watching a game as my generation had done so many times over the years.

My Uncle Ed talks about his recent trips to Ivor Wynne with his children and now his grandchildren – Doing as his grandfather did so many years ago. As he dreams of days gone by, I can picture some of the same visions he does. I remember my father, and uncles, and aunts, and cousins, and friends – sitting in these vary seats so many times each year, throughout my life.

Around Ivor Wynne this night, and each game for possibly the next 5 months, this kind of bonding will happen here – And not just our family, but so many families, friends, and old acquaintances of this passionate city. Some as I have, will even talk of the memories they have about the guys out there on that gridiron.

When it comes to Canadian Football, a quarter of the guys are from around your home teams province, and there is a good chance a handful are from your home town.

In Hamilton’s case, 4 of our guys are hometown boys. Jarrett Smith, Mark Verbeek, Rob Hitchcock, and Trevor Shaw. There are 7 guys from around Ontario, and 6 more from 4 other provinces. We even have an old rivalry within teammates as Jarrett Smith and Mark Verbeek were once Barton Barons, and Rob Hitchcock and Trev Shaw were both Glendale Bears. I know first hand that Jarrett, Mark, & Rob played against one another back in the day.

Actually, I played a couple years with Jarrett and Mark at Barton 14 years ago. I didn’t know Mark as well, but Jarrett I knew pretty well as we had gone to school together since grade 5. Jarrett hasn’t changed much and is still the same guy he was when I met him. He is a very dedicated, smart person who is great with people. One of the nicest guys you’ve ever met, and when you meet his father, you know where Jarrett’s good disposition comes from.

Jarrett’s dad Ken, coached us back in the Barons days and will always be remembered as one of the best coaches I had in all the years I have played sports. Actually, Ken is the only football coach I ever had as I had never played football until I went to high school.

My father is actually the one who encouraged me to join High School Ball. “I played at Glendale” he started, “and I really enjoyed it and met a lot of people. You should join.” I took his advice and the two years I played football, were some of the best memories I have of high school. I would have never joined if not for my fathers encouragement, and because of him, I am sitting here writing so passionately about football. There is something about the dedication, desire, and strength(both mental and physical) that goes into this game, that makes you appreciate it, if not absolutely love it.

Jarrett is 3rd all-time in special teams tackles with 79

Jarrett is one of my many local heroes – friends who I grew up with, or have become friends with along the way, living their dreams. I remember the dedication Jarrett put into football. It was his dream, and there he was out on the field each game, living it. Anybody who knew Jarrett back in high school, could see even then, that Jarrett was going to do well. His rushing title at Waterloo, and all that he has achieved as a Tiger Cat, have made all his former teammates and classmates proud.

This was why the CFL was so important to Canada. Not only are there 50 some role models on these teams, but some of them are from your own hometown.
Hamilton has some great ones.

This past January, I attended Jarrett’s stag and doe. It was kind of a Barton High school football reunion. Many of those guys I hadn’t seen since high school. The room was filled by a few generations of Jarrett’s teammates – one also being his present and former CFL teammates. I watched how he interacted with those guys, and there really wasn’t much different than those good old Barton days – It was a bunch of guys who loved football and worked hard at being the best they could be. Enjoying some time to be just friends. They say that you’ll never have friends like you did growing up. I say as long as you are part of a team, you will always make great friends.

Support our guys. They are our friends, family, and role models to our children. Without our support, our children may one day miss out on the opportunity to see their role models walk these streets everyday. I remember guys like Earl Winfield, and Grover Covington signing my jersey at the hockey arena I played at as a child. If we don’t show more support for this team, our children may not have guys like this to look up to.

When our players are ‘real’, our children’s dreams seem more obtainable. “He walks the streets like I do, went to the same school(s) as I did, and he lives in the same neighborhood as I do.”

When these guys are just a star, our kids dreams can seem as high, and therefore they are left reaching. When their inspirations are the trees in our front yards, all they need is the strength and encouragement to climb it, to reach the top.

It’s going to be a great summer. Enjoy it with friends. Enjoy it with family, and even enjoy it by yourself, but enjoy it at Ivor Wynne Stadium.

Tiger’s….eat ‘em raw.