Chapter 32

Eliza

Two months later.

As Tanya and I make our way toward the stadium in Montreal, the excitement in the air is palpable. It’s the Grey Cup, the biggest sporting event of the year, and I am lucky enough to be in attendance. More than that, the Tigers are lucky enough to be playing today.

Somehow, they ended the season with a winning record. Getting rid of the bad seeds made a real difference, and getting Hudson off the injured list helped as well. They came together to win their bracket and have surprised everyone by getting all the way here. Even before entering the stadium, I’m greeted by a sea of fans decked out in Tiger team colors, eagerly anticipating the day’s festivities.

I’ve missed being at the stadium and overseeing all this excitement, but I know it’s what’s right for me right now. Instead, I’ve spent the last couple of months working on my business plan and talking to a contact Vince connected me with who has given me a lot of great information. I’m excited about the possibilities for my marketing venture, and I even met with Dad last week to talk about it. He still doesn’t fully grasp why I’m upset with him and why I’ve made this choice, but he’s encouraging of my new venture and had some good ideas about how to get the CFL to buy into my ideas.

And Steve and I are finding our way as an actual couple, which is still amazing to me. I haven’t seen him since the team left on Wednesday to go to Montreal, and I’m missing him. They’ve been practicing there all week.

As I enter the stadium, vendors walk around selling all sorts of Grey Cup merchandise, from hats and shirts to commemorative programs and souvenirs. The smell of popcorn and hot dogs fills the air, tempting me to indulge in some game-day snacks.

As I walk farther into the stadium, I’m a bit awed by the sheer size and grandeur of it all. Giant screens run highlights from past Grey Cups, and banners and flags of the competing teams hang from the rafters. Everywhere I look, there are signs of the pomp and circumstance that surround this grand event.

In the concourse, there are interactive exhibits and games set up for fans to enjoy. They even offer a chance to take a picture with the Grey Cup, the ultimate prize on this day.

I reach our box in time to watch as the Tigers and the Toronto Pirates warm up on the field below. I haven’t been to a Tigers game since I resigned, and I’ve missed this.

Sandy Thompson, the owner of the Regina Royals, comes to stand next to me. “You did a great job with the team this year.”

Warmth washes over me from his compliment. Sandy owns the most profitable franchise in the league. I smile and thank him. “I was only doing it while my dad was recovering.”

“He’s told all of us how much work you put into this. ”

“Thank you.”

“He also mentioned that you’ve started a marketing company. Maybe in a few weeks we can meet up and talk about what you’re doing.”

I nod. “That would be great. I’m using my experience with the NFL to put some ideas together.”

“I’m definitely interested.”

I grin as we shake hands. If I can win Sandy over, the rest of the league will follow.

I return my attention to the field, where Marty Holloway leads the Tigers through their warmups. I know I should want the Tigers to win, but I really don’t care. They made it to the Grey Cup, and I am thrilled with that.

Suddenly, there’s a commotion on the field. Marty Holloway is on the ground, clutching his head in pain. Dread washes over me as he’s helped up by Steve and the medical team. Even from the owners’ box, I can see the concern etched on Steve’s face as he examines the quarterback.

A golf cart drives onto the field, and they load Marty up and drive into the tunnels toward the locker room. My heart sinks. I’m okay if they don’t win, but not if they get hammered today. I want them to have what they need to play their best.

I turn to go down to the locker room, and I’m stopped by two other owners on the way. They also want to hear about my new endeavor, and I promise to contact them in the coming weeks.

When I get downstairs, I can hear Marty arguing. “Doc, really I’m okay,” he insists. “There’s no concussion.”

“Look at the light,” someone tells him. That’s not Steve’s voice.

I come around the corner into the crowded room. Dad is there with Steve and the team neurologist, Dr. Gregori. Steve smiles at me, and my heart races.

“His eyes are not dilated, and all signs indicate that he can start the game,” Dr. Gregori announces. “But if he takes another hit like that, we’ll most likely need to pull him. ”

“Doc, I’ve worked my whole life for today,” Marty says. “This is my dream to be here and take that trophy back to Vancouver. I want this. I know concussions are serious, but I was mostly just stunned to be knocked down in the warmup. I’m okay. I promise.”

The weight of his words settles over me. Head injuries are dangerous, and the thought of anyone—even Marty himself—putting winning ahead of the care of our players as human beings fills me with anxiety.

After some additional examinations, they finally agree to let Marty start the game. He runs back out to the field with Steve and Dr. Gregori on his tail.

I turn to Dad. “I talked to Sandy and a few of the other owners upstairs. Thank you for putting in a good word for me.”

Dad looks at me with warmth in his eyes. “I’ve only wanted what’s best for you. You don’t have to own a team to be influential in the league.”

The subject is still sore. “I know.”

After a few minutes, warmups are finished, and the team returns to the locker room. They’re letting people into the stands now, and the intensity is only going to rise around here. In fact, I can hear the pre-game entertainment getting started. It sounds like a marching band is playing in the end zone, and the cheerleaders are pumping up the crowd.

Looking around the locker room, I’m relieved to see nothing but a great group of players. Coach Roy has done a good job rebuilding and resetting with the season already underway. It’s too bad that we got off to such a rough start.

“Any word from Charles about how those difficult players made it onto our roster earlier this season?”

Dad nods, though his attention is already being pulled elsewhere. “It’s not quite concluded, but we should talk. I think he’ll be ready soon.”

Coach Roy gathers the team. “I’m so proud of all of you. When a reporter asks you, who are the Vancouver Tigers? You don’t say we’re the team with the guy who had twelve sacks in a single game. You don’t say we’re the team with the guy who has fifteen-thousand yards rushing. You don’t say we were the worst team in the first half of the season. You tell them we are the toughest, smartest, and best team in this league. We were eight and two going into Labor Day weekend, and we haven’t looked back. You’ve gelled as a team, and you make me very proud to be your coach. I want you to go out there today and play hard, play fair, and show Canada why we invented football, and why it should be the country’s number one sport. Right, guys?”

There’s a lot of clapping and excitement, and my heart swells. This team has exceeded what I thought was possible for them. Dad steps back and signals me to follow him as he heads back to the elevator and our box.

“Why don’t you and Steve come over for dinner this week?” he suggests.

I look at him, eyes narrowed. I’m never sure of his angle these days. “I’ll have to check Steve’s schedule. I believe it’s changing as he transitions back to the hospital and his practice.”

He shrugs. “We’ll work around you.”

I nod and decide to leave it at that. Maybe it’s really just an invitation to spend time together.

As the game begins, conversation flows more easily for my father and me. This is our common ground. It always has been. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a chance to catch up, and the excitement of the game makes it even more special. We strategize about the team’s performance, the strengths and weaknesses of the players, and the techniques Coach Roy has been using to lead the team to success.

Then the topic shifts to the health of the players, and in particular, the importance of having top-notch medical staff to keep them safe on the field.

“I think we need to keep Steve as the chief medical officer,” I say, my voice quiet but firm. “You need someone who is assessing the players as a whole. Obviously, we should keep Dr. Gregori on staff as a neurologist, but you should be prepared to argue with the league if they have a problem with it. We can’t afford to take any chances with the players’ health.”

My father nods an agreement, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I couldn’t agree more,” he says. “We need to do everything we can to make sure the players are safe. No one’s career is worth more than their health.”

As we turn our attention back to the game, I feel a sense of satisfaction. It’s good to know we’re doing everything we can to support the team, both on and off the field. The Pirates score first, but the Tigers answer quickly, and it seems like they’re going to keep it interesting. Regardless of who wins, the Tigers are playing with skill and determination, and I can’t help but feel a sense of hope for the future, both in this game and beyond.