It’s Grey Cup Sunday and wouldn’t you know it, my second-favourite team is playing for the CFL title.
That’s right, I’ll be pulling for WIPTEE. Who’s that? It’s a famous old team known as Whoever is Playing the Edmonton Eskimos. In this instance, WIPTEE will take the form of the Ottawa RedBlacks (seriously, that’s their name), but really it could have been any team on Earth playing the Eskimos and I’d be pulling for them. Heck, why limit it to the Earth? If they happened to make the Grey Cup I’d happily cheer for the Venus BlueGreens, or the Uranus BrownBrowns.
Cheering for WIPTEE is something I picked up from my dad, a diehard Saskatchewan fan whose passion for the blessed Roughriders was almost matched by his distaste for the flashy, big-spending, freaking-sign-on-the-way-into-town-that-boasted-“City-of-Champions” Edmonton Eskimos.
Naturally I picked up my father’s inclinations: I bleed Green and White and spit Green and Gold.
I’ve only just started to realize the power my parents had in shaping my preferences now that I’ve got kids of my own. My sons, age two and five, became obsessed with the Toronto Blues Jays this fall. My wife sets strict limits on the amount of TV they can watch but we relaxed the rules to follow one of our favourite teams in any sport roll through the playoffs.
Our kids picked up our passion and ran with it. Even now, more than a month after Toronto’s season came to an end, my two-year-old will light up when I catch a falling drink cup at the table (or more likely a drink cup he’s just thrown) and he will yell “Nice catch, Kevin Pillar!”
Our older son really got into the games, going wild every time the Blue Jays scored a run and flying into a rage whenever the other team scored. We noticed the passion carried over into other games we were watching, whatever the sport. And he’d always ask us who was playing and who he should cheer for. In fact he wouldn’t just ask – he’d demand.
“What’s this?” Looks like snooker, bud.
“Who are we cheering for?” Uhhhh, I don’t know. The guy in the tuxedo maybe?
“What colour is he wearing?” Black.
“Wooooo. I love tuxedo! Go black go!”
Things got out of hand when NBA season started. Just seconds after we started watching our first game of the year – once he’d confirmed that the Toronto Raptors were the chosen ones and the Milwaukee Bucks were evil incarnate – my son started freaking out. “Noooo,” he yelled, slamming his fists into his legs. “We’re losing!”
“Yay!” he screamed a few minutes later after the Raptors hit a very uneventful free throw. The score was 8-7. It was then that we figured out that he really knew almost nothing about basketball. He did, however, know how to read the scoreboard (TOR=good, MIL=die in a fire) and he knew which team had the higher number.
We realized then that he didn’t know much about any sport. How would he? You’re not born knowing the infield fly rule, or that no matter what the date, the Maple Leafs are already eliminated from the playoffs.
My son didn’t know any of those things, he was just cheering for numbers rising and falling on the scoreboard. The amazing part was how passionate he was about it.
“S#@$!” he yelled moments later as the Raptors fell behind again. Except he didn’t yell “S hashtag at money!” He yelled the real four-letter cuss word. I didn’t even know he knew that word, let alone how to use it so perfectly in a sports setting. Thanks, kindergarten.
I had to pause the game and explain a few things. First, don’t say “S hashtag at money” when your mother can hear you. That’ll never go well. And second, there is a lot of scoring in basketball. So chill, before family services comes around to investigate the boy suffering from severe Raptors abuse.
Regardless of the appropriateness of his responses, I was a little envious of the passion that he was able to generate so readily. I used to get super fired up for my favourite sports teams but as I get older I find myself drifting away. Even during an exciting sports event my mind wanders to other important world events such as Twitter, and Syria, and where’s my beer?
I’m also amazed by the sway parents have over their young children, a power that I will do my best to use for the forces of good.
We don’t hate anyone. We applaud good plays. We respect our teams, the officials and all opponents. Except the Eskimos – we don’t give an “S hashtag at money” about those guys.
Andy Prest is the sports editor for the North Shore News and writes a biweekly humour/lifestyle column. He can be reached via email at [email protected].
What are your thoughts? Send us a letter via email by clicking here or post a comment below.
