Image via WikipediaPardon my Camera - eruption?
By Terrance Gavan
I said what I thought she wanted to hear.
“Absolutely no booze ma’am,” I replied, smiling my frosted butt off.
“What the hell is that?” she said, scowling at my camera.
“That’s a Canon camera, ma’am,” I said, still grinning, but now acutely aware that booze or no booze, she was not a happy camper.
“How big is that thing on the front of it,” she queried, face rigid as granite.
“What thing is that ma’am?” I asked.
“Take it out and I’ll show you what damn thing,” she said.
I took out my camera with the long zoom lens.
“There, smart ass, the long white thing … what is it?”
Now she was glaring and I suddenly felt a looming presence over my left shoulder.
One of Edmonton’s finest, dressed in yellow, and riding a snazzy looking Cannondale mountain bike, saw the smoke sifting from the top of my bag checker’s noodle and decided to stop by for a closer look.
“Answer the question son,” said the friendly cop.
“That ma’am is my Canon 70-200, f4 zoom lens,” I said.
“It’s too big,” she said.
“The camera?” I ventured.
“The camera, the camera, and that long white thing … it’s too damn big,” she said glancing up at the cop, who was now smiling.
“What should I do?” I asked.
“Well, you absolutely can’t take that thing out of your bag when you get to your seat,” she said.
And I must have been smiling. Because she took a new tack, no doubt chagrined at my rather cavalier attitude.
“You just try to take that thing out,” she said. “We’ve got security cameras all over this stadium and if they see you with that camera they’ll come and take it away.”
“The camera?” I said. “You’ll take my camera away ma’am?”
“No not me,” she said. “One of our security guys. They’re big. They’ll come to your seat, take your camera and you’ll never see it again. And quit calling me ma’am … it’s irritating.”
“Is that true officer?” I said to the cop, who was chuckling and making a move to get back on his bike.
“No officer,” I smiled. “Do you have a special camera removal team in there?”
He shrugged.
“What are you asking him for,” said the bag check lady. “Just you get the hell in the stadium, and don’t take that camera out.”
The cop tipped his hat, got on the bike and winked. “Enjoy the game … where you from?”
“Toronna,” I said.
My friend was already engrossed in another bag, but when she heard Toronna, she looked up quickly.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that,” she barked. “I would have talked slower; you idiot.”
My six cronies, the University of Manitoba Grey Cup Reunion Club
I am assuming that my tete-a-tete at the bag check station at the 98th Annual Grey Cup game is being viewed by someone in Warsaw
And yes of course my camera was out just as soon as I hit my seat, perusing the Saskatchewan
I was scanning the sidelines in full zoom, looking for my old friend Jim Daley. It didn’t take long for my lens to spot him pacing the sidelines. Jim went prematurely grey back in high school – cautionary tale for coaches everywhere – and he’s the Roughrider special teams coach. We went to school together – he was three years ahead of me – at St Pius X Preparatory Seminary.
Jim Daley was old school.
Absolutely devoted to the game, its nuance and the ebb and flow.
I was at Carleton University
Coaching was everything for Jim Daley.
He coached Ottawa University
I ran into him at Panorama ski resort many years back while he was a line coach with Calgary
He was recuperating from heart surgery.
I ran my favorite Jim Daley story past him.
Back when he was at University he was helping Teddy Larose coach the Pius Seniors.
This is back in 73 and Teddy had: One. Firm. Rule.
No swearing.
None. Never.
That day everyone was on the bus. It was half time and we were taking a kicking, 21-0 at the hands of another Catholic High School , cross town rivals St Joseph
Teddy was chatting on the field with the St Joe’s coaching staff when Jimbo came up the stairs of the bus.
“Where’s Ted … where’s Teddy?” asked Daley.
We pointed out the window at Teddy about 70 yards away.
Daley looked at the driver and said, “Shut the door.”
Then he looked at me and said, “You let me know when Ted’s comin’.”
The speech started: “All right you $%&*(*(&%$#! …”
And for three minutes Jim Daley did not take a breath.
he used a famous expletive as a verb, noun, adjective, adverb, conjunction and acronym.
I looked up to see Teddy motoring toward the bus.
“Jimbo,” I said.
“What the f$#@%^&* do you want Gavan?” said Jimbo, eyes the size of tea saucers.
“Teddy,” I said, just as the driver was opening the door.
Jim nodded. As Ted entered he looked at Mr. Larose.
“Okay Ted, they’re all yours, I just went over some sets with the line,” said Jimbo.
Ted Larose was 5’6”, a true gentleman and a super nice guy.
He went over the game plan and some assignments and then ended with the Lord’s Prayer.
The team went out and absolutely dismembered St. Joes. Final 44-28.
And I’ll always remember 44 football players biting their tongues sitting on the bus after the game.
Jimbo smiled at Ted, shook his hand and said: “Nice game coach. I think that second Our Father really set us up for the second half.”
The most amazing thing?
Jimbo absolutely meant every single word.
Know what?
The Riders may have lost that game on Sunday.
But their special teams never missed one assignment.
Great f$@%&ing game coach.
Oh. And my camera came home.
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