Rob Vanstone: Nov. 19, 1989 and a most audacious request, revisited
11/19/2024 11:05 AM
I failed math in Grades 9, 12, 11 and 10, so my struggles with the following calculation are real.
Subtract 1989 from 2024 and the answer is … (consults iPhone calculator) … (double-checks on abacus) … 35.
Precisely 35 years since the 1989 Western Final.
Thirty-five years since the greatest upset in CFL history.
Thirty-five years since utter panic.
We take you back to Nov. 19, 1989 — which still feels like yesterday — when the Saskatchewan Roughriders visited Edmonton with a Grey Cup berth at stake.
Edmonton entered the game with a 16-2 record. To this day, that regular-season victory total has not been exceeded.
Saskatchewan (9-9) was supposedly easy prey for a formidable, seemingly unconquerable, foe.
The night before the game, a few of us sat down at a south Regina establishment of some charm.
Patrick Davitt, a fellow season-ticket member who sat beside yours truly and Mark Anderson in Taylor Field's Section 204, posed a question that I was not even remotely prepared to entertain.
"RV," he said, "what are you going to do if the Roughriders win tomorrow?"
I laughed.
"Seriously," he persisted, "what would you do?"
To the best of my recollection, I never even gave him an answer. The mere suggestion that the Roughriders could defeat mighty Edmonton was, in my appraisal, preposterous.
Then we watched Hockey Night in Canada.
The next day, I watched (most of) the Western Final at the apartment of Ian and Carolyn Hamilton.
I wasn't especially motivated — despite the fine company — so I made my way up the Ring Road during the first quarter.
By the time Ian answered the door, Edmonton was already ahead 10-0. The game had barely reached the midpoint of the first quarter.
I had barely sat down when a Dave Ridgway field goal narrowed the Roughriders' deficit to 10-3.
Early in the second quarter, Edmonton appeared to be marching toward the end zone when one play changed everything, including my demeanour.
One play after sacking Tracy Ham, a blitzing Eddie Lowe once again rocked the Edmonton quarterback. The ball was dislodged and promptly scooped up by linebacker Dave Albright, who chugged 62 yards toward the end zone at Commonwealth Stadium.
Ridgway's convert, at 2:32 of the second quarter, created a 10-10 tie.
Hmmm …
The Roughriders punctuated their next possession with a six-yard touchdown pass from Kent Austin to Ray Elgaard.
Hmmm …
Not long after that, Austin suffered a knee injury that sidelined him for the rest of the game.
Gulp …
Edmonton concluded the first-half scoring with a field goal. Saskatchewan led 17-13 at intermission.
Interesting …
The second half began when Tom Burgess, in for Austin at quarterback, threw a 67-yard touchdown pass to James Ellingson.
Hold on.
Holding, Saskatchewan.
"AAARRGGGH!" I wailed, maturely.
My mood continued to sour when Ham ran 10 yards for a third-quarter touchdown. Jerry Kauric's convert put the home side ahead 20-17.
At that point, I wondered if I would spend the entire winter (and the 50 winters to follow) lamenting the called-back Ellingson major.
Once again, my suspicions were unfounded.
Burgess threw back-to-back third-quarter touchdown passes to Elgaard (amazing catch!) and Jeff Fairholm (bomb down the left sideline) to give the visitors a 31-20 lead.
The teams exchanged rouges in the fourth quarter.
FINAL: Saskatchewan 32, Edmonton 21.
My first reaction: Screaming, while reaching octaves that were audible only to select Schnauzers.
My second reaction: Now what?
Patrick's question, at which I had scoffed, was suddenly pertinent. Prescient, even.
Somehow, some way, I had to find my way to Toronto for the 79th Grey Cup Game.
At the time, I was the Regina Leader-Post's hockey writer and, as such, not a contributor to the newspaper's football coverage.
Not ordinarily, anyway.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, sports editor Gregg Drinnan was readying the staff for Grey Cup week. Most notably, there was the imperative of producing a massive preview section for the best-selling Saturday edition.
It was all-hands-on-deck time. Even if you didn't cover football, you were suddenly covering football.
So there I was, audaciously, trying to think of a way to escape to Toronto near the conclusion of a crazy week at my favourite newspaper.
I didn't want to ask for time off. At the same time, I couldn't live with myself without making such a request.
The word "terrified" does come to mind.
Even now, 35 years later, I feel nervous while recalling how scared I was as I headed to the office.
Gregg, the most organized person in history, was already at his desk.
As a sign of the times, he was hunched over a typewriter.
It occurred to me that approaching him at that time was not a sound idea.
I waited … waited … waited … for any opportunity to shuffle over to his desk and ask THE question, cognizant of the reality that it could be The Stupidest Request of My Life.
Eventually, I mustered up the courage to walk over to Gregg's desk.
"Uhhhhh," I warbled.
He turned toward me and glared.
"Uhhhhh," I elaborated.
Gregg did not look pleased as I stood before him, looking like a salmon. My mouth kept opening and closing, without anything of substance being uttered.
His impatience was evident. His valuable time was being wasted.
"Uhhhhh," I continued, "is there a (gasp) chance I could (gasp) get some days off (gasp) and go to the (cue hyperventilation) Grey Cup? Please?"
My spluttering was greeted with silence, which spoke volumes.
I returned to my desk, under which I wanted to crawl. At least I tried, right?
After a half-hour that felt like a half-century, Gregg said "RV!" and signalled for me to approach his desk.
This, I concluded, was a prelude to a well-deserved dismissal.
"Have you got any time off coming?" he inquired.
I dutifully informed him that I had three days in the bank.
"Let me think about this …," he said.
Back to my desk — this time with a modicum of hope.
Perhaps a half-hour later, Gregg walked by my cluttered desk and handed me a note.
"Have a nice time in Toronto. Bring me back a sweatshirt."
I nearly cried before once again asking myself: "Now what?"
Time off had been secured — thank you, Gregg! — but there was the accompanying necessity of securing a Grey Cup ticket and a flight, at a time when demand was suddenly soaring.
My plan was this: To be the first person at Dash Tours when the doors opened on a Monday morning.
In the middle of the night, I invited my fine dog, Peeve, to join me on an excursion to Winnipeg Street.
We parked outside a strip mall at 4 a.m. Nobody else was there.
To pass the time, I read a newly issued book by Ken Dryden, Home Game, while hoping to attend a road game.
Around 6 a.m., another vehicle turned into the parking lot. I extricated myself from my vehicle and propped myself against the front door of Dash Tours.
I was, as planned, the first person in line.
My Visa card was eagerly handed to the proprietor, Dave Ash, as soon as he was open for business.
It was money well spent.
The Roughriders ended up defeating the Hamilton Tiger-Cats, 43-40, in the greatest Grey Cup ever.
Thirty-five years later, I would like to reiterate my thanks to the greatest sports editor ever — Gregg Drinnan.
