An Act of God and the 13th Man

My dad, the 13th Man, with his helmet, signed by the iconic George Reed. 

It's Grey Cup week here in the land under sun.  A fresh coat of soft, sparkling snow has fallen upon us, but despite the white stuff that is covering the land, we are green through and through.

It all started last Sunday when the Saskatchewan Roughriders (miraculously) won in Calgary against the Stampeders. I was writing a presentation on risk management and CEO succession while the game was playing in our family room.  The TV was loud enough that I could hear it.  My husband was tucked downstairs in his wine making room, listening to the blaring television from a safe distance, praying that his beloved Saskatchewan Roughriders would win the game.  (He believes that if he watches the game, they will lose).  A true Rider fan, he keeps a safe distance to give his team a fighting chance.

My Facebook page was open while I was working, so my friends and family commentators kept me in the loop. My sister in BC commented - "I am liking what I see . . .", and then the half time status - 22 - 6 for the Riders!  I called out to my husband to tell him they are winning, and he said - "I don't want to know!"

He was right. The third quarter was upon us and that's when things start to fall apart on the field quite often.  But not this day.  This day was a notable victory.  The one that would take us to the promised land of the Grey Cup.

"They did everything right," sports icon George Reed said to me.

Something came over us that day when we won in Calgary. We were hosting the Grey Cup and planning the party of the year, as we always do, but something shifted in Riderville, sort of like when the Grinch's heart grew 10 times its size.  We are inspired.

Yesterday my 76 year old dad, the original 13th man, phoned me desperately looking for a Grey Cup ticket.  A season ticket holder all his life, he was not able to get a ticket.  I posted a call for help on Facebook and my friends shared with their friends, and before I knew it, a family was offering their fourth ticket to my dad, inviting him to attend the game with them.

Meanwhile, my dad called the Mosaic Stadium Box Office in a last attempt to buy a ticket, and there was one ticket left, and it was waiting for him. He told me there was more to the story than luck.  He  had been sharing his woes of possibly missing the biggest game ever and his friend said, "leave it to God."  My dad told me, "I don't like to do that all the time, especially when He may not care that I am watching the game on TV or in the stands.  So I called, and it was there, waiting for me."

Snow or no snow. The sun is shining here in the land under the sun, and the 13th man will be there once again, and the stands will be green.