Reunited and it feels so good

The old saying, "Absence makes the heart grow stronger" was put to the test recently when I pointed the RAV south eastward and made the long trek back 'home' to Kingston for a Gaels FB reunion, a celebration of the 40th year since my old mates and I competed in the Nation's CIS championship, the Vanier Cup. As kudos to the strength of our bond, it took us all of 10 seconds to slide seamlessly back into full chirp mode, the guffaws and giggles exploding with a regularity, leaving diaphragms spasming and lungs wheezing. 

Shakespeare famous wrote, We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he today that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother, in his tale surrounding the life of English king Henry V.

We're most assuredly a band of brothers from different mothers, personifying forged bonds of legendary strength through our single-minded combat in a Grail quest against unsurmountable odds, the competition being a couple of minutes too long as our narrowest of come-from-behind leads evaporated with a tip o' the hat to a talented U of C Dinos team. Despite the gut wrenching loss, we took great solace in the knowledge that all avenues and energies were exhausted in our efforts, and we held ... and still hold ... our heads high, chins forward, shoulders back in pride of a job well done.

After nine hours of travel, an estimated 4 Litres of Rye and beer, over 10 000 calories of delicious decadence, and 4000 wide smiles, my reconnection with the greatest group of fellows this old fart could hope for was complete, the tales of our conquests grown exponentially more fantastic with each telling. We shared the events of our families and loved ones, inquired about work statuses and retirements, gifted 100's hugs and handshakes, and infused $1000's into the economy of Kingston. Forever the 'Big Yellow Guys', we wrapped ourselves in our old golden game jerseys, descended on the world class replacement of Queen's University's Richardson Stadium (complete with the unveiling of it's latest offering in the Stu Lang Pavillion), and cheered ourselves hoarse as our beloved Gaels battled the Evil Empire (Western) to the last second, only to mimic our 1983 experience as a last second TD wrenched the victory from our golden hands. 

In a wonderful twist of irony, I was elected by my team mates to participate in a OUA TV halftime interview about the value that the state of the art Richardson Stadium would bring to the program, and the feeling of reuniting with my mates to celebrate our longevity. As the representative of the 1983 team, I was joined by the 1961 team's elected representative Peter Thompson, a familiar face that I had first met many moons ago, even before I attended Queen's, since he had played for a few years with my father. Even with my personal sense of accomplishment, it was most comforting to accept the congratulations of team mates as they expressed thanks for a job well done representing them. 

Special shout-out to Kim Wilkinson, Queen's Development Officer, for her gifts of opportunity and swag, some new duds to proudly don as I seek to convince the next generation on the virtues of a Queen's experience, and maybe even a player or three for Coach Snyder.

Always resilient, we washed away our disappointment of the loss with an epic tailgate that was highlighted by Rob and Tish Ball (Gaels '78) gastronomic wizardry of pulled pork and meatball hoagies. The ranks swelled to historic proportions with an estimated 100+ former players and spouses commiserating over the day's events. The smiles were wide, the hearts filled beyond capacity, the laughs aplenty, and the twinkles in the eyes beaming with love, familiarity, and gratitude.

The highlight of the entire weekend was the appreciative grin of our brother Jeff Kyle who, beset by the fickle finger of fate, stoically braving the toll the excitement had on his fragile energy levels, graciously accepting the tremendous outpouring of love and support. 

The last but certainly not least would be a HUGE thank you to Ross O'Doherty for the countless amount of time and energy he gifted us all in organization of said reunion's activities ... the golf, the meals, the herding of cats ... all was above and beyond! I personally lost count of the number of times we each took turns thanking him, but here's another just in case his beer goggles were over his ears as well. OD, you're limited edition, brother! You spoiled us rotten ... again!

If you played football, or have a working knowledge of the game, you'll be astutely aware that the game is generally considered to be won or lost in the trenches, the battle of O and D lines, aka pianos movers, while the bargain of victory falling on the 'skill' players, aka piano players. As such, our cadre's Offensive Lineman, affectionately coined 'The Hogs', are a tight knit collection of girth, aggression, intelligence, and mischievousness, and some of my dearest friends. Our small group made the trek from destinations afar like Atlanta, Philly, Arnprior, Oshawa and (of course) the Beach, with a nod to Lively as we toasted the absence of our adopted fallen brother John Larsen (RIP 2021) with ryes held aloft and fondness in our breast. Always the life of the party, if I do say so myself, we led the way ... just like always ... taking back the night as we closed the Merchant, our adopted headquarters, not once but twice, our bellies full and our livers teetering on the edge of destruction, causing some to struggle with the short trek back to the safety of our beds, a listing ambulatory escapade who's video brought even more hilarity to our already taxed cheek muscles.

The quintessential wrap up was the welcomed comfort of Morrion's Restaurant, the famed breakfast nook of Kingston's downtown, whose greasy gloriousness lubricated our weary insides with a warming glow of familiarity. I, for one, have oft been thankful for the medicinal properties of fried eggs, French toast, pancakes and bacon in my attempt to tolerate my adolescent-like misbehaviour.

In the loooooong drive home, I found myself reminiscing about the glory of the past 60 hours, and felt a growing gratitude for the seemingly endless comments and compliments I received from my brethren throughout the weekend, an amazing gift that I'll hold close to my soul.

I've said it before in my writings, but it begs repeating, I'm a blessed fellow. 

Let the recuperations begin!