Patriot Hearts (41 page)

I don’t think there’s any question that the true personality of the country came out during the Games, and the entire world saw a side of us it didn’t know was there. There were probably many who thought that we normally sober, self-effacing Canadians had received a personality transplant. However you describe the atmosphere, it was noticed and felt. Perhaps Jacques Rogge said it best when he said the
IOC
had never seen the Games embraced by its hosts on this scale before.

Never again were people going to say about Canadians that we were quiet, bashful, unpatriotic types. Never again were they going to say that we weren’t flag wavers or that we weren’t disposed to wearing our love of country on our sleeves. Time and again I heard the words “I have never been more proud to be Canadian.” The Games showed we were more than happy to wear our patriotism on our sleeves, heads, chests, feet—and especially on our hands. Olympic Red Mittens had become the official hand-warmer of the country, and more than a few pair had made their way to the far corners of the globe. Everyone, it seemed, became Canadian for a fortnight and it felt great.

But the biggest indication of how smitten the country was with what was going on in Vancouver and Whistler was certainly in the television numbers, beginning with the opening ceremonies, when more than 13 million Canadians watched the entire three-and-a-half-hour production and 10 million more caught at least a part of it. These ratings made the ceremonies the most watched television event in Canadian history, marking an increase of more than 29 per cent over the previous benchmark of 10.3 million viewers for the gold medal hockey game at the 2002 Olympics in Salt Lake City. Another 3 million tuned into the opening using other platforms, including the Internet, radio and cellphones and other handheld devices.

The opening simply set the stage for what was about to come. Every other day, the
CTV
-led consortium seemed to be sending out a news release trumpeting staggering numbers for an Olympic final in which a Canadian stood a good chance of medalling. Millions were watching the medal ceremonies, for heaven’s sake. Medal presentations were outscoring top
NHL
games by four and five times. And it maybe wasn’t a great surprise when we later learned that 22 million Canadians had been glued to their sets for the gold medal men’s hockey final. Makes you wonder who was running the country that day.

It was easy to look at what happened on the streets of Vancouver and in the living rooms of the nation during the Olympic fortnight and be surprised, shocked even, by what we were witnessing. A swagger we were not known for was now on full display. But honestly, for those who were paying attention it was obvious months earlier that something special was afoot. There were clear signals that the country was fully and completely engaged and ready to make the emotional investment in these Games that would later become so evident. Canadians seemed to take them over. Their fervent enthusiasm was there for all to see during the torch relay.

When we declared these to be Canada’s Games, trying to make them relevant to all Canadians, no matter where they lived, there was a fair bit of eye-rolling. Many saw our plan as a vision too far. People said it would never happen. The country was too big. But it was during the relay, it turns out, that Canadians began to get inspired, and I mean all Canadians, of every colour and creed. That little flame seemed to touch everyone. That’s when Canadians first swung open their doors and ventured outside to take a look, many wearing their red-and-white best.

While the performances of our athletes sent patriotism soaring through the roof, I doubt it would have happened, at least to the same degree, had the torch relay not touched down in every part of the country, allowing 90 per cent of Canadians to get up close and personal with the spirit of the Games. The relay is what ignited the fierce pride that would be on display during the Games. The relay gave us the momentum that would build throughout the 17 days of the Olympics.

These ideas had been swirling around in my head during my first run-throughs of my speech as I tried to find the words to express what Canadians might be feeling and expect on this day. I spent a good part of Sunday morning going over every word, tweaking parts here and there, practising my French aloud, cringing and sweating every time I did. But I was determined to be better. My mind was also full of emotions and imagery about the production itself and how the show was going to open. We had cooked up a bit of a surprise, to say the least.

It was about a week after the opening ceremonies, and that numbing poke in the eye we got when one of the arms of the cauldron embarrassingly failed to rise from the stadium floor, that David Atkins had beckoned me to his office for a closed-door chat. He wanted to talk about an idea he and a couple of others were kicking around for the closing ceremonies, which involved a significant departure from the original script: the crowd would take their seats and be greeted by an unlit cauldron still with only three arms, signs that it was indeed permanently disabled. The idea, David said, was to raise the fourth arm of the cauldron as part of the show and have it lit by Catriona Le May Doan, the torchbearer who had been left standing awkwardly in the cold when the arm she was to light stubbornly refused to operate on opening night. David envisaged a miming mechanic coming out of the floor and tugging on an imaginary rope to get the unseen cauldron arm into position. Then Catriona would appear to light the flame.

Forever the tease, David could see the smile building on my face as he outlined his plan. It was brilliant—on so many levels. First, it allowed us to poke a little fun at ourselves. Yes, the glitch on opening night had left a sour taste in some people’s mouths. But now we were going to turn that lemon into lemonade. Canadians would be thrilled that Catriona, who had conducted herself with so much dignity and class on opening night, would get her moment in the spotlight as she deserved.

Second, our commitment to a bilingual Games wasn’t just centred around how many French words were spoken but in how the duality of Canada was broadly reflected in everything we did. For the ceremonies, that could be achieved through the artists we chose, the dancers, music, imagery and the stories told, regardless of the language. By using a Montreal-based mime David was making a point: the mime was an artist who certainly reflected French culture but who also didn’t speak a word.

I thought David had showed real ingenuity in the face of the pressure that we were getting from many fronts on the French issue, not to mention the sometimes unreasonable demands of the networks. On its part,
NBC
was not thrilled that we had ended the opening ceremonies with a song in French. For its mostly English-speaking American audience, the network would have preferred that we use a song that was more recognizable. Meanwhile,
CTV
was lobbying hard to have its Olympic theme song, “I Believe,” inserted into the closing ceremonies. Not a chance, said David, and I wasn’t going to argue with him. He was putting his foot down on all of the interference and lobbying that was coming from the bleachers, and who could blame him? I loved “I Believe” but was happy with the lineup of talent that David had already assembled. Besides, it wasn’t our job to be a marketing company for
CTV
, great as their partnership with us was. Certainly, we weren’t going to put their interests ahead of the greater good of the Games and David’s well-crafted plan.

While part of me will forever crave the buzz and excitement of the Games, I will never miss the politicking and tug-of-war manoeuvring that went on behind the scenes, especially in regard to the opening and closing ceremonies.

BY LATE MORNING
, I had made my way to Canada Hockey Place to take in the gold medal game. The building was a powder keg of excitement. Given the anxiety I was already feeling about the closing ceremonies, I probably could have done without the high drama that unfolded. But for the country, Sidney Crosby in overtime, wow, you couldn’t have written it better if you were a Hollywood wordsmith. Our boy Sidney, our whole hockey team, gave Canada and the 2010 Olympics the defining moment that would be remembered and talked about for decades. It was the exclamation mark on a 17-day experience that brought Canadians together like never before.

It took a while to get from the rink to
BC
Place Stadium right next door after the game. I couldn’t go two feet without someone approaching to talk about what had just happened in the rink and to congratulate
VANOC
on a superb job. The mood was ebullient. I eventually made it inside the stadium but I wasn’t planning on making myself visible until right near the countdown to the start of the ceremonies, for a few reasons. First, I wanted to spend a little more time going over my speech and amending a part of it to incorporate the bit of hockey history that had just been made. We had managed quite an Olympic haul—14 gold medals, the most ever for a country at a Winter Games, host or not. What an achievement. What a validation of Own the Podium. That had to be recognized. I also wanted to go over my French parts just a bit more. Some last-minute cramming for the ultimate final.

I had earlier enlisted the assistance of Marcel Aubut, the president-elect of the Canadian Olympic Committee, the former owner of the Québec Nordiques and a legend in
la belle province.
I remember vividly when Marcel ran with the torch in Quebec. He had a huge following. I thought he could help me with some of my expressions, phrasing and elocution. Marcel immediately came up with several suggestions so that I might better express myself in French this time around. He even offered to help me in person, which is how we ended up together in the bowels of
BC
Place Stadium hours before the closing going over my French words. He made me repeat my phrases over and over and over again. He conducted his lessons with all the colour and flair of an animated choirmaster. “Not good enough,” he’d bark. “Do it again.” His hands were flying all over the place. His lips were moving a mile a minute. I would have burst out laughing if it hadn’t all been so serious. He gave me a pretty thorough grinding, and when I was done I was beat. He helped me cross the line from complete hopelessness to 10 per cent Brave-heart. I was ready to give it a shot.

The other reason I wanted to make myself scarce was because of what David had planned for Act One. Jacques Rogge and other members of the
IOC
were going to be staring down at an unlit cauldron, one that still had only three arms. But more significant was that it wasn’t burning—a violation of Olympic protocol. Once you light the cauldron to begin the Olympics, it is supposed to remain lit until the Games are over and the world is beckoned to meet again in four years’ time in the next host city. When people arrived for the closing, we should have had that cauldron burning, leaving everyone with the impression it had been glowing for 17 days.

Oops.

I could only imagine what everyone was thinking as they saw that poor, cold, unlit tripod, an arm still missing. For all they knew the embarrassment of opening night was about to be repeated.

I was also feeling a little anxious for my youngest daughter, Molly, who had grown from a small child into a beautiful young teenager during the life of this project. She was going to be dancing in the opening number, which was an ode to snowboarders. She had applied to be a dancer, auditioned quietly and been selected before I knew one word of her plan. All those years of dance classes had paid off. I was nervous and excited for her. I knew her stomach was probably a little queasy as well.

Eventually, it was time to find Darlene Poole, whom I was escorting to the president’s box. When we got to our seats there was a frisson of expectancy in the air. Many people were looking at the cauldron and wondering what on earth gives. I leaned over to Darlene just before the voice of God came over the public address system to announce the show was starting momentarily. “Get ready for a doozy of a surprise,” I whispered.

A few minutes later, with a burst of feathers, sparks and flames and the appearance of our mime dressed as a mechanic, the ceremonies began. It didn’t take long for Catriona to make her dramatic appearance and for the crowd to realize what was taking place: a beautiful bit of self-deprecating humour to set the tone just right. The crowd went crazy, loving every bit of our self-inflicted comedy. Below me, Prince Willem-Alexander of the Netherlands looked over to Dave Cobb with a wide grin. “Genius,” he said.

And it was. Pure David Atkins genius. He was worth every penny of his contract for that moment alone.

I didn’t see Jacques Rogge’s reaction to what had just happened on the stage floor but I’d like to think he was happy. Another inspired Olympic moment for him. I’m hoping he cracked a smile, regarded the moment for what it was and overlooked the breach in protocol. I didn’t see it as a protocol gaffe so much as a protocol lift. People were going to be talking about this moment for a long time. It humanized us, not just the organizing committee but the country as a whole. I think it even helped make the
IOC
, an organization that guards its rules and traditions with the persistence and dedication of a Napoleonic army, seem less stodgy and hidebound. The moment seemed to mark the Games in a special way, showing Canadians for what they are: laid-back people who aren’t afraid to poke a little fun at themselves, not slaves to tradition.

Our mime seemed to relax the whole stadium. Already in a great mood, the crowd was ready to have a good time now. Soon the floor was filled with hundreds of snowboard-carrying dancers dressed in white, swarming around the lit cauldron to the strains of a song called “Vancouver” led by the Winnipeg rock band Inward Eye. The dancers were mostly high school students, and out there among them was Molly, who had practised endlessly for her three minutes of fame. I strained to find her among the whirling-dervish frenzy taking place on the floor. No chance. It didn’t stop me from being one proud father though.