I’m nervous, for the first time since joining the Fighters, looking around the stadium. The stadium in Vancouver's bigger than any other field in Canada, and the extra twenty thousand people, almost all of whom don't like me. Toronto and Vancouver have a sort of semi-hostile relationship, as between the two of us and Montreal, we're kind of like the New York, Los Angeles and Boston of Canada. Vancouver always loves showing up Toronto, and vice-versa.
When I'm introduced to the crowd, the boos are even worse, and I lose myself in the moment. Boo me all you want, I can take it. Hell, I've played in front of hostile crowds before. You should see what those crowds in Oregon or Arizona can sound like, when there's another twenty thousand on top of what you're raining down on me.
“These guys fucking hate you!” DeAndre says as we wait on the sidelines for the starters from Vancouver to be introduced. “What the hell did you do to them?”
“I don't know,” I say, the answer becoming clear as the hometown hero, a Vancouver native named Chris Liu who plays running back, is introduced. He must have been injured the last game, I didn't notice him before. “Oh, that's why.”
“What did you do?”
“If that's the same Chris Liu who played for Washington Poly way back, let’s just say we have a rivalry. He may have stirred something up.”
“Well, don't worry about it . . . the only fan you need is here,” DeAndre says, pointing. I turn, and see that Francine the head cheerleader is waving and pointing, and in the stands I can see April, her Kelly green jersey standing out against the surrounding fans, with another woman who I assume is Gail next to her, also wearing Kelly green. “Feel better?”
“Damn right,” I say, waving to April, who waves back. I try to call to her, but no dice. Instead, I call out again. “Hey, Francine! FRANCINE!”
She hears me and crosses the track between the stands and the sidelines, Vancouver's stadium is one of those type. “Whatcha need, Tyler?”
“Pass along to the security and to April . . . after the game, I don't care what happens, I want her on the field after they do the whole handshake and stuff. I need to tell her something important.”
Francine gives me a grin and nods. “All right. Should I be excited or sad?”
“You should go cheer your ass off, I'm planning on lighting up the scoreboard,” I tell her instead, pulling on my helmet.
We go on offense first, and jogging out to the huddle, I can see the questions in everyone's eyes. “No worries guys, let's light this shit up.”
I take the snap from Dave and drop back, looking left then right, reading the defense. The Vancouver guys are playing it cocky, a little soft in the zone, thinking that after losing to them last time, we'd be rattled. This is a different group of Fighters . . . this is a different me.
Robbie's covered, but Paul has a step on his man, and I throw, hitting him just as he turns back on his hook route. He grabs the ball, but then does something even I didn't expect. He fights off the d-back and turns upfield, stiff arming another before getting taken down after a twenty yard gain.
The next play is a run, and I hand off to Bobby, who slashes through the right side for a four yard gain, setting up second and six.
It's the game of my life, and if I think that normal Canadian football is like a video game, we play that first half like kids in a park. Every off your rocker, brain addled play that we can come up with, we do. The Vancouver defense is looking at us like we're insane, they don't know how to react to this group of twelve psychopaths who seem to have taken over for the Toronto Fighters offense.
Our defense is just as free, attacking with tricks and hard nosed hits that puts BC on its heels. Their quarterback, the League MVP just last year, is running for his life most of the half, harassed and even getting picked off twice, something that doesn't happen often for us.
At the half, we're already up twenty-eight to nothing. Three touchdown passes and one TD reception in a single half. It's the sort of game that you dream about.
In the locker room at half time, I go up to Coach Blanchard, who's smiling while he talks adjustments with the other coaches for the second half. “Hey, Coach?”
“Tyler . . . hell of a good first half.”
“I'm sure Trisha James and the other media's spewing over it now,” I reply with a laugh. “Can you send a message up to Mr. Larroquette, please? After the game, I'd like to have a quick meeting with him in the middle of the field. You, me, the GM . . . and April. We've got something to talk about.”
Coach nods, and grows serious. “Tyler… you've been a pain in the ass with your off the field issues, but you're one hell of a quarterback. I'm going to miss coaching you.”