Sienna skies

Goodbye love, goodbye Games

In the end, we brought the games home. Vancouver’s 2010 Olympics was global in scope, but intimately our own. As a Canadian, I did not fathom the possibility that Canada could in fact, own the games. Not in medal counts, though we made history with a record 14 gold medals, but that these games would come to be our nations meeting point in the 21st century. It has taken us decades to rise to the occasion, but when given the flame to ignite it all, these Games was the flint that sparked our passions, and the journey that joined our many hearts.

Canadian crowds at Women's Gold Hockey game - 10-02-25

In 16 short days, I became emblazoned with a new sense of identity, one I gladly wore on my sleeves, bright red and cozy. Within the sea of red and white I saw in my fellow country folk, a curious sense of relief in boldly wearing Canada on our sleeves. It was therapeutic of sorts to feel unabashedly honest about ourselves and our nation. Every cheer of excitement, every gasp of disbelief, every scream of exuberance, every outburst of our anthem, however loudly, quietly, or indiscreet, was like a sudden release. The quiet internal shouts of joy were finally given amplitude and voice. It appeared we had finally arrived.

But before the games began, the prospects were marked with sorrow and loss. Nodar’s death quieted the urgency of the games. We began questioning ourselves before we even stepped foot on centre stage. And from then on, the mishaps and misgivings that followed would be magnified and morphed into monsters, as media devoured us from the inside out. When the weather Gods decided to rain on us, cry on our dreams, again our quiet hearts fought, like we always have, gentle yet determined. And as the world looked on us with critical eyes, our red hearts kept faithful, and our broad belief remained true.  The games would be ours if only we were given the chance to begin with.

And so there she was, a nation so unprepared for the onslaught of emotion to come that somewhere deep within, as Alexandre Bilodeau dashed across the finish line, she threw her guard down for the very first time. Just as the moment appeared most dire, when the world proclaimed us the “worst Olympics” in history, our athletes raced into our hearts and revived us from our reverie of “not so goods”, and “second bests”.

We always knew what we were, we just never shouted it so loudly, wore it so brightly, or braved it so boldly. And so like the sun that finally came to welcome us, Vancouver broke into her stride. For the next two weeks, Canada stopped apologizing for itself and started cheering for it instead.

And when we started cheering, we realized that everybody was listening. These games have garnered an outpouring of excitement and incited an unforeseen passion in its people. Somewhere, somehow, Bilodeau, Heil, Rochette, St-Gelais, Hughes, Wickenheiser, Montgomery, Crosby and all the other athletes who raced into our hearts, gave us a meeting place to show ourselves once more in red and white, stark crazy thrilled, and fearlessly Canadian.

Tonight, we bid farewell to the Games with the bittersweet realization that we as a nation finally brought the games home and made it truly our own. Thank you Canada. Goodbye games, you gave us hope for another day, and showed us all how truly remarkable we are in every way. Goodbye love, goodbye Games.