Even my daughter was excited.
That’s how I knew I had a win on my hands. Well, minus the paying for tickets part. But now was not the time for minor details.
***
In Rochester, New York, we see the big picture.
We’re often recipients of pity regarding how far we are from New York City.
But that same spot on the map means we’re really close to something else—another country.
It’s just across a small lake. (Fine, it’s a Great Lake—Lake Ontario, to be exact.)
And once across, we’re greeted by North America’s fourth-largest and the world’s most multicultural city.
It turns out that in addition to a lot of people, the city has something else—an NBA team.
***
We grabbed our passports and fired up the car.
It was early, but we didn’t want to take any chances.
It’s not every day you get to go to the NBA Finals, and we weren’t going to screw this one up.
It was Sunday, June 2, 2019.
Game 2.
Toronto Raptors vs. Golden State Warriors.
Kawhi Leonard vs. Steph Curry.
There was no way we could be late.
***
It’s a three-hour drive from Rochester to Toronto.
It could be an hour and a half, but the lake is in the way.
And driving across it is not an option.
There was a ferry once.
But apparently there are more Americans who want to go to Toronto than there are Canadians who want to come to Rochester.
So we drive around the puddle instead.
***
The border crossing was a breeze.
The border agent even gave us a “Go Raptors!” as we pulled into the Great White North.
I made sure to point out the français and the kilometres on the road signs to the kids.
No learning opportunity will be overlooked, said the dad in me.
My son humored me. My daughter briefly nodded her head in approval.
And then we turned on the Drake.
Who better to serenade our jaunt than the Torontonian himself?
Needless to say, by the time we reached Hamilton, Ontario, I had no choice but to switch to Rush.
As we inched closer, the traffic picked up.
***
Canada is one of the least densely populated countries in the world.
In Greater Toronto—home to about 18 percent of the country’s population—that reality is not apparent.
In fact, Toronto is part of a narrow corridor between Quebec City and Windsor, Ontario, that contains half of Canada’s residents.
As such, car brakes come in handy.
***
We eventually pulled into a parking garage, one that would make the getaway back to the US easier.
My wife and I struggled with the payment system, but a couple polite kids who had driven up from Windsor helped us out. Canada.
First on the agenda was some gear.
We walked past Jurassic Park—the crowd was trickling in to watch the game on the big screen—and got in line for merch.
A few hundred dollars later—too much in both Canadian and American terms—we were ready to spend even more money.
It was time for the second agenda item—the pregame meal, washed down with a couple Molson Canadians, of course.
I asked my wife to sign the bill, just so I didn’t have to mull over the additional damage.
And finally, the last stop—Scotiabank Arena!
After making it in, we knew we’d be heading up.
Way up.
As in the fifth row from the top.
Even there, I heard a sorry. A hint that I wasn’t at a Buffalo Bills game.
A little while later, I got another hint.
It was time for the Canadian national anthem, and I damn near felt like I was at the Olympics.
Native daughter Alessia Cara had the stage, but she quickly handed it over to the fans.
And, man, were they into it.
I had pulled up the lyrics on my phone so my family and I could sing along. By the end, I had chills, even though Molson Canadian was the closest I was to actually being Canadian.
Speaking of which, I had an aisle seat. That meant the beer vendor had an easy target.
I indulged.
After tip off, the place was just as deafening.
Who knew that making a 12-foot jump shot early in the first quarter could send Canadians into such a frenzy?
“I’m not that into basketball, but this is insane!” yelled my daughter.
My son, a boy of few words, had a huge smile on his face.
My wife couldn’t name a single player, but she knew good entertainment when she saw it.
The Raptors had won the first game of the seven-game series, but by the time the fourth quarter rolled around, the Warriors were poised to even things up.
With a few minutes left in the game, the writing was on the wall.
Then it happened.
A 10-0 Raptors run, punctuated by a Danny Green three-pointer with 27 seconds left!
They had cut the lead to two, 106-104, and the arena was shaking.
The shell-shocked Warriors crossed the half court line and set up their floundering offense.
We, along with the other 20,000 fans, were on our feet, waiting for the roof to blow off the place.
A stop and a two would tie it.
Or better yet, a stop and a three…
A few more seconds ticked off the clock.
Then a pass to Andre Iguodala on the wing.
How was he so open?
For three…
Good.
109-104.
Silence.
Game over.
We looked at each other, speechless.
And then, still in awe at what we had seen, we laughed.
Because the result didn’t matter.
We knew that on that day, we had made (bought?) memories that would last a lifetime.
Wasn’t that the point?
***
Epilogue:
My wife drove home.
All four of us made it to work and school in the US the next morning.
Due to a “growth spurt,” my Raptors gear no longer fits.
As a result of these 12 hours, my wife and I have had to push back our retirements.
***
Thank you to Beyond the Scoreboard for inspiring this piece.
