by John Furlong
He said, of course, he would do whatever we needed him to do. Getting to Prague was going to be hell for the prime minister, who had to be in Ottawa for Canada Day celebrations. He was going to have to board a plane as soon as his obligations there were over and fly through the night to arrive in Prague one hour before we were scheduled to go onstage. The man was a warrior who wanted to win the bid as badly as any of us.
ON THE GROUND in Prague it was nail-biting time. The Koreans had set up shop well before us. Samsung, the Korean electronics giant, had seemingly bought up every inch of billboard space in the city. It was as if the company, and by extension Pyeongchang, had taken over the place. Not only were their signs everywhere, but so were members of the Korean delegation. It seemed as if there were hundreds of them, spread out all over the city looking for an IOC voter to corner. We were all staying in the same hotel as the IOC members, but the floors they were on were off limits to everyone else. Whenever a few of them went downstairs, officials from Pyeongchang would be on them like fruit flies on a peach.
I grew concerned that members of our group might be tempted to lose their discipline. I didn’t want anyone, under any circumstances, changing anything, promising anything, no matter how seemingly innocuous, to an IOC member in exchange for his or her support. We had been meticulously clean throughout the race, and I was determined that we were going to continue being that way to the end.
Most days our team assembled in the dingy, dark confines of the Charles University Faculty of Law, where we had rented space for run-throughs of our presentation. Premier Gordon Campbell was terrific, working with people on their speeches, quietly reassuring everyone they were going to be great once the spotlight hit them. It was a side of Campbell that the public rarely gets to see, and I thought that if people did they would undoubtedly feel differently about him. He had a warm, funny, compassionate dimension that really shone through in Prague.
Wayne Gretzky arrived with his family a few days before the vote. Wayne has a legendary fear of flying, so agreeing to hop on a plane for 16 hours was incredibly kind of him. He showed up at the daily practice sessions and then disappeared. He told me he didn’t want the media swarms to become a distraction for the group. I really wanted Wayne there after hearing an interview with him and CTV’s Rod Black in which he talked about the thrill of playing in the Olympics for the first and only time in Nagano. He said it surpassed any of the four Stanley Cups that he’d won, which was a pretty amazing statement. Hearing that sentiment coming from such a world-recognized athlete would mean an incredible amount.
We set up a little war room in a space adjacent to my room in the Intercontinental Hotel, and each day a small group of us—Bob Storey, Jack and I, mostly—went over the delegate list, checking, double-checking, our support and talking last-minute tactics. The way we had it figured, Salzburg would be out on the first ballot. We thought we might be close to a first-ballot win but probably wouldn’t get there. After Salzburg went out, we figured to pick up almost all of their votes.
I didn’t get much sleep most nights. Meetings would go late, and I had a million things running through my mind. It was like that scene in The Wizard of Oz after Dorothy has been struck on the head during the tornado. She dreams she’s looking out her window and all these people she’s encountered pass by. Well, that was the inside of my head. All these people and concerns just kept passing by and I couldn’t do much to stop it.
The night before our presentation in Prague, a group of us were at a restaurant when Dick Pound and his wife walked in and joined us. It was awkward as hell. Dick leaned over to tell me he was prepared to go onstage the next day and introduce the group. I felt terrible. I didn’t like being put in this position and I had to tell him no, that the list of those who would be onstage was finalized and had been submitted to the IOC. Dick sloughed the rejection off, but I knew it bothered him. It was a slap in the face, even though it was not intended to be. He was the leading IOC official in Canada, a name recognized around the world, and we hadn’t asked him to be onstage with us. How else was he to interpret it?
The morning of the vote everyone was nervous, which was understandable. We would be first up among the three bid cities, not the ideal position. I wanted to be last, but Pyeongchang drew that straw. We were to be onstage at 10 AM. The prime minister arrived at 9 AM, all smiles, telling everyone he was raring to go even though he must have been exhausted. The 11 of us who were going to be onstage lined up outside the hall in the Hilton Hotel, in front of the hundred or so lucky Canadians who got to watch the presentation live.
Before we went in I went down the line and thanked everyone individually for their contribution. I wanted them to know that, win or lose, what they each had done had meant a great deal to me, the project and their country. For me this was the best day ever. We were at the finish line in one piece, together, inspired and proud. We had made it, hurt no one, cheated no one, promised only what we could deliver—as truly Canadian as we could be. There would be no shame whatever the result. I was never more content—a bag of nerves yes, but morally completely at ease.
Jack Poole had given every one of the Canadians who would be entering the hall behind the presentation team a “lucky loonie” to stuff in their pockets. The lucky loonie had a fabled heritage, of course. One was put under centre ice in Salt Lake City by the Canadian who was in charge of maintaining the ice surface for the Olympics. After the men’s and women’s teams won there, the lucky loonie became the stuff of lore.
And then the doors opened to soaring, powerful music from the movie Spirit. On a big screen in the room were glorious images of Canada and its people. Two minutes of pulsating energy to help us take the room over. It was the perfect mood-setter.
Now it was game time.
Jacques Rogge made some introductory remarks and then stopped and looked at me: “Mr. President, the floor is yours.”
I stood at the podium microphone and for a few seconds seemed to be frozen as I looked out over the crowd, centurions of the most powerful sport parliament in the world in whose hands our fate rested. The cameras were rolling and the world was tuned in. “I am John Furlong, the president of Vancouver 2010, and as I stand before you today I must admit I’m extremely nervous.”
I have no idea why I decided to tell people that I was shaking in my boots. I guess I thought honesty was the best policy. It was funny how many people would later comment positively on that small admission. They felt it showed a vulnerability they could relate to. Who wouldn’t be nervous under the circumstances?
It was my job to introduce our team and I started with Jack. He conveyed how ready we were to get started. We could begin construction the next day, he assured them with confidence. He talked about some of the infrastructure improvements that were already underway, including work on the Sea to Sky Highway.
Premier Campbell was next. He was the guarantor. It was his job to tell the IOC that the Games would not get into financial trouble, because they were backed by the provincial government. He was completely convincing. The prime minister followed and talked about the federal government’s commitment and the commitment all Canadians were making on this day. He made it personal and also spoke of trust and Canadian values. He was utterly on his game and nailed the emotion we needed.
Because of time constraints, we had had Larry Campbell, Gibby Jacobs and Michael Chambers tape comments, and we showed their videos. Then Charmaine Crooks talked about Canada’s multicultural heritage and her own immigrant history. She assured the IOC that athletes from around the world would receive a warm welcome from a country made up of people from around the world.
I was up next.
“Although my accent might lead you to believe that I am an Irishman,” I began, “I stand up here today a proud Canadian. The day I arrived in Canada a Customs and Immigration officer looked me in the eye, and as he handed my passport back said to me, quite simply: ‘Welcome to Canada—make us better.’ He challenged me to contribute to the gr
eater good of Canada and for the last three decades, while I built a career in sport, this national culture of giving became a real force in my life. I came to realize that to give is the Canadian way. . . and it is expected from every one of us.”
I went on to talk about everything Vancouver and Whistler had to offer, from a wonderful airport to world-class hotels and some of the most impressive sports venues a Winter Games had ever seen. I said ours was a worry-free plan based on stability and reliability.
Steve Podborski followed me and talked about how he was the first Canadian man to bring home an Olympic medal in downhill skiing. He said the facilities we planned to build for the athletes would be second to none. And then Steve introduced The Great One.
Wayne Gretzky talked about the magic of stepping onto the ice in Nagano, not knowing the impact it would have on him. “There is no greater honour than the Olympics because there is no greater movement than the Olympic movement.” Out in the audience I could see a big smile cross René Fasel’s face. He knew how powerful Gretzky’s statement was inside that room.
Catriona Le May Doan gave part of her speech in French while talking about catching the Olympic spirit as a child and how that transformed her life. She talked about the thousands of dreams that would be ignited in children in B.C. if we received the privilege of hosting the Games.
And then it was back to me to wrap up our presentation. “As a boy, I dreamed of becoming an Olympian,” I started. “It was all I could think about. While I never made it to the Olympics, this bid has given me and my colleagues a chance to be Olympians of a different kind. We share the values of the Olympic ideal as a powerful platform for building a better world through sport. And we very much want to be your partners in building that better world.”
I thanked our opponents for making the Vancouver bid a better project, for helping many people visualize a better future for our city and for the country. I promised we would be the best partners the IOC could possibly imagine, partners it wouldn’t have to worry about, that could be counted upon. I asked the IOC members to imagine a torch relay arriving in Canada above the Arctic Circle, farther north than it had ever been before, and then travelling from sea to sea to sea, unifying our vast country in the process.
“We are ready to be an Olympic city. . . We believe that for generations to come, these Games will be a catalyst for immense promise for Vancouver . . . We believe that through sport there can be a chance for peace. That we might distinguish ourselves in the greater cause of sport and humanity. In the end we hope that you might look back on the Vancouver Olympic and Paralympic Winter Games with great pride and affection. Our Olympic dream has transformed us and captivated our nation. Our dream is embedded in the heart of every Canadian athlete, every Canadian family, every Canadian child. Our dream, like your dream, is a dream forever.”
We had to reserve some time for questions from IOC members. We had a pretty good idea whom they would be coming from. All of them allowed us to accentuate positive aspects of our bid and address lingering concerns like the road to Whistler. No damage done.
WHEN I FINALLY sat down in my seat I felt an enormous weight lift. My speech was the culmination of years of hard work by so many people. I honestly believed we had given the campaign everything we had. Coaches ask hockey players to leave everything they have on the ice. I believed that our team had left everything it could in Prague. I couldn’t have asked for more.
As our group began walking out of the conference hall, an elderly man with glasses approached me with an outstretched hand. “That was a wonderful speech, Mr. President.” It was the famous U.S. statesman Henry Kissinger, an honorary IOC member. “I wish you well.” Our team congregated outside the hall. Everyone was happy. Some people were planning to watch the other presentations. I had no interest. Why put myself through that just to worry even more. I needed to get away and clear my head so I went for a long walk along the river. Later in the afternoon, some of our team started assembling in my hotel room. All the presentations had been made by that point, and we were about to learn the results of the first vote by closed-circuit television. And soon enough Jacques Rogge was on the screen. My hotel room fell silent.
“After the first round of voting the City of Salzburg has been eliminated,” said Dr. Rogge.
And for a city that had the same Olympic dreams we had, that had poured thousands of hours into its bid and spent tens of millions of euros, it was over just like that. See ya, goodbye. I couldn’t fathom what that moment must have felt like for the members of the Salzburg team. Devastating for sure.
We knew that we were poised to gain most, if not all, of the votes that Austria received in the first round. But then, when you were dealing with the IOC you could never be absolutely sure about anything. Yes to your face could really mean no; it was like grabbing a handful of Jell-O.
The final announcement was going to be made at 5:30 local time. When we got to the hall, most of the Korean delegation was already there, looking supremely confident. A rumour started circulating that there was a report on the Internet that Pyeongchang had already won, and someone from the media asked me about it. “I don’t believe it for a second,” I said. “And no one will know until Jacques Rogge opens that envelope.”
The last minutes before the announcement were excruciating. My stomach was a mess. I was confident but the wait had a way of messing with a person’s head. At this point, all of the IOC members were onstage. A small girl in braids and traditional, brightly coloured Czech dress walked to the stage holding a pillow upon which lay the envelope that would seal our fate. Dr. Rogge walked toward the stage. The tension in the room was unbearable. The president opened the envelope and seemed to take a few seconds to digest the results. More tension. The entire IOC was standing behind him—rows of them.
“The International Olympic Committee has the honour of announcing that the 21st Winter Olympic Games are awarded to. . . the City of Vancouver,” he said.
There was a momentary delay in my response. The way Dr. Rogge had pronounced Vancouver sounded like “Pyeoncouver,” but that confusion lasted only a second before I realized we had won. The place went crazy. I was standing beside one of the two Mounties in red serge who had escorted our delegation in for our morning presentation. Constable Chantal Jung turned to me and put me in a bear hug that nearly broke my ribs. “We did it,” she screamed. The next several minutes were just chaos. I was hugging and shaking the hands of everybody on our team.
“Today we moved a mountain,” I said to Jack Poole. Jean Chrétien, the exhausted warrior, looked 10 years younger. I thanked him for flying through the night to give a guarantee to the IOC that I felt had been vital to the bid.
It was a coming-of-age moment for me. I had been second-guessed a thousand times along the way and now, it seemed, I had been vindicated. It was as if my whole belief system had been validated. I suddenly could relate to every athlete who was part of a big win—a Stanley Cup, the FIFA World Cup, an NBA championship. Plus there was an immediate, palpable feeling of relief.
I WAS SURPRISED at how close the final vote was. Three votes. We were behind after round one but grabbed all of Austria’s 16 votes to sneak by the Koreans 56–53. Scary close. Only a couple of other decisions in IOC history had been closer than ours—both of those determined by one vote.
There would be a lot of talk about the role geopolitics played in our victory. How European countries wanted the 2012 Summer Games, so were not going to vote for a European city to win the 2010 Games. I never put much stock in that theory. I thought we won because of the quality of our bid, pure and simple. The IOC trusted us and liked us. Sure, there may have been a few people who voted for other reasons, but overall I think that if Salzburg had had a superior plan and strategy, it would have prevailed. Same with Pyeongchang. Honestly, though, after the way the Koreans played the margins I was happy they were going home empty-handed. With the help of Samsung, they had probably spent over $100 million on their bid to our $35 millio
n, but in the end it didn’t matter. That outcome made me feel better about the IOC and the way it operated.
As I was walking out of the hall, the Prince of Orange approached me with a big smile. “Are we good now?” he asked, a reference to my threat to leak the story about his ripped pants if we didn’t get the Games.
“Yes,” I said. “We’re good.”
We attended a reception hosted by the IOC at the Hilton before we joined a bigger party for all the hundreds of Canadians who had made the trip. Dr. Rogge and his wife, Anne, were in a greeting line. When Jack and I got to the president, he reached out to shake our hands. “So,” he said, “are you going to be another one of those cities that make a whole bunch of glowing promises you don’t plan on keeping?”
Humour aside, I was a bit taken aback by the remark. “No,” I said. “You won’t have a problem there, I can assure you. The Canadian public will insist that the promises we made here will be kept.”
A little later on, I headed over to our victory celebration, where I was greeted by a lovely ovation when I walked through the door. I felt embarrassed and quickly slunk into a corner to banter with some guys from NBC. Among them was Dick Ebersol, the charismatic chair of NBC Universal Sports and the network’s longtime Olympic guru. The network had paid an astounding US $2.2 billion for the rights to the 2010 and 2012 Olympics, and Ebersol told me part of the equation was the assumption Vancouver would win the bid to host the 2010 Winter Olympics. He had bet the farm on us.
Ebersol was wearing the biggest smile. “It’s a goddamn good thing you won,” he said. “Or I would have been living in exile in a house floating on an iceberg in the North Atlantic for the rest of my days.”
I didn’t have a hard time sleeping that night. I was completely spent. Most of the team was heading home the day following the vote. I felt that too much of the attention had been on me in Prague. I wanted Jack to get the accolades he deserved. He had empowered this effort with such class. I told him I wanted him to return to Vancouver a hero for everything he’d done. I also needed to thank every IOC member for trusting us, so I stayed behind an extra day. Jack and the premier and others landed in Vancouver and received a star’s welcome.