by John Furlong
The study was going to cost roughly $50,000. Chris Rudge phoned me to see if VANOC would pay half of the study’s costs. He thought it would show good faith and demonstrate that VANOC and the COC were true partners. If we agreed on one thing it was that the athletes were the real key to the Games’ success. My immediate thought was that although the cost was not huge, there was no way our board was going to approve the expenditure—at least not readily. But as I talked to Chris, I started to noodle the idea around a bit in my head. Given Canada’s past performances at Winter Games, a knockout showing in Vancouver could be a game changer for the country. I also thought it was high time the athletes saw some real effort by the country’s sport leaders to get them some winning tools. It was ridiculous to expect medals if we were trying to do it with Monopoly money and decade-old technology. Other winter sport nations like the United States, Germany and Norway had already turned winning into a science. To them, results mattered.
I told Chris I would take his proposal to the board, of which he was a member. There were six other COC members on it as well, and I knew I would have their support. The others I wasn’t so sure about. Athlete support was usually left to the various national sport organizations, such as the COC. The organizing committees generally stayed out of this part of the Olympics. I felt we couldn’t afford to.
When I made my pitch to the board, I tried to land the plane gently. I said that in my opinion the definition of success for us was going to be measured against three things: keeping our promises, delivering a great Games experience for athletes and spectators alike and performing well on the field of play. I believed that if our team didn’t do well and haul home a lot of gold, Canadians were going to say, “Well, that was fun,” but the experience and memory of the Games would evaporate in a nanosecond and the legacy potential would be lost. A generation of effort gone with little to show.
Despite my best sales pitch, a lot of board members were still not biting. They just didn’t see supporting athletes as our job. A few thought I was out of line and felt we already had enough on our plate. They thought it was piling work on at a time when we barely had the capacity to handle what we had. They also wondered where it would go afterward. Would there be more costs? Ultimately, the board agreed to split the costs of the study. But that was as far as it was prepared to go—for now anyway.
Afterward, I said to Chris that the only way we were prepared to support the study was if the COC agreed that it would abide by whatever recommendations Cathy Priestner Allinger made. There would be no cherry-picking of ideas, no exceptions. It was all or nothing. We were going to go along with Cathy’s proposals regardless of what they cost or we were out. Chris agreed.
Cathy assembled a small team to work on the project. A few months later she delivered her report, which analyzed every sport and how far we were away from gold, silver, bronze in each of them and what it was going to take to get onto the podium by 2010. Cathy costed out the equipment, coaching, travel, training and other things it would take to obtain our goal of being atop the podium. It wasn’t going to be cheap: $110 million. For that sum we had a real shot, she said.
It was evident from the minute Cathy’s report hit the table, and we digested the price tag associated with her recommendations, that there was no way the COC was going to be able to fund this venture by itself. I knew before anyone asked that VANOC was going to need to get involved to help bridge the funding gap. And once discussions began with the COC, it became clear we were going to have to find all of the money because it simply didn’t have the funds to mount this kind of challenge. Even though the funding was going to be spread over five years, it was still a whopping $22 million a year. Where was it going to come from? I could barely get the VANOC board to agree to spend $25,000 on Cathy’s study. How would we ever get it to support a decision to finance this endeavour?
It was going to take some creative thinking and a daring strategy, something out of an entirely new playbook. I believed the answer lay with our sponsors. Present the Games and the Olympic team to them as a package. Pitched properly, I thought they would all bite into the lure of helping create the greatest Canadian Olympic team ever. If it worked out the way Cathy Priestner Allinger envisioned, the sponsors that donated to Own the Podium would be able to declare victory alongside our athletes. Sure, this was not something that had been tried in the past, but I was discovering that sponsors liked the vision we were laying out and the performance of our team in Vancouver would be an important part of making sure that the big dream came true.
After the report came out and showed that winning was indeed possible, we had a fairly animated debate inside our own executive. Some sparks flew, to be sure. There was some nervousness about becoming a full-fledged partner in the plan. But vision ruled the day, and we went back to the board and told the directors that we simply had to find a way to make the findings in the report become a reality. If not us then who, I said to the board. Yes, even if it cost $110 million. So we pitched the idea of splitting the price tag with the federal government—without knowing, of course, if Ottawa would go along.
Beyond Jack and the seven COC directors, there was not what I would call resounding early support among the board. In fact, there was downright hostility from some. But I went back to my overarching theme: we had to make these Games more than just two weeks of sport. We had to make them about nation building and changing the country’s view of itself. If our athletes failed, despite trying their best, it would make our mission almost impossible. Our dream would be lost. I really believed that. It was time to show some courage.
I also believed we could come up with the money because sponsors would want to have their name on the Own the Podium program. We debated the subject for a while longer before the majority of directors agreed to sign on with the plan, which, of course, was contingent on the feds going along with it. So that was one of our next hurdles—getting bureaucrats and ministers in Ottawa revved up about the idea. But there was one other potential stumbling block.
Anyone who had done a careful reading of Cathy’s report would have noticed that it called for a big infusion of cash and effort in some sports and almost nothing for others. Cathy’s feeling, after consulting with many experts, was you put your money squarely behind the sports you had the best chance of winning a medal in. This was a bit of a break from Canadian tradition, which often lacked that kind of cold, steely focus. For instance, she called for major bucks to be poured into our Alpine skiing program and next to nothing for ski jumping, a sport for which there was little culture in Canada. If we were going to be about winning in 2010, we had to give our best horses the best chance to win. No waste. Period.
This strategy was potentially going to complicate our conversation with the federal government. If we were going to convince Ottawa to fork over $55 million over five years, we had to go there united, that is, officials representing all the Winter sports federations had to be onside. If we had dissension, or if even one group claimed it was being discriminated against, the federal government would get nervous and shy away from the proposal. We arranged to have a meeting in Ottawa with Stephen Owen, the Liberal Mp who was minister in charge of the Olympics at the time.
The day before the meeting, we got the group together for a strategy session in which I hammered home the unity message again. I said that in the past Ottawa had always been able to avoid these investments because we could never seem to show a united front. We were easy to dismiss. So everyone needed to understand that unless the group waved a green flag in the air signalling that the plan was a go, the government would sense there was a problem and back out. I guaranteed it, as did others.
I was also worried about what Sport Canada was going to say about the proposal. It had a huge influence over the outcome. Sport Canada was the federal department that advised the government on all matters related to amateur athletics. Ultimately, Stephen Owen would be getting a report from the federal agency on what to do about the funding request: gran
t or deny. At our strategy meeting that day was Tom Scrimger, director general of Sport Canada. It wasn’t long into the discussion when I asked Tom what Sport Canada’s vision was for the 2010 Games.
“Well,” he said, “we don’t have one.”
“What do you mean, you don’t have one?” I blurted. “You have to have one. I mean, surely you must be looking down the road at the Olympics and figuring out what Canada hopes to achieve.”
I will never forget Tom’s reply. “I don’t have the luxury of being able to have a vision,” he said. “That is for the minister, not me.”
I nearly fell out of my chair.
“Tom,” I continued, “you mean to tell me you don’t have something, even something scribbled on a piece of paper somewhere and stuffed in a drawer, that says in a perfect world this is what we hope to achieve?” I could not believe he did not have his own bucket list of wishes to suggest to the minister.
Stephen Owen’s political aide was in the room as well. He sat mostly expressionless. I was worried that we might be facing a situation in which Sport Canada really didn’t believe in being part of the 2010 endeavour, which would mean a quick death for Own the Podium. I went back to my hotel room after the meeting and wasn’t there long when the phone rang. It was Stephen Owen’s assistant. He wanted to assure me that the minister had a vision for these Games and was a huge supporter. “I know what you heard today isn’t what you wanted to hear,” the young man said. “But don’t be worried. The minister wants these Games to be a success. He has an open mind about the federal government’s involvement and what form it might take, and if he believes in what you have to say he will fight for it.”
I told him how relieved I was to hear that.
The next day, a group that included Cathy Priestner Allinger, Chris Rudge and representatives of all the sports sat down with Stephen Owen in a meeting room on Parliament Hill. I knew Stephen fairly well and considered him an ally of the Games. I thought that at the very least he would give us a fair hearing.
Cathy began by explaining the research behind her study and how she had reached the conclusions that she had. Hockey Canada’s Wayne Russell spoke on behalf of the Winter sports federations, delivering the message of unity that was so important. And I finished by making the big pitch for the federal government’s involvement, which outlined our overall vision and how Own the Podium meshed into it. You give us $55 million, I told the minister, and somehow we will come up with the rest. Fifty-fifty partners.
When Stephen took the floor, he began by telling us how impressed he’d been with Cathy’s report. Good start. What he especially found intriguing about it was the possibility it held for being a test case of how to support high-level amateur sport in Canada. An important aspect of the plan was putting some sports on notice that they had to reach a certain threshold before they could expect big money for their athletes.
We were hoping Stephen would give us an answer within a few weeks because we needed to know where we stood with the program. He got back to us within days: yes, he said, we could count on Ottawa for the money. It was the fastest Ottawa turnaround I had ever heard of. What a huge victory for us—and one that may not have been given the prominence it deserved by the media. Without the federal government’s support for this project, Lord knows where, or if, we could have mounted the program at all.
It was now going to be our very tall job to sell sponsors on the need for them to throw a little more cash in the kitty that could go toward Own the Podium and the national dream for our athletes that was embedded in our vision statement. I knew that if we could get a big opening sponsor donation toward OTP, the stage would be set for future ones. We needed a kingmaker. The $15 million that Bell Canada committed to its sponsor deal for OTP was just the tonic we were after. It sent the message that one very prominent and proud Canadian company was ready to stand up for the athletes. We had our champion. Every time a Canadian athlete mounted the podium Bell Canada could take a bow too.
As we moved along, I felt even more confident about what we were doing with OTP and our decision to get involved with funding the project, a place no organizing committee had so wholeheartedly gone before. I had to give Chris Rudge credit too, for kicking our door down. He knew the only chance of OTP coming to life was if we got involved. There was no way that the COC was going to raise $110,000, let alone $110 million. He realized that the spotlight was going to be on VANOC for the next five years, and we were the only ones who had the influence and leverage OTP needed. In the end, the federal government gave us some top-up money to help us meet the final target but it was mostly a 50–50 split.
With OTP we were going to try and ensure that for Vancouver things would be different, while recognizing that in an athletic competition anything can happen and there is no such thing as certainty. I think Chris Rudge might have said it best when he quoted that famous line of Victor Hugo’s: “You can stop an advancing army but not an idea whose time has come.” That’s what Own the Podium was.
WHILE THE AMERICANS were having the Games of their lives in Vancouver, much to the relief of the NBC, whose Olympic coverage was enjoying a sky-high ratings bonanza, there was also something amazing going on in Canada. The country’s focus on the Games was growing each day. It was topic number one at kitchen tables everywhere. It was certainly reflected in the stunning numbers that the CTV-led consortium was pulling in. But as the Olympics moved along, Canadians went from being casual watchers to full-time cheerleaders who were totally plugged in and experiencing every moment as if they too were on skates and skis. They got their pom-poms out and painted their faces, emptied their fridges and had the neighbours over to watch hockey, short-track speed skating, anything that included an Olympic athlete. This was an excitement you could feel from St. John’s to Victoria.
Bars across the country were full at night with Canadians rooting for their athletes. There were impromptu Olympics parties being organized in thousands of living rooms across the nation. This phenomenon was becoming as big a story as the Games themselves, a national engagement the likes of which had only been witnessed a few times in the life of the nation.
Heading into the final week, I wanted us to be more vigilant about our preparation than ever. We could not afford to let our guard down. We needed to have a near-perfect run to the end. I wanted to make sure that our team didn’t relax just because we seemed to be over the worst of the early hiccups and criticism, and because the tide of opinion was shifting in our favour.
I tried to get up to Whistler as often as I could. Every time I drove up there I marvelled at how beautiful and quick the drive was. Such stunning geography. Dick Ebersol of NBC Sports was right, I think, when he said that the only thing wrong with the road was that it wasn’t long enough. I imagined what the athletes and visitors from around the world must have thought as they made their way past Howe Sound up into the mountains on a road vastly improved by the incredible work that had been done to make it wider and safer.
One of my favourite moments heading into the final week happened when I visited our medical clinic in Whistler. The death of Nodar was always in the air and was felt more profoundly by the people there than anywhere else in the Olympic environment, but when I saw them a week after the accident I sensed this horrible burden was lifting. They had fought so hard for him. These were amazing people, doctors, nurses, dentists, physiotherapists, who had taken time off from their jobs to volunteer to work at the clinic. And when I went up there to thank them, they seemed genuinely moved that I wanted to show respect for the contribution they were making on behalf of their country. To a person, they all said it was their privilege to be able to play a role in something that obviously meant so much to all Canadians.
Besides shaking the hands of as many Blue Jackets as I could, I also tried to take in some of the events in which we stood a solid chance of medalling. I was there when the Canadian women won another gold medal in hockey. What a juggernaut! Hayley Wickenheiser will surely go down as one of
the greatest female athletes ever, a potential cauldron lighter the next time the Olympics return to Canada. I know there was a big deal made when the women returned to the ice after the gold medal game to drink a little champagne and light up a cigar or two. It never bothered me—just a media story more than anything, one that was horribly overblown. The girls were smart enough to offer a measured apology the next day to ensure the story died a quick death.
One of the most moving moments of the Games for me, and probably for Canadians across the country, was Joannie Rochette’s skate in the long program in the women’s figure skating final. Being an elite athlete is hard enough. The Olympics is a formidable, downright scary environment in which to compete. And figure skating, of all the Winter Olympic sports, has to be one of the most lonely, unforgiving, demanding and nerve-wracking. To skate with a clear mind in front of 15,000 people is hard enough. Having to do it with a broken heart is another thing entirely.
I don’t think there was an athlete the nation cheered harder for than Joannie, after the country learned that her mother had died of heart failure shortly after arriving in Vancouver from Quebec to see her daughter compete. Many people thought it would all be too much for Joannie, that she’d never be able to pull off the incredibly difficult, complex jumps that are part of her routines. But Joannie gave one of the most amazing performances in Olympic history in the short program, which happened just days after her mother’s death. And then for her to give another near flawless routine in the long program to win bronze was a stunning accomplishment. My five children were there that night. I watched them watch her. They were in awe, frozen with amazement. I thought that for years to come they would reflect on being present to see this real, raw human courage, the best example they would ever witness of how to face life’s adversities head-on. Joannie Rochette is a rare kind of hero in my books, and to be there that night for her final skate was a transcendent experience.