GREAT GREEN EXPECTATIONS

Training camp starts and just like every other season in Rider Nation, hopes and expectations run high.

But this.... THIS IS EPIC! 

ALL--TIME EPIC!.... Not even the 1951 rally, to harken the Dobberville era,  touches this. 

After that winter. The bleakest, darkest, seemingly endless, most merciless winter-- ever. A winter fit for only the gnarliest eskimo or the stoutest prairie chicken-- made the offseason doldrums woeful beyond regulation.  Suddenly, the grass is green, the daylight lasts forever,  and fan euphoria is flat outta control.

John Chick (Riderville) 

     

The John Chick signing makes it the perfect storm. The perfect storm of perilously over inflated expectations and with it, the bandwagon on a full steam-- out of control, collision course.

The Grey Cup in Regina. The free agent upgrades. Cortez taking the offensive helm. The spit shine polish on all items Rider. 

Like that thick scent, when you can smell a summer night's deluge about to begin; seems  tangible, that now, is the Rider's time and with it the sense of entitlement.

Revel in it when you got it.  Like the man said, "FEELS GOOD TO FEEL GOOD"! 

When the dreaded knock on the door came, wasn't alarmed. I'd always known, I was gonna get kicked outta the Optimists Club.

But this....  this is different. 

Hope bandwagon newcomers were shackled or at least given parachutes.  The collision course with the CFL's savage realities, guarantee's turbulent times.  

Certain incontrovertible facts trump all hype, superstition, good intentions or sense of entitlement. 

1. The Riders dwell in a pre-determined statistical probability; not a pre-ordained position.
    First, the multiple sagas must unfold. Only then, we'll see who ends it-- standing tall.

2. "Football players WILL get injured." 

3. "FIVE PLAYS WILL determine the outcome of every game."

4. Perfect don't exist nowhere and surely not in the CFL.

5. "THE FOOTBALL GODS WILL HAVE THEIR SAY!"

So, while we're in full frenzied juggernaut mode; throttle it down-- just a moment, take a knee, and pay homage to the football gods that they may shine on all that's Green & White. 

Just now asked Betty. Know what she said? 

"Don't care for wagon jumpers, much". 

Speaking of Señora Puta Grande.  

Just between you an' me, aside from knowin' what's what with the hogs, she really ain't much of a bargain. The ornery ol' sow, she don't smell half bad when she remembers to wear perfume. When she don't, whooooweeeee! 

She got her a scent that'll strip ten shades of purple off a dead goat. 

But ah hell, I'm gettin' too decrepit by now to do much about it, so figure I'll stick around. Plus, I got kinda used to the stink. That, or maybe my nose stopped workin'?

Either way, she also said.

"Enjoy the ride, stay the course, surrender to a probability you won't get what you want,  hope for the best and let 'er loose-- from the bottom of your lungs-- to the spectacle of what looks to be an especially interesting and  hopefully a memorable campaign".