Ivor Wynne Stadium

By E. Spencer Kyte
Love of Sports Correspondent

Seventy-eight years ago, they built a stadium on the corner of Balsam and Beachwood.

Twenty years later, the Hamilton Tiger-Cats moved in. Since that day, Ivor Wynne Stadium’s been one of the greatest landmarks in the Canadian Football League and the epicentre of all things Steeltown.

I grew up in Hamilton; moved there before starting eighth grade at St. Jerome’s Elementary on Limeridge. Before then, I was never much of a CFL fan. I wasn’t much of a football fan at all to be honest. Then I went to my first Tiger-Cats game at Ivor Wynne and everything changed.

My best friend in my neighborhood, a kid named Mo, had gotten tickets from his old man. He worked at Dofasco, one of the two massive steel companies in town and long-time sponsors of the Tiger-Cats. My old man took us down to the stadium.

I couldn’t tell you the final score or who the Tiger-Cats played that night. I was too wrapped up in everything else that was going on around me: Pigskin Pete repeatedly leading the crowd in a rendition of “Oskie Wee-Wee,” looking up to see the TSN CFL Crew in the announcers booth and just soaking in the respect and passion and enthusiasm the 25,000-plus people who packed Ivor Wynne had for the game, the Tiger-Cats and the stadium itself.

This wasn’t just some old bricks and mortar to them – this was Ivor Wynne, the home of their beloved Tiger-Cats. Good or bad, they were there nine times a year to pledge their unwavering support.

Never before had I experienced a sporting event where the fans passion and allegiance to the home team was so clear. Hockey games had a few boisterous supporters and jersey-clad bandwagoners, as did baseball and basketball games. But the Tiger-Cats games at Ivor Wynne were different. It was the City of Hamilton, blue collared, hardworking and passionate, packing the joint and bleeding Black & Gold, unified in their love of the Tiger-Cats.

A couple years later, I got a chance to step on the field at Ivor Wynne. One or two times a season, Hamilton-area high school football teams get the opportunity to play a game on the turf there. Everyone – my teammates, our hated rivals from St. Jean de Brebeuf, even the refs I think – was more focused and intense. This was Ivor Wynne, where our beloved Tiger-Cats played, and we wanted to do them and the stadium proud.

I played special teams mostly that season – not good enough to start anywhere else, yet stupid enough to throw my body mercilessly into on-coming traffic – and got my biggest hit of the year in this game. I just levelled a kid. I remember because he had painted his whole face like a skull ... then I dropped him like a sack of potatoes. The Ivor Wynne Effect had a lot to do with that hit, no doubt about it.

Over the last 10 years since I’ve moved away and frequently returned to Hamilton, the city, like many in Ontario, has begun a vast expansion. Ancaster isn’t a quiet little hamlet anymore. Dundas extends farther out than it used to. Burlington keeps creeping closer and closer. Houses have gone up everywhere and big box shopping centres follow the migration of movers to empty plots of land, though scant few are left.

However, one thing that hasn’t changes is Ivor Wynne. Sure, there have been some touch-ups and refurbishments – a nip here, a tuck there – but truthfully, not much has changed about the old building on the corner of Balsam and Beachwood.

It’s still the best place to see a true representation of who Hamilton really is. More than anything else, it’s still the Heart of the City.

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