I never intended to become Ted Goveia’s friend — just a media contact, as I try to do with players, coaches, personnel people, and executives around the league. Ted and I met at the CFL Combine in Toronto in 2019. I ran into him at the refreshment table and we had a pleasant chat. He was very polite and told me we could talk ball anytime.
The next time we spoke, I encountered a side of Ted that could be a little ornery. He let me know he wasn’t happy with something I’d written about Winnipeg’s scouting department, which led to an internal meeting where he and his colleagues had been asked some tough questions by higher-ups. Being a young, naive reporter at the time, I had no idea that my work could lead to real-life consequences for hardworking people — deserved or not. This was a valuable lesson and one I’ve always remembered.
After Ted said his part, the tone of the conversation changed dramatically. He cracked jokes and spoke joyfully, even inviting me out for a trip on his boat if I was ever in Burlington. I remember feeling unsure about whether or not I could trust Ted considering how quickly his demeanour had changed. After all, if he still had any hard feelings, a boat ride would provide him with a perfect opportunity to dispose of my body.
Over the years, I came to learn that this was Ted. Every now and again, his temper would flare, he’d vent his frustrations, then he’d cool off and make a joke that would cause everyone to laugh. Even when he was angry, he was never disrespectful — at least in my experience. His flare-ups were rare, too — the vast majority of the time, he was calm, jovial, and uncommonly kind.
The last time I saw Ted was at the Blue Bombers team party that was held during the Grey Cup Festival in Vancouver. Dressed in blue and gold, Ted blended into the crowd of hundreds of fans who had made the trip to support their team for a fifth-straight Grey Cup appearance. I don’t think any of them knew that a central figure in the club’s near-unprecedented run of success was there enjoying the festivities.
I was chatting with a group of fans when Ted walked up and joined the conversation. We chatted for close to a half-hour with Ted showing just as much interest in the fans as they did in him. After he left, one of the fans turned to me and asked, “Does that guy really work for the Bombers? He’s great!”
Weeks later, when news broke that Ted was going to be hired as the new general manager in Hamilton, a media colleague who was at the same party texted me saying he didn’t even know what Ted looked like. I had to remind him that we’d recently attended the same party and he and Ted had even shaken hands. Admittedly, alcohol was probably factor in his memory lapse.
Then again, this was a phenomenon that plagued Ted professionally: for all his brilliance, he always seemed to fly under the radar. He was a worker, not a self-promoter. If he’d been more egotistical or tried to play political games, he probably would have become a general manager years sooner. In an industry dominated by brash Americans, it could be tough for a humble guy from Burlington to stand out.
Ted did almost no media in his eleven years with the Blue Bombers. When he finally got hired by the Tiger-Cats, I wondered how he’d carry himself at his introductory press conference. When someone doesn’t have a lot of media experience, one of two things tends to happen — they shrink in the spotlight or overcompensate by going way over the top.
Ted did neither. He was simply himself. If you watch the availability, which is embedded at the bottom of this article, you’ll get a good idea of who Ted was.
It’s unbelievably cruel that Ted only lived nine months after getting his self-declared dream job. Had he not gotten sick, Ted would likely have been the general manager of the Tiger-Cats for the next decade at least. I’d bet money that his name would have ended up on the team’s Wall of Honour, too.
Ted was the son of South American immigrants, who learned and celebrated Canadian culture by hosting and attending Grey Cup parties. Ted often talked about Grey Cup parties — a slight Ontario accent detectable on the word “parties” — and expressed concern that they weren’t as popular as they once were.
It is wholly inappropriate for a reporter to urge the public to do anything. Our job is to report, not preach. However, with apologies, I’m about to do just that.
If you’re someone who hasn’t thrown or attended a Grey Cup party in many years, please do it this November. Get together with a bunch of friends — whether they’re CFL fans or not — and eat some good food, enjoy a few drinks, and say a toast to those who are no longer with us. If you feel so inclined, take a group photo and post it to social media. Maybe play some music by The Tragically Hip or Creedence Clearwater Revival, too.
Ted is gone but the team he helped build is still here — and it could very well end up in Winnipeg nine weeks from now to play in the 112th Grey Cup. Ted helped end a long championship drought for the Blue Bombers and it’d only be fitting that he do the same for his hometown team.
John Hodge is a longtime Canadian football reporter, insider, and podcaster for 3DownNation. Based in Winnipeg, Hodge is also a freelance television and radio broadcaster and curling reporter for Rock Channel.
