Dad was a Grey Cup champion. I want to hate what the sport did to him but it's not that simple

This First Person article is the experience of Hayley Chown, who lives in Toronto and is the daughter of two-time Grey Cup champion, Gary Chown. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see  the FAQ . 

One of my earliest memories is twiddling a large gold ring with mysterious inscriptions. My dad’s Grey Cup ring. He played for the Montreal Alouettes for four seasons in the 1970s. 

The neighbourhood kids and I flaunted the signature Alouettes logo on the top of our hands where my dad had stamped us all, one by one, pressing down a few seconds to ensure a fine impression on our skin. 

Aside from those “Alouettes stamps,” football left no imprint on me. 

Dad ended up with a daughter who was equal parts horse girl, theatre kid and history nerd. 

Football came to symbolize my aversions: brute force, aggressive masculinity, the disposability of bodies. So I kept it at a distance. 

Instead of forcing football on me, he supported me in the things that I loved. Even though he was allergic to horses, he'd take an allergy pill and drive me to the barn three times a week, helping out at my horse shows by hauling tack boxes to the car and always making sure I was well-fed for competition.

When my dad’s health declined rapidly in 2024, I realized that I needed to return the favour, to support him in his greatest passion. So I approached the sport in the best way I knew how and through one of the passions that my dad nurtured: engaging with history. Once I realized that I didn't need to know about punts, yardlines and sacks in order to be close to him, but I could dive into newspapers and scrapbooks, I was in.

One evening, I peered over Dad’s shoulder as he sat at the kitchen table watching grainy football