Episode Details

August 16, 2016. The Hip arrived in the Hammer, and three fans who were in the building take jD back inside - ten years to the day.

Tuesday, August 16, 2016. FirstOntario Centre in Hamilton, four days out from the end of everything, and The Tragically Hip pulled into a city that watched them play to nobody once and never forgot it.

Ten years to the day, jD sits down with three fans who were there for that room: Gino from Buffalo, Matt from Buffalo, and John from Mississauga. Two of them had never been on a podcast before in their lives. One of them never made it through the doors.

The songs first, because the songs are always first. Gino takes 'Poets', the last one of the main set, the one where Gord stopped and told the room about The Hip's first Hamilton gig - a club, zero people, and an owner who told them nobody gets paid until every song gets sung. So they played another hour to an empty room. Ten years and a lifetime later, Gord looked out at a full arena and, the way Gino heard it, said something close to look at us, look at where we are now. Us, collectively. Hamilton and The Hip.

Matt takes 'Scared', and the line it's been a pleasure doing business with you, and the small jump in the video he was shooting - the moment his buddy behind him lost his knees and fell into his back. John takes 'Courage', because of what it took Gord to get in the van at all. A residency somewhere would have been hard enough. He went across the country instead.

Then the tickets, and three completely different scrambles. Matt's Buffalo crew split the presale up like a heist - one guy on London, one on each Toronto night, Matt on Hamilton - with orders that whoever got in bought all four. Matt was the only one who got into the queue, and he had four seats about ten minutes in. Gino got shut out in the fifteen minutes it took the show to vanish, then his friend Greg found VIP seats hours later and warned him they'd be expensive. Gino's answer: I don't care. Third row on the floor. If it was within a 500-mile radius, you weren't stopping me.

The day itself: a friend on standby in Niagara Falls, U.S., in case one of Matt's four didn't clear the border, a cash-only scalper outside the arena with PDF printouts and a very loose grip on legitimacy, and their buddy Scott laying out most of the money for a pair of those dubious tickets so a friend from Lockport could drive up and slide in during the first song. Gino owns his company, so Gino gave himself the afternoon off, got to Hamilton by mid-afternoon, and ate Portuguese chicken at the Charred Rotisserie House down the road from the barn. We ate like kings. He has been back a few times since.

And then there is John, who was downtown at the Toronto Stock Exchange that Tuesday, letting a vendor in to do a routine job. At 2:30 the vendor crashed the system. Eight hours to bring it back. John is standing on a floor you get onto with retina scans and palm prints, he cannot leave the vendor alone, and his company supplies data to the exchange at thousands of dollars an hour. He had a ticket in his pocket and a family carload heading to Hamilton without him. So he stood there and asked himself the only question he had. What would Gord do? What's the Canadian thing to do? He thought about '38 Years Old' - which is the plate on his car - and the father in that song who turns his own son in because it is the right thing. John stayed at his post. He called his sons and told them to give the ticket away. Every August 16th since has been one of the saddest days of his year.

Inside the building, the two who made it describe the same night from two heights. The small stage, the band pressed in around each other, a band of brothers making life as easy for Gord as they could. Gord finding faces one at a time, holding them, nodding, gesturing, taking what Gino calls little memory snippets for himself. The monitor on the floor by his feet for the words that wouldn't