One of the best (and SURELY the most ridiculous) days of my whole life: A REPORT

Muttering under my breath, I’m talking to myself.

“Don’t miss this, Marsh. Don’t spend the time spacing out, planning how you’ll tell people about this experience. Just BE here.”

I smile and wave. 43,000 people smile and wave back. Most of them are cheering. For me.

I’d been waiting two years to be invited to a ceremony. It’s the final part of getting your Canadian citizenship. And “ceremony” is a pretty grand word for what it usually is: forty people on Zoom, everyone in their own house, muttering their vows into their laptops. In early June, I was finally offered a date for the following week: 1:30pm on a Wednesday afternoon — when all my people would be at work or school, so I was probably going to be alone as I crossed this milestone. O well. 

Except…I couldn’t make that date. I was going to New York (for the launch party of Laura Belgray’s brilliant and soulful and properly laugh-once-a-page-or-more memoir “Tough Titties”). Given that, as part of the proceedings they make you cut up your Canadian visa card (which I needed to get on the plane home), I had to choose between the ceremony and the NYC trip. Nervously, I chose the trip. Three days later, the Citizenship Office called and offered me a new ceremony. In person… 

…on Canada Day… 

…on the field at the Rogers’ Stadium, before a Toronto Blue Jays baseball game, in front of forty-three thousand people. 

I KNOW!!!!

On the Big Day, we spend the morning rehearsing. I spend the morning in fits of giggles. I mean, I had been told that we’d be walking out one-by-one to wave at the crowd. I’d been told I’d be first. I’d been told that our citizenship vows would be led by the actual Minister for Immigration, that we’d then go and stand among the Blue Jays themselves to sing the national anthem, while 225 members of the Canadian Navy roll out a 45,000 square foot Canadian flag, then we’d stand and watch as five marines rappel (aka abseil) from the roof of the stadium to bring me and the other eight new Canadians baseballs, which we’d then use to throw the first pitch to the Blue Jays starting line. I’d been told that…

But once I’m on the pitch, standing with my fellow immigrants, looking up at the stands and realising this is *actually going to happen*… I cannot stop laughing.

It’s so ridiculous. It’s so amazing.

We’re each interviewed by the Blue Jays press team. I know they’re gunning for Canadian patriotism, but I try and keep my answers as political as I can get away with. For some of the questions, I just say, “You’re not going to use my answer, so I’ll save us both the time by not giving one.” In the end, they use me for the funny bits — where I’m describing what I’m about to do and CRACKING UP.

Before the rehearsal, we each get our photo taken. Our handler says, “When they announce you on the loudspeaker, your picture is going to appear on the jumbotron.” 

So, almost as big as that Canadian flag, then. Coooool. 

Having had a ton of photos taken of me when I was at Laura’s book launch, I’ve decided that I look weird when I’m smiling. So I try a different face — one that had once looked good on a passport photo. I dip my chin, ever so slightly smile and look up, doe-eyed. I try a few other poses too. Afterwards, the photographer shows me the pics in the back of his camera.

“Oh my god! I look MANIACAL! Can we take another??”

Our handler shouts to the group, “We have to go to rehearsal now!”

I beg the photographer with my face. He motions to the wall and we take a couple more shots. I laugh in them. At least if I look weird when I’m laughing, I’m still laughing.

The rest of the morning is spent in the [LOVELY and VERY FANCY] air-conditioned suite they’ve put us in for the game. Doing bits of admin, having lunch, welcoming my family, showing them the free food and the great-view seats and the Blue Jays shirt I was given with MY NAME on it.

Finally, it’s show time. I put on the outfit they’ve asked us to wear: a white t-shirt and a special Canada Day red Blue Jays shirt (open) that we have to

give back after the ceremony. Having worn pants maybe 3 times in the last ten years — but knowing in advance we were going to be in a baseball shirt — I had got my brilliant best friend Sophie to style me, via a hundred whatsapp photos I’d sent her from various mall store changing rooms. We’d gone for white, straight leg jeans, turned up (“it’s 50’s cute! And they look like baseball pants!”), slip on shoes, and, to make me stand out, a little red Rosie The Riveter hair band.

We’re herded into the back of our suite, where about fifty chairs have been set up, and the nine of us are told to sit in the front row. Our families are behind us. Ahead, the judge sits on a table, facing us, along with the Head Clerk, and a young man who’s wearing a Blue Jays shirt. He looks about 20, but I learn later he’s the ripe old age of 39. He is the Minister For Immigration. He gets up, walks down the front line and shakes all of our hands, with the firm, deep eye-contact-heavy, professional charm of a handsome politician. 

Our ceremony begins. The judge’s speech is very moving. She talks about Canadian settlers’ history with indigenous people and tells us that, although it may not be our people who caused the damage to aboriginal people, once we are Canadians, it is now our responsibility to keep up the work of Reconciliation (for the record: it very much was my people — at least the British quarter of them). Finally, she says, “It’s time for us to go downstairs.”

The nine of us are led by our handlers down to the field to go and sweat in the media pit. They’ve opened the roof of the stadium and it’s HOT. Looming above us is the CN Tower, the beloved Toronto legend that I have tattooed on my ankle. The stands are full. The crowd are buzzing. It’s Canada Day, it’s a Saturday, and everyone seems to be in a good mood. After we all get mic’d up for our vows (with those little “Madonna” microphones that attach to your ear and hover by your cheek), I chat with one of my co-about-to-be-citizens. He’s American, but it turns out he does Morris dancing — this ye olde English tradition that no one else has mentioned to me in twelve years. I get him to teach me some moves. We each leap in the air on one foot and he tells me, “This is the part where you flick your hankie.” 

I wave up at my family.

Then the clock on the other side of the stadium says 2:50. 10 mins to go. I gather up the other eight who are doing the ceremony with me. It’s time for some brain science.

I tell them, “Studies have shown that, when you’re about to do something scary, if you say ‘I’m excited’ then you perform better and you’re more confident. Even if you don’t believe what you’re saying! So, on three, let’s all say, ‘I’m excited’.

“One — two — three!”

“I’M EXCITED!!!”

Soon enough, our head handler gathers us. We move to stand in a line against the side. It’s showtime. 

“Ok Marsha, you ready?”

They’ve put down a red carpet that’s flanked by pictures of the flags of the different countries the nine of us are emigrating from. I go and stand at the edge.

On the jumbotron, they start playing a movie showing Great Things About Canada (and, um… a bunch of military stuff). I keep my eyes on the screen — my cue to start walking will be when they put my giant face up there, using the photo we took earlier. Then the booming voice says,

“EVERY YEAR, IMMIGRATION, REFUGEES AND CITIZENSHIP CANADA HOLDS MORE THAN 3,000 CITIZENSHIP CEREMONIES, SWEARING IN MORE THAN 300,000 NEW CANADIANS TO THIS RICHLY DIVERSE COUNTRY. TODAY, YOUR TORONTO BLUE JAYS, IN PARTNERSHIP WITH IMMIGRATION, REFUGEES AND CITIZENSHIP CANADA, ARE HOSTING A CITIZENSHIP CEREMONY, HERE AT ROGERS CENTRE!”

*huge cheer*

“AS PART OF THE CEREMONY, WE’RE INVITING THE NEWEST STARTING LINE UP OF CANADA’S TEAM TO TAKE THEIR OATH ON THE FIELD TODAY”

“FROM ENGLAND, MARRRRRRRRSHAAAAAAA SHANDUUUURRRRRRRR”

On the jumbotron, my photo appears, fifty feet high.

They’ve chosen the maniacal one.

I have precisely half a second to think OH MY DEAR GODS— 

—before I start walking and waving.

The crowd are LOSING IT. I’m looking up at the forty-three thousand of them, waving and grinning so wide that my face hurts.

That’s when I remind myself, “Don’t miss this, Marsh. BE here.”

One by one, the other eight are announced and come and stand in line, four in the front, five in the back. The Minister for Immigration stands with our judge and the clerk. The emcee booms,

“WE NOW INVITE OUR STARTING LINE TO RAISE THEIR RIGHT HAND AND REPEAT THE OATH IN BOTH ENGLISH, AND FRENCH”

I raise my right hand. With my left, I do what I’d been practising all week: cross my fingers, then hold them in my fist so no one will see. I only need it for the first few lines. The minster asks us to repeat what he says,

I swear
That I will be faithful
And bear true allegiance
To His Majesty
King Charles the Third
King of Canada
His Heirs and Successors

I drop my crossed fingers

And that I will faithfully observe
The laws of Canada
Including the Constitution
Which recognizes and affirms
The Aboriginal and treaty rights of
First Nations, Inuit and Métis peoples
And fulfil my duties as a Canadian citizen.

No problems there. Then we do it all again in French. The echo from the minister is so intense and my French so bad, that I mostly just move my lips. But I do sneak the crossed fingers in for the porterai sincère allégeance/ À Sa Majesté/ Le roi Charles Trois.

The minister says “Congratulations, my fellow Canadians”. The crowd goes NUTS. We wave at them. Emcee booms,

“TORONTO! BLUE JAYS FANS IN CANADA! PLEASE JOIN US IN CONGRATULATING THE NEWEST CITIZENS OF CANADA!”

The crowd are now ROARING! They’re giving us a standing ovation! It is absolutely THRILLING!!!!!!

Then they start playing a song by Drake (who else?) as we hear,

“PLEASE WELCOME, THE BOSTON RED SOX, AND YOURRRRR TORONNNO BLUE JAYS!!!”

We’re moving again. I’m first, so I follow the path to my mark at the edge of the grass. The nine of us space out in the line and, from behind, out come all the Toronto Blue Jays to stand among us. They’re also wearing red. They are GIANTS. One bellows down to me, “Congratulations!”

I say, “Thanks!” but sense he’s not up for a chat. We stand in line and I look down. I have kind of big feet, but the feet I see either side of mine are — I swear — each one and a half times the size of mine. The guy on my left has sturdy-looking, knee-length socks on. I look up at him and smile and when he smiles back I ask, “Do you not get hot in such thick socks?”

He laughs and says, “Yeah, sometimes. Sometimes I wear shorter ones.” He motions at his ankles. “Mostly, you just get used to being really hot on the field.”

“They should invent some self-cooling ones,” I say, and he laughs, but then we both shut up because they’re singing the national anthems.

The star-spangled banner goes first — more military themes, as the singer on the jumbotron is some kind of army guy in a cute pillbox cap that looks very 1940’s Wren. Then he sings O Canada. I had planned to do a Jully Black and sing, “Our home ON native land,” but it’s confusing as to whether or not the Wren guy is supposed to be singing solo. I mumble my way through the rest of it. One more phase to go.

Mr. Socks says, “Congrats!” and I say, “Good luck!” Then I sneak a look at the back of his shirt, which says CIMBER. Before coming down to the field, I’d asked one of the Blue Jays marketing team who the most famous Blue Jays were. He said, “Vlad — Vladimir Guerrero Jr., and Bo Bichette.” So, Socks wasn’t either of them, but a charming, handsome giant all the same. I follow my group back to where we’d stood for the vow, but now we’re facing the jumbotron. The Megaflag is being put away. Above it, we see what is currently being announced on the screen, five Marines dangling from the ceiling, making their way to the field via rapelling.

About 20 feet in the air, one of them gets stuck. The crowd are just massively into everything and keep cheering. Eventually, he’s freed to the ground. They walk along the pitch towards us, then one of them hands me my baseball and shakes my hand. I turn around and take a breath. Here we are, then.

In one of the early emails I’d received about this whole bizarre set-up, they’d said something about us “throwing the first pitch”. It’s a tradition at baseball games — they usually get a celebrity, like Carly Rae Jepson or a Victoria’s Secret model or the world hotdog eating record-holder. I had been telling people, “of the nine of us, they surely won’t pick me, the person who’s never thrown a baseball in her life.” But just in case, I had got one of my family members to teach me proper form. I manage to reach the point where I can throw about 20 feet in front of me, which seems respectable enough. Just in case.

On the big day, we learn that we are ALL throwing the first pitch — one to each of the Blue Jay’s starting line. During rehearsal, we’d had a practise and mine had flobbed a few feet in front of me. Gulp.

Just after we’re handed the baseballs, emcee booms,

“PLEASE WELCOME BACK OUR NEWEST CANADIANS TO THROW OUT THE CEREMONIAL FIRST PITCH. THE NEW CANADIANS STARTING LINE UP WILL THROW TO OUR BLUE JAYS STARTING LINE UP.

“IT’S!

“YOUR!

“PITCH!”

I’m stood on the the very end of our group. Ahead of me, a Blue Jays player crouches with his glove. The drumroll begins — that’s our cue. I run through my moves: face the side, left shoulder to the front, left foot a little forward. Both hands on the ball, elbows out. Lean back to the right, get my shoulder involved, arm stretched out then FLICK! the wrist.

Photo of the throw: @chastonbastien

I watch my ball soar in a beautiful arc through the air…

…directly…

….into the player’s glove.

My arms SHOOT into the air! We did it! WE DID IT!!!!

Photo of my triumphant moment: @isratakesphotos

My whole body floods with even more adrenaline. I run to my catcher and fling my arms around him!!!

He’s clearly not that into the hug, but he rolls with it. He gives me my ball back and says, “Congrats!” 

I say “Thanks!!! Good luck!!” and then, touching him on the arm, “Have fun!!!”

I look at the back of his shirt. Below his cap and the long, curly, brown hair that’s sticking out, it says,

BICHETTE

!!

I find out later that mine was one of only two balls caught, and the only one that sailed straight into the catcher’s glove without first bouncing.

We pose for a photo with the team and the marines.

Then we’re herded back upstairs, clutching our baseballs and grinning like idiots. Everyone we pass congratulates us.

I AM SO THRILLED!!! IT IS ALL SO AMAZING!!!! I AM SO HAPPY!!!!!!

We go back into the suite and finish up our citizenship ceremony.

“Congratulations! You are now all Canadians!”

I decide that anyone could get their ball signed by the Blue Jays Team, but ONLY we can get our ball signed by the eight people who just also became Canadian citizens in this bananas, public, once-in-a-lifetime way, so I ask my cohort to sign mine.

The rest of the afternoon is spent doing interviews. 

“How does it feel to have become a Canadian citizen in front of forty-three thousand people live and millions more watching at home?”

*Marsha bursts out laughing, yet again* “Well, I hadn’t even thought of the millions until you mentioned them!!”

When I’m asked, “What does it mean to you to become a Canadian?” I say,

“I’m excited to vote, and have my voice heard on the issues I care about, like affordable housing, the criminal justice system and proportional representation.” Later, I’m interviewed by the CBC and manage to get in a plug for my best friend’s bar. Mostly, I crack up laughing.

I get home that night. After my little kid is in bed, I celebrate with two 0% beers (woooooo, parrrrteeeee). I google my name and “BLUE JAYS”. I’m amazed to discover that in the story that’s been posted most often, they’ve included all my stuff about the issues I want to vote for. The lead photo on is me hugging Bo Bichette.

Photo: The Canadian Press

 My inboxes are flooded with messages — people who’d heard me talking about it, and then loads who hadn’t but just happened to be at the game or watching on TV and seen me. One of my best friends sends me screenshots of texts his baseball-loving chums sent him when they saw Bichette catch my ball.

Just as I’m about to go to bed, I reply to a text from my mum.

I am so happy.

What a day. What a fugging day. What a life!!

xx (Yes Yes) Marsha

PS if you enjoyed this story, I’d love you to consider showing your thanks by taking a look at this — my dear friend Jess Manuszak has been told there’s a 1 in 10 chance she’ll DIE if she doesn’t get life-changing (and, because: USA, very expensive) sugery. She’s also a BRILLIANTLY funny writer, so it’s worth taking a look to read what she’s written about it alone: gofundme.com/f/Jessthepickle

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