The Calvillos and Cahoons of my youth had names like Moses Denson, Gord Judges Larry Fairholm and Sonny Wade.

One summer evening I even got to quarterback a pick-up game alongside Terry Evanshen and Peter Dalla Riva. As I recall, this did not go well. Whenever I dropped back to pass, with the two best receivers in the CFL wide open and waving their arms, I could never make up my mind who to throw to and was promptly sacked.

Although I must admit to have slacked off considerably in my devotion over the intervening decades, I couldn't resist watching last Sunday's Grey Cup game. At first, the sight of a vast sea of green Saskatchewan fans was merely amusing, for they were surely in for a big disappointment. But once the game started and those hopeful cheers turned to whoops of triumph, it was downright maddening. It was as if the Als had rolled out the red carpet for Saskatchewan; they made mistake after mistake, while the big green machine just ploughed along, taking each lucky break with a smugness that added insult to injury.

When kicker Damon Duval messed up a second punt, sending things over into the embarrassment zone, I confess, like many other viewers, I cursed a few times and reached for the remote to see what the Simpsons were up to.

But morbid curiosity got the best of me and I later rejoined the action just in time to see the Als score a touchdown and put victory within field goal range. It was a classic Hollywood ending, one that even the least jaded screenwriter might flinch at writing.

Moral of the story: Never count out the underdog. Because sometimes — just sometimes — life does imitate art and, as the Alouettes proved last Sunday, you really can come back from the precipice of certain extinction and win the day.