Rob Vanstone: An anniversary tale — thank goodness she liked the dog

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Breaking news from the too-cheap-to-buy-a-card department: Happy 20th anniversary to my all-world wife, Chryssoula.

Heartfelt best wishes to myself as well.

In all honesty, it has probably been a better 20 years for me.

Despite my dashing good looks, sculpted physique and endless (burp) charm, I have not been the greatest husband.

Chryssoula Filippakopoulos has seen, and somehow endured, my worst days. On other days, she has barely seen me at all, because I am hopelessly work-obsessed.

So many times, people close to me have marvelled: “I don’t know how she puts up with you.”

Complete strangers don’t get it, either.

One fine day, we were travelling to New York, via Toronto, and the first flight departed at 6 a.m. At that obscene hour, this inveterate night owl is an especially disastrous creature — an unshaven, sleep-deprived, slovenly mess.

That was certainly the appraisal of one customs officer as we prepared to enter the United States of America.

He had a lovely interaction with the always-sunny Chryssoula before turning his attention to yours truly. Judging by his expression, you would have thought that the words “Lee Harvey” were conspicuous on my passport or background check.

Dutifully, the customs agent processed the paperwork for Chryssoula and returned her passport, whereupon he waved her though. She smiled, brilliantly, and thanked him.

Then he looked at me, looking as unimpressed as one can be, and said: “You married up.”

I could not disagree.

Since we first met, nearly 25 years ago, I have been trying to identify one flaw with the beauteous Chryssoula.

Here is the best I can come up with: She does not like professional wrestling.

She does like sports — and thank goodness for that. Our paths first crossed at a hockey game (1994). Our first conversation was at a baseball game (1995). Our first date preceded a Moose Jaw Warriors playoff contest (1997).

She is such a phenomenal sports fan that I can give her a Joey Walters jersey for Christmas (2017) and know that it is the perfect present for the perfect person.

Or, I can suggest a Regina Pats game as a date and know that it will be a mutually enjoyable experience. (She forgives the fact that I never, ever want to be shown on the Kiss-Cam, which is always the impetus for a well-timed bathroom or popcorn break.)

Or, we can attend a New York Yankees or New York Mets game and feel absolutely at home.

Thankfully, the compatibility extended to our love of Oscar, the ultimate Scottish terrier.

I was SO nervous about introducing Chryssoula to the dog. What if they didn’t get along? Et cetera.

Naturally, Oscar adored her, and the sentiment was reciprocal — not to mention reassuring.

“She might be inclined to dump me,” I told myself, “but there’s no way she’s breaking up with Oscar.”

Appropriately, he was there on July 1, 1997. Oscar took us to the park for Canada Day, when we passed the dating stage and a relationship began — at the moment when we started holding hands on a walk.

Everything progressed to the point where she said “I do.”

Mind you, that was in response to the question: “Do you think that lady was offended by my ugly pair of sweats?” (Mexico, 2009.)

I sweated through a wedding ceremony that was entirely in Greek. I did not understand a single word of it. Even if English had been the language of choice, I was in such a fog that I likely would not have comprehended a word.

To begin the proceedings, Mark Anderson and Ian Hamilton led me to the front at St. Paul’s Greek Orthodox Church. I stood there for a few seconds, wondering if she would seize one final opportunity to access the escape hatch. Exit, stage right …

The organ started playing.

The bride emerged.

She had the widest, most beautiful smile.

“This really is happening,” I told myself.

Two days later, we arrived in New York for the honeymoon. It was my sixth visit to Manhattan, but her first since she was a little girl.

We quickly headed toward Central Park, where I kept asking her not to turn around until she was advised to do so.

Eventually, we reached a grassy expanse, Sheep Meadow, and proceeded to its northernmost point.

“NOW you can turn around,” I said.

She looked at the Manhattan skyline, from my favourite vantage point.

I just kept looking at her face, as she beamed.

We both savoured the most breathtaking view.

(Rob Vanstone is the Regina Leader-Post’s sports co-ordinator.)