You thought you were rid of us, didn't you? Damon ages before our eyes, Arland Bruce shows the effects of not relaxing with a good old lasagna cookoff, the Argos season ends, and we all crawl back into whatever hole we climbed out of.

Not so fast. Not only will we be bringing you Canada's most comprehensive coverage* of Grey Cup weekend; we'll be keeping this going, one way or another, all winter...so when our new hero Michael Bishop returns next summer to lead the Argos to a perfect 18-0 season, we'll be ready for it.

In the meanwhile, we're in a surprisingly good mood. Part of this is because Winnipeg looms on the horizon. (Who among us hasn't said that at least once in their life?) But it's also because, even if the game itself was a little grim, we considered our Montreal foray a learning experience.

See, we now have a definitive answer as to who the stupidest fans in the CFL are.

Now, don't get us wrong. We love Montreal. Great nightlife, great culture, great smoked meat. And from our experience, the crowds at Molson Stadium tend to be pretty endearing, when they're not throwing peanuts at us. But for some reason, when they're joined by thousands of bandwagon jumpers at the Big Owe, they all turn into the world's largest herd of sheep.

We come from Toronto, and we've been to the odd Leafs game, so we know from crowds that need prompting to make noise. But we've never seen anything quite like the Als playoff crowd. Give them those bloody thunderstix, and they smack them together like trained seals. Tell them to "fait de bruit," and they bring the bruit. But ask them to figure out for themselves when to make noise, and they're hopelessly lost. Allow us to offer a few examples:

• Approximately 50% of the time, Argos' offensive plays are preceded by the call for bruit. The place roars. On the other 50% of Argos' offensive plays, it's virtually silent.

• Late in the game, while the Als are on offence, someone screws up and the "fait de bruit" call is played over the speakers. The crowd instantly works itself into a frenzy, prompting Brian Chiu to have a meltdown as he flaps his arms in the air to shut them up.

• On a close, deep play, the referee waves an Argo pass incomplete. At this point, it becomes clear that the fans have watched so little football that they don't recognize the signal. Only once the PA guy tells them it's incomplete do they burst into cheers.

• Our personal favourite comes at the end of the national anthem, when the trained seal in front of us sits through the entire national anthem  - and then proves unable to resist the banging of thunderstix at the end of it, abandoning his noble separatist cause to clang his 'stix together with them. Way to take a political stand there, jackass.

So, yeah...we're going to be pretty welcome at Grey Cup '08, aren't we?

* = Assuming your definition of "most comprehensive" is "most replete with stories of our drunken encounters with mascots, cheerleaders and middle-aged men in body paint."