Because there aren't enough sports blogs
Canada was supposed to clean up in canoe/kayaking. They didn’t. For a nation where the canoe/kayak has become a national symbol we sure didn’t indeed.
Why not get the Dene to race for us?
The canoe plays a large role in the Canadian identity and damn it I’ll be damnity damned if we don’t win more golds in this sport!
I say pour everything we got into that and bring Mr.Canoehead as a mascot.
Beaker
By Beaker
We’re told not to put too much emphasis on medals count by the Participaction Propagandists. Doing so, apparently, misses the point and spirit of the Olympics. We should just be proud for the sake of it.
I’m not into spirits. Quite frankly, stuff I can’t see creeps me out.
How we doin’ over in China?
TSN has Canada listed at 47th.
The CBC 74th.
Which is it? I need to know where Canada and its zero medals stand dang it!
I know it’s early. We can still catch Vietnam.
We now trail (ah yes, the Canadian Trail. So inspiring) such notable powers such as Azerbaijan (3 medals), Armenia (2), Zimbabwe and Togo (1).
For the fun of it I calculated how man nations that end in “Stan” are ahead of us: 4. They are Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan (I thought this was just a made up country but no it exists).
Trivia: Which of these countries claim Conan the Barbarian?
Go Canada. We can still do it!
I don’t know why. But when I heard Favre was off to New York I thought about Joe Buck. I imagined a ragged Favre back in Mississippi looking back at something (maybe a sad puppy) as he hopped on a bus with a light knapsack tied to a sturdy stick ready to take him North. Not too far North though. Don’t want to end up in the CFL. The Midnight Cowboy – or in Favre’s case, the Midnight Hunter. It’s a fine modern tale fusing urban decay, loss innocence and football.
The Green Bay Packers, as you know, packed Brett Favre off to the New York Jets.
I just knew Brett Favre was going to end up with a team that had green on their uniform. It’s a color that suits him. I just didn’t see him in purple with the Vikings or in a Bucs outfit that reminds me too much of Pirates of the Caribbean. I don’t think Blackbeard when I see the Tampa Bay “Bruce” Buccaneers. I think Johnny Depp.
I know, I know. Technically speaking, there’s a small difference between a pirate and a buccaneer. The latter, after settling in the Caribbean, being known to smoke and barbecue wild boar and oxen. And they were French. So, I don’t see the connection between French grillers and contemporary Tampa Bay.
The things you learn here.
Any-way, what will Favre’s TD/Int ratio be like this year? More TD’s or Int’s?
And who’ll be his side-kick like Ratso?
By Beaker
For many hockey fans around the world Pierre McGuire is the Chosen One. His superlative adjectives and monstrous metaphors have left many a person shivering in their jock straps. He has been compared to Shakespeare for his prescient and dry wit, Dante for his poetic prose and Principal Skinner for his commitment to providing non-humourous, thin-skinned orders, opinions and analysis.
The hockey lord people humbly call “Pere” (an awkward play on his first name Pierre which also happens to mean “Father” in French) met this scrawny scribe on a cold and blistering but calm wintry day.
When I got to the designated meeting place, Pere was standing on one leg on the hood of a car arms spread wide.
“You know, I love hockey this much. I really mean that.”
The conditions were icy. It made me nervous. What if he slips and smashes his head?
“It already happened. I was on the TSN set and I got up on the desk to challenge Bob McKenzie and I slipped on James Duthie’s notepad. There was blood everywhere. The doctor says I’m coming along.”
Yeesh.
“Pierre. Why don’t you come down?”
“I can see myself ruling the world you know that?” he said as he readied himself into a Napoleonic stance.
After agreeing to come down from the car we headed for the nearest Tim Horton’s.
“I sure could use a hot chocolate and a timbit. You paying, right?”
I nodded in the affirmative.
“Oh, goodie. Hey, check this snowflake out. Doesn’t it look like Scotty Bowman? Just a tremendous person. His genetics are unreal. He can live up to whatever age he wants. I think he wants to live up 150 years old. Like a turtle. People don’t realize it but I actually got under his skin and explored his body. He’s like a robot.”
I answered, “Which kind of robot? Bender?”
Pierre became visibly agitated. But his demeanour changed once we reached the counter.
“I’ll have 3 timbits, a hot chocolate and…um, a maple doughnut.”
The bastard was taking advantage of me. I kept calm. I was on assignment.
Earlier that day I met local radio personality Mitch Melnick. He insisted we meet in a dingy cellar surrounded by starving musicians. “I feel at home…hey get the hell outta here alright!”
“Mitch, he’s the waiter,” I said.
Without flinching he continued. “I feel right at home here.”
We began to talk about baseball, oatmeal and Pierre.
“Pierre. Wow. I mean, just his name leaves me speechless.”
What did he mean I wondered?
“I swear, I saw it for true. He’s my hero.”
Saw what?
“He walked straight up to that polar bear and stared him down. It was amazing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s somehow related to St. Francis of Assisi.”
I asked him about the criticism directed at him for going easy on Pierre during their radio segment together.
“You have to understand, I’m a bitch with certain people. Pierre comes prepared. If you’re not watch out. One person asked him why he thought he was so sure of himself and Pierre ate him in one bite like Nibbler on Futurama.”
One has to wonder, how does Pierre manage to have so many people under his spell? Is it because he uses AXE? Are his pheromones that active? Where did McGuire acquire such an abundance of knowledge that is required in order to be considered a true HSP?
For this I headed straight for the nearest Catholic church but the priest there never heard of him.
So I went to the next best place: The Church of Scientology.
I’ve always wanted to infiltrate its secretive walls. It wasn’t going to happen on this day but I did manage to meet Katie Holmes. I even slept with her. Strange but helpful gal as she gave me hubby’s Tom Cruise’s number.
Tom couldn’t have been more cordial.
I met him at a New York City furniture store. He was hopping from couch to couch.
He asked me what I needed.
I told him I was in search of the source of Pierre McGuire’s enlightenment.
He suddenly stopped, sat and pushed his head back on the couch.
“Man, I could just make out with that guy. The hockey guy right?”
“Yes” I said.
“Yeah, yeah. I could just…” Tom then looked away in an empty gaze.
He turned to me with convincing eyes and made it clear to me he’s a fan. “He was our best student. I never saw someone kneel before Hubbard as hard as Pierre. He is a natural QRTYRD.”
He was a member of your church?
Cruise snapped his fingers. “IS” he said.
He continued, “There are many false hockey idols on TV loaded with medication but McGuire is special. He has the real inner-liquid needed to make people see the truth.”
“Inner-liquid?” I ask.
Tom let out a jovial roar and clasped his hands. “You are so blind! Admit it!”
“I guess I am.”
“Great! Let’s get some sushi!”
As Tom turned the corner, I went the other way and dumped the douche.
That was enough for one day. I called it a night. I was exhausted. So much brilliance in one day can leave a person utterly exasperated. It was off to the hotel lounge for a drink and hopefully a shag with a hotel skank.
The next morning I headed back to Montreal.
When I got home a fuscia post-it was stuck on my door.
It read, “Meet me tonight.”
I didn’t know who it was. He just said to meet him at some Irish pub at exactly 9:04pm.
When I reached the place I realized it was Mitch.
Before I could get to him a leprechaun jumped on me. I pushed him off.
“Thanks for coming. The leps stay away from me,” he mentioned as he watched the television intensely. It would have been normal, only the TV was turned off.
I sat quietly as he spoke.
Soon, Mitch was teary-eyed. I felt his raw emotions. His passion. “I, I just had to talk about Pierre some more. Can you buy me a drink?”
“Sure.” Cheap bastard.
I asked him, “Why so passionate about a bald guy with specs?”
He looked at me perplexed as he blew his nose, “Whaddya mean? He’s like the Bob Dylan of hockey analysts! He’s a hockey troubadour!”
Oh.
I decided to tease him. “And who is this Bub Dillan you speak of?”
It was the wrong question as Melnick fell into an immediate fetal position and cried, “Bring back the Expos mommy!”
Some guy yelled with an aloof tone, “Get up, Mitch.”
He did and continued to speak to me.
“Look, Pierre is great and all but I don’t know how to get him off my show. His knowledge is actually quite intimidating. I can barely muster enough courage to challenge him. Instead, I’m snapping at my listeners…I mean, I think he’s telepathically drugging me.”
Right then and there I knew something was terribly amiss.
I had a choice. Do I go further into this mess or do I just turn around and walk away?
The obvious and smart choice was to simply stop at this point.
“I wish I could help you, Mitch but I’m just a pseudo-writer for a lameass sports blog. They don’t pay me for any of this. So far I’ve been set back 10 bucks at fucking Tim Horton’s, 10 bucks for a pint of Stout and a trip to NYC where I met the creepiest dude I’ve ever come across. It’s just too much.”
He grabs me.
“You don’t understand! You’re my only hope!”
“I’m sorry, Mitch. It ends here for me. Here’s 20 bucks. Go buy a coat. It’s winter outside.”
Suddenly, Pierre stormed in.
“I am the Walrus! Coo-coo! You, come hither.”
I pointed to myself, “Me?”
“Yeah, you,” he said with a smug smirk.
“Come outside.”
I followed in fear of my life.
“See that bird?”
“Yes.”
“He just told me who will win the Stanley Cup.”
He then proceeded to slap me on the back as he broke out into a hysterical laugh.
I took the opportunity to escape. I jumped into a taxi.
“Quel direction, mon ami?”
I look back. Pierre was on his knees…staring up at the night sky.
“Equilibre mental,” I said.
The driver’s eyes reflecting in the rear view mirror revealed a state of brief retardation.
I smile and add, “Just drive.”
And so ended my journey.
My travels took me to many pointless places infected with poignant people. What I set out to seek ended up being something more than I bargained for. I was spent.
It was time to write about my experience. I trust and hope it will bring me an award of some kind.
By Beaker
Mats “Skeletor” Sundin has Nierdermayersclerosis. It’s a peculiar disease doctors and researchers are only beginning to understand and NHL general managers are pressuring for an immediate cure. It’s definitely on the rise.
Poor Skeletor. Millions on the table and he’s uncertain if he wants to play again.
I hear he wants to figure out a way to both take the money and play in the NHL and live in Sweden. He’s working on a song we hear: “Sweden reminds me of Toronto in the summertime.”
Speaking of Swedes, one guy who can’t understand the language of what his body is telling him is Peter Forsberg. Pete doesn’t want to Peter-out and wants to play. The only problem is that he has no body. “Excuse me? Has anyone seen my body?”
Indeed, who would want to sign a guy to play for 15 games?
If Forsberg was a Viking he would go down with a groin injury during battle.
Maybe they should figure out a way to fuse Mats and Peter. Take Peter’s will to play and Skeletor’s fairly sturdy and healthy body and make a special Swedish scientific experiment out of them.
It would make one great player that’s for sure.
By Beaker
Thomas Magnum or Keith Hernandez he ain’t. Jason Giambi’s total 80s white trash, porn-retro moustache.
By Beaker
Is it me or are the layoffs between series way too long? Two, three days off I get. But four and five? That I don’t get. Talk about giving life to waning interest.
By the time May rolls around most people have moved on. Hockey in early May has already outlived its shelf life. Only the most dedicated fans or those with teams still fighting for the Cup tend to care this time of year I would think.
This sucker is still going strong like the fricken Energizer bunny.
How to shorten this to maximize interest? Cutting down on the excessive layoffs is a start. I would even suggest shortening the season a tad but that’s impractical. If anything, there’s some talk of increasing it. It’s an insane idea if you ask me but I’m just a lowly observer who’s out of The Loop – the Old Boys Network Loop that is.
If it were up to owners they’d have hockey all year long. We’d have to breed humans with horses just to keep the stamina up. Athletes are well oiled machines now. On one level, the well-conditioned athlete is something to behold. On the other hand, the careless athlete who let his gut out was fun to watch too. Man, wouldn’t it be hilarious if a baseball player smoked while standing on the on-deck circle waiting for his turn to hit?
I lament the loss of the athlete that smoked between periods and drank beer after a game. Now it’s all about technical systems and healthy diets. Law-dee-daw. We’re so mechanized in our approach it’s…it’s, well, boring.
There’s no doubt We’re better prepared as coaches and remarkably conditioned as athletes but are we necessarily better hockey coaches and players?
Think about this for a moment.
By Rebecca Glass
Over on Pete Abraham’s blog, the most recent post has commenters talking about the possibility that Yankees’ prospect Alexander Pope may one day pitch to Jesus Montero.
That, of course, got me thinking, could we create an All-Holy Team? Well, if we stretch our imagination, not too much, it might look something like this:
SP: Alexander Pope, or Fautino De Los Santos
Catcher: Ryan Church
1B: Jesus Montero
Centerfield: David DeJesus
Leftfield: Matt Holliday
Rightfield: Nelson Cruz (For the non-Spanish speakers, Cruz = Cross)
Now, 2B-SS-3B would involve some imaginative stretching, but we could theoretically have:
2b: Angel Sanchez
Shortstop: Ramon Santiago
3b: Stephen King (I’m not sure King cuts it, but it’s the best I can do).
Keep in mind, the All-Holy Team would have a plethora of pitchers, such as John Parrish, for example…
As for the opponents, one would think that Matt Cain might start, and Angel Pagan play in one of the outfield positions…
By Kellex
1. “The Finals are set, Magic vs. Jazz!”
Oh lord…could you have a bigger ratings killer than that? I guess we would get to see Dwight Howard dunk all over Boozer for 4-5 games which would be fantastic. I’m always up for a former Dukie getting his head slammed in by a ball. Does Rashard Lewis still play in the NBA? Really? And how much are the Magic paying him?
2. “Stern still sticking to bench rule! Suns down Shaq, Amare and Barbosa.”
If the Spurs and Suns actually do face each other in the first round you better expect some fireworks, controversy and plenty of “Big Shot Bob”. Although his teammates might want to remind him that the Diesel is on the other bench now and checking miniature white guys into scorers’ tables will not be tolerated.
3. “MVP! MVP! MVP!”
Mimicking the chants heard every time Kobe steps to the line and when he drops 65 on the Nuggets. (If they actually make it to the Finals…spare me.)
4. “CP3! MVP!”
See #3 and insert Chris Paul. Also expect a higher dosage if he DOESN’T win the award and the Hornets start rolling through a couple of rounds.
5. “Matchup for the Ages!” “History will be made!”
Variations of this ridiculous headline are to be expected if the Lakers actually do meet the Celtics in the Finals. You get the point.
6. “Hawks make ‘Golden’ history!”
The thought of the Hawks pulling off last year’s Golden State heroics makes me want to vomit. I’m pretty sure KG won’t be allowing this, but hey Dirk did!
7. “Hibachi-less? No problem!”
The headline when Gilbert Arenas shuts it down AGAIN but the Wizards still sneak out a first round playoff victory. Then the blessings of the David Friedman’s of the world arguing that the Wizards are actually better without him. (I actually did just vomit while typing that…and my IQ dropped…and I should find the nearest busy intersection.)
8. “NBA Playoffs, Where re-seeding NEVER happens.”
I think we are all in agreement that the NBA is a little lopsided right now and I think we all agree that some changes may need to happen to keep the league competitive. How annoyed are you going to be when the first week of the playoffs happens and all you hear about is Golden State not making the it and the 6, 7, and 8 seeds out East not deserving to be there?
9. “Grizzlies seal #1 pick, expect Beasley.”
Poor Michael Beasley will be forced into one of the worst franchises in sports history. Can’t he just go to the Heat? PLEASE!
10. “The NBA Playoffs or the NBA’s second season?”
One week into the playoffs we’ll start to hear chatter about the length of the Playoffs and how the “regular season doesn’t matter” and blah blah frickin’ blah. As an NBA fan, I love the playoffs and think they are just fine with the length of each series. The biggest annoyance to me about the NCAA tourney is seeing some Cinderella team upset a big dog and then get trounced in the next round. The NBA Playoffs tries to keep that from happening.
By Beaker
Dear Mr. Commissioner Gary Bettman,
You don’t know me (even though you should) but I have a crackpot idea that might be of interest to My New NHL (MNNHL).
First, as commissioner of the MNNHL in Gotham City does Batman flash the Bat-signal or use the Bat-phone often? Ha, ha.
Seriously. There’s been quite a bit of talk among smart journalists (you know, the ones who write a lot) talking about the possible expansion of the NHL. Not just in places like Kansas City and Reno but far away places like Europe too. Wow. It’s so romantic.
They talk about eventually seeing a European division in the NHL. Alas, the costs and logistics of this would prove to be a nightmare. You can barely set the schedule right as it stands. Imagine adding other countries in different times zones to the mix! You’re scheduling people will quit on you!
At best you’d have to set up a division of 8, 10 or perhaps 12 teams to compete amongst each other to have the honors to play either in the MNNHL playoffs or face the Stanley Cup champions. I know. Which teams get to be part of the NHL? The ones that pay, Gary. The ones that pay the up front fee. Then again, you know all about that – wink.
Anyway, it would sort of be like what you see in Major League baseball with the Pennant winners of the American and National leagues facing each other in the World Series.
What a dilemma for those who have a vision of one day bridging the great teams of Europe with the NHL.
Well, wait no more. I’m flashing the Bat-signal.
Why not simply have yearly tournaments? Think of it as a complimentary compromise. Not only do you get to play European teams, but think of the added revenues! This stuff works in Europe.
I model mine after the Champions League in soccer. The Champions League is a yearly, prestigious tournament that pits all of Europe’s best teams against one another in one major competition to see who will have bragging rights as supreme champions of Europe.
You can do the same for the NHL. Approach each league interested in a tournament and ask them if they would want to partake in such a tournament. You would have to work out exactly who gets to play which countries get assigned teams but that’s all petty details.
In summary, you’d have teams from Sweden, Finland, Czech Republic, Slovakia, Russia, Switzerland, Germany, Italy, the NHL, and others — all fighting for hockey supremacy. It can be a springboard to bigger dreams! Or nightmares.
If you wish to discuss this further you can reach me here at BC Magazine. I would be glad to go over any questions you may have over cocktails and steaks.
Best… no, Warm Regards,
Alessandro Nicolo
PS: Don’t steal my idea. I know who you are.
