Ronaldinho Is Off To Milan

July 20, 2008 By Leave a Comment

By John ST

The 28-year-old Ronaldinho Gaucho has chosen the next and possibly last station of his footballing career – a move to AC Milan instead of Manchester City for a 3 year contract till June 2011.ronaldinho01 300x210 Ronaldinho Is Off To Milan

AC Milan announced on Thursday the completion of Ronaldinho’s transfer at a price of 21 million euros (much less than the amount purportedly offered by Manchester City) and an additional 4 million euros if the club clinches a place in the 2009-10 Champions League.

Ronaldinho will earn 6.5 million euros per season and he was quick to please his new fans by exulting upon his arrival: “It’s true. I really wanted to come to Milan. A lot of things happened and at the end I became Rossonero. I hope I can provide a lot of joy to Milan’s fans.”

Last season, Milan finished a disappointing fifth in Serie A and was eliminated by Arsenal in the second round of the Champions League. They can only qualify for the second-tier UEFA Cup this season. But do not be mistaken, a club of Milan’s stature will not accept mediocrity for too long.

In the 2005 Champions League finals, Milan dominated Liverpool and established a 3-0 lead by half time, but the Reds miraculously forced a 3-3 stunner, snatching the title from right under their nose in the penalty shoot-outs. However, Milan proved their championship qualities by capturing the European crown with a 2-1 victory over Liverpool the following year.

Similarly, I believe Milan will make a speedy return to the Champions League. They signaled clearly their domestic and European ambitions with a flurry of activities in the transfer market. Snagging Ronaldinho is the final piece of the puzzle… or is it?

It is too early to say if this transfer is a masterstroke or a risky venture but on paper, Milan certainly possess a lethal front line. Ronaldinho will link up with Kaka and Alexandre Pato in an all-Brazilian attack that is bound to terrorize any defense. To be sure, when Ronaldinho is at his best, he brings a lot of enthusiasm and confidence to the team.

Ronaldinho Gaucho 1135505 Ronaldinho Is Off To MilanA few years ago, he was the indisputable best player in the world but his form plummeted of late. Scoring an impressive 91 goals in 200 appearances over five seasons at Barcelona, he was a vital cog to the club’s consecutive Spanish league titles in 2005 and 2006, and the Champions League trophy in 2006.

Last year, Ronaldinho came in for brickbats from all quarters when he notched up only nine goals in 26 overall appearances. His fitness, flabby tummy, a series of injuries (ranging from a foot problem to thigh injury to knee tendinitis) and concerns of late-night partying contributed to him playing the fewest matches since moving to Barcelona from Paris Saint-Germain in 2001.

In fact, there are parallels to be drawn from the acrimonious parting of ways at PSG too. Luis Fernandez, then manager at PSG, claimed that Ronaldinho was too focused on the Parisian nightlife rather than on his football, and complained that his holidays in Brazil would always drag on and never end at the scheduled times.

Ronaldinho developed a reputation for brilliant performances against the bigger teams, but did not pull his weight against smaller teams. PSG eventually ended their relationship with a talented but ill-disciplined player who casued much unhappiness in the dressing room.

Not that there wasn’t any suitors lining up. Manchester United and Barcelona were hot on the heels of this effervescent midfielder. Laporta finally fought off the advances of Manchester United and bought the 2002 World Cup winner for €30 million. It was one of his most successful signings as the Brazilian’s toothy grin and mesmerizing skills immediately won over the Camp Nou faithful. Ronaldinho 1135506 Ronaldinho Is Off To Milan

A golden era of entertaining football descended at Barcelona with Ronaldinho’s dazzling dribbles and visionary assists. Indeed, he even managed to earn a standing ovation at Santiago Bernabeu after scoring a brace in a 3-0 victory over Real Madrid during the team’s second title run.

Unfortunately, all good things come to an end. Ronaldinho’s indiscipline flared up at the peak of his career. His decline began in the 2006 World Cup when Brazil lost to France in the quarter-finals. Some critics put forth reasons of poor conditioning and sloppy play but almost all agree that Ronaldinho, whom much expectations have been heaped after a successful campaign with Barcelona, was an abysmal failure throughout the tournament.

It seems that sex, videogames and even complacency are to blame. The star midfielder reportedly sneaked out of his hotel room to have late night romps with his girlfriend, model Alexandra Paressant, after which he would collapse and play the videogame FIFA 2006 until the wee hours of the morning. Paressant refuses to accept any blame but because of her French nationality, rumors of a conspiracy abounds.

From the heights of adulation to the much vilified scrum, Ronaldinho’s confidence on the pitch went into the gutters and he was never the same player again. Upon his return to Barcelona, his dip in form reflected on the club’s fortune. Barcelona began to lose ground in the challenge for titles while Real Madrid began a mini renaissance under Fabio Capello.

Anyway, all these is water under the bridge now. Based on the adage that “class is permanent,” and Ronaldinho did not win illustrious awards such as two FIFA World Player of the Year, European Footballer of the Year and FIFPro World Player of the Year by luck, he deserves a fair chance to show his commitment again. At AC Milan, he may just find the right environment and manager to bring out his best.

By the way, AC Milan have also signed defender Gianluca Zambrotta from Barcelona, midfielder Mathieu Flamini from Arsenal and regained forward Marco Borriello, who scored 19 goals while on loan to Genoa last season — third among Serie A scoring leaders.

With a good mix of skill, experience and youth in his team, Carlo Ancelotti will be hard pressed to find any excuses for a empty trophy cabinet again.

Soccer Net Live


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Wade Boggs Forgets His Red Sox Roots?

July 16, 2008 By Leave a Comment

By Beaker

I watched the All-Star game last night – easily the best All-Star jamboree in pro sports . Unfortunately, I had to retire to bed in the 12th inning. My Cheerios were well digested and it was time to go and dream about something.

Alas, all was not lost as I couldn’t sleep. So I got up to catch the final score only to find out the game was still in progress. With the stands thinned out, the game (though I doubt too many kids were still up at 1:30 in the morning) was in the 15th inning. Wide awake, I sat and watched as Boston Red Sox manager Terry Francona panic about needing to use Tampa Bay Rays pitcher Scott Kazmir.

No worries. The American League snatched yet another victory from the National League winning in the bottom of the 15th inning 4-3. Home field goes to the AL – again.

Click. Off to bed I went where I proceeded to fall asleep at approximately 3:10 in the morning.

But this is not the point of this post. I can’t see how readers can possibly care I suffer from insomnia. Unless of course you’re a caring individual.

The real story I’m trying to get across actually concerns the pre-game ceremony. You know, the one where they had all them old, legendary Hall of Fame dudes standing around? Kidding aside, it was pretty cool to see all those amazing players in one place. Honoring Yankee Stadium deserved nothing less.

For me, it was great to see a Montreal Expos representative in Gary Carter stand next to all those legends. In fact, Carter stood next to the great Yankees catcher Yogi Berra.

Speaking of The Kid, if you noticed, he was wearing an Expos cap (as he should have) but he also recognized the New York Mets by raising a Mets cap to the crowd acknowledging his playing days as a Mets catcher. Before him, Dave Winfield did the same thing. He wore a San Diego Padres cap and waved a New York Yankees cap in honour of playing for them as well.

I thought this to be appropriate.

Which brings me to Kentucky Fried Chicken aficionado Wade Boggs. For me, Boggs will always be associated as the third basemen for the Boston Red Sox. He went on to play and win with the Yankees and when he was introduced he wore a Yankees cap. There was no whiff or scent of a Red Sox cap.

I thought this to be odd.

I may be nitpicking but I wonder how Red Sox nation feels about this.

Just something I observed.

Bye-bye.


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Washington Are Bad Foster Parents For The Expos

July 15, 2008 By 2 Comments

Some people may take macabre glee in watching the Washington Nationals basically fail as a baseball experiment – again.

I know a few Montrealers who are happy. But this should be taken with a dash of O’Keefe beer. Who knows how many of these people actually supported the Montreal Expos while it struggled and desperately needed fans to come out and fill the stands? The Expos indeed died a lonely death.

In 1969, the team hit the city with the force of a George Foreman punch and left without a trace like the Mongolian empire.

It’s sad how they left and one would think finding a good home for those lost, stray puppies was the next best thing for its legacy.

Washington is not turning out to be that home. Bad foster parents, bad.

No one is going to the games and no one is watching them. One thing we can say about Montreal, they at least (diabolically?) continued to tune in and listen to broadcasts on the radio a regular basis. It seems the message was: the ownership stinks, the ball park stinks (although I think both were sort of a convenient cop out) but the scent of baseball and the Expos remained soothing on sweet summer nights.

I still firmly believe Montreal is a baseball market. Now whether it’s capable of supporting a professional team in today’s economic environment is another matter. Montreal is not exactly a wealthy town. It’s a big city run like a small town.

Montrealers know a good thing when they see it they just don’t want to pay for it. It really is the perfect place for Bohemians and neo-Beatniks (whoever they may be. Was Kramer a retro beatnik?) when you think of it.

Nevertheless, the loss of the Expos for this sports junkie still hits hard. I shouldn’t complain too much. I got to see the “Team of the 80s” that thoroughly enriched my summers and contributed to my love of baseball. That counts for something.

Now it’s All-Star week-end in New York where majestic Yankee Stadium built by Babe Ruth  stands before us all one last time. The Cathedral housed, produced and protected a prolific string of legendary moments. It’s another passing of a great piece of Americana.

During this past week, sports shows have reminisced on previous All-Star games. When they hit the 80s you can always be sure to spot a few powder blues uniform marked by red numbers that defined the Montreal Expos.

Each time I see them it brings me instantly back to a time when innocence, hope and sheer happiness was all I knew. I was a kid that lived by the sights and sounds of sports.

Growing up sobers us up – at least it should. Some cling on to past times leaving a taste of bitterness and a streak of cynicism. Sometimes we just need to let go of the bad times.

This week, Montreal baseball fans should remember Nos Amours. Being upset and angry is pointless. We had them and this is a thing to be celebrated.

Who knows?

Maybe one day they’ll be back.

I haven’t lost my sense of hope.


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Time To Free Shoeless Joe And The Black Sox?

July 14, 2008 By Leave a Comment

By Alessandro

Should Major League Baseball absolve the 1919 Chicago White Sox? Notoriously known as the Black Sox (though the origins of the name coming as a result of the scandal is disputed), the whole story is filled with personal human interest stories, murky details (even the involvement of Shoeless Joe Jackson is questioned) and mob folklore – Arnold Rothstein was said to be the mastermind behind the whole ordeal.

At what point does the whole ordeal become a showcase in hypocrisy? It’s been 89 years since the incident.

Have they paid their dues?


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For The Love Of Baseball

July 12, 2008 By Leave a Comment

By Rebecca Glass

You love baseball.

You love it or you wouldn’t be reading this.

People love baseball for different reasons. Some love it for the monster home runs, the sight of baseballs thrown at 98 miles an hour, the leaping catches over the outfield wall.

Some love it for the history–the players and the teams that become icons of a city, a year, a decade, a century.

Tonight, I realized that I love baseball for all these reasons–but that there’s another as well.

There’s something magical about playing catch in any circumstance, just with a baseball and a glove, where the game becomes accessible to everyone, regardless of athletic (or, in my case, lack of athletic) skill.

When you go to play catch with your boyfriend, and the two of you end up doing so with three children barely old enough for Kindergarten registration…now, that is something special. That’s a game that you can pass on from generation to generation. It becomes something that’s not just bigger than any person, but it’s bigger than any generation.

You don’t need to memorize any plays, learn to skate or find a net to bring baseball to the next generation.

This Purist Bleeds Pinstripes


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Tour de France: Ricco And Manuel Baffle

July 12, 2008 By Leave a Comment

With all the problems the sport of cycling was slowly and honourably over coming, it comes as quite a shock to know that some cyclists would still knowingly cheat despite the enormous scrutiny on the sport.

Enter Spain’s Manuel Beltran and Italy’s rising star Ricardo Ricco at the Tour de France. Beltran was caught doping and summarily kicked out of the race in disgrace. The odd thing about this sad episode is that Beltran is 38 years old and had no chance of winning. Unless, he thought that with no clear favorites he may have indeed had a chance – with a little help.

For his part, Ricco was starting to make waves at the Tour. His goal was to win two stages and he not only accomplished this goal he also carried the polka dot jersey. Then he tested for EPO.

Both riders headed in opposite directions in their careers miscalculated. If anything, they now leave behind a legacy that wallows in its utter stupidity. Ricco in particular has taken his personal arrogance to a new level.

Raffael Palmeiro is waiting for your call, Manuel and Ricardo.

I wonder who’s next.


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Two Book Reviews On Italian Soccer

July 12, 2008 By Leave a Comment

By Alessandro

From afar, Italian soccer looks a certain way to people who don’t follow it. For example, it is often dismissed as overly defensive (negative) to those who are on the outside. This is can lead to selective interpretations. Like anything else that gives into simple perceptions, a more introspective examination is needed. Only once you get closer to the epicenter do things become clearer. Like its history, things in Italy are not always as they appear.

Two books explore the heart of Italian soccer:

“The Italian Job.”

Gianluca Vialli and Gabriele Marcotti.

433 pages. Published by Bantam Books.

“Winning at all Costs: A Scandalous History of Italian Soccer. “

John Foot

528 pages. Published by Nation Books.

Each book explores different aspects of Italian soccer albeit with two different styles and approaches. Vialli is strictly concerned with the differences between English and Italian soccer. Inevitably, his journey leads him into discussing cultural attributes that give way to the styles rooted in each country.

Using many quotes he gained from interviewing some of the top managers in world soccer (for example, Marcello Lippi, Jose Mourinho. Sir Alex Ferguson, Fabio Capello) he builds his case less on science and more on the instincts and experiences of these men. The book takes the reader into the heart of two great football cultures helping to define the values that mark each nation.

Here’s a quote from Arsenal manager Arsene Wenger trying to explain why losses are treated differently in Italy and England. He delves into history for a clue:

“Anglo-Saxon culture is all about banding together in small groups, which, to survive, had to remain united and loyal to each other. If you think about it, British history is the history of thousands of years of warring clans…Now Italy and France were also tribal. But to survive they did things differently. That’s why our history is about alliances and betrayals, of the Borgias, of double-crosses, of being with one ally one year and another the next. You love your colours  but you love your own survival more.”

Wenger goes on to defend this apparent “British are loyal and Latins are coward theory” as Vialli interpreted with “It comes down to rationality…The Latins think more, they reason more, they are more analytical…And this creates detachment. The Anglo-Saxons don’t do this. If they like something, that’s it, they are attached to it…”

For his part, Foot’s thoroughly researched book – he is a professor of modern Italian history at University College London – focuses on Italy and while he and Vialli intersect in their explanation and exploration of the roots of Italian tactics and strategies, Foot veers off into the less glamorous of Italian soccer culture.

Hence, the title “A Scandalous history.”

Though in large part, it reads simply as a history, Foot does nevertheless enlighten the reader to the many tragedies and scandals (mostly of the betting and match-fixing variety) that seem to be embedded in Italian soccer. More importantly, Foot takes care in attempting to educate the reader about the prevailing cultural attitudes that exists in the Italian psyche. This goes a long way into understanding why Italian function as it does. He takes us in the tragedies at Superga and Heysel, explores the rise of the ultras, examines the media and takes a moment to discuss the litany of legendary and brilliant soccer players Italy has produced.

I’ve always expressed Italian soccer as being where Machiavelli and Michaelangelo meet. Foot essentially takes this root by doing a fine job of establishing the Italians as actors on an operatic soccer stage. He does an even better job of providing insights to people outside Italian culture about what makes Italian culture and soccer function as it does.

Personally, the one thing that I wonder is whether Italian soccer is closer to the reality and truth of modern sports. In light of the recent developments in the NBA and former referee Tim Donaghy, are North Americans simply naive to believe that sports are free of any illicit activity? Is the media exhibiting an indifference or casting a blind eye (much like they did with the drug problem in baseball) to possible corruption in our sports? Is Italian society simply more frank with this reality than most nations or has it simply given into cynicism?

Clearly both books succeed in getting their points across. You don’t need to be a fan of Italian soccer to appreciate the larger questions being posited. It explores cultural aspects of the game as well as the human reality of corruption and prejudice. They may be provocative or scandalous but at least they spark a discussing about one of the world’s greatest cultural and soccer nations.


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RIP Johnny Podres

July 12, 2008 By Leave a Comment

By Alessandro

Johnny Podres is no more. The former pitcher of the Brooklyn Dodgers died at the age of 75 today. He had been hospitalzied for a heart and kidney condition as well as a leg infection.

As a former fan of the Montreal Expos and now a supporter of the Los Angeles, it would be silly of me not to mention his passing.

Podres is best remembered for helping the Dodgers to their first and only title in Brooklyn by winning game seven of the 1955 World Series over the New York Yankees – their dreaded and mortal enemies. He pitched a 2-0 shut out in that game.

The Brooklyn Dodgers vs. New York Yankees rivalry of the 1950s cuts right into the cultural fabric of New York sports folklore. It was easily one of the heated and dramatic in North American professional classical sports history.

It wasn’t particularly even, the Yankees dominated the series wining seven of eight famous World Series meetings the two clubs had, but for one year Johnny Podres gave “dem bums” a shining moment. Two years later in 1957, owner Walter O”Malley packed up and shipped the team to Los Angeles.

As a side tidbit of history, the farm team of the Brooklyn Dodgers – the Montreal Expos – eventually got its own deserved franchise in 1967. The Expos went on to be a fairly successful franchise with all the promise in the world but never could quite reach the pinnacle before their unfortunate demise. The L.A. Dodgers, for their part, are one of baseball’s great clubs. The Dodgers shedded their “losers” stigma by going on to win five titles in Los Angeles.

Podres was not a Hall of Famer but it’s not always about that. What Podres help give an entire city can’t be meausured by a plaque.

Johnny Podres. What a cool baseball name.

ISW salutes Johhny Podres.


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Where’s The Hot Chocolate? The Winter Classic In Buffalo

July 12, 2008 By Leave a Comment

By Beaker

Remember when we were kids – those of us from the Northern parts of North America anyway – we would play hockey at the local outdoor rink in sub zero temperatures, blowing wind under the majestic moon?

Once the skates were pulled off, we slapped – excuse the pun – the hockey stick holding the skates over our shoulders like fishing poles, the fun was capped off with some hot chocolate.

That’s the distinct feeling of nostalgia I got watching the Buffalo Sabres host the Pittsburgh Penguins in the first NHL game played outside in the United States. The first game played outdoors was in Edmonton between the Edmonton Oilers and Montreal Canadiens back in 2003. That game proved to be very popular as 57 167 fans braved psycho cold conditions (if my memory serves me correct it went as far as -30c) to watch the Habs prevail 4-3.

Prior to the latest edition of the Winter Classic I was indifferent about the whole thing. I certainly wasn’t as cynical as some in the media who spent a lot of wasted energy beating up the idea.

It doesn’t matter what any scribe or loud mouth commentator thinks. If the 70 000 plus fans were any indication as to whether this was a success or not then the consensus seems to fall on the side of the experience being positive. Any sports writer who dismisses it is essentially judging the consumer.

Nor is that anything new for sports fans. It’s not like the Buffalo Bills (or New England Patriots, New York Jets or New York Giants or Philadelphia Eagles or Pittsburgh Steelers, Chicago Bears or Cleveland Browns or Green Bay Packers) never played similar conditions. Seems to me that hockey is the perfect sport to put up with bad weather.

There’s something about battling the elements in sports that is fun to watch and play in. I certainly enjoyed it. Let me take it a step further, being from Canada, we sometimes had to play soccer in November. In shorts. In near sub-arctic conditions. No, our coaches were not kind. They somehow thought playing in shorts in the wretched cold made us men. I remember one year at the conclusion of winning out high school title we ran straight for the dressing rooms to celebrate. I never saw a field empty as fast as I witnessed that day.

As I watched the game progress it was clear maintaining control of the puck was going to be the toughest obstacle to overcome. Even during the shoot-out the shooters were occupied with trying to not lose the puck in the snow or having to deal with snow hitting the visor and impede vision. It’s very tough to be fast and accurate when the snow gets in the way.

The game has come and gone. I’m sure hot chocolate sales in Buffalo sky rocketed.

Oh yeah, after the game finished 1-1 in overtime. Pittsburgh prevailed in the shoot-out 2-1 with Sidney Crosby netting the winner.

Now everyone go home.


Filed Under: Hockey Tagged With: ,

The Biggest Ant Of Them All

July 12, 2008 By 2 Comments

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.


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