hockey blog july09

July 31, 2009

In a few hours we will begin the penultimate long weekend of the summer. It seems just a wink ago we were standing in slush pining for Victoria Day, but that's the relentless march of time blah blah blah.

I remain hopeful that summer will yet break out -- Al Gore warned me it was going to get warmer -- but thus far, I've been disappointed.

Our weekend schedule of obligations (now that we have successfully managed to show up for lacrosse officiating on the wrong nights, rinks, or not at all, a feat that for once wasn't my creation) is quite light, save for about a four-hour block on Sunday afternoon when I'll be literally chilling in a rink watching Pad at a hockey camp.

More importantly, Pad, Chris and I will be baking a cake that will be the centre piece of the festival of Laura, who will be marking, if not actually celebrating, a birthday on the long weekend.

More often than not in the last decade, she's marked the occasion in Cape Breton, often without me as her and the boys would decamp for the sacred sod for virtually the entire summer.

But as the boys get older and have commitments, such six-week excursions are no longer practical, not to mention that while they are both handsome and well mannered, neither is quite as cute as they were 10 years ago and thusly perhaps, maybe, the act wears thin on relatives over a six-week period.

And so it is that Laura will eat bad cake on a good pa(d)io and mark her remarkable 28th birthday -- a number remarkable not in its chronological composition but in the Hogwarts-like calculus that leads to it representing her age.

All of which is besides the point.

She's a great mom, wife and friend and everyone who knows her treasures her friendship and treats her like a princess (lest she turn on them with the quiet, determined focus of a hockey mom and serial killer and destroy their life.)

Anyway, Happy Birthday. You are the best.

- - -

I mentioned here the other day that we are well into season 2 of Mad Men, watching it at a nice pace on DVD.

The show is outstanding -- brilliantly cast and acted, well written, and slavish devoted to the detail of the period it portrays, which is the early 1960s in New York.

The title is derived from Madison Avenue, home then to the world's top advertising agencies and the men who ran them. Hence, Mad Men.

And make no mistake, the world was ruled by men then.

The show is remarkable for its unflinching, warts-and-all depiction of life then. Sexism, misogyny, racism, anti-Semitism, and political incorrectness are normal, matter of fact accessories of every day life.

The men all drink -- every office has a bar, and they drink all the time. They womanize with abandon.

They all smoke, too, everywhere. As do the women, who are invariably called girls.

"Girls, get us some ice, will ya?"

OR:

"Don, when did you get the new girl?" -- meaning a new assistant or secretary.

In the context of 2009, the show's plots and sub-plots can make you very uncomfortable. In one episode, a secretary reports some money missing from her purse. The black elevator operator -- well respected and friendly -- is fired, the assumption (incorrect) being that he must have done it.

Anyway, if you haven't seen the show, wander to a video store and start with season 1, disc 1. If you like edgy drama, you'll love Mad Men.

- - -

For those who have seen the show, there's an app on the Internet that allows you to create yourself as a Mad Man character. You've given a series of options for body shape, hair colour, etc etc. So, I did the exercise and I have to say, the result was a disturbingly accurate image of me.

So, here I am enjoying a Diet Pepsi at the firm.

And here I am, later the same day, presenting the new pitch for Maidenform bras. You have to see the show to understand the reference, but it was the only option for a working background I had.

If you're a fan of the show, or, if you just want to waste some time because it's the Friday before a long weekend and you're the only person in the office, then you can "Mad Man" yourself by clicking here.

- - -

In our continuing series of updates to let you know that the investment bankers of New York are continuing scrape by, and speaking of Mad Men, this piece of news:

Nine investment banks that took US federal bailout money because of the financial services meltdown last fall paid bonuses of $1 million or more to 5,000 staff members.

And that's how I spell RELIEF.

Read more here.

- - -

The beer summit was apparently a cordial affair and the president drank Bud Light.

Eww.

Anyway, an update on this story here.

- - -

The latest issue of Esquire has a Q-and-A with Jeff Daniels, a terrific American character actor. The interview is insightful in that it gives you a flavour of the guy's down-to-Earth nature, but it's illuminating in that Daniels, perhaps cruelly best known for his role in Dumb and Dumber, is also a rep hockey dad.

And he talks about that experience and, well, hey. I hear what he's saying.

He talks about the advice he gave his son on fighting, which was not completely different from advice I have given, however sage or misguided.

My version of the advice was to not strive to be the guy that always starts trouble, but never, ever get pushed around. While you don't want to always start something, given the opportunity, don't hesitate to be the guy who finishes it. Hesitation will kill you. In for a penny, in for a pound. If you must fight, then your objective should be to be the scariest person within three square miles, so that the other guy immediately regrets meeting you. People will turn away in fright.

Shock and awe.

Oh. And punch hard. Daniels' insight on this point is excellent.

"See if you can bounce your fist off the back of their skull."

Now that's advice -- the point being if you aim the surface of a sheet of glass, then that's what you hit. Aim for the four inches behind the sheet of glass, and the glass will shatter and you'll hit it a whole lot harder.

You can read the interview with Daniels here.

- - -

I think that's probably more than enough to ensure my lovely wife will be annoyed with me for most of the weekend, which I hope isn't actually the case.

After all, I'm going to bake her a really bad cake.

There's a lot of lacrosse happening again this weekend in Whitby and to all the Oakville teams making that trip, good luck and drive safely. Soccer, baseball, summer hockey -- there are a lot of athletes on the move this weekend.

Others are on vacation, away from computers and blogs. Enjoy the down time.

I'm gonna sleep late and be nice to the people in my house. If I'm lucky, they will reciprocate.

Stay safe, hug your kids, and enjoy the long weekend.

July 30, 2009

Apropos of nothing, scenes from a trip home from the intersection of King and Yonge to Glen Abbey in Oakville:

-- walking out of the building, about to walk into traffic on King Street East like I always do. Little old lady with a cane is standing on the corner of King and Victoria. I asked her if she was trying to cross the street and she said she was. I said it's rush hour and I'm an expert jaywalker. Was she game? You bet. Lesson: little old lady on your arm makes jaywalking easier. People slowed to let us cross like we were in Lunenburg, not Toronto. Cool.

-- Stopped at a magazine store on Yonge for lotto tickets. Lady asked me how I am. "I'm great, because you're going to sell me a million dollar ticket." She chuckled. "In fact, sell me two. Because you're going to screw up the first one and sell me a losing ticket." She laughed so hard coffee came out her nose. I haven't checked to see if I won.

-- The late train ride home was sparsely populated, which is the best way to have it.

-- The new Lakeshore Lions Arena looks great. Rumour has it a brawl over ice time costs at the shiny new four-pad rink has caused some GTHL teams to bail out on soft commitments to play there. Discussions, I'm told, continue.

-- All along the Lakeshore line, the ball fields were being raked back into shape after days and days of rain. It was nice to see the kids of all sizes out playing ball again.

-- The horseshoe pits and patio at the legion west of Long Branch, however, were quiet.

-- Where the train stops at Clarkson, there are a couple of apartment buildings on the north side of the tracks. If you look carefully through the trees at the west end of one of the buildings, there's a small park. And if you're lucky, you'll see the old man playing checkers with the little boy.

-- Taking a late or milk-run train home is actually more efficient than taking an express train, if you have a car at the station. When an express train pulls in, you have to be careful not to be stampeded by moms sprinting to get to daycare to pick up their kids. And everyone is in a hurry to get out, so the traffic leaving the lot is terrible. The slow train has fewer people, more seats and you spend less time waiting to leave the station, and less time pulling stiletto heels out of your back.

-- When I got home, the house was quiet. I sat in the back yard, enjoying the quiet. Laura appeared ~~with a beer for me~~. I went and got her a cooler. And me a beer.

Tonight, back to lacrosse for more officiating for the boys.

- - -

Vacation is looming. At least, I hope it is.

Ours will be less opulent and more fun than President Obama's. Less opulent, because I'm fairly sure we can bring the bill in well under $30,000, which is what the president's accommodation alone is going to cost.

More fun? Come on. It's Cape Breton.

Anyway, you can read about the president's plans to rough it on Martha's Vineyard here.

As for us, stay tuned.

- - -

Hey! I'm not there yet, but good news for the over-55 set!! 59 is the new 30!! You're younger than ever! If a Pulitzer Prize winning columnist says it, that's good enough for me. Enjoy.

Read more here.

- - -

Oh no! I'm not there yet, but it's close enough to worry about! White guys over 55 are being thrown overboard in the new economy. I've never felt so old! This sucks. Or it will someday when I'm 55! Help!

Read more here.

- - -

This is rich.

A group of Leaf fans is petitioning the team to return to the 1967-era logo.

What, are they drunk or something? Are they delusional, thinking that the Leafs care what they think or want?

Has the fact that there hasn't been a playoff game in Toronto since GM stopped making the Oldsmobile gone completely MIA on these people?

Sheesh.

Unless you want $12 beer, $8 popcorn, a losing team and a bunch of millionaires with no-trade contracts, um, there won't be a bunch of checkmarks on your Leafs' wish list.

Read more here.

July 29, 2009

As we stand on the cusp on August, I am tempted to look on the back of milk cartons, where pictures of missing kids can sometimes be found, and look for a photo of the missing Summer of 2009. Perhaps there's a wanted poster up in government offices?

Last night was summer-ish -- humid and muggy and temporarily devoid of rain. Laura (battling a cruel summer cold) and I sat out on the pa(d)io and enjoyed the dryness. I kept saying, "Isn't the patio nice?" and she kept telling me to shut up.

The sweat running down my beer bottle was damp testimony to the humidity

And I can tell you that as cold as Kinoak gets in winter, it gets just as humid in summer (I watched Oakville's novices squander a 4-1 lead and settle for a 5-5 tie with Burlington last nice; Pad reffed, Chris worked the clock.)

Anyway, it was a long day and sitting outside was nice.

- - -

Driving up Fourth Line from Kinoak last night I noticed the inevitable "have a safe summer" sign posted outside St. Matthew's School.

The sign said, something to the effect of, "May God be with you during the summer months."

I know I'm twisted, but my immediate thought was: Does this mean in the winter months, we're on our own?

- - -

Speaking of beer and humidity, President Obama is inviting a Harvard professor and a Boston cop to the White House to have a beer and perhaps among the three of them they take turns chilling out, calming down, having some perspective, pulling their foot out of their mouth, taming the rhetoric, seeing the world through the other guys' eyes and considering better judgment. Among other things.

You can read the background on this mess here. I'm more interested in the beer.

To that end, you can click here to view a gallery of various US pols pretending to be ordinary folk and having a beer.

It's summer time. It's humid.

You should really consider doing the same.

- - -

There was a time when if you saw a person with a deep, dark tan, you'd think, hey, nice tan. Very healthy.

Now, if I see some dark skinned dad at lacrosse or a leathery-skinned mom prowling the aisles at Sobey's, I think, "Gee. Are you a walking ad for melanoma?" A little colour is healthy for otherwise pasty-skinned white folk in the north, like me.

But moderation.

Anyway, here's a bulletin that seems so obvious that again, I offer to do the study for half of whatever they pay for this news:

Tanning beds cause cancer.

Not only that, they are said to be as bad for you as asbestos, arsenic, radium, cigarettes and Michael Jackson's doctor. According to the study, use of tanning beds before age 30 increases your chances of cancer by 75 per cent.

Wow. Didn't see this one coming.

Better idea: put on a big floppy hat, an oversized t-shirt, some SPF 45 sun block, and have a beer.

Read more here.

- - -

This one will rock your world:

Apparently, if you type text messages while driving it increases your chances of having a car accident.

Wow. Who would have imagined that?

The study ~~conducted by the Michael Vick Institute of Self Evident Facts and Recreational Dog Fighting~~ found that if you text and drive, your are 23 times as likely to hit someone, or be hit.

I don't know who funds studies like this, but I'm willing to give them the same information for half the money.

You can read more here.

- - -

One of our kids has a peanut allergy, so we don't eat M&M candies. They're basically poison in our house, but lots of people enjoy them.

Here's a tip.

Apparently the blue ones -- specifically, the dye in blue M&Ms -- has been shown to mend spinal injuries in lab rats.

Now, if you have a rat with a spinal injury, this could be important news. Getting the rat to eat blue M&Ms may be the tricky part of the treatment protocol.

Kidding aside, it's a hopeful sign for people suffering with spinal cord injuries.

One side effect -- apparently the dye also turned the rats' skin blue.

Read more here.

- - -

Finally, a cautionary bit of news.

One day, you're a top spy. The next, you're a transvestite squatter who believes he is the Messiah.

No, not Michael Vick.

Read more here. It could happen to you.

July 27, 2009

I managed to get to and from Whitby (over, and over, and over again) on the weekend without incident, which is actually saying something given the weather. Having successfully built a patio, I now plan to build an ark.

The midget 1 Hawks ended their season with a stronger showing on the second weekend of provincial lacrosse qualifiers, but it was too little, too late for the squad and they missed out on qualifying for one of the six final spots in the provincial tournament next month.

And with that the sun will set on some lacrosse careers, I suspect, but it may be premature to make that call. Some guys will devote themselves more to hockey to see where that path might lead; others may just have had enough, having completed midget lacrosse. And some others will press on, chasing lacrosse as their sport of choice and hoping to land the attention of college scouts from the US.

My own guy has told me he's done -- hockey is his first choice and he feels strongly that he wants to work hard at that for a couple of more years while he has the freedom to do so. As the kids get older, it becomes harder and harder to be a two-sport athlete at the highest rep levels. The season never actually ends, just the weather changes and inevitably there are conflicts among the maze of practices and games and tournaments and clinics and tryouts and road trips. In spite of best efforts, you can't be everywhere.

But we'll see. Next spring, he might change his tune.

Me? I'll miss it if, in fact, it is over.

- - -

Watching one of the games on the weekend, there were a series of hard hits -- all clean, but very hard nonetheless.

I turned to the dad next to me and simply commented that lacrosse is a tough sport. And how tough it is at midget and older is hard to appreciate from afar. You need to be close to the glass where you can feel the impact of the hits and slashes.

The dad to whom I spoke said he's often told his son that he wishes he had a chance to play lacrosse as a youth, but the truth is he's not sure he'd have been tough enough.

I second that.

- - -

One of the things I'll miss about lacrosse is going to Whitby every other year and spending so much time that it feels like it would have been simpler to buy a house there. I have nothing particular against Whitby, but it's a long way to go day after day after day.

If the 401 is kind to you, the drive can be done in a little under an hour where you arrive for two games a day and a lot of dead time in between. If the 401 is not kind . . . don't ask.

As a group we parents are now intimately familiar with the food options around the AMC theatre complex (Boston Pizza anyone?) and I have the AMC Whitby 24 cinema listings bookmarked on my Blackberry.

Friday, Pad and I saw the new Star Trek, which you really should go see. It's less a Star Trek movie and more a just a good old adventure movie with great action.

On Saturday, most of the team went to see the new Transformers flick. Chris told me it was two and half hours of stuff blowing up and Megan Fox in tight pants. He was right. But the whole premise is a bit goofy and on this one I'd say, don't bother.

Apparently while we were in the theatre Whitby enjoyed one of the many end-of-world rainstorms that swept across the GTA on the weekend. When we emerged from the movie, the lobby was sopping wet having been flooded by overwhelmed storm drains backing up.

We tiptoed out.

- - -

Things must be incredibly miserable at Glen Abbey and the RBC Canadian Open.

What a mess.

- - -

If you watched the Blue Jays game yesterday afternoon, maybe you caught the birthday greetings sent to my dad by the broadcast crew.

And if the Jays were smart, the might consider calling on dad to pitch late relief for them. I think he'd do a better job than some of the guys who have that job now.

- - -

I've been too busy driving or working and I have no cool links for you to follow today. Sorry about that.

I'll try to be more interesting and eclectic tomorrow (if I am writing at all tomorrow.)

Until then, stay dry.

July 24, 2009

Spent the first half of the day grinding at work so I can spend the second half of the day -- and then some -- driving.

On the road a lot this weekend in what may be the last hurrah for the midget 1 Hawks.

We shall see.

In the meantime, have a great weekend and try to stay dry.

Lots of stuff going on so get out and enjoy it.

In Nova Scotia, my dad will be celebrating a birthday this weekend. We wish we were there but, soon enough. We';re happy to throw another party when we get there. Happy birthday, old man!

Everyone else, hug the kids and create a memorable summer weekend. Drive carefully.

July 23, 2009

My day yesterday was beyond absurd, which may explain (in part) my conversation with the Bay of Fundy.

Laura had to be out of town. I had a bunch of conference calls I had to do, but nothing that couldn't be managed from home, so I worked from the home office and took on duties for shuttling the kids around.

By 10p last night, I told Laura she was going to have to go pick up Pad after lacrosse practice because if I had to get in the car one more time, someone might get hurt.

My day?

9:30a, Drop Chris at golf camp at Joshua's Creek.

12:30p. Take Pad to get skates sharpened and get new stick. Corbetts.

1:30p. Pick up Chris at golf camp at JC, return home.

2:30p. Drop Pad off at hockey camp at JC.

5p. Pick up Pad at hockey camp, at JC.

5:25p. Drop Chris at swimming at Glen Abbey.

6p. Bring Chris home from swimming.

6:45p. Drop Pad off for two hours of lacrosse timekeeping, followed by a practice. Glen Abbey.

7:25p Take Chris and his buddy Ian to three-on-three, Ice2Ice.

9:10p. Leave three-on-three, go to Dairy Queen for Blizzards (kids only). North Service Road and Dorval.

9:25p. Arrive home.

9:55p Refuse to leave house to pick up Pad. Declare loudly that he can walk, it's not that far.

9:57p. Laura goes to pick up Pad.

9:57.26p: Open beer, talk to fridge.

- - -

There's an old saying in my business: Everyone needs an editor.

So, last night my wife gave me a short, heart-felt speech on writing and the blog and what fine, conversational touch my writing has and . . . good writers know when someone is blowing smoke up their butt, which she was.

Then she said she read yesterday's blog and wondered aloud if I had lost my mind, with the whole Bay of Fundy thing.

She said as a literary device, she hates it when people give voice to otherwise inanimate objects, like, um, bodies of water.

She said, don't do that again. Ever.

In my defence I was attempting to employ hyperbole to make a point about the Bay of Fundy being evaluated as a geographic natural wonder on the scale of the Grand Canyon, for example.

Among her many talents, Laura is a kick-ass editor and those are the ones I listen to.

So, as she left the house last night to retrieve Pad from lacrosse practice, I promised. No more conversations with inanimate objects.

When the door on the mud room slammed shut and she got in the car, I turned to the fridge.

"Can you believe what she said?" I asked. "Editors don't understand writers."

The fridge just stood there.

"Hey big guy, let it go," it said coolly. "Want a cold one?"

We both laughed.

(Editors note: This ends the experiment with giving voice to inanimate objects.)

- - -

Chris asked me last night what I was going to do when legislation that makes driving and holding a cell phone to your ear illegal takes effect.

Easy. Move to another province.

High five!

Actually, I try to rarely drive and talk on the phone. It's distracting and dangerous. About a month ago, I was in the middle of a complex work matter and had to be on the phone for the entire drive from Oakville to St. Catharines for a lacrosse tournament. Upon arrival, I had vivid recollections of the conference call I had just participated in, and (once parked) I typed myself a long note on my Blackberry to preserve them.

But I had little recollection of the drive itself, and that's kinda scary, given that I was the one driving.

Which brings us to today's lone external link -- to a New York Times column on the dangers of driving and yammering, and how the car companies and tech companies are feeding our 24/7 addiction to information -- even boring information.

You can find that story here.

- - -

The Canadian Open begins today, once again at Glen Abbey. It's the 25th time the course has played host to the tournament and one can make a coherent argument that (while it's mighty convenient to have a PGA event contested across the street from my house, as this one basically is) it has been a major contributing factor in the diminishment of the tournament's status on the tour.

There was a time, not all that long ago, but probably 30 years or so, when the Canadian Open was considered part of the elite second-tier of PGA events. Not a major, but much bigger than a run of the mill John Deere Classic.

Not anymore. The Canadian Open is still a national championship, and that's important to the players. But it occupies a dead zone on the PGA calendar -- the week after the British Open. That's only marginally better than where it used to be found, in September after all the majors were done, often in competition with training a preparation for events like the Ryder Cup or President's Cup.

So what's all that got to do with the Abbey?

Well, it's the CANADIAN Open. Not the Toronto Open, or Oakville Open. It's the national championship. Playing the tournament at the same venue year after year after year diminishes the national label after a while.

At one point, from 1981 to 1996, the championship was played at Glen Abbey 16 years in a row. This saved the RCGA a lot of money -- they owned the course then -- but it didn't go over well with players. Like it or not, many players think Glen Abbey is a pretty boring golf course. So many of them stayed home. After a while, the RGCA faced money problems with the event and added a title sponsor. And it's been a lot of work since then to ensure the tournament has a committed title sponsor to pick up a lot of the tab.

That a national championship even needs a title sponsor says something about the tournament's stature.

It's hard to imagine the Microsoft United States Open Golf Championship, or The Royal Bank of Scotland Open Championship. (And by the way, both of those championships are rotated over different courses. It's rare for any course to host either of those national championship tournaments more than once in a decade.)

Maybe the Canadian Open needs to be moved every year. Maybe it needs to be played on a rotation of mostly historic Canadian courses that are usually in close proximity to decent metropolitan areas. Toronto has several courses of this calibre, as do Montreal, Calgary, Hamilton, and Vancouver. (In fairness, negotiating access to these clubs is tricky.)

Playing in Atlantic Canada would be a challenge, simply because it would be harder to attract a large paying crowd.

But for the record, that hasn't stopped the Royal and Ancient from keeping the isolated Turnberry links in its Open rotation. They simply budget over a longer period and they know they will get smaller crowds and less revenue from whatever year Turnberry plays host.

The RCGA has started moving the Canadian Open around a bit more (it no longer owns Glen Abbey; this will be the 4th time the Abbey has hosted since 2000) and I hope that trend continues. As someone who has lived in three different provinces, I know a lot of Canadian golf fans would like to see the tournament in their region. And I think it would help rebuild the stature of the event, which like the ole' gray mare, it ain't what it used to be.

July 22, 2009

If you happened to be at Glen Abbey last night watching rep lacrosse, you would have noticed that the Chris and Gerry Show was your off-floor game officials, handling scoreboard and shot clock duties.

This is old hat for Chris, but a first for me and I managed to get through it without inciting a riot.

In fairness I actually warned the coaches before the game that if there was any lip, I was coming over the boards. A nearby mom commented that it was the parents who would cause the most trouble. I told her not to worry, I wasn't beyond climbing into the stands, either.

I think I scared her.

Anyway, the game was a bit of a blowout for Halton Hills as the Hawk novices were missing a bunch of bodies, but no worries.

The good news is, I got paid the princely sum of $10 for my work.

The bad news is, Chris took my $10 as well as his.

I am the Rodney Dangerfield of lacrosse officiating.

- - -

Quick. Can you list the seven wonders of the natural world (and no, you can't count Jennifer Aniston or Megan Fox.)

They are, the Grand Canyon, the Great Barrier Reef, the harbour at Rio, Mount Everest, the polar Auroras, the Paricutin volcano, and Victoria Falls.

Now, some bright light has had the idea to come up with the idea of coming up with a new list. I guess the old wonders aren't that wondrous anymore, or they need to have their status reviewed (steroids, no doubt) or whatever.

So, it creates a bit of a buzz.

They are now down to a short list of 28 natural wonders, and only one of them is from Canada.

Niagara Falls? No.

Rocky Mountains? No.

MacKenzie River? No.

My new patio? No (man-made. Ineligible.)

No, the one and only natural wonder from Canada left on the list is:

The Bay of Fundy.

I'm from Nova Scotia. I have spent large portions of my life driving along the Bay of Fundy and smaller portions hiking its cliffs, stealing fossils for high school projects from what are now world heritage sites on its shore and even sailing across it.

But just the same, having seen the Grand Canyon and the Rockies, I said, upon hearing this news:

"Huh?"

The Bay of Fundy has the world's highest tides. It's shores have some really nifty fossils, many of which are still there despite the pillaging decades ago by delinquent youths. It has 13 types of whales and lots of fish and stuff. But Top Seven?

I called the Bay of Fundy and asked it how it got on this list.

"Oh. Thanks for the call man. I've been really working on my game -- trying to show I'm not just a one-trick pony with the tides, ya' know? People seem to notice. It's gratifying."

The Bay explained that it all started with a massive federal grant to pump up the tides.

"Hey, ya' gotta work on the basics first, right dude? I mean, people come to see 25 foot tides, so, like, I wanted to give a good show. My tides are totally ripped now."

But to be a top seven contender, the Bay had to do more.

So it's working on a secret plan to go from one tide cycle a day to two (talks with the Moon are continuing), and offering special incentives to attract more whales ("I'm a little concerned about over crowding, ya' know? Like, those whales are huge and they eat like, well, like whales man. Scary stuff up close.")

It said if the voting is close, it may consider implementing the world's first Tide-Waiting Service, to throw a wrench into the old "time and tide wait for no man" thing. The Bay is also exploring an array of commercial possibilities to exploit success if it comes.

"There's talk of me working with Nike's marketing people -- we're looking at a possible audio stinger like the Intel chip has, but basing it on a "swoosh" sound, to go with the Nike logo," said the Bay. "Maybe putting logos on all the whales and maybe having a celebrity come up for the final push into the super seven -- hey, that's what we call the list in the biz.

"Some big name would stand with a foot on each of two whales and surf the crest of the tidal bore in right to Truro. It would rock!"

The Bay gave me a bit of a hard time about always summering in Cape Breton. I explained that the high tides are great, but the six kilometre walk to the water at low tide was a bit much, and when the tide starts coming back in, running in front of the tidal bore across mud flats with a cooler of beer and a beach umbrella was more work than it was worth.

Anyway, it's all good. We're still pals and I hope the big bay can pull it off. Competition will be stiff.

Word is that other global natural wonders aren't taking the Fundy initiatives lying down. The Grand Canyon is considering a joint venture with the Napa Valley to replace the water in the Colorado River with red wine, and Mount Everest may put 17 tonnes of chocolate ripple ice cream on its peak, compete with rainbow sprinkles.

You can read more on the Bay of Fundy here.

And yes -- you can vote here. Go Canada Go! Go Canada Go!

And yes, I need to get a life. It's summer. Things are slow.

July 21, 2009

A couple of notes on driving in Oakville, which generally is no great adventure but some people do try their best to make it interesting.

Last evening I stopped on the way home to go to the grocery store -- a frazzled email from the smarter, leggier, better looking half of the partnership suggested a work day pockmarked with drop offs and pick ups for various kids' camps, events, etc had left little time for thinking about dinner.

I was waiting to pull into a parking spot and the woman driver of the car in the spot next to mine had just got in her car. Her pre-teen daughter was climbing into the back on the same side. Neither of them closed their doors.

So, I waited. After about 15 seconds, the mother closed her door and started to back up.

The daughter's door was still open, and one of her legs was hanging out the side of the car, too.

So I laid on the horn -- not from impatience (which was becoming a factor, admittedly) but to alert the less-than-aware mom that her dim-witted daughter was in some peril if she continued to back up.

Naturally, you know how this story ends.

The mom assumed I was telling her to hurry up and shot me a look and an unfriendly gesture, which only confirmed in my mind that maybe I should have let her rip the rear door off her car and maybe severely injure her kid.

Oh well.

- - -

The Canadian Open starts Thursday and in advance of that happy event, Dorval Drive is a pickup and drop-off zone for shuttles to and from various parking lots around town.

The northbound lanes of Dorval are garnished with signs instructing THROUGH TRAFFIC TO USE LEFT LANE.

Naturally, the composition of this complex set of instructions is too much for many of the residents of Glen Abbey, River Oaks and West Oaks Trails and other points north and west to bear.

So, many of them decide to stay in the right-hand lane, which upon reaching the Glen Abbey Golf Club disappears into a maze of traffic cones and stopped buses. And upon realizing this, these drivers then do their best imitation of Death Race 2000 to try and cut off all the smarter, literate people who are already in the left lane.

And naturally, much shaking of fists and colourful language ensues.

Or so I'm told.

Personally, I would no sooner drive north on Dorval during Canadian Open week than I would grab John Daly's driver on the downswing with my teeth. But I'm notoriously anti-social and that's just me.

- - -

Two hour lacrosse practices tonight and tomorrow.

Chris and Pad have various combinations of timekeeping and/or refereeing tonight, tomorrow and Thursday.

Another weekend of provincial qualifiers lying ahead with a most heinous schedule of long days on Friday and Saturday.

Chris has his final three-on-three hockey session of the summer on Wednesday.

Pad is either skating or practicing lacrosse every day right now, plus BTNL. It's making his mother nuts, I think.

We actually had an off night last evening but that's the last one until next Monday.

- - -

For all those space-race fans out there, a story that's a day late but worth the read. I didn't see it until last night while loafing on my patio.

It's a Washington Post story on one of history's most reluctant celebrities -- Neil Armstrong, the first man to walk on the moon, 40 years ago yesterday.

Everyone knows his name. Many of us can even name Buzz Aldrin, the second man down the ladder. (Can you name the third or fourth or sixth? Me either, without the aid of Google.

Anyway, the story is full of insight into Armstrong's quiet persona and touches on why and how he was picked to become one of the most famous men in history, a label he neither wanted nor embraced.

It's quite a good read and you can find it here.

- - -

Many of you no doubt have read Angela's Ashes, Frank McCourt's bleak remembrance of his childhood in crushing poverty in Limerick, Ireland, poverty that claimed three of his siblings. McCourt died this week and his passing has shone a light on a great divide in his birthplace: those who think he made up great portions of his narrative, and those who think it is a disturbing but accurate reflection of life in that era.

Again, an interesting perspective. Read more here.

July 20, 2009

I really, really wanted to see him win. I watched every minute of his game.

But even as he stood in the middle of the 18th fairway in a position that could not have been improved if he had walked the ball down the fairway and placed it, I had this feeling.

I had that feeling all day. It was never a question of if. It was only a question of when fate would snatch away what Tom Watson chased, and what so many of us wanted so badly for him.

That it didn't happen until the 72nd hole was of no concern. It might have seemed less cruel and painful if he had given up a stroke on 11 or 13 or 17.

But when he missed that par putt on 18 -- as feeble and discouraged a putt as you will ever see in professional golf -- I knew it was over.

The playoff with Stewart Cink -- one of the world's top players -- would be to throw Old Tom to the wolves. He was running on empty and the dream was over.

Having said all of that, it is remarkable that Watson's game and nerves held up for 71 holes. Remember, he birdied 17 to take a one-shot lead to 18.

And this was no historic collapse a la Greg Norman in 1996 at Augusta. This wasn't Kenny Perry at Augusta in April, choking on the final holes in pursuit of his first major while pushing 50. Watson's place in history, with five Open Championships, two Masters and a US Open, is forever secure. He is one of the 10 best to ever play the game.

But a last hurrah would have been so sweet.

Both my kids watched most of the back nine and the playoff, which is as clear a barometer of the drama of the afternoon as anyone needs.

Stewart Cink is the champion golfer of the year, the deserving winner. He is the ninth ranked golfer in the world. It's a big planet, so he's no slouch.

I predicted on Thursday that a name we all knew would win the thing. I might have dared to suggest someone with the initials "TW" might have been the man to beat.

If I had been smart enough to write that, I would have been correct and ironic all at once. I just would have had the wrong TW in the front of my mind.

Click here to read a terrific account of Cink's deserving win.

- - -

During yesterday's broadcast and after, a friend pelted me with emails commenting on various developments as the day unfolded. When it was all over, and Brit fav Lee Westwood had booted away a chance to be a home-side winner, my friend commented that the British tabs would be merciless in their criticism of Westwood and judge him to have underperformed.

I suggested to my friend to sometime ask me for the story of my one and only appearance in a golf tournament playoff, for a junior club championship. It was in a time and place where I was significantly thinner and fitter; I could swing so hard with no apparent effort I could practically screw myself into the ground on follow through. And I could play and compete at a decent level.

Without reliving all the gory details of that event, my recollection is that me and another kid finished the one-round tournament with matching 77s. A sudden-death playoff ensued. Since the men's club championship was contested that same day, we were subjected to a first in my life -- a gallery. The older members grabbed their beers and trouped out to watch the playoff: me vs. the son of the club's owner (who was a good friend of virtually all of the men following.)

In recalling the moment yesterday with my friend, I didn't deliver a blow by blow, though it was quite entertaining. I didn't say who won.

I simply recalled the thing I remembered the most of that one-hole playoff.

It was that feeling. That feeling way down low and inside you that bubbles and sucks all at the same time. That feeling you have to somehow get beyond, even in a little junior club championship tournament in the middle of nowhere, Nova Scotia.

I know goalies who face it every game. Anyone who has skated in overtime knows it. I vividly recall standing on the bench with Chris's atom team, entering the second overtime of the league championship game. Chris looked at me and said, "Dad, my stomach feels weird."

I said mine did too, but the difference was as soon as he hit the ice for a shift, his weird feeling would go away.

On a golf course, it's a little different because it's really just you. No one is going to check you while you're driving the ball. All you have to do is what you should already know how to do, if you were good enough to get into the playoff in the first place.

Which reminds me of one of my favorite quotes, from rapper Snoop Dog, talking about what he does for a living:

"It might look easy, but it ain't."

Anyway, what I said to my friend yesterday, in trying to give Watson, Westwood and others' efforts context was simply this, recalling how I felt on the first tee of a tournament that meant nothing to anyone but me and that other kid, on a hard-scrabble golf track in the middle of nowhere, NS.

I said I was so tight and so nervous that you couldn't have pulled a needle out of my ass with a tractor. And that is no exaggeration.

So, imagine what it must feel like to be Lee Westwood with the expectation of Great Britain on your shoulders, sharing the lead of The Open with two holes to play. I can't imagine.

- - -

Just FYI, I made an 18-foot putt to win.

Of the 50 or so people watching the playoff, I think the only one who wanted me to win was my dad, who kept the ball after it rolled in. That ball is now on a shelf in one of my boys' rooms, if for no other reason than to offer proof that once upon a time, somewhere between hickory shafts and titanium, I briefly could play the game.

- - -

It was 40 years ago today that Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. It's still amazing.

- - -

Finally, on a lighter note for music fans, Paul McCartney was in New York last week for an appearance on David Letterman's show.

Before the show, the former Beatle did all he could to snarl traffic in New York with a free mini concert of four tunes -- Coming Up, Band on the Run, Let Me Roll, and Back in the USSR.

If it's a relatively slow Monday morning and the boss is away, this is the best 23 minutes of wasted time you can find today, guaranteed.

Click, turn it up, and enjoy.

The guy's 67 and he sure looks like he's having fun.

Just FYI, before hitting New York, McCartney played a show on the Halifax Commons. You can read a great review of that show here. (You have to endure a short advertisement before the concert queues up.)

July 17, 2009

TGIF. There was a time, legend has it, that things slowed down in summer and attention turned somewhat to more pleasurable things than work. I honestly cannot recall such a time -- if you're in the office these days, it doesn't matter if it's February or July.

But I like going to work in summer better, if only because it's daylight when I leave and when I return (usually.)

- - -

I'm fairly sure the tech obsession of teens and pre-teens in my house is fairly widely reflected all over Canada. Facebook. iTouch. Text messaging. iTunes. Chat. Google. Digital downloads. Watching YouTube. PSP. PS2. PS3. Wii. DS. On and on and on.

Every generation changes the world to one degree or another, but you have to believe that the way kids today consume information -- and they consume far more information than we did or even than it was possible for us to do at the same age -- is bringing tsunamis of change to the way marketing and advertising work, and to old conventions about just about everything.

I thought about all of this this week as the story of a teenage intern with Morgan Stanley in London swept the Internet. He was asked to give a simple analysis of his friends' media consumption habits. What the did and why. What they didn't do, and why.

His insights are not Earth shattering to anyone who pays a teenager's cell phone bill -- for example: 2800 text messages in a month, one phone call -- but that he could so coherently and concisely put his finger on issues vexing the army of MBAs surrounding him is impressive.

Among his insights? Teens don't have much money, the don't like newspapers and don't like to use Twitter -- it uses cell phone bandwidth they don't want to pay for.

Read more here.

- - -

Speaking of teens, here's an odd story. A state appeals court in the US actually lauded a teen's actions for deciding he was too drunk to drive after a Dave Matthews concert and opting to sleep it off in his car.

The teen was ordered by a state trooper to remove his car from the concert parking area and was then promptly arrested for drunk driving.

And we wonder why teens think adults are never to be trusted.

The appeal court overturned his conviction on the basis of police entrapment.

Good for him. But he might want to consider a designated driver next time. The rule in our house: never, ever get in a car with someone who has been drinking. Call home for a ride. Any time. Day or night. Call. Always call. We'll come get you and your friends. We won't lecture or judge (right away.) Given the age of our boys it's not a big issue. Yet.

But it's not a bad thing for a kid to know.

Read more here.

- - -

Do you hate overpaying for stuff? I do. I'm not a fanatic about it, but generally I think I'd rather pay less.

That's why the story of a guy in New Hampshire -- the "Live Free or Die" state (which as mottos go I've always found a little overwrought, frankly. There's got to be some middle ground between death and not paying state taxes on booze).

This guy used his debit card at a gas station to buy a pack of smokes.

He checked his online account later and discovered he had been charged $23 quadrillion dollars.

I hope they were really good smokes.

I don't know about you, but our overdraft protection on the debit account is capped at $500 billion. So, if someone tried to charge me $23 quadrillion (that's a 17-digit number) for something, the transaction wouldn't be approved (and how embarrassing would that be?).

The bank in question referred questions to Visa.

Visa referred questions to the bank.

Un huh.

Read more here.

- - -

I case you hadn't noticed, it was 40 years ago on July 20 that humans first landed on the moon. It still amazes me to look up and think that people went there.

Anyway, it also still amazes me that in almost half a century since then, the best we can manage is a space station.

I know it costs a lot of money. But exploration on that scale not only generates a lot of practical industrial and technological innovation. It also inspires the imagination.

And at the risk of sounding all touchy-feely, what's wrong with inspiring people -- kids especially -- to dream big?

We're humans. We're curious. We explore. Read up on this. There's an historical pattern.

So, from today's Washington Post, 2nd-man-on-the-moon Buzz Aldrin makes the case for going to Mars.

The Leafs might even find another goalie to sign there. Who knows?

Read the piece here.

- - -

Speaking of space:

A couple of weeks ago, while Laura and Chris were away, I was driving Pad home from lacrosse practice. (If you ever wonder what I'm doing on any given summer night between the hours of 8p and 10:30p, there's a better than even chance I'm driving to or from lacrosse practice.)

As we drove down our street, there was an unusual light in the dusk sky. It was very, very bright, and larger than an airplane. It was moving much faster than a plane and its trajectory appeared that it was going straight down, toward the Earth.

So naturally, our logical conclusion was: "Run for you life! War of the worlds!"

Not quite. We shrugged and didn't think much more about it.

Later that night Laura called. She told me that the Cape Breton Post had a story saying the space station would pass over Cape Breton that night and wouldn't you know it, it was a clear night and she just happened to be outside on the deck and saw it coming and everyone ran outside to watch and swipe at mosquitoes the size of Cessnas.

We did this in Oakville once in winter a few years ago. You can see the thing easily with the naked eye. If you have binoculars you can see the solar panel wings and everything. It's very cool.

Later, it occurred to me that what Pad and I saw was in fact the space station, as well. The trajectory was an illusion, because it was racing from horizon to horizon, giving the appearance from our angle that it was descending. And because of the hour and the angle of the setting sun, the sun was reflecting off the thing, making it much brighter than normal.

If I was smarter, I might have figured all that out at the time. But I'm not. Some lights come on slowly.

- - -

From the age of 19 to about 25 I subsisted largely on a diet of a mix of bad food. The donair was a basic food group.

Donairs are not as popular here as they are in Nova Scotia, and they are very similar what is known in these parts and the US as gyros.

And if you want to read a history of the gyro -- not to be confused with a gyroscope, which played a role in the race to put a man on the moon 40 years ago, and generally, is considered a poor food substitute -- well, click here.

It makes me hungry.

Seriously, it's an interesting story. Go back and click.

And did you notice how I tied the space program to Greek food? See, it all comes together.

For free. That's value, people!

- - -

I may be tempting fate to say so, but as of this moment we are without a single scheduled event or commitment for the weekend. No lacrosse. No hockey. No training regime. No ice dancing or wood carving. No household improvement projects that will test both my mettle and my marriage.

As it stands now, we're hoping to spend some weekend time enjoying each other's company around our house. A movie perhaps. A couple good meals. Sleeping in, for those who can do that (sleeping in for me these days is 7:45a.) Reading.

A bonus of the weekend is that the Open is on TV in the morning, so we don't have to schedule afternoon and early evening plans around golf.

I keep hearing from friends that they're hitting the road for vacation. PEI. Muskoka. Georgian Bay. New England. New York.

As usual, wherever the weekend takes you, drive carefully. Keep the kids and yourself safe. Watch out for the crazy people.

Hug the kids. Even the big smelly ones.

July 15, 2009

The lacrosse coaches mercifully cut practice back to an hour from two hours last night and there were audible sighs of relief from the midget Hawks, who are a little weary I think.

That meant Pad was home almost in time for the start of the baseball all-star game, which came on TV at 8p and then took almost an hour to get rolling. Every living ex-president got face time in the pre-game and then the incumbent baseball-fan-in-chief walked to the field in a White Sox jacket to throw out the first pitch.

I thought the effort was a little weak as the southpaw's toss came up short of the plate. Oh well. I guess he doesn't get paid to pitch.

I actually covered an MLB all star game once -- in 1991 at Skydome. I didn't actually do the sporting end of the coverage, but I came down from Ottawa to cover then-prime minister Mulroney attending the game with then-president George H.W Bush -- W's dad. I was there on the off chance political news might break out, but nothing remarkable transpired politically.

As the pool reporter I got to follow the two leaders as they toured the clubhouse rooms for both teams before the game, shaking hands and making small talk with millionaire baseball players.

The one vivid memory I have of the evening is that of being struck by how big pro baseball players are. These are some very large, fit guys. Ricky Henderson and I made a little small talk as the president and PM wandered the AL clubhouse and I remember his arms -- he had guns like pythons.

You can read about the American League winning (again) last night here.

And you can read about the president's short opening pitch here.

- - -

Geez, has it been 10 years already?

Tomorrow will mark a decade since John Kennedy Jr. died with his wife and sister in law in a crash of a light plane he was piloting off New England.

Click here for a photo retrospective on his life.

- - -

The Open Championship starts tomorrow at Turnberry in Scotland. Better known over here as the British Open, it is to my mind the greatest golf tournament of the year, more or less the world championship. The leaderboard will be cluttered with names you've never heard of from all over the globe. But rest assured, a name you know will win it.

There's a very good chance that name will be Tiger Woods, as is usual. But there are many other contenders capable of winning. Click here to read a very good piece on the state of Mr. Woods's game these days.

Turnberry, to golf fans, is sacred soil; it was the site of the most intense two-man duel for a major golf championship in history. The events of that week in July 1977 have never been matched.

Jack Nicklaus (for younger readers, he was Tiger Woods before there was Tiger Woods) and Tom Watson (he was the younger challenger to Nicklaus's throne as the world's greatest golfer) shot identical scores of 70-68-65 over the first three days of The Open before Watson emerged as the winner by a single shot in the final round.

As a young fan I was positively consumed by the duel and I remember pulling hard for Nicklaus, no doubt out of habit more than anything else. I was young and didn't know that Watson was not just a golfer, but also a gentleman, sportsman and outstanding person.

Today, I'm glad that Watson won that tournament because it strengthened his spot in golf history. As a fan, more great golfers is better than one great golfer.

Read more on the famous 1977 "Duel in the Sun" here.

- - -

I've never met Nicklaus or Watson, but I have a pretty good Jack story anyway.

A friend of mine was in Florida in the winter of 1991 or 1992 and went to a PGA event and there was Jack, walking by himself across a practice green.

My friend, also a journalist and not especially shy, yelled out: "Jack!"

The Golden Bear turned around and smiled and my friend launched into a story about a friend back in Canada who annually hosted a party on the Sunday of the Masters, and the party always -- always -- started with a viewing of a highlight package from the 1986 Masters, Jack's last major win, the year he shot 30 on the back nine on Sunday to claim a sixth green jacket at the age of 46.

Jack liked that story and autographed some things for my friend, some of which eventually made their way to me.

My friend then wished Jack well in his round and commented that he was having trouble keeping the ball in the fairway, which incredibly led to Jack Nicklaus, at that moment the unquestioned greatest golfer in history, giving my astounded friend a lesson -- on the spot, for several minutes -- on the fundamental of gripping the club.

I suspect there's lots of stories like that out there about Nicklaus and Watson and guys from that era. I also know that there's a lot fewer of them around today about guys like Woods and Mickelson and other Top 10 golfers.

The world has changed and that's just the way it is.

As the British might say, pity.

July 14, 2009

Laura and Chris return from NS today and we're glad.

The Swiss Chalet delivery man is less thrilled. But we won't forget him. I promise.

- - -

Pad and the midget Hawks practiced lightly last night after their weekend in Whitby and will double their fun this evening with a two hour workout. I'm going to sit on the patio and let Laura tell me what a great job we did.

- - -

My friends on the Oakville A's senior rookie ball team continue to astound and impress, staking a claim to being one of southern Ontario's top squads in this bracket.

The team was at it again in Brantford at the Brantford Red Sox AAA Open Rookie Ball Tournament recently.
Oakville went 3-0 in prelims beating the host team Brantford, Cambridge and last year's provincial champions Hamilton.
They then faced Guelph in the semi's exacting some revenge for their loss to them in a recent Hamilton tournament (mercying them in 5 innings.)
It was then on to the finals against one of the best rookie ball teams in Ontario, North York. Oakville's record this year against them 1-1.
A defensive battle ensued, which is not typical in Rookieball, however Oakville staved off a 7th inning rally by North York taking the championship 7-6. The coaches and parents are extremely proud of the boys accomplishments this year.
Four tournaments, two championships and two finalist appearances.

Way to go guys. Meet the champs, everyone:

- - -

Remember last fall when the world was falling apart and the US government was shoveling money at banks to keep them afloat and everyone agreed that the old way of doing things was gone forever and bankers were evil and greed was bad and . . . remember?

Well, fast forward to, um, today actually. US investment banking giant Goldman Sachs, the recipient of US bailout money (which it since paid back, BTW) will today report Q2 earnings of more than $2 billion (that's billion, with a B) and a plan for its 28,000 employees to share an estimated $18 billion in compensation and benefits, or, about $600,000 each on average.

Well, I'm glad things have changed.

You can read the story here.

And if you work for Goldman Sachs, presumably lunch is on you.

- - -

Blogging for free stuff? Hmm.

Conceptually, I'm all for it. The only free things this blog has generated for me are:

1. A bag of bagels (thanks, H!)

2. A bootleg of a Springsteen show at the ACC.

That's the complete list.

A mom in suburban Philadelphia, though, got the bright idea to start reviewing products of interest to her, her family and friends. And now companies are starting to send her free stuff to review.

Hmm.

I'm thinking a lot of my friends would be interested in my opinions on an in-ground pool, a BMW X5, a Lear jet, and a new set of Taylor Made fairway metals.

Excuse me while I go stand in the driveway and wait for the booty to pour in.

While you're waiting, you can read about the suburban mom here.

- - -

I know we don't really care about Michael Jackson, but there's good money to be made in not raising his children and you might want to check to see if you bore any of the late pop star's kids.

Debbie Rowe, who did, just took $4 million from the family to basically go away.

That's on top of the $4 million she took in 2001, to um, go away, when Jackson was charged with child molestation.

And that was on top of the $8 million she took after the birth of their first child to, um, go away. Plus, she got $900,000 a year on top of that. To make sure she stayed away.

For the record, I'd be willing to not raise his children for half that.

Read more here.

- - -

After lacrosse practice last night we watched mostly large men hitting baseballs a very long distance until they wearied of it and returned to their hotel rooms to plot ways to make money not raising children.

But the real story of the evening -- even for the US channels -- was whether Blue Jays ace Roy Halladay will be traded to a contender very soon.

Funny thing is, five weeks ago he played for a contender. And now, he doesn't. That's life in Toronto's sporting scene.

Read more here.

- - -

Joe Sakic is retiring. The Colorado captain will make it official tomorrow after 20 often-brilliant seasons for the Avs and their predecessors, the Quebec Nordiques.

Sakic will be a unanimous hall of fame selection when he becomes eligible. He is simply one of the best to ever play the game. Stanley Cup champion. MVP. Playoff MVP. Olympic champion. On and on.

Read more here.

- - -

I keep getting emails from across Leaf Nation. The question is always the same -- maybe, just maybe, Brian Burke knows what he's doing?

Well, the good news is that the combative Leaf GM understands you need some sandpaper in your lineup in the NHL. And, he's clearly embraced the "build from the net out" philosophy -- yesterday signing Swedish goalie prospect Jonas Gustavsson on top of a frenzy of defence signings in the last week.

Now, the bad news is that the Leafs have 10 NHL-caliber defencemen, which is probably about three more than they need. One of them -- arguably the most versatile, Tomas Kaberle -- has been standing on the corner of Bay and Lakeshore since June 1st with a "for sale" sign around his neck, to no great reception.

And there's no sign of help in the attacking ranks, where the woeful Leaf offence is also in continued need of help.

Mr Burke says he's not done, and even I can see that has to be true.

The Leafs need more firepower. Before Oct. 1.

Read more here.

- - -

Closer to home, the local paper features the results of the house league lacrosse wrap-up tournament this week. You can read about it here.

- - -

Pad and I finished off landscaping around the padio (remember, it's not a patio) yesterday as part of my leisure-time activities this week.

I had to run out to Pearson airport yesterday to get my irises scanned (I'm getting one of those funky, high-tech cards that allow you to cross the border faster than a carload of hillbillies with a load of bootleg liquor) and while I was out, the three yards of topsoil I ordered arrived.

So, I came home to find my handsome, strong son having at it, right?

Um, wrong.

For a kid who thinks nothing about spending two hours at the gym training and pushing his body to ridiculous lengths, he has a significantly under-developed sense of urgency about yard work.

So, I came home and deployed the usual sarcasm I save for such occasions ("The dirt's not going to move itself!") and before you knew it, the wheelbarrow was rolling -- again.

In fairness, I don't blame him. I'm sick of moving dirt and crushed stone and bricks and sod. But one gentle reminder of what we would hear from his mother upon her return from Nova Scotia if the landscaping wasn't done seemed to motivate him.

In less than a week, the job site evolved as the photos below show. I certainly could not have done it without Pad's considerable help, but we both agreed we're glad it's done.

Thus concludes my brush with being a handyman for 2009.

And that lawn chair with the big cushion? That's where I'm sitting right now.

I'd like to say I'll be here all day, but I've got another two hours at an ice rink today, and then Pad is refereeing tonight, and well, there's parents to yell at. So I'll be busy.

Enjoy the sunshine, if not the coolish temperatures. I can tell you it's great for yard work!

July 6, 2009

Fair warning: given that the next two months will allegedly be what passes for summer in this part of the world, I'm thinking that blogging may become more inconsistent than some of you are used to. Traffic dwindles in these two months, so I'll will adjust output accordingly.

Now, if my life becomes so wildly exciting that I can't wait to tell you what's going on, well, I'll be here.

If not, don't panic.

I'll be back . . .

- - -

So, for the first day in many, I/we didn't do any work in the backyard yesterday. I got up and sat on my padio in brilliant sunshine and a fair breeze, read the weekend papers and just relaxed. It was quiet, with only the hum of a nearby pool pump faintly breaking the silence.

The yard itself was a small scene from Untamed Kingdom, with rabbits and squirrels tearing around and an array of birds attacking the cherry tree, which is finally ripening a week later than usual.

I went back inside to watch the Wimbledon men's final and the rest of the morning was basically shot as one of the great tennis matches in history unfolded over the next four-plus hours.

Pad and I planned to go to a movie, but the tennis kept pushing our departure time back further.

Eventually, Roger Federer won a match in which a compelling argument could be made that he was the 2nd best player for all but maybe the last ten minutes.

Pad and I went to see The Hangover, which is laugh-out-loud funny but liberally salted with some fairly coarse language that might give you cause to pause. Anyway, we enjoyed it.

- - -

The Globe's Roy MacGregor puts a contemporary spin on the old story about Babe Ruth remarking on the fact that in 1930, he made more money than then-president Hoover. "I had a better year than Hoover," said the Babe.

Roy compares Prime Minister Stephen Harper's salary (about $300,000 Canadian) to Ottawa Sens' tough guy Chris Neil ($8 million US over four years) and comes away scratching his head on the value proposition.

You can read it here.

- - -

Fans of all-sports radio will enjoy this story, about a regular caller to New York's WFAN-AM sports radio, who suddenly stopped calling. After being on the radio during the overnight hours for a few minutes almost every night for 20 years, the stop in the calls caused some concern with his followers.

Read more here.

- - -

Box lacrosse provincial qualifiers start this week on Friday, so Pad is practicing a few nights this week and lacrosse is dominating all things.

In the meantime, I'm going to order some more topsoil and some sod and landscape around the new padio.

And get really, really dirty when it arrives.

Enjoy your Monday.

July 4, 2009

Just for the record, the patio is done. Still some landscaping to do, but it is BBQ-capable.

Pad and I turned this pile of paving brick:

Into this:

Pad's help was instrumental. Moving 7000 pounds of paving stone -- twice, actually, once last night from the driveway to the side of the house, and then moving it into place today -- was as much fun as it sounds.

In honour of his heroic effort, it's not a patio. It's a padio.

Daddio's Padio, in fact.

Anyway, we were basically done by 3:30p. Landscaping to follow. FYI, that's sand in the foreground of the photo on the deck of the padio. If you ever get the urge to build one of these things, be prepared to play with sand.

Over and out. It's Miller Time.

July 3, 2009

It's the slowest Friday of the year -- a mix of Canada Day and Independence Day and if you're bothering to surf blogs, stop now and go outside.

I was at Glen Abbey last night where Pad was reffing and for the first time this season I exchanged words with a parent who was yelling at the refs. Regular readers will know that's a big mistake.

This particular case was particularly stupid because he was yelling at the ref after the ref (the other one, not my kid) actually made the call he wanted and called a high sticking penalty on the other team.

I turned to him: "Why are you yelling? He made the call!"

Dad: "I don't want my kid to get hurt."

Me: "But he made the call. Get off his back. He's 15!"

Dad shrugs.

Me: "It's guys like you and your pointless screaming that drive these kids out of the game."

Dad: "I just don't want my kid to get hurt."

Me: "Me either. But. He. Made. The. Call."

Dad: "I apologize."

Me: "None needed. Just remember the refs are kids too."

Our association has a thin layer of refs. No refs. No games. Do the math.

- - -

When we got home from the rink we decided we would watch a movie. Pad picked -- Hellboy 2.

Hmm.

I thought it lacked the range of character development of the original Hellboy, although the continued plot expansion via introduction of an array of flesh-eating paranormal bugs was an interesting twist and the dark imagery evoked a kind of film-noir influence, perhaps rooted in the influence of Sternberg or Billy Wilder.

I mean, if they were around today. And if they wanted to do a film with the word Hellboy in the title. Which, honestly, I doubt.

Oh, lighten up. It's July. It was summer fun movie watchin'. More stupid movies are on the agenda.

The good guys win.

- - -

I stayed home today and did the series of conference calls on my agenda from home. Pad went to the gym. I went to Home Depot.

My driveway is full of brick patio pavers.

My garage is full of brick restraining barriers and joint sand, screening, ~~and Corona~~.

Laura and Chris are at the compound in Cape Breton, enjoying the pool and the bay and great chocolate chip cookies.

Tomorrow, weather permitting and assuming I can rent a wet saw, Pad and I are going to build a patio.

On time. Under budget.

And tomorrow night, me and my kid are going to BBQ giant steaks on the grill on the patio that will strain its new foundations.

Other than securing a wet saw, the other significant challenge will be to construct a series of lines from a square corner to make sure the patio lines are straight (using the time-honored 3-4-5 method). Once we have that, we're gonna rock n' roll.

Oh. There's the small detail of moving 600 paving stones from the driveway to the back yard. But that's why I have a son who's bigger than me!

Spare a thought for us tomorrow. I hope you and your family have a great weekend.

Hug the kids. Drive safely.

It's summer. Get out on the patio!

July 2, 2009

Sorry. I guess I lied. There was no pre-Canada Day update and none on Canada Day, either for that matter.

I hope you found some festive way to mark the nation's birthday. I marked it by suffering silently with this miserable cold and watching some tennis on TV and working a bit on the patio.

Laura and the boys were up north with friends for a day of golf but I took a pass. I would have been miserable company -- more miserable than normal if you can imagine that -- and just didn't feel up to infecting another unsuspecting household.

- - -

Laura and Chris (and me, too) were up really early. They're off to Nova Scotia for almost two weeks. Laura has to attend a conference and Chris is going to the undisputed chocolate chip cookie capital of Canada to chill with his grandparents while his mother is off working.

As is becoming the custom, Pad and I will stay behind. Him to sleep until noon, me to ferry him to various and sundry athletic pursuits. I am actually scheduled to be on vacation starting today -- I know that because as I put on my suit jacket this morning and headed out the door, my Blackberry beeped and up popped a reminder that I am out of the office until July 13.

Clearly, I'm not off -- at least not yet. We'll see how it goes but I've promised Pad some adventures in exchange for his help in completing the final phase of the patio project over the next few days.

We're ready to lay down brick. I'll let you know how that works out, but from all credible accounts of what goes into this project, the hardest work -- ripping out the old patio and rebuilding and compacting the foundation for the new one -- is pretty much behind us.

I think I had set July 4 as the deadline to finish up and depending upon the successful delivery of the brick pavers and cooperative weather, I would say I have a pretty good chance of pulling it off.

Whether it will look anything like a inlaid paver stone patio when we're done . . . I dunno.

I DO know that I'm getting weary of walking through the side door on the garage to get to the barbeque. so I'm motivated on a bunch of fronts to get the job done.

More updates on all that later.

- - -

OK.

The Leafs. What to say.

Brian Burke seems like a smart guy. Harvard-educated lawyer, he is. He has enough showman in him to keep things entertaining, and he's a no-nonsense guy, although people who actually know him say that his gruff persona actually masks a very generous and gentle guy.

Like me, probably? Not that I'm thinking of calling up BB and inviting him over for beers (unless he has a wet saw for cutting those brick paving stones, in which case hey Brian! The Keiths are on me!)

But it seems to me that Brian Burke has broken one of the key rules of managing, a rule intended to always make you look good. And that rule, simply stated, is: lower expectations and then over-deliver.

Sort of like me saying to Laura that sure, I could rebuild our patio. But chances are good the back quarter of the house will side off the foundation, Pad's hair will burst into flames and I'm not likely to finish the job before October. And then when I finish on July 4, the house stays puts and her first born son doesn't actually catch on fire, I look like a hero.

Sort of.

So, back to Brian Burke.

I heard him say he was going to move up in the draft, from 7th to Top 3. I heard him say he was going to go after Tavares. I heard him say he wanted the Sedin twins. I heard him say . . . Anyway, that's what I heard.

Now, if you're the GM in Anaheim or Phoenix or Tampa, you can say stuff like that and no one really pays attention.

But this is Toronto and if you say stuff like that, you're not lowering expectations, you're raising them. And that means, seriously, that I bet some people went out last week and bought Leaf jerseys and had "Tavares" put on the back of them.

So, on Friday night on draft night, he didn't move up to Top 3. And he didn't even get Luke Schenn's little brother (and when LA took the kid, the look on Burke's face was not unlike mine when I was told that the old patio stones weigh close to 100 pounds each and there's like 60 of them.)

Then he didn't get the Sedins. And he didn't trade Kaberle. And there's still no peace in Iraq or Afghanistan.

But, the Leafs got Coulton Orr.

Hmm. Wrong Orr and 40 years too late.

I have nothing against Coulton Orr. I hear he's a tough guy and to make sure he's not lonely Burke added Garnet Exelby (and I can't begin to tell you how many kids I've coached in the last two years who said they want to be like Garnet Exelby) and then Mike Komisarek, a big tough defenceman.

So, in summary: expectations raised in hopes of Tavares and the Sedins; upon delivery the package includes Coulton (I'm Not Bobby) Orr, Garnet Exelby and Mike Komisarek. And a top draft pick in Nazem Kadri, who likely isn't ready for prime time yet.

It feels like he under delivered. Or, as Agent 86, Maxwell Smart, might have said: missed it by that much.

Burke, in fairness, did say the Leafs would get tougher on his watch. And on that score, mission accomplished.

What I don't see is a first line. I don't see a penalty kill that is going to very, very busy given the additions made recently. I see questions around goaltending. I don't see the skill guys needed for a powerplay.

And I see ticket prices that keep going up.

Read another point of view here.

- - -

Michael Jackson is still dead and his popularity is soaring. Many of his recordings are now pushing into the Top 10, dwarfing sales from more contemporary, breathing artists who have a full set of two gloves and happily exist without dressing up like Cap'n Crunch.