hockey blog aug10

Aug 30, 2010

I spent part of my morning at the unhappiest place on Earth.

No, not Orangeville.

The head office for the 407 ETR -- to my non-Ontario readers, the 407 is the toll highway that runs across the top of the greater Toronto region.

My transponder stopped, um, transponding I guess. We don't use the 407 a lot, but when we need it, we really need it.

I call their offices the most unhappy place on Earth because short of the Department of Motor Vehicles and AAA rep tryouts I've never seen such a collection of people who didn't want to be where they were and in fear of the outcome. Ever.

My transaction was fairly straightforward -- exchange the old transponder for a new one. The person helping me was cheerful and pleasant, probably because unlike the folks his colleagues were dealing with, I wasn't screaming, bitching, complaining and pounding my fist. (See rep tryouts, above.)

Honestly it was like a front row seat at the All-Ontario Grumpy Hoedown.

- - -

I'm not sure if you follow golf but two short items of note:

--First, it would seem that maybe Tiger Woods is "dating" again as his golf game showed signs of returning to normal on the weekend. He was divorced on Monday and on Thursday he shot his best round of the year. Seriously. Read more here.

-- Second, Scottish golfer Colin Montgomery -- who bears a striking resemblance to the Robin Williams character in the movie Mrs. Doubtfire, is the captain of the European team for this fall's Ryder Cup matches. In the golf world, the Ryder Cup ranks behind only the majors. Anyway, his selections for the team are causing some controversy, which isn't new for Monty who is a pretty easy guy to dislike and he just made it a whole lot easier. Read more here.

- - -

Still with golf . . .

The Jordan Moxam Memorial Golf Tournament will be held Sept 11 at Indian Wells Golf Club in Burlington.

This is a great cause -- raising money to buy hockey and lacrosse equipment for disadvantaged kids. In five years they've raised more than $35,000. That's amazing.

Visit this site to learn more about the tournament and the young man it is named for.

It's worth your time.

Blogging over the rest of the week will be sporadic and cryptic. (Sorry JM).

Pad and I are off taking care of the business I spoke of last week. Spare a good thought for him and wish him and all the others well.

He's pretty pumped up.

Aug 27, 2010

The mail bag needs to be answered, so I’m going to babble a bit. Be patient.

Some of you have been kind enough to torment me for not being more forthcoming on my kid’s hockey status.

The general tenor is, “Hey! You started this. Don’t shut us out now!”

It’s a bit tricky and I’ll try to explain why.

Almost five years ago when I started this space, pretty much the only people who read the blog were family and a few parents from the peewee AE Rangers.

Today (inexplicably) the readership is much wider. One neat aspect of that is that many readers have been along with us for the entire ride through the last few years and have been curious and supportive of the blog, my kids’ hockey, etc. and have shared our highs and lows.

But the only thing unique about my family and our harried experiences is that I write about some of it here and you don’t. But some of you relate to it and occasionally think, “Good. It’s not just me.” And you write me a nice note about hand sanitizer as hair gel and we all laugh at my expense.

And because of that familiarity, many of you want to know more about some of things that have come his (our) way – very specific things recently like how tough are junior A tryouts, what’s the experience like, was it worth it going to the GTHL (the single most popular email from readers I don’t actually know, BTW), what’s it like at a major junior camp, are there really scouts watching our kids and at what level do they show up, etc etc.

I understand that because I wondered all the same things. Every dad who ever took his kid to a rink as had a “what if” moment.

The flip side is that this is his life and experience – and while I am a very interested observer of his experiences, I have to tread lightly.

Maybe I’ll get into some of it in more detail eventually because much of it is quite fascinating for minor hockey parents to hear about. Mostly very good or good. Some bad. Maybe I’ll write a book some day, but I doubt it.

It’s unique only in that it’s my kid. Many other kids are doing the same thing this summer, some with more success and some with less. But since people ask, I’ll share some feeble insights for what they are worth.

I will say that once kids reach a certain point – and I’d say we’re there – you understand that your kid had better really love the game because inside the junior hockey system they’re all interchangeable parts with the exception of a small percentage of the truly elite. Parts change. Be ready for that day.
If you find guys you trust and who care about your kid, they are worth more than gold. Early on, someone I trust told me that a lot of guys in junior hockey will tell you anything you want to hear. When someone is willing to tell you what you don’t want to hear, you better listen. It’s good advice.
“You can’t teach size.” If I had a dollar for every time some guy looked at my kid then nodded sagely and told me that, well, I could have a very nice dinner out with my wife.
Rink food sucks.
Hockey players become commodities. Don’t get me wrong. It’s great for him and he’s having a blast. But it’s all intensely competitive and for every spot on a roster there are a couple of dozen guys willing to run him over for that spot. Literally, actually.
Your chances of going anywhere beyond this stage are very small. Few guys get this far; very, very few get to go further. But kids dream. And they should.
Be careful what you wish for.
Why so many guys competing? Well, when you play major bantam, you play for a year then everyone moves to minor midget, where you play for a year then everyone moves to major midget. You grow up competing with the same guys every year for 10 years. But once you leave minor hockey and aspire to junior, the 1991 and 1992-born kids (we call them “men”) on the roster show up at camp and watch the 1993s try to take their jobs. Then the 1994s show up this year and do the same to the 1991s, 1992, and 1993s. And next year the 1995s will show up, and so on. There’s not room for everyone.
Every year the veterans have to fend off younger guys who don’t know any better about anything. I can only imagine what it’s like being a 30-something NHL vet watching yet another class of 18, 19 and 20-year-olds showing up to try and kick their ass. It’s got to be like a room full of yapping puppies at the senior citizen tea party. It has to get tiring, you know?
Bret Farve and Chris Chelios are a exceptions.
I’m as excited about Chris’s coming house league season as I am about all this. I really am. I love his games. And don’t get me started about being on a Tyke red house league bench. THAT’S hockey.
If your kid is playing AAA hockey at minor midget or midget, yes. There are scouts. If it’s the GTHL, they are at almost every game. OMHA is a little less covered as the games are more spread out. But they watch. Especially at tournaments.
You can only go to a major junior camp for two full days without forfeiting your NCAA eligibility. This is something these kids talk about a lot. A lot a lot. If your name appears on an OHL exhibition game sheet, you’re not going to play NCAA hockey. So, for example, if you’re offered an OHL roster spot for ONE exhibition game, and in that game you get two shifts (say, 130 seconds of ice time), you traded two minutes of ice for your NCAA eligibility.
I think that’s a lot of maturity in the decision-making process to expect from a 16 year old kid.
If parents chip in enough money, the Zamboni guy will make sure the practice ends at 11:20p, not 11:30p or 11:45p.
NCAA hockey is not an option for many kids. It’s as least as tough to get there as it is to get to major junior, maybe harder because more and more of those spots are being offered to Americans first. But kids have their dreams and so do parents, frankly.

- - -

So, without getting into great detail about my guy’s own circumstances, I think that covers a lot of the questions from the mail bag, where people are polite enough to ask what I took away from it all so far.

Well, that’s what I learned. So far, anyway.

That, and the fact that they could cut him or trade him tomorrow. You don’t have to report if you’re traded, but, that would be the end of your junior hockey days.

We won’t get into that today.

Just remember in house league they have to roll the lines and everyone gets to play.

I like that.

- - -

A hot sunny weekend beckons with cool August nights. My boys are both home; me and my girl are going to maybe have an actual meal together and talk. At the very least, I’ll listen.

And as much fun as this week has been I’m going to take next week off because we’re packing Pad’s skates and sticks and going west on the 401 with high enthusiasm and low expectations.

Life isn’t about the destination, it’s about the journey. We’ll cross bridges as we get to them. Life is what happens while you're busy making plans. I will be in touch, no doubt cryptically but with fewer clichés than are in this paragraph.

Hug the kids.

Aug 26, 2010

I’ve come to the conclusion that taking two weeks off and then returning for a week before taking yet another week off is a bit counterproductive.

The first part of the week is prone to reminiscences about the lazy days of the week before. The latter part of the week sees the mind wander off to what next week might bring.

Oh. And then there’s work, too.

- - -

Pad is in need of a new iPod – the one he has now has suffered the abuse of several seasons of hockey travel and other teenage adventures.

Fortuitously his cell phone contract is up on Sept 3 too. What to do?

Can you say “iPhone 4” ?

He made the decision to stop carrying two devices and move to the single unit, and lighten his bank account considerably in the process. But Pad is a frugal guy and has saved a lot of the money he earns refereeing and while it’s a big spend, it’s his money and he gave it a lot of thought.

He has no intention of getting a data plan with the phone, opting to use it as a phone and music platform except when he has wireless access – like at school and home. And then he can use the wireless setting to download apps and music and whatever else kids download (I don’t want to ask.) He doesn’t need a bandwidth contract for that.

And no.

We won’t be committing to any more contracts with mobile phone providers.

If anyone out there has any advice or guidance to offer on who he and his new iPhone should be with drop me a note please. I’m all ears.

The Fedex tracking number sent by Apple says his new phone has left the factory Shenzhen, China and is now in Hong Kong, no doubt enjoying the sights and maybe a cruise around the bustling turquoise harbour.

It is expected to be in his hands by Monday.

It’s all kind of amazing if you allow yourself to pause and think about how small the world really is.

- - -

I actually invented the Walkman, the distant conceptual forerunner to the iPod.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking “geez, you live fairly modestly for a guy who invented something that revolutionized the way we access and enjoy music.”

OK.

Maybe I didn’t actually “invent” the Walkman. But I did isolate the need for it. I just wasn’t clever enough to take the idea to Sony when I was 14.

<Editor’s warning: Long story to follow before getting to the point. Reader discretion advised.>

Way back then in little Windsor Junction, NS, I spent my summers mowing the greens at one of the region’s top golf courses. It was a job that required a lot of walking. The mowers had powered wheels but we had to walk behind them and guide them, back and forth across the large sprawling greens of the New Course at Ashburn Golf Club. We transpored the mowers from green to green on the backs of modified golf carts. Driving fast was fun.

It was a job that basically had to be 40 to 50 per cent done before the first golfers of the day were allowed on at 6:30a. It was even more time sensitive on weekends, when players would start at 6:30a on both the first and 10^th tees.

So, we had an early start to our day.

It was not a task for the more mature members of the grounds crew – some of whom liked to stay up late and do things that made them feel poorly early in the day. Think Bill Murray in Caddyshack and that’s almost a pitch-perfect rendering of some of the more mature members of the grounds crew who usually felt poorly early in the day.

It was a job for young, fit guys and once upon a time, I was one of those.

Rarer still, I was a young, fit guy who was capable of getting out of bed six mornings a week from late April through Labour Day and getting the job done with virtually no supervision.

Me and one other guy would show up between 4:45a and 5:15a and mow, six times a week. At the break of dawn, cutting our tracks in the dew, we'd mow.

And mow and mow and mow.

We each did nine greens and on alternate days we took responsibility for the practice green.

We were considered good at what we did, because we were both fast and accurate. We didn’t veer off the putting surface to “scalp” the longer aprons around the green (which is a huge no-no in cutting a green. Scalping the apron left ugly brown scars on the grass. Not good.)

In spite of the ungodly hour that we started, I loved that job.

First, I saw more spectacular sunrises in those years than I could ever count. And sometimes, way out on the back end of the course with one green left to cut and not a golfer in sight, I’d sit in the cart by the lake and just listen to the birds or watch a deer or fox or, rarely, a bear. It was the very definition of serene.

Second, because of all the walking involved and the perceived physical demands of the assignment (early hour, lots of walking, requirement to be fast and reliable) when we finished for the day, we were done. Gonzo. Out of there. And usually I was done within three hours and got paid for the whole day. Once I hit university, that allowed me to do that job and work part time for the Halifax Chronicle Herald as a reporter. (And that’s how this started.)

Third, we got to play golf for free.

So, my day as a 15 year old was: up at 4:45a, mow til 8:30a or so, go home and sleep until 11a, and then play golf until I wanted to stop. It was pretty sweet, actually.

But you want to hear about the invention of the Walkman, right?

Well, as you can imagine, in between those bucolic moments of tweeting birds and frolicking deer there were roaring engines of Toro turf machines cutting greens and the monotonous back-and-forth of cutting a green.

(If you watch a golf telecast you’ll notice “stripes” on the greens. Those are from the mowers, which push the grass in the direction of the mower and when the light hits them, the path is shown as a light or dark swath, depending on which way the grain is pushed.)

Anyway, during those monotonous walks behind the mower, I longed to be able to listen to music instead of the mower and I hummed songs from The Beatles and Fleetwood Mac and Neil Young and whoever else was on my turntable in those days. Humming was easy because there was no one there but deer and bears, and they couldn’t hear me because of the racket the machine was making.

But . . .

“If only I could LISTEN while I WALKED” I thought to myself.

And thusly, I invented the Walkman. Or at least the need for the Walkman.

The Walkman gave way to the Discman which gave way to the iPod and the collection of other digital music players one can buy today.

And it all started with me back in Nova Scotia when I was a kid.

I still haven’t seen a single royalty cheque either.

- - -

For the record, I’m not the only Oakville guy with a great invention to my credit.

You know how when you go to McDonald’s and order a sandwich and fries, and the sandwich comes in a cardboard box?

And you know how you open the box and pour your fries into one side of the box? (The side without the fries for the slow learners out there.)

Well, a friend of mine invented that.

Seriously.

And every year that we have coached kids together, whenever we’re on the road at a tournament or out with the kids after a 6a Saturday morning ice time, we tell the story – with great exaggeration and copious gusto – of how Dave invented “the fries in the box.” I start the story with a "did you know" moment. Dave jumps in and tell the tale. I finish with the monetary upside of royalties and riches.

And if you’re a Timbit, listening to your coaches who, after your parents but ahead of your teachers are probably the most influential people in your life, you believe.

And you believe because it’s the coaches telling this story and so it has to be true. It has to be. They’re coaches. They don’t make stuff up.

And they would never make up the part about Dave getting a royalty from McDonald’s every time someone dumps their fries in the empty side of the box.

I love that story.

And I haven’t yet met a kid who doesn’t love hearing it when their hair is wet and matted with sweat while they hoe into something at McDonald’s at 7:18a on a Saturday morning.

The great memories and laughs rarely happen on the ice in my experience.

In my experience the great memories come at those moments when, regardless of whether it’s junior A or Timbits, fun just takes over and everyone realizes we’re – no, they’re -- a team and, well, fun takes over.

I see it every winter, whether it's on the side of a snowy mountain with kids tubing during a break in a road trip or someone blowing Pepsi through their nose at Boston Pizza. I always try to remind myself that these are the things they'll remember, not whether we won or lost in a tournament semi final. These are their good old days and as adults, we're lucky to be caretakers of that experience.

In my house, that’s why we play hockey.

When do we start?

Aug 24, 2010

Of all the creature comforts that have been introduced in the last 20 years, I have to think that it’s hard to beat heated seats in cars.

Obviously heated seats are of benefit and comfort when crawling out of a rink in Orangeville at 11p on February night.

But in the last 10 days, I have come to appreciate their utility in August, too.

Perhaps it’s my advancing age, or perhaps it really is that cold in Tompken Arena in Mississauga in August. But after enduring 90 minutes of watching workouts on the ice – even with the humidity we endured last week – I’m not ashamed to say that I flicked on the heated seat for the drive home, with my son looking at me as if I were insane for a good part of the drive.

I even kept wearing the fleece jacket I had on – not realizing that I was standing in an Oakville Pizza Nova last week on one of the most humid nights of the summer with the fleece on and my hands stuffed in my pockets like a deranged ice man.

Last night, I finally caved in and stopped wearing shorts to the rink and wore jeans.

And oddly, that made a big difference in my comfort.

Who knew?

As I was famously told by a teacher many, many years ago: if I had a brain I’d be dangerous.

Fortunately, I’m of no danger to anyone.

- - -

I know there are parents of peanut allergic kids lurking out there among the readership. One of my guys has an allergy and suffice it to say the vigilance never stops.

I was a willing participant for years and years in harassing airlines to stop serving peanuts on flights. We lived in Edmonton then, so the long flights to Cape Breton and back were nerve-wracking enough.

Later as our guys got older we turned our attention to sporting venues. When Ken Dryden was president of the Leafs, I wrote him asking that if they couldn’t stop serving peanuts altogether at the ACC, could they at least designate a safe area where peanut were not allowed.

I got the following thoughtful reply:

<insert sound of crickets chirping here>

Thanks, Leaf Nation.

Our guy is old enough now that he is on alert for his own safety when it comes to eating, but as parents the worry never goes away. We monitor medical research developments closely, as well as any news on policy changes related to food allergies.

We don’t expect a peanut-free world, but we’d like a safe environment for our kid and those like him.

Which is why this story from the weekend jumped out at me. Several Major League baseball teams are now offering peanut-free seating for folks with allergies. It’s an issue that’s not going to go away unfortunately, so it’s nice to see some new thinking being applied.

- - -

Tiger Woods probably has a lot less money today than he had this time last week.

His divorce became final on Monday and while financial details haven’t been released, it’s a safe bet that his former wife is being well compensated for his sins and her discretion.

While this entire episode can safely be filed under “self inflicted wound” it’s worth noting that it seems most of the behaviour that resulted in this problem for him came after his father died.

So, I’ll go back to what a reader suggested a couple of weeks ago.

Maybe Jack should mentor this guy – not just on golf, but on life.

And cuff him in the back of the head at the same time, too.

Read more here.

- - -

Pad and I saw two movies on the weekend, neither of them on a sports channel.

The first one is the new Will Ferrell film The Other Guys. While it’s a safe bet that the academy won’t be showering nominations on this one, there were several genuine laugh-out-loud moments.

Yeah, it’s a guy movie. Yeah, it was world-class stupid.

But we weren’t looking to ponder ocean pollution or time travel. We wanted to laugh.

The second movie we saw was The Expendables.

While it’s a safe bet that the academy won’t be showering nominations on this one, there were several genuine laugh-out-loud moments – plus lots of cool explosions and one rather lame scene with Bruce Willis and Arnold Schwarzenegger.

But we weren’t looking to ponder ocean pollution or time travel. We wanted to laugh and see stuff blow up and man, we went home with our fill of stuff blowing up.

- - -

We got home in time to see the biggest explosion of the weekend at the PGA Championship.

It just goes to show how exciting a finish to a major golf championship can be without Tiger Woods.

You can read all about it here if you care. It was probably the most exciting finish to a major without Tiger since Tiger showed up.

And as I said last week – no one named Bubba has ever won a major.

- - -

While my mom is convalescing, here’s two isolated incidents with tangential connections to the Doherty family musical heritage (my mom’s little brother, my uncle, was the singer for the Mamas and Papas.)

First, Denny’s long-time friend Paul Ledoux is producing a play in Fredericton that tells the story of the Bricklin, a gull-winged, stainless steel car that was apparently ahead of it’s time.

You can read more on that here.

Second, a running gag in the movie The Other Guys, was the penchant of Will Farrell’s character for old, middle-of-the-road pop music.

His favourite band is the 70s Aussie group Little River Band – regular readers will know that I have no personal connection with Little River Band (although I did drink a beer with the bass player from Lisa Del Bello’s band back stage at the 1978 Atlantic Pop Festival which I pretended to cover for the Halifax Chronicle Herald. The bass player was a female in leather pants and she was very friendly to a young reporter working his way through college.)

I digress.

In one of the final scenes of the movie – as Farrell and his partner embark on the biggest job of their lives he turns on his car stereo and instead of LRB we hear – Uncle Denny singing Monday Monday.

Pad and I laughed out loud.

Anyway, I’m hoping the producers paid a hefty price for the rights to the song in the movie. My cousins will appreciate the royalties.

- - -

BTW, the saga of the skates has been successfully resolved. I’m not going to recount the story here. At least not yet. The trauma is all still too raw.

Suffice to say I regret the pain inflicted upon several layers of executives at Bauer and Pro Life Hockey. But we did eventually get skates that fit and if the cost of the transaction means one less semester of school for one of the boys, well, that’s the price of pain in this case.

Aug 13, 2010

Happy Friday the 13^th!

In Cape Breton today they’re going whale watching. I’m dropping off Pad and heading to the gym, which I suppose could be whale watching of a different kind – that is, if anyone is watching me.

I had a very frustrating day yesterday from beginning to end, so today will be better right?

Right?

- - -

The PGA Championship is underway. A reader reacting to yesterday’s note and video with Jack Nicklaus suggested that maybe – maybe – if Tiger Woods asked the Golden Bear for a little advice there could be a historic opportunity to get Tiger’s career back on track.

Hmmm.

Interesting idea and Nicklaus is certainly one of the most magnanimous sporting figures in history.

I wonder if Jack would be a little reluctant to get involved with Tiger until he can be sure that all the “stuff” has been cleaned up? I don’t know.

Interesting idea.

- - -

I love the Corey Pavin-Jim Gray controversy.

In a nutshell, Pavin is the captain of the US Ryder Cup team. Gray is a take-no-prisoners reporter, who reported that Pavin told him he would offer Tiger a spot on the Ryder Cup team.

Pavin reacts to the report by saying Gray has misquoted him.

Gray calls Pavin a liar.

In golf, this is like a bench-clearing brawl.

I believe Gray, BTW.

You can read the story here.

- - -

Final PGA Championship note:

No one named Bubba has ever won a major championship.

- - -

Last night I was moving a little slowly. I had pushed up all of the elements of my workout by a notch and I was clearly wrung out.

Pad and I were watching Animal House – hey look, it’s Otis Day and the Knights – and I told him “I’m completely spent. And that’s kind of sad and pathetic.”

And bless him he said, “no, it’s not. You pushed yourself. There’s nothing pathetic about it.”

That made me feel good. At least until I read the status update that he had put on his Facebook page a couple of days earlier:

pushing a 300lb sled 1.5km in the pouring rain, slipping every other step, pushing to the limit, completely drenched, chasing the dream, loving every second of it. BTNL

I then resumed feeling sad and pathetic, and I added “old” to the list, too.

Enjoy the weekend and please drive, swim and boat carefully. A flip through the Toronto Star at this time of year can be horribly depressing with, as the song says, bad news on the doorstep. Hug the kids – even the really big, strong ones.

Aug 12, 2010

I haven’t posted because nothing interesting is happening to me and I haven’t really had the time or inclination to absorb much from my usual trolling of favourite internet sites for newsworthy and quirky items.

As previously billed we’re wearing out a path from home to the rink(s) to the gym to the grocery store, while getting sporadic updates from Chris and Laura in the east.

The weather in Cape Breton Highlands National Park is pleasant, but not the rock-splitting heat we’ve had in other years. Nonetheless, they’re having a good time.

I’d post some pictures but my lovely wife is technologically challenged right now.

First, she has been forced into a period of relaxation because she has no cell phone service. She is armed with a Rogers Blackberry and Ingonish is a Rogers black hole.

So the irony is that Chris – who just got a cheap Koodo phone upon grading in June – gets service just fine.

He hides his phone from his mom so she can’t easily connect with the outside world.

Second, she took the camera with her but forgot the battery charger. Hmmm. Sounds like something a guy would do.

The cabin she’s in does has access to wireless Internet, but my bride is accustomed to real-time communication via Blackberry PIN and frankly, we’re both having trouble coping.

Anyway, Laura says in my absence she’s take on the duties of bonfire builder, steak-cooker, etc etc.

I am fully replaceable, as if there was ever any doubt.

- - -

I haven’t done a good job entertaining Pad in between ice times.

On Sunday night I (briefly) entertained the idea of getting tickets to Paul McCartney on Monday night for me and Pad. The justification was that since I wasn’t getting an NS vacation, then I was entitled to something.

And there were tickets available, but the price – almost $600 for two seats – gave me pause and the pause killed any chance we had. By the time I went back to the Ticketmaster site, they were gone.

So I told Pad we’d try to get to a Jays game.

But his hockey schedule and then physiotherapy put the screws to that on Tuesday and Wednesday and today’s game is a matinee, so, that’s not going to work – because he has hockey.

We’re hoping to be back at Pro Hockey Life after training today to finally fix the skate issue, so maybe we’ll go to a movie tonight.

I don’t think I’ve ever been so busy doing really nothing in particular in my life.

- - -

My friends on the Oakville A’s minor mosquito baseball team are still going strong.

They finished off the season this past week end at the Central Ontario Baseball Association play offs, and well guess what, they won!
They finally beat their nemesis the Mississauga Tigers (they had to beat them twice on Sunday as it is a double knock out tournament.)
The boys dug their cleats in and pulled off consecutive victories on Sunday winning convincingly 14-4 in Game 1 and a very tight 9-8 in game 2.
Next stop is the Ontario Provincial Championships on Labour Day Weekend against the top 15 Minor Mosquito Teams in the Ontario.
That's four tournament victories this year for the boys, but who's counting?

Good luck at provincials, guys!
Introducing ( once again ) your Oakville A's AAA Minor Mosquito COBA Champions
Bottom Row;
Matt Stone, Paul Costin, Evan McIntyre, Jordan Gamble, Luke Seidel, Ethan Hammond
Standing;
Tanner Elson, Tyler Sagl, Carter Pauley, Luke Raczywolski, Andrew Macgrandle, Eric Cerantola
Coaches;
Drew Hammond, John Raczywolski, Allen Elson, Richard Gamble, Ryan Seidel.

- - -

Anyone like blonde jokes? Yeah, I know you do.

This one is a blonde joke for intellectuals . . . click the video to view.

- - -

Maybe Tiger Woods should take some putting lessons from Jack Nicklaus.

The PGA Championship opens today which means sadly we will all be raking leaves soon. Or, as they say in Oakville, hiring someone to rake leaves soon.

Anyway, Tiger’s troubles are well known and I have nothing interesting to add to it.

But the Golden Bear, at the ripe old age of 70, showed this week that he can still summon some magic on the course.

Watch below as he drains a 100-foot putt. And keep watching – note how steep the incline up the hill is. A pretty amazing putt, considering I can’t drive the ball that far!

Roll the tape, and have a great Thursday.

Aug 10, 2010

Hi folks.

Laura and Chris flew east yesterday and as I write this they are now driving towards the Cabot Trail and our cottage on the beach at Ingonish. When you read this, they will be on a beach.

As I explained earlier, the hockey schedule being what it is on this end (midget AAA and junior A camps open in the next week, major junior camp opens in two weeks) I’m stuck here as chauffeur/cook.

And honestly, as much as it stings to not be there to recharge and have a real vacation, I would never have relaxed knowing that Pad was either back here preparing without me nearby, or (worse!), he was sitting on a beach too, not preparing at all.

He and I had a great evening last night and BBQ’d some steaks and we’ve only made 467 trips to Pro Hockey Life in Mississauga in the last 48 hours (trouble with the new skates. Don’t ask, just send money. Please.)

The good news is Laura, Chris, Chris’s cousin and Laura’s friend Alison are going to be inspecting North Bay Beach for me. It’s a large beach and it needs my annual oversight to make sure the sand is properly placed and the waves are of summer size.

I’m not sure who will cook the hotdogs for lunch. Or the steak and chicken for dinner. Or the halibut. Or scallops.

But I suppose they’ll manage.

For sure, Tuesday afternoon this year won’t be the same, even at a rink.

Not even close.

- - -

Lest anyone think me to be psycho, a disclaimer.

I regularly remind Pad that when all this hockey starts feeling like a job, when it stops being fun, he should tell us. Because it’s supposed to be fun, and he’s supposed to chase his dreams, not anyone else’s.

We tell him all the time that he had better be doing all this training because he wants to, not out of some weird sense of obligation to me or us.

That may sound like a strange conversation to have, but I know of several kids who blindsided their parents with confessions that basically went something like, “hockey is your game dad, it’s not mine” moments before their kid packed it in.

So, we’ve always tried to be supportive, but with an ear to the ground, if you follow me.

Notwithstanding that Pad is a member of a Facebook group called “I Can’t, I Have Hockey,” when we have these conversations, he always looks at me like I’m insane and assures me that he’s having fun, it’s what he wants to do, and if that changes he’ll let me know.

OK. Fair enough.

- - -

The best story of the day so far is the JetBlue flight attendant who snapped after a boneheaded customer didn’t wait for the plane to stop before deciding to get out of his seat and remove his luggage.

And then that luggage accidently fell on the flight attendant, who promptly lost his cool, ranted profanities over the plane’s PA system and then took some beer from the drink cart, slid down an emergency exit chute and went home.

I think we’ve all had days like that – except maybe we didn’t implode in the process.

Read more here.

- - -

An arbitrator sided with the NHL in declaring Ilya Kovalchuk’s contract invalid, setting in motion all sorts of implications, not the least of which is that Kovalchuk is once again available for hire.

What a mess.

Read more here.

You can read the entire text of the speech here.

Yeah, I can be a bit of a wonk sometimes. Sue me.

- - -

OK. Deep item number 2:

Eric Schmidt has more money than you. In fact, I’m sure he has more money than everyone, cumulatively, who has read this blog in the last month.

He’s the CEO of Google, a task for which he is very well compensated and judging from their balance sheet, he’s doing a crackerjack job.

He knows a fair bit about this internet thingy, which is the pipeline that allows you to fritter away a portion of your day here.

He is sort of the ring leader of the internet; the leader of the biggest digital gang on the block. When he speaks, the geeks in line outside the Apple store up the street listen.

He addressed a big techy conference thing this week and gave a warning about a coming information tsunami and added some interesting context around the way humans are creating data.

His warning is that like it or not, the digital oceans teems with your – yes, YOU – personal information and (here’s the punch line) and with great gobs of it, you are personally responsible for putting in the public domain.

And worse still, you – yes, YOU – are completely unprepared to live with the ramifications of your actions.

Things you post on Facebook, Twitter, you personal blog, whatever, are part of the public record now. Your address, education history, marital status, employment history, birth date, parents, family tree . . . your view on religious freedoms and Michael Bloomberg.

What’s the big deal, right?

Well, the big deal is that it’s kind of ironic that at the same time some Canadians are getting all twisted up about census issues and intrusive government surveys, many of us are freely tossing personal data to the electronic winds like scraps of paper in an autumn zephyr with no clue as to the implications.

Like, arming marketers and other unsavoury types with your personal data, making it easy for people to steal your identity (don’t laugh),or, writing something on a blog that could get you fired or prevent you from landing a new job with a prospective employer, or into a university, or any number of other things.

As for the important context, Schmidt notes that from the dawn of civilization to 2003, there were five exabytes of information created.

An Exabyte is a lot. One Exabyte equals a billion gigabytes. That computer your sitting at probably as memory of 250 gigs, so, one Exabyte would equal the memory of about four million PCs. (You’re gonna need a bigger office.)

Anyway – dawn of time to 2003 = five Exabytes of data.

Today, the world creates that much data EVERY TWO DAYS. That’s a lot of blogging and Facebook pictures.

That is a stunning statistic and part of that chain of data is drivel like this and the stuff you put on Facebook and Twitter and Blogspot and everywhere else.

And if you don’t think someone smart is out there looking to make money off your data, or exploit it and you somehow, well, you’re wrong.

Read more here.

- - -

OK.

So, that was all a lot deeper than you expected for a Friday in August when your loyal scribe has one figurative foot fleeing for vacation and the other petulantly planted in the workplace.

Sorry.

I won’t be far away and I will probably blog here and there over the coming days. I know you can’t wait!

In the meantime I’m going to enjoy the weekend with my squeeze and my boys and see what adventures I can cook up for me and Pad next week when we’re solo.

Drive carefully and enjoy summer. Hug the kids!

Aug 5, 2010

I’m sure there have been more summery summers in southern Ontario, but I can’t remember one in my admittedly short tenure here.

It’s like the old joke about what is the easiest job in journalism? Being the weatherman in San Diego. Today’s weather, 85 and sunny. Tomorrow, 85 and sunny. Weekend outlook: 85 and sunny.

Just add on a layer of oppressive humidity and bumper-to-bumper traffic and bingo! Welcome to the GTA.

- - -

Football item #1

There was an interesting piece earlier this week in the Star on the unlikely friendship between Miami Dolphins star Ricky Williams and a Toronto mom and midwife.

The two were neighbours during Williams’ year in NFL purgatory when he decided to compound that by entering CFL purgatory and playing for the Argos.

But it really is a very nice yarn, and you can read it here.

- - -

Football item #2

Teamoakville has a bunch of friends who, as the years rolled by, decided to pursue football as their dream instead of hockey, lacrosse, or ice dancing.

It takes special people to grunt, sweat and puke on a hard, dusty field under the relentless August sun. It’s not for the faint of heart, and that’s before you even get to the part where large, strong, angry people are trying to separate your head from your shoulders.

Canada has never regarded itself as a hotbed for NFL prospects, but it may be time for some of that thinking to change. As the Globe points out today, there will be a distinct Canadian flavour to some NFL camps this summer.

Click here to read more.

- - -

Two more days in the office and then I’m off for a couple weeks – ~~kicking back and living the good life~~ spending a lot of time with Pad and making sure he gets from home to the rink to the gym to home and properly fed and watered at every stop.

It won’t be the usual summer festivities, but we’re gonna have fun and the guys at Swiss Chalet are already excited.

- - -

OK. Suppose you were changing the oil on your car in the drive way, and you live near the lake. And supposed you accidently spilled some of the oil. Say, about 172 million gallons of oil.

And then, a couple of months later, you discover that most of that spilled oil is gone. Disappeared. All fixed.

Mother Nature is pretty remarkable, huh?

That’s more or less the gist of a US government report on the spill in the Gulf of Mexico. And I gotta think that if I owned a fishing boat or a beach-front tourist business on the Gulf coast, I’d be pretty skeptical right now.

But it’s the Big Oil industry right? And they wouldn’t make stuff up.

Read more here.

- - -

A-Rod finally hit his 600^th career home run on Wednesday as the skidding Yankees finally managed a win over the Jays.

A decade ago, Rodriguez’s triumph would have been hailed as one of the defining moments of the modern age of baseball – the youngest man to hit 600 major league dingers.

But A-Rod – like so many others – is badly tainted by the steroid scandal in baseball and it doesn’t much matter now if he hits 700 or 800 or 900 homers before he retires. His records will forever carry an asterisk.

You can read about the event here – which was regarded even in NYC as a ho-hum moment.

- - -

All I know is that if the Jays had an outfielder like this guy from the Hiroshima Carp of the Japanese League, then A-Rod would likely still be looking for #600, because this guy would have chased the ball into the third deck if he had to.

There are catches. And then there CATCHES.

Roll the tape!

Aug 4, 2010

There are certain places where angels and men fear to tread.

Lulu Lemon stores are on that list.

A pulsing den of estrogens and perky sales people, a visit to a Lulu Lemon store is the Mars Mission of the male retail experience – a foreign, alien landscape populated by beings not of my world or culture.

While I don’t generally browse the Lulu stores for all of the above reasons, my significant other loves their clothes and she was having a birthday sooooooooooo . . .

Off I went.

First, I undertook this mission last Friday, which was the day that Apple released the iPhone 4. And the Apple Store in the Eaton Centre is two doors down from the Lulu store, which meant that every lonely geek in Toronto who had spent – literally, I’m sad to report – the entire night camped outside of the Apple Store to get an iPhone 4 was there.

So, that was a bit of a spectacle. Honestly there were like 500 people – mostly guys – lined up pretty well the entire length of the Eaton Centre, no doubt debating furiously over which Star Trek episode was the all-time best.

Anyway, so I go into the LuLu store and I wander around a bit – I’m really just looking for a funky t-shirt or something that will prove that I was moderately thoughtful and put some effort into the project.

At the back of the store where the t-shirts are I take one down and I’m just standing there, all dofus like, and this hot, perky blonde comes up to me and says, “do you like that??”

OK.

So, she wasn’t just hot and perky and blonde. She was also Australian. So, think Oliva Newton John circa 1976 but with better hair, and you’re getting the picture.

If the next words out of her mouth had been “come with me, we’re going to Florida” I would have replied, “who’s driving?”

But, she didn’t say that. (They never do.)

She did say all sorts of nice things about me being brave enough to venture into the store and what a great shirt I picked out and what size is my wife etc etc.

She advised me that the garment in my hand is meant to fit a little loose.

Hmm, I thought. “How loose?” I asked.

Perky Aussie girl says: “Here. I’ll try one on and show you!!”

Where upon she takes her shirt off right in front of me.

It wasn’t all that radical – she was wearing some funky, fashionable tunic thing under her outside shirt. But still. I did pause and think, this gal’s OK.

So then I asked her a key question – “Um, do you even work here?”

Stunningly, she replies, with a big, big smile: “No!!!”

Turns out she works with the international arm of LuLu and was visiting Toronto and dropped into the store to meet staff and “help out.”

Swell!!

So then she calls over this other sales woman who looks like a younger, better looking Cindy Crawford. (By this point I’m really moving slowly. No need to rush right?)

They confer and decide that the choice of shirt was great, but it needs something funky and colourful to go under it (presumably for when my wife spontaneously decides to take it off in a store – I’ll keep you posted on a time and date for that.)

So they found something to go with the shirt, declared me the world’s most thoughtful partner, pointed me to the checkout and then bounded away like a couple over-caffinated kangaroos.

It was a thoroughly pleasant experience I have to say.

The young lady on the checkout was similarly pleasant and perky. When I asked for her opinion on the geeks lined up outside the door, she told me that an hour earlier the LuLu girls went out into the mall and tried to get the geeks to do some light aerobics, but they got no takers.

“That’s because they’re geeks,” I said. She agreed.

There was no offer forthcoming of trip to Florida or anywhere else and she kept her clothes on, so I paid for the garments and dragged my middle-aged self out of the store, wondering how I got so old. (I’m really only middle aged if I hope to live as long as a giant sea turtle.)

But the perky girls were right. Laura was completely thrilled with the clothes, and she got a pretty good kick out of the story too.

It’s what passes for excitement in the life of this old turtle.

Geeks, gals, and a new get up for my girl.

A pretty good day, really.

- - -

Pad changed the profile picture on his Facebook account the other day – when we were at the driving range I used my Blackberry and took a couple of photos of him and his brother hitting balls. Pad stuck one on his Facebook page.

This immediately triggered a torrent of commentary from his pals, including a comment from one of the Finnish kids we billeted two Decembers ago during the Richard Bell Tournament.

(If you ever have a spare five or six hours, I’ll sit down with you and tell you what a great experience that was for our whole family. We billeted three minor midget players and by the time they left they were family. Simply a wonderful time – except for the flu bug and the puking. Great kids, though. We still exchange emails with the parents.)

Anyway, I clicked on Miska’s name to see his profile and then I clicked on the profile picture.

A large smile swept across my face as I looked at the photo of him playing the guitar in his room.

Hanging on his bedroom wall behind him is an Oakville Rangers jersey – and if you know what you’re looking at, you can tell it’s the big number 2 that has been Pad’s calling card for years, with his name bowed across the shoulders.

It’s nice to know the trip and the memories mean as much to them as they do to us.

Click here to see Miska’s wailing on his axe!

Aug 3, 2010

Happy birthday, to you.

- - -

Canada is a different place. Far, far different – generally for all the rights reasons – than the USA.

Two ongoing pieces of current events in recent days have put me in mind of this simple fact.

First, only in Canada could a national debate erupt about the census. And only in Canada could that debate descend into a national crisis – albeit a crisis with components of real and imagined intensity.

The census issue reached terminal velocity for me last week when the main headline on page 1 of our national newspaper – a newspaper that is one of the finest in this or any country – blared “Race is on to find census compromise.”

Sheesh.

I honestly don’t think I could find 10 people on King Street at the height of lunch time who could explain the census issue in two sentences. So, that we’re racing to find a compromise is, well, it’s what happens on slow news days in Canada in the summer.

The census issue is actually quite serious at its core. But . . .racing for compromise?

The other bit of current events I found uniquely Canadian was the springing of Conrad Black from a Florida jail.

Love him or hate him -- Black is as polarizing a figure in Canadian culture as has ever existed – one has to admire the guy’s steadfast tenacity in the face of what has been a horrendous personal ordeal.

He has never, not once, ever, moved from his position that he is totally and 100 per cent innocent of the array of commercial white-collar crimes he was accused of and eventually, in part, convicted upon.

It is doubtful Bob Dylan will pen a song to champion this particular brand of wrongful conviction, but only in Canada could a businessman’s bail be front-page news day after day after day.

As a person with some familiarity with words, I will tell you that Conrad Black knows how to write. With clarity and precision, if not necessarily with economy of prose.

His account of his 28 month and 18 days inside the US justice system is well worth your time to read.

Only in Canada, eh?

- - -

We spent the Monday holiday in the company of friends on a pastoral estate well north of Toronto’s smog and traffic. You can have Caribana, thanks. Not interested.

The boys and I played golf for the first time this summer – a new personal worst in my own case, having waited until August to strike a ball with purpose.

There was a time years ago when I played four to six time a week, from the slashing rain of April until early November, or whenever the course would close.

I still have memberships at two courses in Nova Scotia – my out-of-province status reduced my dues to a pittance, and I hold on largely for sentimental reasons, although when I do go home in the summer, I always get in at least one game.

But parenthood can bring choices for those not so blessed to have a golf course for a backyard. Among those choices are, do you want to spend six hours or more of a weekend day dedicated to golf, or, do you want to see your family and wife?

My boys are now of an age where we can all golf together, so we will explore that option more.

And as for Laura, a stunning discovery awaited us on the weekend when she joined us on a recreational outing to the driving range. Laura played twice already this summer in corporate golf events and claimed to be able to hit the ball. And stunningly (to some, not me) she is correct. She hits the ball straight and true (most of the time).

So, we’ll be getting her some clubs and then we will have our own self-contained family foursome and next year, when the slashing April rains soak southern Ontario sorting the golf fanatics from the posers, we’ll be out there, daring to go low.

Right?

- - -

Teachers, pay attention.

A good article in the New York Times on Sunday about plagiarism in the digital age – neatly summarized, the premise of the piece is growing alarm – not over the fact that students are engaging in plagiarism – but rather over the fact that many students today have no clue that they’re doing anything wrong.

In my world, that’s a stunning thing to ponder.

I guess we shouldn’t be surprised where smart techy types work hard to find ways to trade music for free and ignore the rights of the artists to be paid for what they create.

Anyway, you can read more here if you’re interested.

- - -

I’m late to the party on this story – about a pair of GTHL hockey coaches being investigated for “abuse” for sending two disruptive players out of the dressing room after a game.

The article describes them as “partly dressed” in a public hallway for “as long as 10 minutes.”

The horror.

First, someone better investigate me ASAP. Because any kid who ever played on my teams knows when I’m talking, you’re listening. That’s the way it works.

Second, I’d bet a stack of used Eastons that “partly dressed” means that they boys had no shoulder pads, elbow pads, or jerseys on.

Third, I’d point out that field lacrosse players routinely strip right down to their Under Armour and jocks on the sidelines in full view of anyone who wants to watch. No one cares. Ever. To my knowledge, no United Nations complaints have been filed.

It’s a fact that some kids behave like jerks in the dressing room, on the bench, at team outings. We call these “free range children” or “children without borders.”

They are little fun to have on a team and coaches go out of their way not to draft them.

Part of the mission of the coach is to preserve order so that the other kids can have fun and learn. In short, you try and correct errant behaviour as best you can. If you can’t, then you remove the kid from the ice, or from the room, or whatever. You don’t get physical, but you maintain order, get the parents involved, etc etc.

Without access to the full report on the incident it’s hard to take a definitive stand.

But I’m all for inviting the disruptive kid to get out of the room until such time as he/she wants to participate by the same rules as everyone else.

Quick. Call 9-1-1.