hockey blog oct09

One of the things about having a blog for as long as I have (four years in December) is that eventually (and trust me, it doesn’t take that long) you bore everyone who bothers to read it and you start running out of good stories to tell, assuming they were any good in the first place.

So, I don’t have a lot of things to say about Halloween that haven’t been previously covered here.

I’ll stay more current with my commentary about tomorrow evening’s candy free-for-all.

Dave and I and the Timbit machine known far and wide and Blue Thunder will decamp for a pizza party tomorrow after practice. Silly hats for all – including coaches – will be the order of the day.

Tomorrow night, Halloween falls on a Saturday, which Chris took as a green light to stay out late and visit every house in Glen Abbey.

We hit the reset button on that thinking – his dad is not altogether convinced he should be going out at all at 13, but a conference of moms (gaggle of geese, murder of crows, conference of moms) decided to let them have one last kick at the tradition before insisting that it stop.

So, Chris and a merry band of pals will race around the neighbourhood tomorrow night and then retire to our basement for pizza and scary movies. It sounds like fun.

Pad had a 10a game on Sunday morning and has little interest in being up late, although I have no doubt he will eat his share of pizza.

I will wear a silly hat, answer the door bell and sing show tunes for anyone who can prove they read yesterday’s blog.

Laura was out doing stuff with the girls last night, and given that I was out till almost midnight the night before, I insisted on early bedtimes for the boys – including me.

As I was saying goodnight to Chris, I asked if he had settled on a costume for tomorrow night.

I asked if this meant he was going as Slash, the high-hatted guitar played from Guns n’ Roses, but he said no, that wasn’t the goal.

A guy who works at a top-hat factory gets in a tragic accident, which apparently disfigures him and leaves him with (or maybe not) special powers.

No matter. I started laughing so hard when I heard “top hat factor” and “tragic accident” that everything else was moot.

I assured him this idea was so brilliant in its originality – we really don’t expect a lot of disfigured top-hat factory workers at our door tomorrow – that he would be a big hit.

For the hockey moms reading, here's a link to the top ideas for women's costumes this year.

Pad and I watched a fair amount of the Tampa-Ottawa game last night, and thoroughly enjoyed the pasting the Lightning put on the Sens.

Good luck with that. There were traffic jams and closed roads in Oakville yesterday as the clinic at the Halton Regional HQ apparently degenerated in chaos.

Never mind the economy and spending scandals. This is the type of issue that makes or breaks governments. No level of government looks very good on this one so far.

The New York Times has an interesting story in this weekend’s Sunday Magazine – a preview of which is on their web site – about the Obama’s marriage.

I haven’t read the entire thing, but I will. It starts with the president confessing that the only thing that has annoyed him so far during his time as president was the way his date-night with his wife in New York was turned into a political issue.

Maybe it’s easier to schedule date nights when you’re the busiest guy on Earth but you have a staff of hundreds. I’m not as busy as the president but . . . let’s just say time is tight, and it’s not just us.

For us, it’s GO trains and Ottawa-Montreal shuttles and meetings and trips to the west and weekend conference calls on top of all the stuff the boys do, which is the reason we all do all the other stuff – so our kids can chase the things they’re interested in.

I know guys who work until 3a for weeks at a time closing deals, or who travel non-stop, or work crippling shift work, or whose lives are tested in many ways.

Us? By the time the day or week ends, our idea of fun is pretty much limited to collapsing into a chair with a glass of wine and trying to catch up as best we can. Sometimes we’re better at it than others.

Laura and I have had a tradition – one that is being sorely tested by the family itinerary, I’m afraid – of blocking off a chunk of Friday night to download all the stuff we missed in each other’s life during the week – or sometimes, weeks preceding.

When Laura says she’s looking forward to sitting on the kitchen counter with a glass of wine, that’s the cue that it’s time for wine and beer and chicken wings and old music and catching up.

There’s a lot of stuff in my world that I know she’s not interested in, but sometimes she brings a fresh set of eyes to a particular issue or Gordian knot that I’m wrestling with, because she’s smart. I do the same with her, or try.

We talk about hockey, we talk about high school choices for Chris, university choices for Pad, and all the mundane things that attach themselves to a marriage, family and household. Money, bills, vacations, relatives, Christmas shopping, dinner tomorrow night . . .whatever.

We’ve been doing this, in one context or another, for more than two decades, through some fairly significant family or work tribulations and through some fair exciting successes, too.

We’d both like to on a jet to NYC some weekend soon – assuming we could find someone to outsource the kids’ schedules to for a weekend (and with their schedules, we don’t bother asking.) But that would also mean missing two or three or four of the boys’ hockey games – and right now, we’d rather see the hockey games than Broadway.

And the reason I know so many of you read this space is because I know you share that fundamental belief – the kids come first. It’s a short window you get to do this stuff.

I hope the president gets a date night again soon. He works hard, as does his wife. ((You can read the Times' piece here. It's very long.)

But if he’s reading, he’s welcome to pop in to our place tonight – but not until after 9:30p, when I’ll be back home from a hockey practice. There will be red wine and beer and probably some munchies.

He and Michelle will have to leave early, because Pad is out the door at 9a for hockey, and the Timbits are practicing and then chowing down pizza, and then the Jets and Chris are on in the afternoon and then it’s pizza and scary movies and Hockey Night In Canada and loud boys and chaos.

One of the benefits of having a major-midget aged hockey player in the house is that he never has 6a practices. The dreaded 6a is largely a relic of a different time, except on weekends in younger age groups where it’s still a right of passage, for players and parents alike.

At the other end of the scale is the weeknight two-hour practice that starts at 9p, with a team run preceding it starting at 8p. I took my computer to practice last night and worked for part of it. And I was completely bagged when we eventually got home around 11:30p. (Since no one followed the Sens on the ice, they lingered, as teens do, shooting pucks and wrestling like bear cubs. And then there are showers, and then chatting, and then . . .)

The Leafs lost in OT in Dallas last night and while we missed the game we did catch some of Leaf talk on the drive home and Andy Frost seemed to be a little fed up with some of the callers, many of whom seem to be enjoying mood-altering substances.

I promise I’m not going to write every day about H1N1, but there’s a decent read in the Globe today about how the death earlier this week of that young Mississauga hockey player played out for Jason Blake of the Leafs.

Blake, perhaps the most criticized free-agent signing the Leafs have had in the last four or five years (Pavel Kabina would get some votes too) knows a thing or too about playing sick – he battled a blood cancer during his first year with the team.

But this story hit particularly hard for him. The family of the dead boy were his neighbours during his first winter in Toronto and the boy was a familiar sight in the driveway, pounding pucks – many of which ended up in Blake’s yard.

The Toronto Raptors did something last night sports fans in the GTA are not accustomed to seeing.

They won their first game over a team many expect to win the Eastern Conference.

Among things I missed last night while at a hockey practice was Game 1 of the World Series. Apparently someone forgot to send a script to the Phillies, who pummelled the Yanks.

The minor bantam Oakville EpiPen Jets -- where Chris toils on Saturday afternoon along side a fine collection of very enthused teammates and coaches -- has a new team website.

The website is unremarkable, except for the team logo, which is worth checking out. It is the work of Oakville artist Steve Nease, a dad on the team, and it is beyond cool.

Well, the coach is from Winnipeg. The coach ran a democratic process to solicit name for the team and oddly, the Jets won.

The kids are thrilled, and the City of Winnipeg has apparently offered a sweetheart deal to the squad if they relocate to the Peg and commit to 10-year lease on the rink.

Off hockey for a moment: dying, it seems, can be a decent career move for some celebrities looking to fluff up their incomes.

You might think that Michael Jackson would top this list – but you’d be wrong.

The late fashion designer Yves St-Laurent – or his estate, actually – made $350 million last year, followed by Rodgers and Hammerstein with $235 million (for you kids out there who don’t know who they are, come to my house on Hallowe’en and I’ll perform Oklahoma! for you. I’ll be the guy in the surrey with the fringe on top), and then Jackson, with $90 million.

Laura returned from Cape Breton yesterday and I’m proud to say the house was sparkling clean.

That I paid someone to clean it should not take anything away from the magnitude of the achievement. We all missed her and we’re glad she’s back.

She’s tired but I don’t think that will last long. And tonight she can rest in front of the TV while I’m with Pad at a two-hour practice!

The Leafs are still the worst team in hockey, but they also have a one-game winning streak which they will cart into Dallas tonight.

The game starts at 8p, ensuring I will miss all of it while I’m sitting in a rink.

There is considerable worry in the community about H1N1, given the events of this week.

No, I won’t send my kids to games or practices if they are showing symptoms or feeling fatigued.

No, they don’t think H1N1 will ravage the NHL and improve the Leafs’ playoff chances.

It’s Canada. It’s flu season. Swine flu can be – can be – particularly nasty in rare situations.

I find it interesting that one boy’s tragic loss made this issue so real for so many people. More children have died of H1N1 in the United States than have died of it in Canada from all ages.

But putting a face on the issue made it real, which made a bunch of people get informed.

And that is no doubt be the only good thing to come from that child’s passing.

You may have heard about another tragedy over night – a young woman died in hospital in Halifax after being attacked by coyotes on a hiking trail in Cape Breton Highlands National Park.

This is where we run back like lemmings every summer, to Ingonish. Laura and I have hiked many trails there, some well into the woods. Other than moose and birds, we’ve never seen anything but tracks, though we suspect we have been watched by lots of critters who preferred to give us a wide berth.

The Highlands is a wonderful and beautiful spot – much of the source of the beauty is that it is wild and unspoiled and the risks you take are your own.

Oddly, the trail this woman was attacked on was not a wilderness outing in any way. But there’s still lots of wilderness around, and well, that’s where moose and bears and coyotes live.

Maureen Dowd, who is as fine a columnist as you will find today (regardless of whether you agree with her) takes time today to lament that President Obama likes to hang out with the guys, of which she is clearly not one and never will be.

She doesn’t attack, but rather she acknowledges that when guys relax, sometimes they just prefer to do so with other guys (golf, in this case with her Times’ colleague Thomas Friedman) or like Obama’s predecessor, George Bush, clearing brush on his ranch.

I have written here before about the importance of locker rooms in the lives of men and boys. They are refuge from the world, whether you are suiting up for an important game or coaching those who think they are.

While you were (probably) sleeping, the Leafs finally won a hockey game in Anaheim last night, 6-3 over the Ducks. The Leafs scored five power play goals (three by Niklas Hagman, no relation to Larry), which any way you look at it is good.

The Leafs were due to win – the same way that a broken clock is right twice a day. The goalie looked good, the team played hard. Give credit where it’s due.

The bad news is that only nine games into the season they are eight points out of a playoff spot.

And the math? Well, to get to 94 points – the minimum level likely needed to make the playoffs – the Leafs need to get 91 points in the remaining 73 games. OR, play 18 games above .500.

Horrible news overnight that H1N1 flu is being blamed for the tragic death of a Toronto boy, a 13-year-old member of the Mississauga North Stars of the GTHL.

Health officials have not confirmed H1N1 as the cause, but the family is pointing to it.

But hockey parents should be aware that leagues and teams are acting to mitigate risks as best they can.

For example, teams no longer share water bottles – every player is responsible for bringing his/her own water and for cleaning the bottle between games and practices.

Some teams – like Pad’s – ordered players to add hand sanitizer to their equipment bags and to use it frequently.

There’s only so much you can do – if you ride a GO train or school bus, or mix with crowds of people at rinks or grocery stores, there will be risks. Keep your hands clean. Sneeze and cough into your sleeve.

Read up on flu vaccinations and make an informed decision about what is best for you and your family.

There’s a lot of talk around over the last six months about putting an NHL team in Hamilton. It’s an interesting idea.

More recently, some folks in Quebec have been trying to revive the idea a team there, bringing new life to the Nordiques brand and reigniting the terrific rivalry with the Habs.

If you have the pleasure of knowing anyone from Winnipeg, or who lives in Winnipeg, or who has stopped in Winnipeg on business for three hours, then you know how they feel there about the Jets. The team never really moved to Phoenix, it’s just on a really long road trip and they shall return. The passion for the Jets among Winnipeg fans holds few equals and God bless the columnists for keeping that particular dream alive and selling newspapers at the same time.

And last week, Canada’s self-proclaimed hockey-fan-in-chief, Prime Minister Stephen Harper, spoke about his desire to see more NHL teams in Canada, including Quebec and Hamilton and Winnipeg.

With all due respect to my friends in those other cities – and there are many of them – I think the city most in need, and most deserving of an NHL team is . . . Toronto.

It seems obvious but it has been somehow overlooked in all the talk of moving franchises to Canada.

Toronto has a large base of hockey fans. Toronto has a terrific NHL-calibre facility. Toronto is a central location, easy for most of the NHL’s existing teams to reach, and the city has the country’s largest airport.

On the home front we are into the final hours of our Bachelors Three week – almost eight days, really.

The boys didn’t miss any meals. We never actually had to call Swiss Chalet, not even once. We only ordered out pizza once, and that was Friday evening when we always order pizza. (As Chris would say, it’s a tradition.)

I will admit the house is starting to look a little like a photograph slightly out of focus. We’ll try to sharpen things tonight in advance of Laura’s return, but there’s food in the fridge, the laundry is done and . . . well, isn’t that enough, for Pete’s sake?

Speaking of pizza, I should fess up and say in terms of ordering out, it’s not like I didn’t try.

I forget which night it was, but I got home around 9:30p or 10p from some rink somewhere with one of the boys and I hadn’t really eaten yet. I had a craving for pizza.

Pizza connoisseurs in Oakville will know that until fairly recently, it has been impossible to get Pizza Hut pizza in Oakville. The lone franchise at Dorval and North Service closed a couple of years ago, leaving the outlets in west Mississauga or Milton the only option.

And I will confess that we have ordered pizza to go from the Milton location following hockey games there.

Recently, a takeout-only outlet opened in Oakville near Dundas and Trafalgar. The good news is they deliver.

So, on that night last week when I was overcome with the craving for Pizza Hut thin-crust pizza, praise all that is good, I had an option that didn’t involve driving to Milton.

So I called them and was promptly put on hold. No problem, my good man. I’m happy to wait. Why, I’ll sip a beer until you get back to me.

Thusly, I was standing in my kitchen, barely able to think over the growl in my gut, holding the phone at arm’s length staring at the six little holes in the receiver where voice was coming from.

Offering a man with a pizza craving a box of chicken wings is like offering the dance band on the Titanic new sheet music. It felt pointless.

If I wanted chicken wings I’d have called Chicken Wing Hut. Or the colonel. Or something.

This has nothing at all to do with hockey (or pizza) but there are two commercials that are pushing me close to throwing a shoe at the TV.

The first is the commercial for Dos Equis beer – the world’s most interesting man. Now, if this clown is what passes for interesting in anyone’s world, then all I can say is you haven’t met me and my friends. And their friends. Or panhandlers.

The guy looks like Kenny Rogers without the bad plastic surgery and he’s dressed like he’s late for the buffet on the ledo deck of a Carnival cruise ship. Dos Equis beer may be a fine product – I’ve never had one and don’t plan to anytime soon, based only on my loathing for this ad. But the world’s most interesting man is more annoying than interesting. He would become interesting in a showdown with a female grizzly bear if he was standing between her and her cubs. Now there’s a commercial I’d watch.

The other ad – again for booze – is for Wiser’s whiskey. The basic premise is to show some poor schmuck assert his independence and manhood in some way (like, ripping a hole in a sweater that his wife wants him to wear so he won’t have to wear it). And then, creepily, five or six guys appear in the room and start clapping, so slowly that it’s practically sarcasm, not affirmation.

This ad is so stupid it beggars belief that someone paid money for it to be made.

The idea that six strangers are watching me get dressed? Creepy. If I don’t want to wear something that my wife wants me to wear, I say “I’m not wearing that.” No one claps, but I think that’s just as well.

That I need to drink whiskey to be welcomed to the “wiserhood” where I am presumably wiser? Um, I don’t think so.

How about the guys from Wisers and Dos Equis go out back for a knife fight. Last man standing, I’ll take him to Milton for a pizza.

Actually, I was in Milton on the weekend. Twice. On Sunday morning I dropped Pad off at an OMHA referees’ clinic. In the afternoon, I picked him up after he completed the course and became a fully accredited Level 1 OMHA ref.

I yelled at him all the way home, just to help him get used to what’s coming next.

And now, ~~he will start exacting revenge on people armed only with a whistle and a stripped shirt~~. No wait, he’ll start officiating minor hockey games with the same fairness and objectivity that he’s brought to lacrosse for two years, while earning money to pay for his own $250 Easton hockey sticks.

Like many other high schools in the region, the Grade 11 and 12s at Pad’s school had a university open house yesterday, where they sign up to sit through various presentations from schools offering programs they are interested in.

Unable to find a school offering nothing but hockey and eating, my kid instead focussed on a bunch of engineering and sciences offerings.

He had a practice last night and bummed a ride; I took Chris to his practice at the same time, so we didn’t have a chance to catch up until the end of the day – and the end of the day was late, like almost 11p.

Summary: mostly pretty boring. He wants to write the SAT to keep a US option open (un huh) and overall, he thought Western sounded the most interesting.

“But I’m not sure if that’s because it is interesting, or they just had the best presentation.”

“Oh that was the old guy from Queen’s using words like “sick” when describing stuff at the school,” said Pad, referencing the adjective used by his generation to describe anything really good.

Wow. And he didn’t have a cane or wheelchair or iron lung? Amazing. I pointed out that his father’s own age isn’t all that far off this old guy’s.

As I spend a week making lunches and doing laundry and a bunch of things I’m not normally encouraged to do around here, this story jumped out at me.

President Obama, clearly pandering to the female voters, said yesterday that “men are obtuse.”

I guess he missed the memo about fist bumps and how we guys all have to stick together on stuff.

The president was talking about the disproportionate amount of domestic work his wife had to do on the home front – picking up sick kids, shopping for the kids’ clothes, etc.

He said when it comes to stuff like this, men are a little obtuse. That, and I’d add, women do it better. I can buy clothes for the boys. But I assure you, no one would be happy.

He is exactly right. And I am the king of the obtuse. But I do offer to help, and I like to think I do other stuff that helps.

This weekend, I’ll be doing many of the things the president didn’t do, and I hope the boys can live with the quality of my laundry work.

Lots of hockey on tap, with the added adventure of Pad taking a hockey referee course on Sunday. Among home, hockey and homework he figured there aren’t enough people yelling at him so he’s going to get into reffing hockey in addition to lacrosse.

We will watch with some interest attempts by the Leafs to finally win a game, but I don’t expect to see it happen Saturday.

Oakville's John Taveras scored the shootout winner last night as the Islanders finally won a hockey game, 4-3 over the 'Canes. You can read more on that here.

But more importantly, it leaves the Leafs (get it? Leaves. Leafs? Nevermind.) as the only winless team in the NHL with November moving up quickly on us.

No, the good news is that the Leafs haven't lost this week, but that's because they haven't played, either. They have a weird hole in their schedule leaving them to stew in their own rancid juices for a few days before finally playing in Vancouver on Saturday night.

Part of the routine at home for the Bachelors Three is that Pad has had to cook a couple meals for him and his brother.

On Monday night he did baked chicken and pasta (turn on oven, insert chicken breasts; later, boil water, insert pasta.)

Last night, he reheated some homemade spaghetti sauce lovingly prepared by mom before she left for Cape Breton, and boiled more water.

Nonetheless, these are acts for which I personally would take credit and portray as a feast for kings if I had done the work, so for Pad to put down the PS3 controller long enough to do it is a worthy achievement.

I remarked to Chris last night that his brother was doing a pretty good job of feeding him and I had noticed that he hadn't been poisoned.

Short post today. Too many balls in the air. Two practices tonight for the boys, at the same time and naturally in two different places.

Hockey book of the week to ignore: Quebec Bodychecked, by former NHLer Bob Sirois who tries to build a case that Quebecers get the broken end of the $300 Easton shaft from the NHL establishment.

I won't be spending any of my allowance on this one, but feel free. My own analysis of NHL demographics, without doing a lick of work or gathering any data, is that a pretty compelling case could be made that fewer and fewer North Americans -- and more specifically, Canadians -- are turning up in NHL drafts because of more Europeans and to a less extend more Americans.

The way things are shaping up, there won't be any team other than the Boston Bruins participating in the first two rounds of the 2010 and 2011 NHL entry drafts. OK, that's an exaggeration, but consider this.

A little-noticed but important trade this week sent Chuck Kobasew from the Bruins to the Minnesota Wild for Craig Weller and Alexander Fallstrom.

But after the way Bruins' boss Peter Chiarelli pillaged the Leafs in the Kessell deal, the Bruins now have nine -- that's right, NINE -- picks in the first two rounds in 2010 and 2011.

That is going to provide either serious material for the Bruins' prospect pipeline, or an enviable supply of trade bait for teams under represented in those drafts.

Like, um, the Leafs. Great position for the Bruins to be in, if you like Boston.

We're organizing a pizza party for our Timbits hockey team. I promise, no Superman Slides across the buffet table.

It's a little easy to continue piling on this sack of cement in ice skates, but it's a slow day.

Not to 1967, because that's not realistic. But is Yolanda Ballard still around? Maybe she could take over the team for a couple of weeks.

Or, what about pyramid power? Red Kelly was a heck of a hockey player but didn't have the same impact as a coach for the Leafs in the mid-70s. But he did believe in the power of pyramids, placing small ones under the Leaf bench for their quarter final series (EDS NOTE: this reference is to a playoff game -- many current Leaf fans wouldn't understand the reference) with the Flyers. The Leafs lost in seven games to the defending cup champs. Oh well.

What about bringing back John Brophy? At least the lip reading during play stoppages would be more fun.

The Leafs need a goalie? Johnny Bower is at most games and every bio I've read of the guy says he's 39. Why not?

Meanwhile, we continue to wait for a win while the rest of the NHL snickers at the Leafs..

Me and the boys are coping fine and I'm happy to report I insisted that everyone hit the rack last night immediately after the conclusion of the very entertaining Habs-Thrashers game and shootout.

Pad actually had dinner -- baked chicken and pasta -- almost ready when I got home and he did a great job on preparation, even if he was somewhat iffy on cleanup.

Another hockey-free evening before a busy Thursday-Friday-Saturday-Sunday run of practices, games and whatnot.

John Irving’s latest effort, Last Night in Twisted River, hits the bookstands today and like every Irving book, it is much anticipated in our house.

There may be no American writer whose work resonates more with Canadians than Irving, who lives part-time in Toronto, has a cottage north of Toronto, married a Canadian, and often weaves narratives about Canada into his work. That New England is a popular locale for his stories wins him points in a Maritimer’s heart, as the climate and the people are similar, but New England has cheaper booze and more guns.

I would put Irving in a rare class of American writers in that I consider his work to be true literature. You can’t say that about many best-selling authors, but that’s my amateur opinion.

When I finished reading A Prayer for Owen Meany, years and years ago, I practically walked around in a fog for days afterward, somewhat overwhelmed by the book’s powerful ending.

The World According to Garp, The Cider House Rules, A Widow for One Year . . . it’s a long list of Irving books that will keep you busy.

Irving’s writing is serious but not ponderous; it’s fun and unpredictable; and it’s meaningful.

A good friend in Ottawa, the son of minister, once suggested to me that good chunks of Irving’s work are hung heavy with religious themes lost of those of us not as well educated in those fields as he is.

Anyone can pound on a keyboard and create a string of words. But not just anyone can write.

His new book comes out today and like many before it, it is set in New England and features a deadly accident. Freakish, deadly accidents are almost a given in Irving’s work.

If Laura was home I’d go get her a copy to read first and wait for the handoff to me. But she’s in Cape Breton, working and spending some time with her folks and enjoying a little bit of fall on the shore of East Bay.

She told me this morning that it’s windy and drizzling and the no doubt the grey sky is casting a leaden hue over the water, where only a few weeks ago we were hurling ourselves off a dock in the fading light of a hot August night in Nova Scotia.

It is, I have no doubt, a place John Irving would like. And it is a wonderful place to leave behind hockey schedules and GO trains and just breathe, and reset. She'll be working while she's away, but she significantly upgraded the view from her workspace.

At the end of the day, all she needs is a good book, and there are plenty of those in Ben Eoin.

It was 22 years ago today that Wall Street suffered Black Monday, with the Dow plunging more than 500 points, or a staggering 22 per cent, a record that still stands.

The reason I remember this isn’t my slavish devotion to stock markets, but rather because 22 years ago today, I was riding a subway in Boston with my new bride. We were killing a couple of hours in Boston en route to Arizona and a honeymoon that included hiking in the Grand Canyon. (I have a great picture of Laura eating a breakfast of granola and hard-boiled egg in a cave in the wall of the canyon during a rain storm. Oddly, we stayed married after that hike.)

The news of that week was unnerving (the streetcar conductors in Boston were giving regular updates – “Dow down 345 points; enjoy your lunch”) but we just shrugged and said, “nothing we can do about it now.”

Twenty-two years later, our anniversary Saturday was marked (on what we hope is the end of another global economic tailspin) in hockey rinks at separate ends of Ontario. I’m certain that Laura had no idea what she would be in for over the next two decades in terms of hockey. But to say she not only embraced the role but excelled at it beyond any reasonable expectation would not be an exaggeration.

Laura and Pad came through the door about 10:30p on Saturday night; Pad’s squad failed to qualify for a quarter final game so they hit the road for home after their 4^th game, fuelled by Subway sandwiches and a desire to wake up in their own beds.

I was dead on my feet from a long day with the Timbits and then Chris, and it was good to have them back home.

Chris and the Jets went down swinging on Saturday afternoon in house league play. While it’s generally better to win than lose, he still had a good time and there’s lot of good things happening with the team.

I’ve had a chance to see most of the other teams in the division now and I find myself shaking my head sometimes at the size of them.

I know kids start getting big in minor bantam but the kids, to me, are still those Timbits we worked with back in 2002 and, um, how did they get this big?

Working with the Timbits on Saturday morning, my friend Dave and I were helping the kids to perfect the Superman Slide.

For the uninitiated, this complex hockey drill involves lining the kids up along the boards, having them skate like mad to centre ice and then execute a belly flop, the point of which is to see who can slide the furthest.

This is something I have not done since 2002 and frankly, I had no intention of doing it ever again.

But, it was too much fun to resist and when we asked the kids if they wanted to see me and Dave hit the ice face first, the vote was unanimous.

Sliding was easy. Stopping (I create a level of momentum, you know?) was harder. Getting up was tricky.

At this point you’re probably asking, what does this teach the kids about hockey?

But it does teach them that being on the ice – at our age, or theirs and all points in between – should always be about having fun.

More importantly, the Zamboni didn’t need to go near the patch of ice where I slid. It was scraped clean.

I’m not sure what this is about – perhaps my kid got more out of civics class than I thought?

Police expected to lay charges against the parents of Balloon Boy. Gee, who would have guessed?

On my way to work this morning, I walked past a guy sitting on the sidewalk. He had a sign.

Suddenly, a black limo pulled up and Brian Burke jumped out. Carleton The Bear waved a Tim Horton’s breakfast sandwich at the man, who got to his feet, accepted the food and disappeared into the back of the LeafMobile.

I can’t comment on reports that the man was last seen at the Leaf practice facility in Etobicoke.

Fox News and the Obama White House used to act like they hated each other. Last week, it crossed over into outright war – with the White House making the declaration.

It’s an odd dynamic and it’s hard to see the White House winning a publicity/opinion battle with a media conglomerate.

Since we enjoy challenges in parenting, me and the boys will be playing bachelor this week as Laura heads east to spend some time with her folks.

You’d think that having two sons in two different age groups (not to mention two different hockey organizations) would increase the odds of avoiding overlap.

Patrick and Chris have conflicting practice times this week, and conflicting game times on Saturday.

In addition to managing that, I’ll be spinning plates on sticks while paying the Swiss Chalet delivery guy.

I’m kidding. It won’t be that bad, except that Laura hates the way I do laundry, whatever that means. The washing machine does the laundry, not me!

One of the great things about the news business is having stories like Balloon Boy hit the front pages.

The story was compelling as they come – the possibility that a six-year-old boy was an accidental passenger on an untethered, runaway, home-made helium balloon.

Hundreds of thousands of dollars of resources are expended in tracking, following, and broadcasting the balloon as it blew across Colorado.

Eventually – good news! The boy was not in the balloon, but hiding in the family garage.

And now, suspicion that this was all some warped, trumped-up publicity stunt cooked up by one or both parents (which they vehemently deny, in spite of the fact that the boy told Larry King last night that he didn’t respond to his name being called because “we did it for the show.”

The kid is six and clearly under incredible stress (he tossed his cookies twice on live TV this morning on network news shows.)

The Leafs went through an array of games for the millionaire hockey players, an effort nominal aimed at lightening the mood of the crew of the Titanic as the water rises, but more likely to be seen to be doing something – anything – to change fortunes and give an unforgiving media something light to write about.

Me? I’m not buying it. I don’t think bag skating is the way out of a slump, but neither is dodge ball and relay races. These things are remarkably effective with our Timbit players in keeping them interested in between the less glamourous drills. But as far as I know, few of our Timbits are being paid seven figure salaries to be there.

A modest suggest for the Leafs would be to work on the powerplay, since they seem convinced that fighting=tough and the team is going to be shorthanded a lot this season.

I’m not jumping off the bandwagon. My wiring won’t let me, so I’m in for the half century haul to the next Cup. But I’m entitled to be disgusted with what I see on the ice. It’s an embarrassment.

And don’t forget the five Ds of dodge ball – Dodge, Dip, Duck, Dive and . . . Dodge!

I’m supposed to be at Scotiabank Place in Ottawa today watching Pad’s team, the Mississauga Senators, play the host team, the Ottawa midget Senators, in the opening game of the Ottawa midget showcase tournament.

Well, I’m not. I’m disappointed, as we’ve planned this trip for weeks, but I’m going to make up for it with enthused support for the Chris and the Jets tonight at practice, and then again later tonight at another practice, and then tomorrow at his game.

Chris and I are getting by – I got home late last night and served him the most nutrious meal that comes served on cardboard.

I’ll do a little better tonight, but with two practices it will be a challenge.

I hope you all have a great weekend. Keep your kids safely tethered to the ground and if Wolf Blitzer shows up at the door with a camera crew, stay cool.

Change of plan on the home front. Looks like I’m staying put and Laura will be doing the Sens-fest this weekend in Ottawa.

The NHL Senators said I was not allowed to enter the city. Or something like that.

Leafs boss Brian Burke spoke with ESPN.com yesterday about the Leafs’ woeful start and job one was to dismiss any notion that there was a problem with the coaches. Job two was to defend trading two first-round draft picks for Phil Kessel and job three (hey, did you just feel a bump?) was to throw the players under the bus.

The New York Times had a cool story this week on the football team at Oaks Christian School, in Westlake Village, Calif.

The high school team is very good – currently ranked 5^th in the USA. The school has a proud tradition on the gridiron and like many US schools draws big crowds for its games.

One big difference between this top-ranked school and others that do their battles on Friday nights is that when the parents and fans come to watch, often they spend as much time scanning the grandstand as they do watching the games.

The starting quarterback at Oaks Christian is senior Nick Montana, whose quarterback dad Joe made that surname more famous than the sprawling state that shares the handle years before Disney had the clever idea to create Hannah and annoy me endlessly.

Trevor’s backup is a six-foot, four-inch junior named Trevor Gretzky. He happens to be the son of perhaps the most famous athlete to ever come out of Canada.

Nick and Trevor – both very young when their superstar dads were wrapping up their hall-of-fame careers – became friends, finding common ground as the offspring of not just famous athletes, but athletes whose gifts transcended their sports and made their names synonyms for greatness and excellence.

Now, if that’s not enough star power for you, add in that Trevor’s mom, actress Janet Jones, is a regular at the games too. For more information, rent The Flamingo Kid and be ready to hit freeze frame.

The favoured receiver for Montana – perhaps Nick’s own version of Jerry Rice?

That would be Trey Smith, whose dad Will Smith is probably the most bankable actor on the planet these days.

It’s a nice read, this story, which captures a mix of the kids just trying to be kids and the parents just trying to watch them do that and everyone else understandably caught up in the high voltage of celebrity star power.

Sort of like Saturday afternoon at Glen Abbey Rec Centre, where I can easily picture me and the guys hanging out with Joe and Wayne and Will, leaning on the glass, sipping on a Timmys and enjoying the ride.

Pad’s team dropped a decision last night after letting a two-goal lead slip away.

The math I outlined yesterday only gets that much worse after they lost 4-1 last night to Avs, welcoming Darcy Tucker back to the ACC by watching him score once and set up another.

For the Leafs to get to 94 points – the range in which the 8^th and final playoff spot is possible – they would have to win at a clip that is exactly equivalent to a 100-point season over 82 games.

Oh – for those of you who wonder what the chance are that Ron Wilson could be replaced behind the Leaf bench? No chance. Won’t happen.

First, he’s barely a year into a four-year contract. And while the Leafs have lots of money and could afford the hit on the bottom line, their track record would suggest money trumps championships on the priority list.

Second, Ron Wilson is the coach of the American Olympic hockey team Guess who the general manager of that team is? (Clue: his name rhymes with “Brian Burke.”) Does anyone think Burke will get rid of Wilson before the Olympics? No, no one does.

One other observation, to be put in the “Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time” file:

Burke traded the Leafs 2010 AND 2011 first-round draft picks as part of a deal for injured Boston forward Phil Kessel. Part of the rationale was that the Leafs would finish fairly high in the standings, thereby somewhat diminishing the value of those picks.

In reality – albeit with a lot of hockey left to play in the season – the Leafs are dead last in the NHL, which is no small feat. It means that right now, Boston has a pretty good shot at the first overall pick next spring.

And Kessel is still at least a month away from playing his first game as a Leaf in a season that for all intents and purposes will be over by the time he gets here.

The connection with hockey for this final piece of Wednesday fodder is a reach. The connection is that actress January Jones of Mad Men is a carbon-based life form, and so are most (not sure about the Leafs) hockey players.

We have a rule in our house. And that rule is, if January Jones shows up at the door and invites me away for a golf weekend, then I can toss the Callaways in the trunk of the car, stop at Golftown for a dozen Pro-Vs and then hit the open road, eventually, if not immediately, to return.

(Laura has the same green light with Springsteen. It’s been in place for years and it seems the least we can do for someone who knows the lyrics to virtually every song in the guy’s book.)

Yesterday I’m working away on something when someone casually mentions that Ms. Jones is gracing the cover of the next GQ. Regular readers know I’m a regular reader and that when Jennifer Aniston and Megan Fox hit the cover of that venerable men’s monthly and others, it’s a cause for celebration. And links.

A couple of clicks and there was January Jones, posing on the cover of the new GQ, taunting Leaf fans everywhere.

My Callaways are in Cape Breton, but the good news is that my old clubs are in the garage if she does show up at the door.

The bad news is that is she shows up tomorrow, I’ll be gone to Ottawa, where I will be marking my wedding anniversary with Pad and a bunch of other AAA midget hockey players while the really important blonde in my life shuttles Chris to hockey practices, games and timekeeping duties.

But they put January Jones on the cover of GQ for a reason, and one important reason is to give Leaf fans something to smile about in the middle of October when the frost sits unusually heavy on the pumpkins already and the foliage across the Canadian Shield is ablaze.

Everyone, say hi to Ms. Jones. If you see her, tell her the clubs are by the door.

I am not certain what Thanksgiving looked like in your house, or wherever you marked the holiday, but in our house there was a lot of food.

Much of the reason for that was the visiting nephew/scholar, who we wanted to load up with food when he left.

But it was, after all, Thanksgiving. And in this country everyone has much to be thankful for, ours included and often, especially.

We ate a lot of turkey. We ate a lot more things made of chocolate. And we put the nephew scholar back on a train loaded down with much of what was left of the turkey and chocolate, not to mention some other stuff.

There was a lot of NHL10 played, and that was the only venue where you would be able to see the Leafs win a hockey game.

All things considered, it was a pretty great weekend, even if my contribution was largely limited to driving to rinks, eating, and cleaning pots and pans.

Chris’s hockey team won their first game of the season on Saturday afternoon. That the Jets won is nice. What was nicer – and I would have liked this regardless of the result – was the way they passed the puck around for a group of house league minor bantams. There was much intelligent puck movement and some really great decision making, which really smart hockey guys will tell you is among the toughest parts of the game. If your guys are making smart decisions on the ice, the other stuff gets easier, fast.

Pad and Sens played twice, dropping a 3-2 decision on Saturday and battling to a 2-2 draw on Sunday. So far, the teams in his loop, perhaps with one exception at the top, seem to be within shouting distance of each other. Any effort to read the tea leaves (Team X beat Team Y by two goals, and we beat team Y by one goal, so that means when we play Team X . . .) is mostly wasted effort. Anyone can win on any given day.

But the hockey is terrific. Fast, lots of hitting, just enough edge. And Sunday’s game – against a team featuring two more Oakville players – was outstanding.

The Sens play tonight and then head to Ottawa for a tournament at the end of the week.

In between and around all of that, the Timbits rocked River Oaks as usual. The boys named our team finally – several names were put forward and they were run through a complex computer program that modelled the options against marketing opportunities, fan appeal, season ticket sales potential and other factors. And the winner is:

Five games into the NHL season and the Leafs are one of two teams yet to win a game. The other is the Islanders, a fact which provides little comfort to the faithful.

So, I’m going to go out on a limb here and declare the Leaf season dead. If the stated goal was for this team to finish Top 8 in the conference and make the playoffs for the first time since 2004, I’m telling you, dear reader, that this is not going to happen.

I’m not just saying that because I’m a relentlessly pessimistic sourpuss, but that’s also true.

And I’m not just saying that because Ron Wilson may be proving to be the most overrated guy to stand behind a Leaf bench since John Brophy. (Note that the guy who got fired to make way for Wilson, Paul Maurice, has won two games in Carolina already, and the guy fired to make room for Maurice, Pat Quinn, has won three times in Edmonton.).

But none of that is why I’m saying with 100 per cent certainty that the Leafs will miss the playoffs.

Regular readers know this speech, and here it comes – dusted off earlier than ever before.

Right now, a little more than two weeks into the season, they are already four games under .500.

They have 77 games left and to get to 93 points, they will have to play 15 games over .500 to have any chance to make the playoffs. And I’m saying today that they cannot do it.

Everyone who thinks the Leafs can get 92 points (they have one point already) in their remaining 77 games, raise your hand. <Insert sound of crickets chirping.>

Watching for signs of panic from the front office may be a bit premature, but one thing the Leaf brass can do is count (usually it’s money, not points.)

Starting the season this poorly was not part of the plan. But please, keep going to the games and buying $12 beer.

It rained Friday night. In fact, it rained very, very hard. It rained so hard that Pad decided that as much as he wanted to attend the social/athletic event of the season in Glen Abbey, he’d give it a pass.

Abbey Park High School played their neighbourhood rivals Loyola under the lights and on top of the mud in Bronte. I’m told the crowd was large, boisterous, and wet.

The driving rain made the defences on both sides look good and the game remained knotted at 0-0 well into the 2^nd half.

Former Ranger teammate Cole Munden scored a safety to open the scoring for Abbey Park, giving the Eagles a 1-0 lead. Another former teammate – Will Glover of Hawks lacrosse fame – added a touchdown in the 4^th as Abbey Park won 7-0.

I weekend hockey tournament action, the AAA novice Oakville Rangers beat Port Credit 6-0 to win the Whitby Thanksgiving tournament.

Speaking of football, if you have a lot of time and a large coffee, an article in the latest New Yorker puts forward a compelling argument that football (and boxing) are not a whole lot different than dog fighting.

But it’s well worth your time if, like me, you have an ongoing concern about sports and head injuries.

But it's hockey season, so it's all good, as one of our favourite coaches is known to say!

You would never know it from looking at the Stanley Cup history, but they play hockey in Vancouver, where their ritual (unlike the Leafs) is to often have a very good regular season then drastically underperform in the playoffs.

Today, it's their fans that are in the spotlight, named by Spike TV -- whatever that is -- as the most annoying fans in the NHL, and the 5th most annoying in all of sport.

Spike notes that Vancouver's fan are arrogant despite having not won a Stanley Cup in the 39 years since they joined the NHL, nor have they had a player named to the Hall of Fame.

You can read the entire list here. And if you're a Cubs fan . . . well, you might want to take a pass.

President Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize today, which came as news to him as he didn't even know he was being considered.

This has little to do with hockey, except it also came as a shock to me, as I thought the Nobel committee might finally recognize my efforts to foster global unity by mocking the Ottawa Senators.

The Globe is carrying an excerpt today from Stephen Brunt's new book, Gretzky's Tears.

Theo Fleury is coming out with a book next week in which the talented but tormented former Calgary Flame says he was sexually abused by Graham James, the same coach at the centre of the Sheldon Kennedy scandal several years ago.

It's sad and disturbing and one can only hope that a special corner of hell is reserved for Graham James.

Just as an aside, when we met with the new IP coaches last month, we took them through the things they had to do -- including taking the Hockey Canada Speak Out course which is intended to teach coaches how to handle players safely and respectfully, how to deal with potentially difficult situations with kids, and how to do all of that while protecting yourself.

Gustavsson is out with a groin injury. I will be starting in nets tomorrow night for the Leafs.

I know many of you are big baseball fans, now entranced by the first round of playoffs that will result in an eventual World Series champ, probably by Boxing Day.

On the one hand, I liked the old, old way -- the winner of the leagues advanced to the World Series. Then with expansion came the division winners playing each other and THEN going to the World Series. And then wild cards were added.

The good? Well, it lets smaller market teams who don't have $275 million payrolls play in the post season with the likes of the Red Sox and Yankees.

The bad? Snow in the World Series, and owners lining their pockets with extra playoff games.

I wanted to point you to a New York Times story MLB's efforts to shine a light -- and let the fans see -- the massive collection of historic baseball video it has in it's archive, including rare footage of Babe Ruth, Joe Torre and others.

Our IP team has a new web site. There’s not much there yet, but it can be found here. It will get better as soon as the kids give the team a name.

I was at Corbett's early this morning to get two pairs of skates sharpened. I pulled up in the rain and got out. The "open" sign was on.

"The lights are, the sign is on, I see people inside, but they're not open yet," he said.

He had seen the hockey net and other outdoor displays still inside the porch -- because it was raining -- and assumed the door was locked.

Sometimes follow the leader is a bad idea. I bet a Mississauga Senators’ parent would have pulled on the door if he was there first.

Minor bantam practice tonight. Timbits tomorrow morning. Mississauga Senators tomorrow afternoon. Minor bantam Jets' game tomorrow at 5p. More Timbits Sunday, and then another Sens game.

Kind of a quiet day for us – ~~may or may not~~ have a practice for Chris later, ~~but~~ and he’s back on the ice tomorrow for sure.

Pad’s done till game time on Saturday after a two-hour workout last night, and Saturday will be a busy one, albeit with a guest spectator in the house as their cousin from Western comes down the 401 to spend Thanksgiving with us.

Thanksgiving will also mean a lot of hockey tournaments and travel for many families trying to fit a turkey dinner around games and playoffs. Good luck with that.

Thanksgiving always reminds me of the Peterborough tournament a few years ago with Pad and the minor bantam Rangers.

The weather was great – sunny days and cool, crisp nights. Just the type of weather where a nice fire can help take the chill off.

Before the arrival of the boy cousin – all the kids’ cousins are categorized as either the Boy Cousins or Girl Cousins – Chris is insisting on the acquisition of NHL ’10 for the PS3. His intention is to kick his much older cousin around the neighbourhood in between sessions of binge eating.

Much, much commentary around these days on the David Letterman thing, which I’m not going to get into. But there was a column in the New York Times this week that kind of put some context around the issue that I agreed with.

Neatly summarized, it would be thus: David Letterman didn’t run for office. He may be guilty of bad behaviour, but he didn’t campaign for his job on a family-values platform. He’s an entertainer, not the Secretary of Defence.

At the risk of sounding like a fuddy duddy, that some (or many) people make the leap to confuse Letterman’s behaviour, with say, former President Clinton or any number of Republican congressmen and senators, is sad and completely understandable.

It’s understandable because the lines between what I’ll call The Accountable (community leaders of all types, elected and otherwise) and The Celebrities (the cast of 90124, Brad and Angie, etc.) are so totally blurred by the way popular media portray them.

A little Hollywood titillation is fine. The a star system is an outlet for people.

For example: it made me mental during the Toronto International Film Festival that every local TV outlet led every evening newscast with TIFF. I couldn’t care less if Sally from Scarborough stood and waited 19 hours to see George Clooney for four seconds. She’s a pathetic loser, for sure, but if that’s her idea of a good time, then have it, Sally. But it’s not news. It’s not even interesting. There are kids in the GTA going to school with empty stomachs every day and we’re having Jessica Alba force fed to us.

The media and public infatuation with celebrity is beyond stupid. It’s unhealthy.

Patrick Roy’s buffoon son is poised to get a free pass for the mugging he committed on the ice during a major junior hockey game last year. Never mind that he was playing major junior hockey because his old man bought the team. Now it looks like he gets to walk away from the embarrassing events of that game with a slap on the wrist.

There was a time when, among all the problems that the Leafs had – like, for example, finding places to put all their money, losing, and setting records for on-ice futility – goaltending wasn’t an issue.

In the early 90s when the team teetered on the brink of tipping from very good to terrific, there was Felix Potvin, who will never make the hall of fame but was pretty reliable.

Then they went to free agency and signed Curtis Joseph, who stole more games for the team in his tenure and carried them back to the conference finals a couple more times.

Eddie Belfour followed him, and while that story didn’t end well, The Eagle did give the Leafs two more years of what Cujo provided before the rook caved in.

Since then, the Leafs have been wandering in the desert, looking for an answer in goal.

Liz Taylor has had better luck with marriage than the Leafs have had lately with goalies. And make no mistake, this Leaf team will go exactly as far as the goaltenders take it, because there’s no indication that the skaters have a clue what they’re doing.

But to be fair, if the Leafs had Turk Broda in his prime I don’t think it would matter this season. The leaky defence, popless offence and MIA special teams are too huge of a set a problems to paper over with a hall of famer in goal.

We went to The Keg, like we always do on the boys’ birthdays and plenty of red meat was consumed, although honestly after watching Chris eat at these outings for several years I think he goes for the bread.

In fact, I wonder if Chris has a dominant gene that skipped the rest of us, the legacy from a long-forgotten Russian ancestor, perhaps someone who was shipwrecked on Nova Scotia’s craggy shores a century ago or something otherwise poetic and romantic.

I say that because of his love for bread – good bread. Thick, piping-hot, steaming bread, the kind that makes the butter disappear like water in a sponge; the kind that makes you close your eyes and savour the – no pun intended here – the wonder of bread.

Russians, if you have ever had the treat, make great bread and they love their bread. As it is in Canada, wheat and grain to the Russians are a lifeline to pull you through those long harsh winters.

And surely, even in a suburban Toronto steakhouse on a rainy, windy October night, there’s no finer treat that hot bread and whipped butter.

One other aside from last night: the waitress got wind that it was Chris’s birthday and the end of the meal she appeared with a concoction of calories with one of those sparkling sparkers blazing from it.

She had the good sense not to come over with five waiters singing. I have been know to shove a fork into the eyeball of such people before eating the complementary dessert.

But Chris was thrilled to get the hot brownies on top of ice cream covered in whipped cream.

As all those guys who have coached him know, he has a peanut allergy and while the food service and travel industry have come a long way, most days it’s simply not with the effort to find out if the desserts are peanut safe, because they are almost always not.

Last night after the dessert was put the table, there was an awkward moment after the laughter stopped. Pad smiled.

“I’m sorry!” said Chris, smiling and eating all at once, giving rise to a discussion of the episode of The Simpsons where Homer puts his beloved pet lobster in a hot bath and inadvertently cooks him – a scene followed by alternating emotions of elation over his wonderful new meal, and remorse for having cooked his treasured pet, Pinchy.

All of which is a way to entertain lunching high-school teachers across Peel and Halton with the three-minute clip from The Simpsons. Fast forward to the 2:45 point to see Homer realize he's cooked Pinchy.

- - -

While all that was happening, there were interesting things afoot in the sporting world.

First, TSN was showing the Leafs completely fail to show up and compete with the Sens. I’m not even going to bother posting a link. The score was only 2-1, but the game reflected poorly on the entire Leaf roster, with the exception of The Monster.

Meanwhile, Rogers Sportsnet was doing its apparent level best to make sure no one could find the AL Central one-game playoff between the Tigers and Twins.

One can only suspect that perhaps the executive in charge of burying the game in the lineup of channels is, in fact, an embarrassed Tiger fan.

The Tigers completed one of the ugliest collapses in Major League history last night, losing the single-game playoff after giving away what seemed like an insurmountable seven-game divisional lead over the Twins not long ago.

A complete and utter train wreck -- made all the more remarkable by the fact that they loaded the bases in the top of the 12^th inning and couldn’t get a run across.

And as long as we’re kicking them while they’re down, let's rewind to the weekend, when the Tigers were giving away the division and star slugger Miguel Cabrera decided to cope with the stress on Saturday after the game (another loss) by going binge drinking until 6a.

Sweet. (He has a $152 million contract, so, I guess he’s not accountable to his teammates.)

He ended up arrested after an altercation with his wife. The cops wouldn’t let him out until the Tigers’ general manager came, in person, to bail him out. And then he went hitless in the final two games of the season.

This has Disney Movie of the Week all over it.

It’s even better than Vince Carter flying to Carolina and back to attend a university convocation on the same day the Raptors were playing the only important game the franchise has ever had (and yes, they lost.)

Anyway, you can read all about Miguel’s interesting pre-game routine to promote excellence here.

And if you like slapstick, you can read about the end of the Tigers’ season here. The Tigers go into the books as the only team in MLB history to blow a three-game lead with four games to play.

- - -

Two-hour practice for Pad tonight and then the weekend will be in sight.

Baseball playoffs starting, lots of stuff to watch. Except if you're at a rink.

Some interesting feedback in the mailbag yesterday around my comment about the house league hockey experience peeking in major peewee.

For once, people agreed with me, which is about as common as Stanley Cup parades in Toronto.

My guys both have great peewee memories; for one it was the first year of rep and for the other it was simply a fun team with lots of coaches and parents who wanted to make sure the kids had a blast.

We had to wait until minor bantam to see parents burn lawn furniture, and we had to wait till minor midget to see a parent throw a garbage can from the top row of a rink grandstand all the way to centre ice.

It was 13 years ago today in Las Vegas that a young man named Tiger Woods won his first tournament as a professional, storming into public view with the famous “Hello World” ads from Nike and a lot of game.

In our house, the events in the desert on Oct 6, 1996 played second fiddle to the arrival of a big left winger with a loping stride, wide smile, big heart and a love of fun.

I tried – I really tried – to nickname him Tiger in those first few days. I thought it would be a nice story to tell some day on Hockey Night in Canada, where an aged Ron MacLean would ask me in a croaking voice for the story behind Christopher’s nickname, likely between periods of the 7^th game of the Cup final, where the Brothers Arnold were facing off against each other for all the glory while his mother hosted her book club in the Wolf Blass luxury box and I hosted every guy who ever stood on a bench behind my kids in seats just behind the players’ bench.

The nickname never stuck (his mom hated it.) And after more than a dozen years in minor hockey I know that the image of my guys hitting the NHL are a great dream for a new dad, but it long ago stopped being what gets them or me up for a 6a practice.

Nonetheless, it’s hard to believe that guy who stole Tiger’s thunder in a small corner of Ottawa that evening is a teenager now, a guy who makes friends easily and earns their respect with his loyalty. Once you become a friend of Chris, you’re saddled with him forever and I’ll tell you, you’ll be lucky to have that to brag about in your old age.

We’re going to the Official Birthday Headquarters tonight for a 2^nd celebration in less than a month, eating red meat and telling stories.

Laura will make a cake for the after-party, and then we’ll hit the phones to Nova Scotia.

So the question is now, with the Leafs deliver a present tonight for Chris? The Leafs host the Sens and in spite of our recent affinity for that nickname, I still don’t care for the (Ottawa) Senators.

(Brief aside: in two weeks the Mississauga Senators (who we like a great deal) will play the Ottawa Midget AAA Senators (who we have no strong feelings about) at Scotiabank Place, home of the NHL Ottawa Senators <repeat after me: I don’t really care for the Ottawa Senators.> Anyway, it will be something of a Senator-palooza for that game.)

But back to tonight’s events – the onus will clearly be on the Leafs to deliver a birthday present that really matters: a win over the Sens.

It’s a big game for both teams, each still looking for a win. Read a curtain-raiser here.

Well, here’s some free advice. If you own stock in Vesa Toskala, SELL!! SELL!! SELL!!

To end today, we go back to CBC’s Battle of the Blades, which I wrote about yesterday. The Globe and Mail’s TV writer, John Doyle – arguably the best TV writer in Canada and among the best you will find anywhere, trains his considerable focus on the show today and finds it wanting. Dumb-as-a-plank TV, I believe, was his description.

Finding the time to write anything here on Sundays is a bigger challenge than I thought. When my Sunday finally ended yesterday at about 4:15p, I had neither the energy nor the inclination to turn on the computer. We’ll see how it goes, but no promises. But this is Monday now anyway, so . . .

Pad’s new team played twice on the weekend, losing in their debut but bouncing back with a good win yesterday. Midget AAA is fast, physical hockey and I got to watch not only his games, but the games that preceded his and I saw a fair number of impressive athletes. My guess is there were a lot of guys packing ice on various sore body parts all over the GTA after these games.

It’s an interesting case study to watch these teams come together, too. Pad’s squad were largely strangers to each other a month ago and didn’t play a game until Saturday. Now they’re brothers in arms, assigning nicknames and learning what everyone’s roles will be on the team. It’s fun to watch where your own kid fits into that order and make sure he’s still having fun (he is.)

Oakville boys are littered throughout the league. The Sens have my kid and another from Burlington. The team he played Saturday had an Oakville player. Another team he plays next week has two or three more.

After Saturday’s loss, the boys were straggling out of the room, a little glum.

A mom a I stood there waiting for our boys and we watched a gaggle of them walking towards us, five or six kids. Carrying the bags on their shoulders, hair wet from the showers, but shirts and ties crisp and tidy.

Chris played the first game of his new season on the weekend, too, a hard-fought 2-0 loss that was closer than the scoreboard showed, featuring lots of good goaltending at both ends and some decent playmaking and scoring chances.

It’s been a long time since I sat in the stands watching as a house league parent – historically, I can usually be found on the bench in some role, or behind the glass as a convener.

I had forgotten how much fun it can be to sit with your friends, watch the game and banter.

It’s far less stressful than managing lineups and game sheets and parental complaints and missing helmet parts and lost mouth guards. By times, it was actually laugh-out-loud funny. I am fortunate to have some witty friends. They are less fortunate to have me.

The minor bantam red games are played on Saturday afternoons at Glen Abbey, followed immediately by the minor bantam white games.

So that meant there were only, oh, maybe 400 people we know fairly well either coming, going or watching and the place actually felt like a community centre, a label stuck on a lot of buildings but rarely ever true.

What would be really cool is if the red and white divisions alternated time slots – one week, the reds play early, the next week they play late. Add in the minor bantam blue games on the opposite rink in the same time period and . . . well, it would create a wonderful atmosphere for the parents and players alike. The kids in those divisions really turn out to watch each other and having the games and Glen Abbey makes it a walk-up venue for many. It’s very cool.

A goalie mom and regular reader approached me on Saturday, in reference to something I wrote here months ago. She asked which age group I had singled out as the pinnacle of house league hockey; the line -- once crossed -- where it usually is a slow slide downhill.

The parents still come out. The kids still care. Once they hit minor bantam, kids start dropping out, pursuing other interests, the parents sometimes start becoming car-poolers or even dump-and-drivers who come to fewer games.

Anyway, she looked at me said yeah, that’s what I thought you said, as we watched the minor bantams on the ice.

After what I saw on Saturday, I’ll add that it takes an exception to prove a rule, and it was only one week. But I had more fun at Glen Abbey on Saturday than I’ve had at a rink watching a game in some time. The place was energized.

So maybe MOHA’s 1996s haven’t hit the top yet. The parents and players crowded in there on Saturday sure would argue the other side of that debate.

Our Timbits team practiced on Saturday at 7a. I won’t go on and on except to say I’m having more fun than they are, and they’re having a lot of fun.

On Sunday, we got to “put up the boards” for the first time this season and anyone who has been through the MOHA IP system knows the ritual to which I refer.

The only problem was a wheel on one of the carts used to transport the heavy modular boards from the storage room to the ice broke, making it tough to put everything away hours later at the end of the day.

Last night our TV ended up on CBC for Battle of the Blades, which some people wanted to watch a lot more than others. It’s an ice dancing competition that pairs retired NHL stars with female world-class skaters.

I will admit that the NHLers performed far better than I expected, but you have to remember that these guys are remarkable athletes. So, when given the freedom to just skate without fear of someone drilling them at centre ice, they can more than hold their own with the Olympic-calibre women they are paired with for this exercise.

It’s not a show that I’ll add to my must-view list, but it was oddly compelling, in the way that you like to watch a cartoon anvil fall on a coyote. Over and over and over.

I won’t comment on the Leafs losing. I’ll wait for a win. But you can read more here.

I am a little bewildered that the AL Central one-game playoff has to be scheduled around NFL Monday Night Football. What happened to playing these games on the Monday afternoon after the season ended? The reason is that Minnesota’s Metrodome gives priority to the NFL, and the Viking are hosting the Packers tonight in Brett Farve’s first game against his old, old team. Read more here.

Anyway, enjoy your Monday, if that’s possible. At least it’s not raining and next Monday is a holiday for most people.

Wednesday night when Pad and I got home late the house was quiet. I parked the car and stood in the driveway and the air was what you’d call brisk. I could see my breath.

When I went inside, the temperature of the house was 20 degrees and it was pretty clear that unless I turned on the programmable thermostat, by morning the house would be uncomfortably cold for someone of my advanced age, or, ideal for starting work on an indoor rink.

My recollection is that in other years I tried to get to Thanksgiving without turning the furnace on and this year I didn’t even get close.

But everyone agreed I was brilliant for turning the thing on before I went to bed.

So the Leafs played their opener last night. I’ve had a string of nights where I wasn’t at home, and sitting in the office yesterday afternoon I paused to imagine my evening.

Leafs on TV. It was cold out, so maybe a fire in the hearth. I’d pick up a couple of steaks for dinner (since my weekend schedule pretty much rules out time for barbequing then) and perhaps a week night beer or two.

I briefed Laura on the plan and she agreed it sounded great, except for all of it.

Last night was the Abbey Park High School Honour Society thingy, where the honour students get, um, honoured. It’s a nice night.

But the good news is, this makes two weeks in a row Laura and I have had a night out.

So, while I was out watching high school kids exchange fist bumps and high fives, the Leafs and the Habs played their first game of the season. I didn’t see much of it except the painful end.

There’s an interesting story in the Globe this morning, about the decline of romance in households where the man is a hockey fanatic.

I’ll offer no commentary other than to point out that my wife as had two (2!!) date nights in two weeks and only one of them involved picking up house league jerseys.

Read the Globe story, headlined “Only the players seem to score during hockey season” right here.

The IP teams are – mostly – set. We’re on the ice tomorrow morning early and things will roll from there.

I’ll be ducking out mid-day to see Pad and the Sens open their season. Chris and his team practice tonight and play late tomorrow afternoon.

I’ll be asleep on the sofa in front of the Leaf game tomorrow night, and then back at River Oaks early Sunday for the first erecting of the boards at Timbits for 2009-10.

Pad plays again in the afternoon and then I have the rest of the weekend off. At least I think I do.

Whether your kids are 13 and 16 playing house league and AAA, or whether they’re six and nine playing Timbits and HL blue, Game Day on Weekend One is special.

It was the same way when my dad carted me to the barn of a rink in Lantz, NS, to play my games and it’s the same now and will be 20 years from now.

I hope my kids and their teams do well, but mostly I hope they have fun. No one wins a championship in October, but the things you learn now may help you win one in March.

So drive safely to the rinks. Cheer for all the kids. Try – really, try – to stay off the ref’s back (except that one guy, right Brian?).

And enjoy the moment. It goes by pretty fast, which in part explains why I'll be at a rink at 7a tomorrow acting silly with a bunch of five and six year olds, none of whom are mine.

Like it says in the Harry Chapin song, All My Life’s A Circle, “The years keep on rolling by . . . ”

So I'm sitting in Joshua Creek Arena last night, feeling a little run off my feet by the events of the last few days but otherwise enjoying a pleasant conversation with another dad while watching our guys go through the annual ritual of the MOHA hitting clinic, where red-level newbies and those wanting a refresher learn about taking and receiving a hit properly.

Along comes loyal reader and Fav Lacrosse Dad (FLD) who launches into a rant about lazy, uncommited bloggers leaving him with nothing to read on his lunch hour.

His best line, which sent my friend -- also a reader -- into a fit of laughter -- was that when Johnny Carson was hosting the Tonight Show, no one tuned in hoping to see Doc Severinsen, they wanted Johnny and his monologue.

Anyway, I apologized for allowing life to interfere with this space and offered him a full refund on his subscription, and then thanked him for giving me something to start with on today's blog. He's a good man, FLD.

The hitting clinic featured, as you might expect from the name, a lot of hitting. It wasn't the dance clinic or the hang gliding clinic. So, hitting was the order of the day.

I haven't been to one of these since the old days when they were run by Mitron -- who, for all the other things I could criticize Mitron for actually ran a pretty good hitting clinic.

On the up side, this clinic (put on by some of the Oakville Blades staff and players) featured a lot of demonstration and a lot of explanation, and that's all good.

As a parent who has seen a lot of things go wrong in rinks around the boards, I would have liked to have seen a little more time spent on the fine art of protecting yourself from the hit from behind when you're between a forechecker and the puck, and the importance of not skating directly toward the boards but angling your body so you keep moving and don't present your back as a target.

But there was good work done on pinching a player off the puck along the boards safely, moving with a check, using the boards to protect you (don't stand 18 inches from the boards with the puck!) and open-ice contact.

My kid got a lot out of it and whatever was missed can be addressed at practice.

It was a long evening yesterday. Still in one-car mode, I patronized Oakville Transit again on Wednesday (on time, both directions) and then raced to the hitting clinic, zipped home, nabbed Pad, whizzed off to the Hershey Centre for a Sens parent meeting and then a two-hour 9p to 11p practice.

Pad's team looked very good at practice last night, which is good given that they will be playing a top team in their opener Saturday.

And they have just released a new CD, called 1Up, which is nothing at all like 7Up.

They're nice kids. You should buy their CD, or pay to download it from the reputable digital music retailer of your choice.

Walking up Bay Street from Union Station this morning, there was an odd confluence of marketing gone awry, as some outfit was handing out coupons for half-price breakfast burritos and the Leafs had guys dressed up as hockey players reminding us all that the season starts tonight and also, "Go Leafs Go."

I hope the real Leafs stay clear of the burritos, or "Go Leafs Go" could take on new meaning.

Hockey Stuff 2: Phoenix Coyotes, much to absolutely no one's surprise, ain't goin' anyplace. You can read a nice overview of the inevitable decision here.

There's no truth to the rumour that their new marketing slogan will be, "Coyotes! Still here for now."

Hockey stuff 3: The Leafs open tonight in Montreal against the Habs. I fully expect this game to be a good one -- these teams normally pump themselves up for one another anyway, but both have much to prove this year and both need to get out of the gate fast.

Montreal is trying to get out of the muck of a disastrous centennial season that came only a year after the team showed such great promise. A lot of new faces in Hab land, including in the owner's box.

Toronto? Hmm. What would the Leafs be trying to prove? Maybe trying to prove that the richest team in hockey is remotely interested in the product on the ice. Maybe that they want to make the playoffs? Maybe that the arrival of Parson Burke and the Life of Brian and the Gospel according to Luke Schenn (I stole that one) are all worth our time and money.

And maybe if they're lucky the assembled masses of Leaf Nation won't rise up as one and have the team charged with emotional larceny for stealing our time for 40-plus years waiting for something to believe in (the Dougie years and two good years with Lanny and Darrell notwithstanding.)

Hockey Stuff 4: If you were up late last night, maybe you saw the New York Rangers deliver the Top 10 List on Letterman.

If you weren't up late, then you can add TV monitoring to the long, long list of selfless, high-value things I do for my readership -- which hit a 2009 high in September.

Afterwards, the Rangers carried out Madonna to the stage which triggered the best line of the day from Dave, who asked Madonna: "Have you ever ridden hockey players before?"