The World Wide Net Web

TO in T.O.

2009-03-09T09:24:00.000-07:00

...and to my lackeys, I leave $6.5 million so that football team you all tricked me into thinking was a good investment can go out and buy something that will sell those last few seats at the Dome. Now, everyone get back to work!

Thanks Uncle Ted.

An Unexplained Absence and an Inauspicious Return

2009-01-13T13:14:00.000-08:00

Whaaa...? Where am I...? What are all these tubes for? The last thing I remember was turning off the TV after the Bills beat the Chargers. Is that snow? Have I missed their home playoff date in the divisional round?

Between then and now...a heaping pile of shit

I actually wish I had been in a coma. The final 10 weeks of the 2008 Buffalo Bills season have likely sawed 7-10 years off from my life expectancy. I don't yet have the energy to describe exactly what it was like watching this team find new and remarkable ways to lose games that were all but won. If the goal was to winnow down the fan base to those who are either unshakably loyal or mentally retarded the folks at One Bills Drive have succeeded. I think this is how murderous regimes find soldiers to carry out their most heinous crimes. Anyone with any objectivity or sense has likely decided that 2009 will be the year they finally let their season's tickets go un-renewed. Me? I'm just too stupid.

It's also important for me to set the record straight. Steve Holt was not Michael Crichton's pen name. My hiatus and his death were unrelated. In fact there's no good excuse for my absence. I don;t really have a good reason for returning to the World Wide Net Web either. All I have is this guy...

That's long-time SI reporter Peter King. As I had described a few months back in a piece regarding King's lavish praise of the now discredited Brett Favre, King is to overrated, white football players what Tiger Beat was to Corey Haim. He is a shameless "Glorifier". In his most recent absurd fawning he declared that New England Patriots slotback Wes Welker made his All-Pro team. In doing so he disagreed with most NFL coaches and defensive backs who, rightfully so, don't even view Welker as the best receiver on the Patriots. That's why they allow him to catch a whole lot of meaningless passes. The aforementioned Michael Crichton could put up impressive numbers if he were lined up across from Randy Moss. Welker caught over 100 passes because opposing teams were alright with that. Teams said "keep the twerpy little guy in front of you and he can't hurt us", and he didn't! He scored three measly touchdowns. Shouldn't there be some stipulation that in order to be an All-Pro you must a) be covered by a #1 corner at least once during the season in question b) out run somebody in the secondary even if its a strong safety, c) not be considered a "lesser evil" than 53 year old Kevin Faulk or d) have more touchdown receptions than Chansi Stuckey or Hank Baskett. Now I'm not saying Welker is a bad player. I am just saying that it is ridiculous to put him ahead of Larry Fitzgerald, Steve Smith, Brandon Marshall, Calvin Johnson or Anquan Boldin. What's most shocking is that King stopped short of naming his Brofriend Brett Favre to the team. I can only assume the software would not accept the selection of a quarterback from a non-playoff team who led the league in nothing other than interceptions and percentage of teammates who'd like him to go F himself. Too bad the Pro Bowl voting system didn't have the same safeguard in place.

I don't know what to believe in anymore....

2008-09-24T11:33:00.001-07:00

No way!....Really?.....You're kidding, right?....C'mon!....Really?.....No f-ing way....Tell me you're kidding.....Billie Jean King is Gay?

Oh, that's Clay Aiken. Never mind.

PS: Speaking of gay, that image is taken from Perezhilton.com.

The more you know...

2008-09-11T11:30:00.000-07:00

This is an elephant...

This is an elephant with a heroin addiction...

That's pretty f-ed up. The moral of this story is don't do drugs because you'll end up looking like shit, even if you're an elephant.

I like to pitch, but I love to sing and Daaaaance

2008-09-10T07:06:00.000-07:00

Yesterday saw the suddenly resurgent Toronto Blue Jays pull off their 9th and 10th consecutive wins of the season by sweeping both ends of a day/nighter in Chicago. While the two wins were very enjoyable to watch the true highlight was when Chicago paraded out (no pun intended) their 5th pitcher of the night, one Lance Broadway. Here he is in all his splendor...

Sorry, that's not him...

Again, my mistake. You'd think that was him, but it isn't....

We must be having some sort of technical issues as apparently that isn't him either. This is the actual Lance Broadway...

Now there's a very good chance that Mr. and Mrs. Broadway weren't particularly familiar with all-male cabaret shows nor had they watched a great deal of gay porn. As such they can be forgiven for not realizing that "Lance Broadway" was such a...how can I say this...dramatic name. That is, of course, unless they saw something in him at birth that indicated lil' baby Broadway may have an affinity for all things fabulous. If that's the case Lance Broadway is about as obvious as you can get, short of Reed Chrown or Sandhu Travolta-Cruise Jr.

Good for Lance for going against the grain and not following the path that was clearly pre-destined for him by his given name (surprisingly not a stage name, I looked it up). Mediocre righthanded reliever is certainly not what his parents had in mind back when they were deciding what to call him. Way to break free and make your own way, Lance.

Week 1 in Review part 2: the Tim Russert Memorial highway

2008-09-08T07:45:00.000-07:00

Let's forget the ugliness from the previous column and instead focus on the wonderfulness that is the 2008 Buffalo Bills. The opener contained more highlights than last season in its entirety. Marshawn looked like he could break every run. We had a dazzling punt return touchdown by Roscoe which was started and ended by fantastic blocks from Orchard Park's own, Jon Corto. We had the punter throwing a touchdown pass to a backup defensive end in a play that rarely works in high school, nonetheless the pros. The very next play saw Corto blowup the kick returner and the kicker (the mother f---ing kicker!) dive headlong into the pile to rip away the loose ball. That was followed by Trent going straight for the jugular by threading a 30 yard strike to Royal for a TD. It was almost too much goodness to absorb all at once, akin to opening your Christmas presents whilst sitting on the john.

Apart from the highlights you'd see on ESPN there were many little things that should make Bills fans even more excited as we look forward to the rest of the season. First of all, this year our defense goes forward when the ball is snapped rather than being pushed 5 yards backwards. This is a meaningful improvement. Stroud, Kawika Mitchell and Spencer Johnson add both size and surprising speed which have been sorely lacking from this team's D for the last couple years. Also they have gone back to the "mulling around" D which worked so well against the Cowboys last year. This is where the guys on the line just sort of linger in a menacing and confusing fashion. Seattle's offensive line looked both confused and terrified whenever the Bills employed this strategy. The D-line and linebackers took on a bit of crazy, erratic appearance. The Seahawks didn't know what to make of them. I liked that. The offensive line gave Trent all kinds of time and opened a couple huge holes for Marshawn. Kirk Chambers put in the best performance by a Kirk since the 1988 World Series. The special teams units looked even more dominating than last year even with the departure of some key players in the off-season. Bills fans can now replace their Aiken, Wire and Haggan jerseys with those of Corto, Costanzo and Wendling. YouTube legend John Wendling attempted to block Mare's field goal by leaping over the line. He made it over and landed on his feet but just missed the ball. He may have got a fingernail on it though it could have just been such a feeble kick that it looked tipped. I will have the PVR on during every opposing field goal try in an attempt to capture Wendling's amazing feat. When it happens (and it will) the tape will be more valuable then the Big Foot and Zapruder film combined. On top of all that, they came out of the game completely healthy with Jason Peters joining the squad after passing his physical.

By the way what was with Seattle and their miserable effort? They might as well have started Niles and Frasier as their defensive end pairing. The great Patrick Kerney had his ass handed to him all day even without having to utilize a double-team. If he'd registered a meaningless coverage sack I would have dubbed him the West Coast Aaron Schobel. He couldn't even manage that. The decision making by the team was abysmal. It was as if the players and coaches were in a contest to see who could make the other look worse. The fact that the Bills got the ball back at the end of the first half with as much time as they did was simply unforgivable. Perhaps the 'Hawks wasn't able to get up for the game given the unfamiliar surroundings. Admittedly it is difficult finding a good Soy-latte caramel macchiato or an unoaked chardonnay with the proper grassy mouthfeel to make the team feel at home. Maybe next time they make the trip to the Ralph they'll at least bring their own baristas.

So let's take a look at the AFC. The pre-season consensus favorites were New England, San Diego, Indianapolis and Jacksonville. Those four teams combined to win one measly game in week 1, New England's 17-10 squeaker at home to the awful Chiefs who were down to their backup quarterback. If the Chiefs were anything short of pathetic they would have at least tied the game. As an indication of how less rosy the Patriots fortunes look they are now the underdog next week against the Jets. The Jets just snuck by the Dolphins yesterday. San Diego and Indy both lost at home to teams that spent last post-season watching from home...and they were in the NFC! That's inexcusable. The Bills hosted an NFC opponent that actually won a playoff game last year and guess what? They really suck.

That brings us to Jacksonville, the Bills opponent in week 2. The Jags put forth a middling effort in losing to the Titans. If they truly were the team to beat they would have found a way to beat Tennessee and their non existent offense. The Holt family will leave Friday morning for Actionville with considerably more optimism than would have been the case just a few days ago, not only for that game but for the season as a whole. Last week the league was mathematically wide open. Today, it's actually wide open.

Week 1 in Review Part 1: the Low Road

2008-09-08T06:37:00.000-07:00

Charlie, remember when I said that you should never take pleasure in other people's misfortune? Well, you can scratch that.

Just after Marshawn danced into the end zone from 21 yards out the image of Tom Brady's leg buckling under the weight of Kansas City safety Bernard "Karma" Pollard splashed across TV screens from coast to coast. In a play eerily similar to the one that saw Vince Wilfork roll over JP Losman's leg early last season, Mr. Bunchen's season appears to be over. This is not to say JP Losman is Tom Brady. As far as I know, Losman has never dumped a pregnant woman for a supermodel...and he still has all his ACLs intact.

Sorry Tom, as I'm sure you're in a great deal of pain. It's unfortunate that this is how fate chose to finally punish your team for all the cheating, run up scores and generally lecherous behaviour. I would have gone with dual lifetime suspensions for Moss and Harrison for masterminding the collapse of the mortgage market or had Belichick kidnapped by a jilted husband.

One way or another it comes time to pay the piper. Just like communism, $140 oil and the popularity of reality shows involving dancing, that which is truly unjust can not be sustained forever. Perhaps we can now add the Patriots Regime to that list. With one awkwardly bent knee the world has become right again and a nation's faith is restored. In the end, are we at all surprised that this happened on a Sunday?

Here I go again...

2008-09-05T13:56:00.000-07:00

Though I keep searching for an answer,

I never seem to find what I'm looking for,

Oh lord, I pray you give me strength to carry on,

cos I know what it means,

To walk along the lonely street of dreams,

So, here we go again. Sunday kicks off another season of Buffalo Bills football. Over the next two days the feelings of anticipation and impending doom will grow reaching their crescendo just before the 1:00 kickoff. For those of you who have not suffered as a Bills fans let me try and describe what its like. Waiting for the season to start is an uncomfortable feeling likely somewhere between being in a landing craft at the start of Saving Private Ryan and sitting in the waiting room of your proctologist. There's a certain amount of adrenaline involved but not enough to overcome the dread of what's waiting for you. All you can hope for is to come through it in one piece, but your brain is telling you that you probably won't.

As I've chronicled before (and has been suspiciously echoed on Deadspin?!?) being a Bills fan is a test of Biblical proportions yet without any of the heavenly rewards. It's all suffering, no rewards. Usually you're served up a heaping dose of heartbreak at the very beginning of the season. An Amuse Bouche of a kick in the nuts, if you will. Last year's loss at the final whistle in a game where two defensive starters were lost for the season and another guys nearly died on the field was a perfect example of how the Bills tend to kick off a campaign. The team has three losses in their last four openers. Those three games were lost by a combined 6 points. Two of those games were decided on the very last play of the game. The script then calls for a mid-season break from losing winnable games. This is the "false hope" part of the season. Usually this lasts for three or four weeks. During this time talk turns to the schedules of those we're chasing for the wildcard and whether or not we're going to fly to wherever it is they're playing in week 17 to see them win their way in. Enter the second stage of soul-crushing defeats, usually not as dramatic as the first round but equally painful, and we're done. As the song says, the Bills really do make you want to Shout...shout "look out below as I'm jumping off the f-ing roof!"

This is what I thought, of course, until this news broke! Jason Peters has finally come to his senses and has ended his ridiculous holdout! Suddenly the landing craft doors open and the bad guys are already retreating. The proctologist turns out to be a supermodel with abnormally tiny hands. Now, all bets are off. The old, doomed Bills would have never got Peters back. Or if they did, he'd tear his ACL, MCL and ABC during his first practice (luckily I don't believe in jinxes). In fact, Marshawn would have never walked from that hit and run thing if we were talking about the same old post-Kelly era Bills. These are the types of things that only happen to winners. I don't think I'm out of line to view the return of Peters as a sign that good things are on the horizon. Hell, let's just go with that regardless. We're all tied for first and we're all tied for last. There's really no reason to be anything but optimistic.

So that's where we are now. It's Friday afternoon, two days before the opener and I am cautiously optimistic. If my feelings towards the 2008 Bills were being measured by Homeland Security we would be sitting at yellow. I have no idea what that means, but who cares. I believe it was Robert S. Kelly who said it best "It's the freakin' weekend baby, I'm about to have me some fun".

See you at 1-0, jerks!

Because "Bristol Motor Speedway" wouldn't fit on a birth certificate...

2008-09-02T08:27:00.001-07:00

Much has been made of having a 44 year-old woman who was serving on the PTA a decade ago one cranky 72 -year old away from being the most powerful person on the planet. Sarah Palin's inexperience is surely something to be concerned about but lets not overlook her questionable judgment. She has a kid named "Bristol". Do you really want your Vice-President to have such a clearly stated affinity for NASCAR? Is that the type of person you want breaking ties in the Senate? W. is obviously a big dumbie but at least he had the good sense to prefer the more cerebral sport of baseball as opposed to watching the good-ole boys making left turns all afternoon. Bristol Palin is obviously named after Bristol Motor Speedway in Bristol, Tennessee. This is what Bristol is all about:

as is this:

Racin' the way it ought'a be!

How can I be so sure about this Bristol thing? She named one of her sons Track. Two of the other kids were given the middle names "Boogity" and "Dick Trickle". I'm not sure what more evidence you need. Word on the blogosphere is that, if elected, VP Palin would table a constitutional amendment to drop all "g's" from official government documents. With the genesis of her name being known, young Bristol's current predicament isn't all that shocking. If anything it's mildly surprising that she waited this long.

The more we learn about Gov. Palin the more absurd Sen. McCain's decision looks. In fact he's probably learning all this at the same time we are. It's as if he chose her simply on spec. Does she like guns? Check. Is she into Jesus? Check. Does she have ovaries? Check. Is she less likely than McCain to develop dementia or drop dead in the next four years? Probably. He may have also done a quick google images search, seen the few pictures where she looks "kinda hot" and the decision was made. Welcome to the ticket, Sarah. A couple more hours of basic research would have identified that she is

Under investigation for allegedly using her influence to get her brother-in-law fired
A former member of something called the Alaskan Independence Party
Prone to slip into a Hoser accent in unguarded moments, dontchaknow!
More likely to be mistaken for a rookie member of the local school board than the Vice-President of the United States
Not that funny girl from 30 Rock, nor is she related to Monty Python's Michael Palin.
The mother of a newborn son, a role which will soon be complicated by additional Grandma duties to little Jamie Lynn Palin (note: the only way to put this one to bed is to force Bristol's baby daddy to enlist in the army. They can then create a story that she got knocked up because her boyfriend was afraid he'd die while fighting for his country. They will then name the unborn child "Enduring Freedom". Within days there will be images of the fetus holding an American flag while riding a bald eagle airbrushed on pick-up trucks across the South).

I know you needed someone who brought an element of "new" to the ticket but surely you could have come up with a better choice than that. If you go with someone who has warts its because there's some great upside they have that outweighs their flaws. Palin looks like she's all warts and who knows what's still to come? At this pace McCain may not even finish in the top 3. If there's a repechage for candidates who finish too poorly on the first ballot the Republicans may be on their way there. Regardless of exactly how things end up the odds are that Sarah Palin is much more likely to become an answer to a trivia question than Vice-President.

Another Turnover for J-Kidd

2008-08-28T06:53:00.000-07:00

From the last post you'll see that I was clearly unenthused by the Beijing Olympics. To me, the feel-good stories were few and far between while the discomforting stories were much too prevalent. I am talking mostly of the discomfort of getting kicked in the face by a Cuban Taekwondo-er (Taewond-ist?). This morning, however, I saw a story that by its opening would indicate some potential for salvation, a glimmering light that the spirit of the games could shine through. The story starts with "Jason Kidd gives his gold medal to...". Immediately you would surmise that the sentence would end with "earthquake victims", "destitude orphan" or even "the guys who carried his son's hats from the cab to the hotel room". You would be wrong on all accounts. In fact, Jason Kidd gave his gold medal to Elaine Wynn. Who's that you ask? Here's a picture of the deserving recipient:

That's her in the middle standing beside the world's 277th richest man in the sunglasses, her husband multi-billionaire Steve Wynn. Well done J-Kidd. I'm sure that your unwanted Gold Medal could have fetched a good five or six figures at auction for some charity. Hell Knicks owner, Charles Dolan, would have probably paid a couple million for it given that he's spent substantially more than that unsuccessfully trying to buy a championship in the past. But who cares? Clearly Mrs. Wynn needs another coaster. Wait a minute....Elaine's husband runs a casino. People gamble at casinos. Sometimes people lose money by gambling and are required to make restitution for those losses. Other tawdry activities happen in casinos. Sometimes that tawdriness is arranged and requires payment. An Olympic gold medal is made of gold. For centuries gold was used as currency in addition and still today acts as a store of value particularly as a hedge against inflation, making it an ideal form of payment. Am I going somewhere with this? Absolutely not. That would besmirch this man's good name.

For some reason Jason Kidd has always been given an abolsute free ride by the sports press. You would think a guy who has worn out his welcome on three different teams and slapped his wife around wouldn't be lionized the way he is, yet that's exactly what has happened and I, for one, don't understand it. Whether he was just flippantly disregarding the symbolic (not to mention, financial) value of the medal or setting things straight with the house this move is pure J-Kidd. Then again, maybe I'm being too harsh. There is the possibility that he offered it to his son but had to take it back after he was unable to get it over his giant head. Now I'm definitely being too harsh.

2008: The Summer of Cockburn

2008-08-26T07:52:00.001-07:00

By 8:00 o'clock the sun has all but set, TV commericals feature backpacks and pencil cases, and the Jays are, for all intents and purposes, eliminated from playoff contention. Yes, once again summer has begun its exit. It seems like this is becoming an annual event. You could almost set your calendar by it.

I, for one, am relieved to say goodbye to the summer of 2008. Here are the highlights so far, in no particular order. Tim Russert, Bernie Mac and Estelle Getty all die suddenly. Part of the city explodes due to a misplaced and poorly maintained propane facility. Ironically this happens on the only night all summer that it isn't pouring rain. Some poor Carny gets his head cut off on a bus ride. The price of gas goes through the roof. Manufacturing jobs are lost en masse. People start to drop dead because of tainted lunch meat. Russia goes retro and starts invading countries again. Sweet, how about another Cold War? Just in time for the Red Dawn remake.

Then we have the Olympics which were supposed to lift our spirits as we witnessed the world celebrating how wonderful everyone is. It was China's turn to host the spectacle and show the globe how far their nation has come. In many ways they've not only caught up to the world, but they've surpassed them. Well done China. Not even the Americans would ask a 7-year old girl to lip sync a song because the actual singer wasn't "cute" enough. Welcome to the developed world, jerks. You'd think they would be a bit more senstive to the little girl's feelings after having already cut her from the gymnastics team for being too old.

Canada's efforts at the Olympics were fairly mediocre. Sure we ended up with a decent medal haul but that was padded by our top-3 finishes in a bunch of contrived sports. Starting about 3 or 4 Olympics ago events started showing up that seemed like nothing more than watered-down derivatives of existing sports. Since when did the Olympics become about mass inclusion? Now there seems to be a sport for everyone even if you weren't good enough to make it in a traditional event. Suck at diving? Try sychronized diving. All you have to do is find someone who can suck exactly as much as you do, at the exact same time. Our flagbearer, one Karen Cockburn, distinguished herself on the trampoline. You know who else did that? A bunch of drunk high-school kids who snuck into their neighbors' backyard. By 2016 the Olympics will look a bit like a company picnic. I'm sure we'll put up a few personal bests with the potato sac and could medal in the three-legged race.

No offense to Ms. Cockburn but she didn't even win a gold medal. While her second-place finish may have been a big deal to the 25-30 people that make up the Canadian Trampolining community it's quite sad that we awarded her the honour of carrying the flag, essentially acknowledging her bouncing around as the most remarkable feat by a Canadian at the games. While equestrian doesn't look like a sport in the traditional sense at least there's some history there. Why not give it to fellow silver medallist Ian Miller, who's shared the Olympic stage with both Mark Spitz and Michael Phelps, or the druggy who won the two horsey medals? At least those two are better stories. Hell, give it to the woman who finished third in hurdles. Now that's a legitimate sport. There should be a threshold of achievement that must be met in order to carry the flag. If no one meets that benchmark then the honour should be given to either Wayne Gretzky, Jack Bauer or whomever is the best looking amongst the contingent. At least that way we're truly putting forth the best our country has to offer.

So that was the summer. Goodbye and good riddance. Let's get things turned around in a hurry, 2008. So far this has been a bit of a shitshow.

We beat the Colts! We beat the Colts!

2008-08-25T12:54:00.000-07:00

What? That was just a pre-season game? Well, that's a buzz kill. You'll forgive the confusion as I had to turn off the sound. Whoever thought it was a good idea to put three ex-players in the booth together (without anyone who went to broadcasting school) needs to be permanently banned from working in television. Sterling Sharpe, Deion Sanders and Marshall Faulk combined for what was likely the worst broadcast team ever and I'm including those public access midget hockey tournaments along with the Joe Carter experiment by the Jays a few years back. They were the Dream Team of mispronounced names and avoiding insightful comments. You would likely find more hard-hitting analysis during the broadcast of the Santa Claus Parade than you received last night from these three. At least they seemed to be enjoying themselves as we, the viewers, certainly were not.

As per most national broadcasts of Buffalo games, the Bills players were relegated to the background as to focus on whoever it is they're playing against. Significantly more attention was given to the status of the Colts' backup Jim Sorgi than any of the players on the other team who, unlike Sorgi, actually appear in regular season games before Indianapolis has homefield advantage in the playoffs sewn up. It's grown rather tiresome but probably won't change until we start winning playoff games. The other option is to pique the network execs interest by signing a couple of yesterday's stories like Brett Favre or Jason Taylor. Hopefully people start to care about the Bills because of the former not the latter which would be nothing short of a desperation act.

Bills backup QB JP Losman appears to be especially upset by how the Bills are constantly ignored outside of Western New York so much so that he has made a spectacle of his face to call attention to this injustice. That's the only possible explanation for Losman's messed-up facial hair. Check it out for yourself:

Sorry that's a terrible picture but I don't have the time to find a better one. It's clear enough, however, to make my point. He's got a bit of a pornstar 'stache with wolverine-ish chops, which inexplicably flair out at the cheeks. The lower beard is trimmed in a rather standard fashion although there's no connection between it and the 'stache or the ridiculous soulpatch. To top it all off he's forgone his moppish haircut for a straightlaced side-part providing even more confusion. None of it makes any sense together. There's absolutely no cohesion. I've heard that Joe Biden is arguing for his face to be broken up into three separate, autonomous regions. He's got equal parts Sunni, Shiite and Kurd going on there. Perhaps a breakup may be the only answer to deal with this mess.

Besides the announcing and Losman's sideshow of a face, Bills fans have to be quite content with how things looked in week 3, which is traditionally the closest teams get to a regular season game during the pre-season. Let's hope the news on the injury/holdout front doesn't worsen between now and the September 7th opener against the Seahawks. In the absence of that it's hard to not get excited about the team's prospects.

Bills in Toronto: Well, that certainly sucked...

2008-08-18T13:16:00.000-07:00

...so what you're saying is that in order to be stigmata it needs to be from your hands and/or ankles...and it has to be blood? Never mind, then.

***

I remember the advice my father-in-law gave to my wife-to-be just before we were engaged: "have low expectations and you can only be disappointed so much". Thankfully she listened and we're well into our fifth year of marital bliss. With this sage advice in mind, I strolled into the Rogers Centre for Thursday's Bills game expecting something awful. I imagined one endzone bigger than the other, scads of tickets handed to Christian school groups, breakdancers on the field at every break in play (a constant at Rogers Centre for some inexplicable reason), Katherine Humphreys doing the in-game announcing and the concessions exclusively selling vegan fare. Presumably they would have also invited the Steelers mascot and had him walk out with Billy Buffalo hand-in-hand. That level of crappiness was about where I set my over/under.

Steely McBeam made his first solo Toronto appearance since leaving the Village People

Having had a couple days to evaluate the event I'd say it was a push. I pretty much got what I expected. Most importantly the first team offence looked unstoppable against a real defence. This outweighs anything the Rogers Centre and the crowd could do to annoy me. Trent looked comfortable, the line held in reasonably well in the absence of Jason Peters (stop f-ing around. this isn't funny anymore, Peters) and no one made any drive-killing mistakes. There was very little else Bills fans could ask for from the starters on offense or, the slightly less-impressive, defense. Throw in an ankle-breaking return by Leodis (who should clearly just switch to one name like a Brazilian soccer player) and all's looking good at this stage of training camp.

That being said, there are plenty of Bills fans but only one Bills in Toronto Ombudsman so I should focus on that role in this context and leave the team analysis for those more qualified. Here's what needs to be addressed if we're to make the regular season game against the Dolphins look and feel like an NFL football game. To be fair I have also interspersed a few thumbs up. Luckily, its not all bad:

Use of the word "Historic": I'm all for hyperbole but the constant reference to the game as the first in the "Historic" series was a bit of a stretch. The surrender of the Japanese aboard the USS Missouri was historic. Jackie Robinson breaking the colour barrier could be referred to as such. Anything that involves a second-string punter cannot legitimately be called historic, regardless of how many touchdown passes Robert Royal catches. Let's tone it down a bit for the December game.

Beer prices and policies: While exorbitant by all logical precedents at least they didn't goose the prices to Leafs levels. It's amazing what living in this city can do to your standards for what is an acceptable price for beer. Shockingly I'm commending the Rogers Centre for selling me a bottle of Blue for what I paid for a pitcher back in University. At 10 PM it was kudos to the fact that beer was being served until the beginning of the fourth quarter. By 10 AM Friday I was changing my tune. In terms of tailgating, there's nothing that can be done. Blame the politicians. I doubt local bars will be much help pre-game in December either as they'll be only a brief window between wen they start serving and kickoff. Do like we did and put something together in your backyard.

Paint the endzones: Marshawn didn't score a touchdown, albeit in limited action. You want to know why? The endzones weren't painted. He had no idea where to run to. Give the man a big red target, people. At least they wrote Bills in the endzones but for Beast Mode to happen we need a big splash of red. Let me know if you need me to run by Home Depot and grab some paint.

Where's Gurtler?: John Gurtler, the regular Bills in-game announcer was nowhere to be seen or, more importantly, heard. There was nothing the replacement guy said that produced the warm, familiar feeling that the dulcet tones of Gurtler's voice would have. Plus, whoever it was told 48,000 people that Lee Evans went to LSU. Americans are quite attached to their Alma Maters. I imagine this would be akin to introducing Martin Brodeur as a former member of the Barrie Colts. Presumably Gurtler's legal issues prevented him from coming north. Hey, New York State Legal System! Let's get this cleared up in time for "Squish the Fish".

Why close the roof?: This one's all on Coach Jauron. I'll assume that Rogers has no role in this. He wanted the roof closed to simulate the exact experience of what the team will face in December. Fair enough, although an easier way to simulate the experience of playing in front of the Toronto crowd is to tell your real fans to show up in business casual, hand out blackberries and then pump a powerful sedative through the ventilation system. The more important question is, why will the December game be played with the roof closed? You are the Buffalo Bills. They are the Miami Dolphins. It'll be mid-December. The Bills are 6-2 all-time when hosting Miami in December including shellackings the last two seasons. Why make them comfortable? They'll already feel too much at home given the prominence of our transgendered community and the abundance of pilates studios situated around Toronto. Why not whip up a fresh batch of mojitos for their arrival and pump salsa music through the city?!

The least we can do is let the elements in and give ourselves some advantage. Sure players come from all over the country but where you play most seems to be where you play best. Brett Favre, better in the cold than warm, is from Mississippi. Dolphin "legend" Dan Marino is from Pittsburgh, but became quite mediocre outside of Miami's tropical climate. How many of Hall of Famer Dan's last five games in Buffalo did he win? (Hint: it rhymes with sweet buck all). Late season games in Buffalo come with two decided advantages for the home team. The first is the 12th man (wake up people, that's you) with the second being the inclement weather. Both are being significantly neutralized by having the game in the indifferent confines of the ex-Skydome with the lid on.

Regardless of the sport, the Rogers Centre is much more palatable with the roof open. A football game, specifically, will take on more of an authentic feel if played outdoors. If people complain about the cold or wet then send them home. They're not the sorts you want anyways if you're trying to create an event that feels even remotely like an actual football game. Thursday's game was about as authentic as Suri Cruise (it's an animatronic puppet, so I've heard). Opening the roof would be a step in the right direction for both the team and the experience.

Tickets handed out to Servicemen: This is a big thumbs up. Our men and women don't get near the credit they deserve particularly given the danger of their current mission in Afghanistan. A couple free tickets to a pre-season game is a nice start. It's also something that would happen at a real NFL game. Seeing people in uniform says four-down football much more than VPs from the mobile phone division with their ties slightly loosened.

People wearing random jerseys: The Bills were playing the Steelers, so why would I see a handful of Tomlinson, Brady and Owens jerseys? Because people are idiots, that's why. This is not "wear your jersey" to the office day. It's an actual game. Pick a team or face the catcalls of the actual fans. In a related matter its time to upgrade those Bledsoe, Flutie and McGahee jerseys people. I'm looking at you, Mom and Dad. I'll refrain from beating a dead horse by critiquing the wardrobe choices made by the vast swaths of douchery that filled much of the stadium. I just hope that the December weather will keep the sleeveless shirts and giant sunglasses at home. You douchebags are embarrassing your city, not to mention your country.

Be a fan, not a spectator: For Trent's sake people, loosen up a bit. When the home team does something good stand up and make a bit of noise. A sporting event is meant to be a release from your mundane workaday world. Most of the attendees probably display more passion discussing cottage traffic than they did during the game. Trying losing yourself in the game. When Poz starts gesturing with his arms trick yourself into thinking he absolutely needs your help on third down. When he breaks free on a blitz and breaks the QBs ribs give yourself a big pat on the back. Sure its ridiculous but where else do you get the chance to be a part of something that is this big, even if it isn't that big and you may not actually be a part of it. It doesn't matter either way. I know that Torontonians have been taught from the time they were young that its not cool to act like you care about something but I'm here to tell you it is. Project if you need to. Tell yourself that the Bills are Radiohead, the Jonas Brothers, the cast of Design Inc. or whatever the hell you're into. Pretend its the fuckin' Antique Roadshow. I really couldn't care less what your motivations are just get up and sing along with "The Bills Make me Want to Shout" after they score and give some random guy a high five. Your douchebag buddies may turn their noses up at you but forget them. They'll leave you and the game in a heartbeat once something cooler comes along anyways. The Bills, for all their faults, with always be there for you.

Those that showed any sort of passion were the sprinkling of actual fans (there were as many players' parents as there were unrelated fans, much like a little league game) or those that used their free tickets as an excuse to get stupid drunk. Here's another piece of advice from a seasoned football fan, getting loud and drunk does not immediately make you "a fan". This is a common misconception held by many who don't actually attend NFL games. If you're a sloppy drunk you're still acting like an asshole, regardless of whether the field is 100 or 110 yards long. Enjoy a few, but try to keep some control. There's a game being played and you're team needs you to at least be in some condition to follow along.

Well that's about it for now. It was a pre-season game which may justify some, but not all, of the apathy. Calling it a complete disaster would be a bit harsh but we've certainly got a long way to go if we're to do our job and create a proper home field advantage. Luckily there's almost four months to get our act together for when it really counts. Rogers, you should pay attention too. While you'll be getting our Bills over my, Luke Russert's, Jim Kelly's, The Goo Goo Dolls' and Chuck Shumer's dead bodies you may still have a chance to convince the NFL to steal another team or hand you an expansion franchise. If you're to maintain any hope of this happening you'll need to put on a much better show than you did on Thursday so listen to what I've told you. We can work together here to both our advantage. (Pssst, don't worry NFL fans I highly doubt any of this happens but Rogers people can be easily tricked, just ask Ralph).

Don't worry B-Lo. We'll have them back by 10.

2008-08-13T11:56:00.000-07:00

Well, tomorrow is the big day. The team is in town, the alumni have gathered and the tickets have been sold or handed out to members of the Rogers politburo. All we need is a cute little Chinese girl to lipsync while Bryan Adams sings the anthem. People are giving the Chinese crap for their Vanilli-esque sleight of hand but maybe they're on to something. We Canadians have had to look at the likes of the aforementioned Adams, Luba, The Arcade Fire, The Barenaked Ladies, Rita McNeil, Randy Bachman and Geddy Lee over the years. While all fine singers they're a little hard on the eyes. To be honest I'm not sure why this hasn't become more widespread, unless it has and the guy signing "Tom Sawyer" all these years actually looks like this:

While I am undoubtedly excited about tomorrow's events there is a lingering bittersweet element to my preparations. The core of this is the empathy I'm feeling for the good people of Buffalo. There seems to be a growing sense of inevitability that tomorrow's game is the beginning of the end for the franchise in Western New York. Even with assurances from the commissioner, local politicians and Bills brass that the Toronto games are an effort to regionalize the fan base and that the team's future is secure, fans are worried. In all honesty, I don't blame them. I was a bit worried myself. As I've said countless times before, I (along with my friends and family) are Buffalo Bills fans. Sure we're thrilled for the chance to see them once or twice a year without fighting through customs but we don't want the team's identity to change. Starting with the maniacal look on Uncle Ted's face at the first press conference and continuing with the unrestrained desire to land an NFL team expressed by Godfrey, Lind and the rest of the Rogers cronies, there is clearly an image being painted that Toronto is ready to pounce once Ralph Wilson dies. I'm sure the people of Buffalo are feeling a bit like Woody Harrelson in Indecent Proposal. Sure, they need the money but are they ever going to get their true love back once they've handed it over to the dapper rich guy? Even after they physically return there will always be the worry that their heart is elsewhere. Will Marshawn be happy with a night out at Applebee's after he's been wined and dined at Susur? Sure he'll say he had a nice time and enjoyed his mini chicken ranchers but will he really mean it?

In reality, the end may not be nigh, in fact it may be very un-nigh. As a recent Toronto Life article aptly pointed out, Ralph Wilson appears to be the big winner in the deal here. Think of the Bills current situation versus just a year ago. They raised ticket prices and have set a record for season ticket sales. On top of that they got a nice fat cheque from Uncle Ted for $78 million for 5 regular season games and three pre-season games. The Bills get the windfall from this while at the same time they have a much easier time selling out the games at the Ralph. Fans only have to pay up for 7 regular season games and one pre-season game. Plus, seeing your team playing elsewhere is a bit of a wake-up call for Bills fans. To go back to my movie metaphor, seeing Demi Moore with Robert Redford is what finally gave Woody Harrelson the motivation to dunk the basketball and win his girl back. The impressive sales numbers coming out of One Bills Drive is a sign that Bills fans are taking the threat seriously. Given this new reality, the Bills are in the best position financially they've been in for some time, if not ever. Would they be better off with 8 home games a year in Toronto at an average ticket price of $300? Sure, but so far the indication is that this isn't going to happen. They're having enough troubling selling tickets for two games nonetheless a whole season.

What I see happening is this, Rogers struggles just to breakeven on their big five-year bet. Bills ticket prices in Buffalo will creep up each year but stay under the league average as the looming move and, hopefully, a steadying economy push demand higher. Obviously Rogers (not Ted necessarily, but those around him) would want to buy the team today but may be less enthusiastic in a couple years. Regardless of whether or not Rogers stays on, the next five years will hopefully have proven how viable the franchise can be in its current location. Even if a case can be made that the team would be worth slightly more in Toronto the league and Buffalo-era politicians will do what it takes to bridge that gap ensuring the team stays where it is. This is by no means a certainty as there is clearly an element amongst the Toronto backers that wants a team here regardless of how little sense it may make financially. Luckily, the guy actually signing the cheques is driven purely by dollars and cents not by any desire to become the next Bob Kraft or Jerry Jones. All indications are that Uncle Ted doesn't even like sports. Five years of making little return, if any, on $78 million may be enough to convince him (and Ted Jr.) to stick with the cable and cell phone bundling.

Now I feel better. With everybody's fears put to rest I can go about my gameday activities unburdened by the guilt that I'm part of some larcenous conspiracy to steal the Bills. The ribs are being rubbed, the beer is being chilled and the jersey has been laid out on the bed. Enjoy the game everyone and don't worry Buffalo. I'll be a gentleman.

The Food Chain: Us...then Everything Else

2008-08-07T08:10:00.000-07:00

Let me start out by saying, I am not an animal person. I didn't really grow up with pets or have any affinity for wildlife/farmlife. We had a cat for a couple years. He ran away one day in a decision that was clearly mutual. In general, I just never really saw what the big deal was. While occasionally likable, most animals came with far more responsibilities than were justified by the odd game of fetch. At times they seem more a smelly nuisance than something worth tending to. That being said, I had recently softened my indifferent stance towards animals. This was mostly a result of seeing how much little Charlie's eyes lit up whenever a dog came near. She was quite taken by her furry, four-legged friends. Even I couldn't help but share in her excitement. The thought even crossed by mind, albeit for just a millisecond, that one day we may get her a dog of her own.

That was then, this is now. The last few days have put me firmly back into the anti-animal camp. Sorry Charlie, but don't blame me. Blame the dog people of Withrow park and the asshats at PETA.

Earlier this week I decided to take her for a quick walk after work. Everything was going swimmingly until a couple of dogs approached us. This was mildly irritating at first as the dogs were off leash in an area clearly marked as an "on leash" area. These signs are uniformly ignored with the offenders never punished. City Hall seems to view the dog lobby as the one constituency you don't want to mess with. They are to Toronto what the religious right is to the States. As I was saying, this started as just another typical act by someone in the city ignoring those around them, much like the subway rider with the iPod playing so everyone is forced to listen to their crap or the douchebag who needs everyone on the patio to hear his conversation. These are the everyday annoyances that one who lives here either learns to deal with or spends their days punching people. The two owners leisurely strolled up to collect their mutts. One of the dogs, some sort of reasonably harmless-looking poodle/terrier thing, suddenly came right up to Charlie's stroller. Before I could react it was poking her with its paws and nose. The poor little thing was petrified. There was the heartwrenching pause at the beginning of her cry where she goes beat red, open hers mouth and is completely silent. All I can hear is the bitch's owner playfully saying something like "Molly, what are you doing?" as he saunters over to collect his dog. Charlie is so distraught it seems almost like she forgets how to breathe. It took so long for her to make a noise that I was almost happy when the screaming commenced. I'm not exactly sure what happened next. Caught up in a dizzying mix of emotions, extreme sadness for my terrified little girl and burning rage at the two dickheads who couldn't control their mutts, I yelled a few choice words while moving around in what would have appeared to be a very erratic fashion. I had conflicting impulses to console her (it had started to pour rain adding another element to the mix) and let the guys and their dogs have it. Presumably my actions prevented the guy from the standard "oh, I think she likes her". You know what I don't like? You and your fucknut dog.

As much as I can recall I didn't say or do anything that was offside. I'm pretty sure I didn't utter any threats of physical harm or make any reference to sexual orientation, race or religion (these guys were clearly Episcopalian). As long as I stayed away from any of that anything else was fully justified. I'm sure my somewhat menacing behaviour may have caused some consternation on behalf of the two owners, which I'm more than fine with. You two jackasses made a one-year old girl cry! The fleeting fear of a deranged 31-year old Dad coming to beat the snot out of you hardly constitutes an eye for an eye.

This left me quite shaken. Screaming at a couple random dudes is not something you expect to be doing on a weekday, nonetheless while sober. By the same token I wasn't expecting to have to console little Charlie who rarely gets that upset. Both were a bit of a shock to my system. It took me longer to calm down than it did Charlie. She's clearly the more resilient of the two of us. Before any of you mention it, I have no connection to the dog poisonings of a few years back. Now if you hear a story about "local dog owners threatened by 5-iron wielding baby girl" then I'll take the fall for that one. Charlie has an alibi.

Now on to PETA, which stands for People who can't think straight bEcause They don't hAve enough protein in their diets. Many of you have by now seen their latest ad that ludicrously attempts to equate the gruesome murder of Tim McLean with the slaughter of animals for human consumption. The offensiveness of this is obvious and intentional. PETA knows that such an opportunistic act of inappropriateness will bring them more press and attention than any number of C-list celebrities picketing a KFC ever could. I will not dignify their cowardly move by arguing against it, which is exactly what they want. Instead I will attack them at their very core as I believe we all should. If you don't like their ad, go buy yourself a hamburger or, better yet, une Foie Gras entier to nibble on at your desk. Protest their idiocy by hitting them wear it hurts. If they want to go offensive, I can do offensive. Maybe there's a way to force feed baby seals with a funnel that will make their livers plump and delicious. Hell, it can't hurt to try. If PETA can be "provocative" so can I. Time to go coat shopping!

"Finally, something for all those Smart Casual parties"

PETA's agenda is an absurd one, particularly as it relates to their desired prohibition of meat. If God hadn't wanted us to eat steak he wouldn't have invented blue cheese or rosemary-sage lemon compound butter. Actually I invented the latter. Lathering it on a steak is a buttery homage to the great Bistecca Fiorentina. You're welcome. He, being God not me, also wouldn't have made meat look, smell and taste like this (you can almost hear Marvin Gaye's "Lets get it on" playing softly as these images scroll by):

It's simply unimaginable that the vision of such delectable treats could be outweighed by some polluted ideology. Just sit back and think of a beautifully medium-rare duck breast with the crispy layer of fat glistening. Or a perfectly braised rack of shortribs falling off the bone. How could that not be appetizing. Or that same duck breast in the shower beside the shortribs after a long day at the sorority charity car wash. A knowing glance, a toss of the hair and then the headmistress pulled pork walks in....

OK, that got a little weird. Anyways, people of PETA you have lost any remnant shred of respectability with this last stunt. They've truly gone too far and, to utilize a horribly overused phrase, have "jumped the vegan fish sticks" here. Thanks to you, my answer to the question "would you like bacon with that" will always be an unqualified "yes!"

Favre and Away the League's Biggest Jackass

2008-08-05T13:06:00.000-07:00

...so, as it turns out my uncle was right. The correct sayings are "Does a Bear shit in the woods?" and "Is the Pope Catholic?". It took the whole weekend to prove him right. In the end, we dropped Benedict off with a bus ticket home and our sincere apologies before heading off to pick the bear up at St. Mary's. What a crazy weekend that was!

***

Is there anything more tiresome than the Brett Favre saga? Do people really care that much about will or he won't he play (and where) or are we simply in the worst lull in sports history? For the two of you who aren't familiar with the story let me fill you in. Here you'll get one of the few honest accounts of what has actually transpired. The traditional sports media covers Brett Favre with the objectivity of a Pageant Mom telling you about her daughter. I've been told that Peter King takes twice as long to write a column about Favre versus any other subject as he only has one free hand. I actually doubt that's true as, to my knowledge, King has never written a column that doesn't center around Favre.

So, here goes. Favre is a horribly over-rated quarterback who's ego has surpassed his accuracy for at least five years. After ending last season with a championship game-losing pass that even Rob Johnson would have had second thoughts about throwing, some sliver of humility crept into Brett's head convincing him that his gunslinging days were over. With that he announced that he would retire at the ripe old age of 38. A few months later he discovered an "itch" to play again. Instead of doing the respectable thing and scratching that itch with a round of golf and a six pack of High Life, Favre decided to force his way back into the picture. This put the Green Bay Packers, who had understandably decided to move forward with Favre's understudy Aaron Rodgers, in a very awkward position. Favre, who is still under contract, made it clear that he didn't want to share the spotlight with anyone and would rather be traded than have to go to camp as a back-up. Favre refused to consider a trade to out of division teams (the Jets and Bucs being two teams with apparent interest) forcing the Packers to keep him or trade him to a division rival (believed to be Minnesota or Chicago). Basically he is saying either I'm your starting quarterback or I will attempt to destroy you with every ounce of my being. What a competitor! For those of you who don't watch a lot of sports, "competitor" can be loosely translated to "white guy who's an asshole". The term "gamer" can also have the same connotation. Think of what would have happened had Manny Ramirez demanded a trade to the Yankees. Would his efforts be respected, nonetheless commended, by the national media? I think we all know the answer to that one.

Favre has taken "me first" to a level that Rogers Clemens, Terrell Owens and Randy Moss have been unable to. For that he deserves far more scorn than he is currently receiving. I wouldn't expect that to change anytime soon, however, as the sports journalism fraternity's love for him is truly blind.

One point of interest from this story, Favre's preferred method of communication is text messaging. Apparently, besides being an over-the-hill egomaniac he's also a 14 year-old girl. Who knew?

Mission Accomplished: Part 2

2008-07-31T12:19:00.001-07:00

I guess the decorators were a little hasty setting up for the end of season press conference. You'd think they would have learned from what heppened to the last guy who rented that banner.

PS: I rule at photoshop.

Your Ombudsman is Getting a Little Nervous

2008-07-30T12:13:00.000-07:00

When the sun rises over Toronto tomorrow morning we will be but two short weeks away from the first game of the Bills in Toronto series. Given what little time we have left I've got to be honest with you, I'm getting a little worried about how we're going to pull this thing off. For some inexplicable reason we have yet to see a meaningful groundswell of support for the games. The ground may be a tad puffy (most likely from all the rain we've had) but even the most optimistic spin doctor at Rogers would be hard pressed to honestly label it swollen. As of now there are plenty of seats still available indicating at least some hesitancy by the local populous to circle the wagons around the Bills. This is all rather ludicrous. What else have we got to grasp on to people? The Blue Jays? Are you f-ing kidding me? The 2008 Jays play with the intensity of a mixed doubles tennis team after a three martini lunch. Today's game, a 3-2 loss, was a perfect illustration of how little the team cares and how increasingly difficult they are to rally around. They had 13 baserunners and scored just twice. Two times they managed to get runners to third with none out only to leave them there. It was quite simply, disgraceful, yet completely in character for this bunch. There are teams that suck because they can't hit, or they can't play defense, or they can't pitch. The Jays don't even have one of those convenient excuses to hide behind. While they can't hit very well they, at least theoretically, have enough firepower to scrape together the three runs a game it would take for them to win much more often than they actually do. What they do have is an unprecedented ability to leave runners in scoring position after getting them there with less than two outs. Not even FEMA can strand people like the 2008 Jays can. I'm not sure there are stats on this but if there are I'm positive they would reveal that this year's Jays squad is the 1927 Yankees of not winning games that are being handed to them.

I was at last night's game and came away with nothing but indifference towards the "home" team. My instinctive nature to cheer for the team has been overwhelmed by just how unlikeable this collection of mediocre, underachieving sloths are. I'm not sure this has ever happened to me. Over the years I have supported some truly awful sides but I can never recall actually writing off the team. This Jays team has achieved what their late-1990s Jays predecessors, the playoff-less Leafs of the last few years and the 3-13 2001 Bills failed to do. That is, to make me not care. I wouldn't have thought it possible, but apparently it is. Right now I would trade Alex Rios for a couple arms. I'm not using the colloquialism for pitchers when I say that. I would literally trade him for some random body parts as I believe him to be that useless.

Well that was a wordy aside, though I do feel better having gotten that out so thank you for sticking with me. Back to my original train of thought, the Jays are clearly not worth your attention or your entertainment dollars. What does that leave you with this summer? The outdoors? Monsoon season has made sure to ruin that. The theatre? A big thumbs down to that. Save yourself the money, go buy the greatest hits of some mediocre act form the past thirty years and string together the song titles with some half-baked segues. You'll have your very own Mamma Mia, Jersey Boys or whatever equivalent crap Mirvish is pushing these days. Friends and Family? That's what Christmas break is for. Travel? Fuel surcharge this, Robert Milton! Nightlife? Don't forget your bluetooth earpiece and gold chains, you big douche. Golf? The average round in the GTA now takes seven and a half hours. Maybe you have that kind of time, the rest of us have jobs. Taxidermy? There's very little money in that anymore. Ultimate Frisbee? Now you're just trying to make me angry!

There are clearly no alternatives. Its quite evident that all we have going for us is the arrival of the Buffalo Bills in our crummy little town. We must embrace them if for no other reason than to make our city look a little less bush league than it actually is. We have to buy about 120,000 seats this year to sell out both games we've been honoured with, a target that we are still well short of. Buffalo, a town with less than a third of our population and a median household income less than half that of Toronto, has sold around 525,000 Bills tickets for this year. Adjusting for higher ticket prices here and the fact that that sports fans in Buffalo have twice the heart of their Torontonian counterparts still leaves us about half a million tickets short of what should be expected of us (taking into account population size, income levels, ticket price and our fairweather nature). This has been an embarrassing display so far.

If we're to put some lipstick on this pig of an effort we must turn things around in a hurry. So pony up Toronto! Buy a ticket, grab a Marshawn jersey and we'll see you on the 14th (or even the kickoff party the night before at Dundas Square - Jim Kelly will be there). Don't worry if you don't know anything about the team or how to act at a football game. That's what I'm here for. I'll fill you in as we get closer to gameday.

An Open Letter to Jason Peters

2008-07-29T12:29:00.001-07:00

Dear Jason,

I've taken care of pretty much everything. The Marshawn thing went away, that BS story I circulated about James Hardy allowed him to fall to the Bills in the second round and the bone in Poz's arm has been replaced with an unbreakable material which hasn't technically been discovered yet. Everything has been set in motion to get you guys back to the Super Bowl and...wink, wink...make everything right again. Your holdout is the only lingering issue. So do me a favour, report to camp. I've waited too long for all this. I'm really looking forward to the...you know. Sweet Me, do I actually have to spell it out for you? The econd-say oming-csay.

I've done everything within my power but even I can't make up for the loss of an All-Pro left tackle. Kirk Chambers seems like a nice guy and all but Jason, lets be realistic. The guys a bit of a turnstile. I'm not sure that's the right word as the Hebrew term is difficult to translate and the Aramaic translation probably makes even less sense. I think it loosely translates to a "retarded goat herder with poor footwork". Regardless of what language we're speaking, he sucks hard. Not to put too much pressure on you Jay but there's a fair amount riding on you completing the puzzle here. If not, Belichick may win again. Trust me you can never count that bugger out. Him and I have been going at it since the dawn of time. You have to hand it to him. The guy never gives up.

So in summary, get your ass to Rochester and make nice with the brass. I'll make sure you get yours. Remember, who loves ya? That's right. I do.

Regards,

JC

A letter from on high to Jason of Arkansas regarding the end of a holdout

Run from The Hills, Run for your Liiiiife!

2008-07-25T11:26:00.000-07:00

...and that's why you haven't heard anything from Jacob Dylan in the past few years. We knew Bowie was pissed but none of us thought he would have gone that far. Don't let the androgyny fool you. That MoFo's a stonecold killer. He craaaaazy!

***

The other night I was at home watching TV with Mrs. Holt. A commercial came on which completely dumbfounded be. Some douchebag was sitting on a patio with his flakey-looking ladyfriend as she yammered on about something on her cellphone. Two cute girls walked by. Instead of leering at them in the respectable traditional fashion he, being the douchebag, takes his little mobile gadget and snaps a picture of their respective asses as they passed. He then receives a message on that same gadget consisting of a random collection of letters and exclamation marks apparently indicating his mouthbreathing lunch companion takes umbrage with his actions. Cue product logo and slogan. My initial reaction is, am I supposed to know who the Hell these people are? While clearly I am aging rapidly and with every diaper change am drifting further away from whatever it is the kids are into these days, I'm not yet my Dad. I have some sense, at least, of who pop culture's major players are, or at least I thought I did. It was brought to my attention that the douche and douchette in the ad were Brody Jenner and Lauren Conrad. These two, as most of you probably already knew, are "stars" of The Hills. Here is a picture of them at a bachelor auction. They're the couple sitting to the left and right of A-Rod.

"Psst, hey A-Rod. Even I think you're a douche and I'm wearing a hood indoors"

As far as I can tell, The Hills is a reality show that showcases the useless offspring of some very wealthy somebodies in and round Los Angeles. The general plot seems to be based around who can spend the most, do the least, look the most whorish and generally destroy any hopes for a generation turning into anything more than a bunch of useless tits who's emptiness of their souls is only surpassed by the size of their sunglasses. I gleaned this from some very cursory internet research as well as what I've witnessed of the young people that frequent my local Starbucks. They appear to be emulating their role models extremely well. They have finely honed the skills of sitting around a table, carrying on inane conversation and putting away $7 coffees all whilst operating multiple mobile communications devices. You know when old people harken back to the "good old days" when people "knew the value of hard work" and had to walk to school "uphill both ways while being fired on by the North Koreans and the Jerries". I now know exactly what they're talking about. As a father I yearn for the days when kids had "Head of the Class" and "Back to School" as examples of how to live right. Okay maybe not Back to School, unless you were an aspiring platform diver. Hell, compared to things like The Hills that glorify sloth, snobbery and vapidity I'd be happy with Paris Hilton as Charlie's big sister. At least that waify tramp works!

I have now figured out who these asswipes are. What I still can't figure out is why they are being asked to endorse anything. While I was growing up one of the more prominent endorsers was Michael Jordan. The power of his endorsement was best illustrated by the catchphrase "Be Like Mike". This is the basic messages of all endorsements boiled down to its simplest form. Drink this beverage, wear this show or use this tax planning service and you will, in turn, be like whomever it is that endorses that product or service. Throw out the problem gambling and philandering and you can see why someone would want to "Be Like Mike". By the same token the world would be well served if people strive to be like Tiger, Spuds McKenzie or the "Where's the Beef" Lady. Instead we are being told to "Be Like this Douche"! Take pictures of some chick's ass when she walks by! Don't talk in complete sentences! Lunch with your friends rather than hold down a job! Be an embarrassment to your decathlete father! Clearly society is doomed.

...or is it.

Bills training camp opens today. Maybe a playoff run from everybody's favorite team will get us turned around as a society. Just look at the slogan written on the hat of Bills defensive end Chris Kelsay (or maybe it's Schobel....or Denney....all you white guys look alike).

Adversity Introduces Us to Ourselves. Now that's the type of message I want little Charlie exposed to. Its also the sort of thing I want to hear from a Bills team that has introduced us to plenty of the aforementioned adversity over the years. To me, it says this is the year (and sorry for the shitshow so far this century)! Reading that gives me a great deal of confidence for the 2008-hopefully 2009 season. If, on the other hand, I was a Patriots fan I wouldn't be so confident after seeing the condition (or lack thereof) their quarterback showed up to camp in.

It sure looks like an offseason of sharing meals with a supermodel has been unkind to Mr. Bunchen. Hey Tom, cigarettes and Veuve does not a training regimen make. Try to mix in a bit of protein or Stroud and Poz will snap you like a twig. If I close my eyes I can almost hear that sound. What sweet, beautiful music it is...

The Unfamiliar Taste of Victory

2008-07-04T09:08:00.000-07:00

...so how did I know she was lying? Well, if she were a real unicorn she wouldn't have ordered the duck. They're vegeterians. Everyone knows that.

***

What more can be said about our victory that hasn't been said already? Unless you're being held captive in a remote Colombian jungle you've most likely heard the news that we won our softball championship last night. What? They got out!? They haven't said anything about me have they? Because if they did it's totally made up. I had nothing to do with that. Anyways, it was a nailbiter but in the end the good guys won. Stay tuned for details about the parade route.

So I ask you this, is it entirely ridiculous to celebrate victory in an 8-team rec, co-ed slo-pitch league like it's the World Series? Is it absolutely lame that I woke up this morning with a smile on my face due to the fact that we emerged from a grueling 10 week schedule as champions? Is this just an admission that middle-age is approaching and that a meaningless victory in a meaningless league is all we have to grasp on to?

I say, not a chance. Despite the league we play in not being much, at least we won. We emerged as the victors amongst the also-rans, the tallest midget, the best English dentist, the toughest guy in Il Divo. As much as we all try to downplay the competition element of these games you can only do so much to fight human nature. Regardless of the level at which the sport is being played there is an innate need to end up victorious. When you get on the field you want to win and when you do, it feels really good, no matter what the circumstances are. On the flipside unless you're Vince Carter, it hurts to lose and, thankfully, we didn't.

Whatever the contest, its always better to win (even if you're a ginger)

The stakes are raised when there is a specific reason to dislike the opponent. In this case there clearly was. This bunch of douchebags which would have turned even the most easy going person into a rabid partisan. Beyond the usual chippiness that always comes out in championship games, of which both sides were equally guilty, there were other reasons to root against this other team. Firstly, these silly jokers brought music to the game. Instead of acceptable softball fare they inexplicably decided to go with some sort of generic dance mix. It seemed to be a type of club music that had been stripped down of any sort of actual bass. If there's such thing as Christian Instrumental Dance Music this was it. Secondly, someone on their team (or more likely a couple on their team) brought their young child to the game. The game started at 8:45 and went well past 10:00. My Dad instincts immediately kicked in when I heard this poor child, who was clearly up well past his/her bedtime, bawling on their bench. Clearly this was an important game but at some point your duty to your child overrules your duty to your co-ed, recreational slo-pitch team. Next game find a sitter or stay at home, jerks. The softball Gods frown on bad music and bad parenting. When you think about it, the result wasn't really all that surprising.

***

I'd just like to end with a quick Hapy 4th of July to everyone South of the Border. I'll do so with a visual tribute to America. Enjoy.

The Pitfalls of Focus Groups

2008-06-27T10:55:00.000-07:00

...clearly there's a right time and a wrong time for a hug. Judging by the look on the face of the busdriver I'll assume his vote goes in the "wrong time" column.

***

We all love democracy but it clearly doesn't work in all situations. Occasionally the "one man, one vote" approach leads us into situations that should be avoided and would have been in a situation where one reasonable party simply made an executive decision. Case in point a recent focus group utilized by the good folks at Anheuser-Busch to help them come up with a new product. Here's an excerpt of what occurred:

Moderator: "Thanks everyone for helping us come up with a great new addition to our lineup. We'll just go around the table and each of you can tell me what you would like in a new product. We'll start with you (points to first participant)."

Person #1: "Well I'm a pretty normal guy so I'd just like a beer, maybe something not too heavy for the summer".

Person #2: "I'm not much of a beer drinker but I still like the odd drink. Maybe something with a bit of fruit. Did I mention I'm a 16 year-old girl?".

Person #3: "I like to go on vacations and then brag to people about how much better things are wherever I was than at home even if its not true. Can we somehow incorporate an exotic location so I can use the product to remind everyone where I've been? While you're at it, can you bring back Tahiti Treat?"

Person #4: "I'm morbidly obese but don't want to make any real changes to my lifestyle. Surely there's a drink that will trick me into thinking its good for me even though there's no chance it is. These donuts are carb-free right?"

Person #5: "I have a pee fetish. Anything you can do to play to my palette would be appreciated."

Person #6: "Having been at sea for several moons I've got a touch o' the scurvy. This ol' sea dog's fightin' a bit o' the vitamin C deficiency."

Moderator: "Thanks everyone for your input. I think we have a way to make all of you happy".

...and this is how we ended up with this:

Correction

2008-06-27T07:46:00.000-07:00

It was erroneously reported yesterday in "Marshawn's Mulligan" that Tom Brady killed 17 migrant workers and buried them in his family's vineyard. That was regrettably a false statement. It was in fact, an apple orchard not a vineyard. We'd like to apologize to Mr. Brady, his friends in the Bush Administration, the Patriots organization, the owner of the vineyard and the families of the 17 migrant workers. We have since dismissed our fact checker. Here is a shot of her receiving the bad news.

Marshawn's Mulligan

2008-06-26T08:03:00.000-07:00

...so when someone asks you "do I need to draw you a picture?" in a sarcastic tone I would answer "no", particularly if they're good at drawing. Chances are they're going to draw you something very disgusting. Trust me on this one.

***

Let me first disclose that I am not a completely detached observer when it comes to the alleged Marshawn Lynch alleged hit and alleged run. I must admit that I am a Bills fan. There is a possibility, albeit slight, that my views on this subject are being clouded by my allegiance to the team and to their future hall of fame running back in particular....allegedly. With that being said I do think we need to use a bit of restraint when it comes to how we judge Marshawn.

First let's hear Marshawn's side of the story. As per the report in the Buffalo News Marshawn and his passenger, rookie receiver Steve Johnson, were unaware they hit anything or anyone as it was dark, rainy and they were "distracted" by a woman walking in front of Ms. Shpeley. The reports from eye witnesses that the car never slowed down could back this up (the victim has a different account but her vision may be clouded by the dollar signs in her eyes, not to mention the impact from an SUV and a dozen cans of High Life). The players' story could also be corroborated by the fact that Marshawn made no effort to hide the SUV or clean off the nacho cheese stains on the hood. As for the distraction, here's a picture of the girl. You have to admit that would be very distracting at 3:30 in the morning.

Clearly this may capture your attention even if you weren't high, which of course no one was. I'm not even sure why I brought that up. Forget I mentioned it.

Let's assume however that Marshawn is guilty of something here. It could be nothing more than driving without his contact lenses but is most likely something more serious than that. He has, to some degree or another, made a mistake and exercised poor judgment after the fact. By no means do I want to play down what happened to Ms. Shpeley. I have a daughter, admittedly not one who would jaywalk on Chippewa wearing dark clothes at 3:30 AM in a driving rain storm, but I can still empathize somewhat with how disturbing this could be for her and her family. How then do we react? Do we, as some already have, lump Marshawn in with all the other troubled gun-toting, dog-electrocuting, wife-smacking problem athletes? In short, that seems like a bit of a stretch.

From all accounts Marshawn is not a "bad guy". He's a fun-loving kid who, like most 22 year-old instant millionaires, needs to grow up. I'm willing to give him a pass on this one indiscretion. If, in the future, we see a pattern of behaviour that indicates some more serious character issues then I'll be the first to call for him to be run out of town. For now he gets the benefit of the doubt particularly given that we're just at the beginning of the game here. Think of it like a round of golf. If you're new to the game and hit something fat, errr....out of bounds, you'd get a mulligan. That's what this is. We'll forget about that first mistake, Marshawn. Let's just try to keep it on the fairway from here on in.

Regardless of what I or other fiercely objective commentators may say this will haunt Marshawn for awhile. There is no doubt the fact that Marshawn is young, black, dreaded and grilled will play into perception here. It goes without saying that if Marshawn Lynch from Oakland was Gary Wiseborough from Elmira this incident would be viewed more in the "boys will be boys" vein. Hell, as a teenager Tom Brady killed 17 migrant workers and buried them in his family's vineyard but for some reason no one brings that up anymore. Perhaps we could afford Marshawn just an ounce of the same forgiveness in regards to his first offense.

Happy Pride Week from your Bills Ombudsman

2008-06-25T08:00:00.000-07:00

Bills fan are a broad, diverse group. Well, actually that's probably not true but just in case it is your Ombudsman would like to send a shout-out to the Bills fans in the LGBT community (let me know if there are some letters that need to be added to the acronym). Here's a little beefcake to help kick-off Pride Week:

Poz is #51 in your program, #1 in your hearts

Former nose tackle Fred Smerlas still rocks the 'stache

and a couple things for the ladies...

Bills in Toronto: An update from your Ombudsman

2008-06-24T23:38:00.000-07:00

Trying to create a true Buffalo Bills experience in Toronto is a lot like trying to recruit people for your ultimate frisbee team with a classified ad that doesn't use the word "bi-curious". It's difficult, if not impossible. That doesn't mean, of course, that we shouldn't try. This is why I previously accepted the responsibility of being the Bills in Toronto Ombudsman.

So far there has been a mixed bag of good and bad associated with the games. In the spirit of the late Tim Russert I will try to accentuate the positive. Here's what I like so far:

The coin toss will not be done by the annoying kids from the Rogers Wireless ads:
The Rogers brass were sticklers about this one . It took a great deal of lobbying on your behalf to eliminate this egregious product placement. I'd almost prefer the Fido dogs or a drunk Norm MacDonald in a beaver costume. These kids get on my last nerve. Look at us, we're such great platonic friends handpicked to appeal to key demographic groups that enjoy good clean fun facilitated by cameraphones. To that I say "puuuuuke". These guys were irritating the 10th time I saw them. By the fourteen hundredth time I'm ready to go Anton Chigurh on them. I can't even take a subway ride now without being forced to look at them doing something extreme, dynamic or extremely dynamic. Besides, since when did two straight normal twenty-somethings go camping just the "two of them"? This isn't some deep woods canoe trek where its two men against the wild. Their car is right there at the site. There are only reasons for such a trip, getting high or getting your manlove on. Either way my guess is that they threw the phone to the bear hoping it would destroy the evidence. Meanwhile with the guys away I'm pretty sure the Indian guy is looking to make a move on the cute blonde while also setting up the mediocre brunette in case he gets shot down. In golf that would be referred to as a "good miss".

The Logo is not as bad as it could have been:
The folks in charge get marks here for restraint. There is no corporate logo included or attempts to bundle in other Rogers services. That's a big step for these people. Sure it's only being created so more merchandise can be sold but I'll forgive them for that understandable bit of greed. You wouldn't ask a chain smoker to quit cold turkey so we'll let this little relapse slip. Most importantly, the charging buffalo is prominently in the foreground, the Bills font is correct and they've utilized the existing team colour palette. That's a solid thumbs up in my books. I just used the term "colour palette". Good for me!

That leaves us with my wishlist. These are the unresolved issues that need to be addressed. In reality this is not my wishlist, rather it is our wishlist:

They'll play Our song:
Hopefully it will soon be been confirmed that the "Bills make me want to shout" will be played after every Bills scoring play (though I'm not certain as to whether or not it will be played after a safety). Presumably the Rogers types in charge will want to play some trip-hop club music in the hopes it will put the fans in the mood for another round of Cosmos. I trust less-douchey heads will prevail. For those of you who have never attended a game at the Ralph it may be difficult to comprehend the importance of this song to the crowd and the experience. This is coming from a guy who couldn't be more anti-singalong. I won't even partake in Happy Birthday but once that extra point sales through I'll be belting it out. Hay-ay-ay-ay! Don't worry about knowing the words ahead of time as you just have to repeat what you hear. Even a Toronto sports crowd will be able to follow along.

The Bills PA announcer, John Gurtler Jr., must announce the games:
Gurtler's voice over the public address system will immediately transport you a hundred and eight miles south (and a little bit east. I looked it up on Google Maps). Hopefully every play and stoppage of play will be brought to us by Cellino & Barnes, Mighty Taco and/or M&T Bank. I also expect John to start every address with "Hey Bills fans...". John can be a bit testy so if he's announcing the games please give him your undivided attention. No one wants to hear "Hey VIPs. Could you take out your bluetooth receivers so I can tell you who the Goddamn ball carrier was, you bunch of self-absorbed Assholes!"

There are two hurdles that need to be overcome for this to happen. First the Rogers brass needs to exercise enough common sense to decide to bring John north. Secondly we have to assume he is even allowed to cross the border after his recent legal issues. He, his wife and his son, John III were all arrested after a grad party at the Gurtler home got a bit out of control. First let me ask one thing: what the Hell is happening in Western New York? When did we start arresting families for serving beer to minors? I guess we've let the terrorists win, haven't we. If a man can't buy a couple beers for his son's friends or bump into a woman with his SUV what have we got left? As Thomas Jefferson once said "A society that will trade a little liberty for a little order will lose both, and deserve neither". Amen to that Tommy. We need to stand up against this police state. I'm in the process of painting my "John Gurtler Graduates!" sign for the rally. I trust you all will be joining me.

If Donna Martin was allowed to graduate so should John Gurtler III

Music. I trust they will consult with the Bills in-game staff to ensure the right mix of Crazy Train and non-Crazy Train. It's a delicate balance. The Might Taco theme song must also be utilized at some point.

Field Design. There better be a giant charging buffalo on the 50 or heads will roll. You can stick your little series logo off to the side. If there is any mention of the opposing team on the turf the rest of your body will also roll. There are probably some physics and/or geometric challenges in getting a headless corpse to actually roll but don't underestimate what a determined group of Bills fans can do if they put their minds to it. We tore down steel goalposts with nothing but our brawn and elevated blood-alcohol levels.

Tailgating. There have been references to "tailgating" but in the Toronto context this will mean hospitality tents with cover charges, cash bars and mediocre bar skanks wearing t-shirts with vodka logos. Referring to this as a "tailgating" is like being promised you were going to a "party" only to find out you're going to a baby shower. While technically correct it's very misleading. The chances of being allowed to pull your car, truck or bus into a parking lot and crack open a can of beer are slim, Brian Moorman slim. The blame here should be placed squarely on our provincial and municipal governments for their Puritanical drinking laws. Most likely we'll be tailgating in my back laneway or Batavia Party Zone North as it will henceforth be referred to as.

Fat chicks taking their shirts off. Historically this is a staple of Bills games at the Ralph, particularly lopsided affairs (the games not the fat chicks, although now that you mention it...). This one has gone to the league offices and Immigration Canada for an official ruling. I'll let you know as soon as I hear something.

Where are all the characters? Will Elvis, the black guys in the chef hats and Mandy, the blonde who was a 7 out of 10 in 1992 that wears the Tasker jersey (no idea what her name actually is but Mandy sounds about right), make the trip north? Presumably Uncle Ted could spring for some appearance fees to get the most prominent Bills fans here.

Schlock. Regardless of what level they're being played at, most US football games have a healthy dose of heartstring tugging, flag-waving cheese to get the fans going. The formula usually includes a mix of fly-overs, soldier/player's widows, firearms, singing children, the crippled, people dressed as pilgrims, pyrotechnics and old glory. Despite our less "in your face" flavour of patriotism we should at least give Americana schlock a shot while we're hosting Buffalo's team. Right before kick-off I would recommend Kevin Everett standing on top of a humvee carrying Tim Russert's wife above his head with a bald eagle on each of her shoulders. As the Humvee moves towards the 50-yard line a whole bunch of things will explode. The Humvee will be driven by our future: the American Children.

U-S-A! U-S-A!

Stadium banners. During the Jays season the outside of the Rogers Centre is adorned with large banners showcasing the stars of the current team. While they could do the same with Bills stars for the Toronto series I have a better idea. The following picture blown up to 75 feet by 75 feet facing the Gardiner will showcase the passion shared by Bills fans of all ages. It may also serve as a bit of a heads-up for opposing team's fans or the indifferent scenesters who are attending the game simply because Toronto Life told them it was the thing to do after brunch on Sundays.

...teach them well and let them lead the way

Now, a quick note on what needs to be changed. The Bills in Toronto website is awful. Despite promises of social media modules (whatever the hell those are), celebrity bloggers and pretty much anything of interest we've been given a heaping amount of SFA. Worse still, that which we have been served up has been nothing but PR at its fluffiest. Reading the "blog" makes Rogers product introductions sound objective. The posts frequently mention NFL fans not just Bills fans which is a potentially disturbing sign as to how much of a "home field" advantage there will be. The obligatory "Go Bills" is delivered with the same awkwardness and conviction of George Bush stumbling through Arabic names.

There's still time to get this thing turned around. Please find someone who's an actual Bills fan to post on the "blog" or at the very least label it "press releases" or "desperate pleas to sell VIP tickets" as to not insult your audience. Even as a pure corporate information site it falls short. Where are the links to press conferences or other media so those of us who are trying to make sure you don't F this thing up can keep an eye on what you're plotting? You're not trying to hide anything from the Ombudsman, are you? That would not be smart. Even if you manage to sneak something by me you must know that Tim Russert is watching and he sees all.

***

We can forgive Rogers for the odd hiccup. We all make mistakes. I once downloaded a Tom Jones sings country album. Lo and behold, it was awful. That being said, I learned from that mistake. Much like Tom Jones, Rogers should stick to what it knows. In the case of Tom Jones it's belting out his cheesy classics whilst dodging knickers tossed by his aging fans. In the case of Rogers its charging as much as you possible can for every last item or service you can get people to buy from you. Concentrate on the gouging and leave the gameday operations to people who now something about football, particularly Bills Football.

Farewell Tim

2008-06-13T14:06:00.001-07:00

A sad note to end the week. NBC's Tim Russert, the host "Meet the Press" and arguably the most famous fan of the Bills, has just passed away at the age of 58. Besides having great taste in football teams, Russert, a Buffalo native, was one of the more articulate voices in American journalism. I specifically recall watching "Meet the Press" before one of the Super Bowls where he made no attempts to hide the fact that he would be cheering for the Bills. For some reason that memory has stuck some 13 or 14 years later.

A few of us saw Tim at the Ralph a few years back (that isn't us in the picture).

Anyways, this is terrible. Two days before Father's Day to boot. Not that there's ever a good time for something like this. There's really nothing else to say. He'll be sadly missed.

An Ultimate Waste of Time

2008-06-13T07:32:00.000-07:00

Q: What's the best thing about joining an Ultimate Frisbee team?

A: Finally finding a team you won't get cut from.

***

As I've mentioned before Ultimate Frisbee, or "Ultimate" as its apologists refer to it as, is not a sport. It's a bastardized half-game. Think of it as a less masculine version of hopscotch. It is played without the physical intensity of legitimate mano-a-mano team sports like football, hockey or basketball while lacking the casual self-awareness of more established leisurely sports like softball or golf. As such, you can't hit anyone or have a beer while playing. It's the worst of both worlds. It takes itself too seriously without an ounce of justification to do so. The game has no established place in the fabric of society or relevance to anyone outside a small troupe of misfits. As painful as this may be, imagine, if only for a moment, you were someone who participated in this odd game. You surely couldn't go to a sports bar to watch it on the big screen or bring up your perverse fetish in casual conversation. Mention a real sport and you have an immediate ice breaker at the summer office party. Mention Ultimate frisbee and even the creepy IT guys who only discuss sorcery and magic will avoid you. How well do you think Father's Day would go if you brought up how wonderful your last game was? While you're at it you might as well tell him you're dropping out of med school to become a medieval theatre major and then punch him in the throat. Nothing you could do or say after that would be any more damaging than your first comment.

We won! The first round of Champagne Spritzers and Fuzzy Navels are on me!

There are no great plays or players to emulate. Presumably there are no personal achievements to strive for. I highly doubt there's the equivalent of a hat trick, triple double or grand slam. Perhaps changing your headband three times in a game or politely applauding the effort of every opposing player by halftime are the "Ultimate" milestones. I did hear that there's a guy from the Beaches who recently went through his 50th pair of lulelemon pants in one season! That's probably something that deserves some recognition...and by recognition I, of course, mean scorn and derision.

It's a completely contrived and manufactured pastime seemingly created by those, and for those, with a distaste for all existing sports and conventions. What is it that caused these outcasts to forgo the broad range of available sporting options in favour of this perverse activity? What's the point of this apparent pointlessness? No sticks, no bats, no balls, no nets. Just a plastic disc and a bunch of douchebags running around. If that's not subversive I don't know what is. In my mind its an absolute scourge, something destructive to our way of life. Our forefathers didn't fight a couple world wars so we could sashay about a grass field tossing a frisbee around.

***

Q: What's the worst thing about joining an Ultimate Frisbee team?

A: Knowing that your father hates you.

Sorry, but its true. You're a huge disappointment.

Afterword: I really must add this one point which on its own makes the case that Ultimate Frisbee is not a sport. You can buy Ultimate Frisbee Jewelery. That's right. Just in case people outside your inner circle of douches were unsure as to whether or not you are a complete idiot you can put to rest any doubt by purchasing a "Layout" ring or "Thrower" Earrings. The "Listening to Dave Matthews and Indigo Girls pre-game for inspiration" anklet is coming soon. Also, the team pictured above is actually called the "Fightin' Waifs". I shit you not. Apparently their chief rivals are the Battlin' Brians who's name is an homage to the figure skating finals at the 1988 Winter Olympics. That part may or may not be true.

More from Euro 2008

2008-06-10T12:25:00.000-07:00

We've got a couple more recruits from Euro 2008 for the Birkenstock and Buzzcut all-stars.

This really will be quite the formidable team.

I'm a 2008? Euro 2008!

2008-06-09T06:58:00.000-07:00

..who am I to argue with an asparagus, particularly one that's so articulate?

***

The presence of car flags and the sound of Torontonians exaggerating their accents can only mean one thing...Euro 2008! On Friday it was "My grandpa was born in Portchoo-gall, eh". On Saturday it's "Por-TOO-gull, Por-TOO-gull". I don't recall using the words "Crikey" or referring to beets as beetroot when Australia was robbed by a flopping Italian during the last World Cup but, hey, that's just me. If that sounds a tad bitter well, it is. England, the team I support, did not qualify for this year's tournament. Their failure is, however, quite understandable as this year there are two host nations that received automatic bids. That left only 14 spots for other European squads. Its a lot to ask a team to qualify under such restrictive circumstances. After all, England isn't alone amongst great footballing nations in failing to make the cut. Moldova, San Marino and Luxembourg also fell short. As such, every mention of this tournament is a painful reminder of England's shortcomings and long history of disappointing performances. Watching the games is like being forced to watch your high school prom on TV because you had no one to go with and were too stupid to graduate. So, I will avoid it altogether. If I really want to see some soccer there are two leagues that play at the park near my house. One is for 6-8 years olds and the other is a middle-age lesbian league. While the skill of those two leagues may not be up to par with what is on display at the European championship at least they'll be far less crying, diving and fake injuries. Besides I wouldn't be surprised to see a handful of these players from Euro 2008 at my local field once the tournament ends.

The ladies of Churchmouse and Firkin United will be getting some much needed depth in about a month.

Given that I will probably cave at some point and start watching I should prepare myself. I will need a team to support. Unfortunately its much easier to find a reason to root against most of these teams as opposed to rooting for them. To start with there are the historical/political conflicts to consider. I'm of course looking at you, Spain. Lest we forget the Turbot War in whatever year it was that happened. Then there are traffic considerations. The sooner Greece is out the better when it comes to Danforth gridlock. The same logic could be used to eliminate Italy. Also, I have both a Greek and an Italian brother-in-law so I wouldn't want to play favorites. Its better that I hope they both lose. There are rivalry issues. Portugal has found a way to knock England out of their last two major tournaments mostly through the type of conniving and cheating that fans of 1980s WWF villianry would be familiar with. That being said, Romania has also pushed England out a couple times. In fact, ruling out teams based on them beating England would eliminate most everyone. Choosing a team based on who doesn't dive and whine would leave equally slim pickings. My sister-in-law's boyfriend is Croatian so I wouldn't have been adverse to throwing my support behind them. The flopping and rolling I saw this weekend quickly ended those hopes. The host nations are both awful and have no business being in the tournament so "auf Wiedersehen" to Austria and Switzerland. They are the coach's sons of Euro 2008. Russia doesn't need my help with the price of oil being where it is. I'm sure the Bingsheviks will have a few refs in their pockets and that's not something I can condone. One of my wife's favourite uncles is from Germany and I'd been fine to cheer alongside him but they're the favourites so I don't want to be viewed as an opportunist. There's a friendly Turkish fellow that works in my office but my Armenian uncle would never forgive me if I supported Turkey. Ironically my uncle loves Turkish delight though he's not such a big fan of the Turks. France, thanks but no thanks. It's the summer so I presume half the team will start their 9 week vacations making it difficult for them to compete at this level. That leaves us with Holland, Sweden, Poland and the Czechs. No offense Poland but you're not very good and an I saw an edisode of Real Football Factories about your fans scared the Hell out of me. The Dutch? I never know what to call them. The Hollandish? Netherlanders? Dutch-Americans? Until you can streamline what you call yourself you can count me out. So its down to the Czechs or the Swedes. Hmmmm? The Czechs have the better beer and the Swedes are responsible for weekend trips to Ikea. That's a quick 2-0 lead for the Czech Republic. Unfortunately for my český friends its not enough to overcome this...

Sorry Czechs but Mats beats Mullet every time. Go Sweden!

Please don't be Marshawn, Please don't be Marshawn

2008-06-04T07:34:00.000-07:00

...the Yankees look a bit desperate putting Chamberlain immediately into the starting rotation without him doing anything to prove he's ready for that responsibility. Quite frankly, I'm surprised that's something they'd just hand Joba.

***

This Marshawn thing is getting very worrisome. At a very minimum he's ignored the Bills restriction on their running backs owning SUVs. This rule was put in place around 9:15PM on June 17, 1994.

Holy crap, this was almost 14 years ago

Hopefully this is all he's guilty of. In a worst-case scenario he was the one driving and it was he who then made the idiotic decision to not stick around to see what kind of shape the woman he hit was in. At least whoever was driving (please don't be Marshawn, please don't be Marshawn) hit a Canadian so he won't be facing a crippling civil case like that other Bills running back I was hinting at earlier. I know a guy who, like the "victim", is from Milton. He's a great guy so I assume his fellow Miltonian is as well. I'm sure getting grazed by a car at 3:30AM is viewed in the proper perspective back home in the 289. Milton's the type of town where you get up, brush yourself off and keep on keepin' on. I'm sure if the driver had simply stopped and apologized this would have all been forgotten by now. Presumably a girl who grew up with the last name Shpeley has learned to roll with the punches. Please don't be Marshawn, please don't be Marshawn.

What the world doesn't need anymore

2008-06-03T06:31:00.001-07:00

...so that gets made out to "K. Shpeley"? Alright, so you jumped in front of the SUV which had no chance to swerve out of the way. That's exactly what happened, isn't that right?

***

Here we are some 6,000 years into human existence (that's a shout out to the JC crowd amongst the readership) and it seems to me we're due for some spring cleaning. As we've evolved (sorry JC crowd, I'm going to have to go with science and logic here) we have developed quite the advanced society with many wonderful things, ideas and institutions. Unfortunately we've also picked up a few things along the way that we could really do without. I'm not talking about war, famine, strife and all that as I'm sure the case against them has already been made. I'm going to focus more on society's lesser evils which individually may not be much but as a whole represent a significant blight on our world. Think of this like The Bucket List except its not a movie starring two aging stars playing out the schedule on what used to be respectable careers.

Birthday Cake and Turkey: I'm sure some of you are saying "But I love both those things why would you ever want to get rid of them". Really? I presume then, given your love affair with these two foods, the last time you went out to a nice restaurant you asked for a drumstick, some white meat and a big slice of chocolate cake with a little bit of waxy residue on top. Of course that didn't happen because you had countless better options. Why are we captive to holiday culinary traditions? Can't we break free from these shackles forced upon us by the Butterball and Duncan Hines lobbies. Trust me, they control everything. Banning birthday cake would not only allow us significantly superior choices for dessert but also put an end to birthday cakes at the office. The accounts receivable and HR staff aren't going to show up at your office once a year belting out an ear-splitting "Happy Birthday" with a cheese plate. The end of the Birthday Cake will commensurately bring about the end of this awful tradition. At my last job I tried to convince people I was born on Christmas Day just so I could avoid this painfully awkward interaction with co-workers.

Engagement planners: Commercialization has taken all of life's special moments and turned them into stressful times where whatever you do (and spend) will likely be inadequate to meet society's ever increasing expectations. The wedding industry has turned the formerly simple event of promising one's self to another into an overly orchestrated spectacle of opulence that in many cases has lost all sight of what the evening is supposed to be celebrating. We can thank wedding planners for that (might as well throw them on the list while we're at it). Now, you can't even get to the wedding itself before the experience is turned into something contrived and without meaning. For a sizable fee you can have someone tell you how to ask that special someone to spend the rest of your lives together. Shockingly people were able to do this on their own for centuries. In a few years people will be amazed that engagements could ever have happened without some woman telling you exactly what to say, when to say it and how many doves should be released coinciding with the question being popped. This is where society is going. As an aside I wonder if there are engagement planners in areas where arranged marriages are common? That would be a pretty sweet gig. Even I could do that.

Groom: How should I ask Parvati to be my wife?

Me/engagement planner: Ask? Dude, get your head out of your ass. Your Dad took care of that. What did you think the goats were for? Just to be nice? By the way, that'll be $4,500.

Personalized license plates: Need I say more. 95% of vanity plates can be paraphrased by "I'm someone who you're completely justified in hating...and I'm hung like a gerbil".

I'm sure he meant this to say "kickin' ass" but that first "K" could be a hard "C"

(and I'm not referring to the word "cooking")

Cornrows: Much like a goatee cornrows are always a bad choice. This cuts across all races and creeds. Black guys, why would you go for the ridiculous looking cornrows when you have so many superior options that aren't available to us white guys. You guys can pull off any number of variations on dreads. I'd be torn between what Chris Bosh has going or more of a Malcolm Jamal Warner/Etan Thomas thing.

Me, as a brother (maybe with a little more working out)

On the complete opposite end of the spectrum black guys can sport a shaved head without looking like their masking premature baldness or serial killers. Us white guys, with the possible exception of Mark Messier (who was masking his thinning hair), don't have that luxury. In terms of everyone else let me just leave you with some visual evidence. This should make the case for the eradication of cornrows better than anything I could write.

At least he has the excuse that he was high at the time.

Don't you like them? All of us on the team got them in Jamaica

Getting rid of the 'rows would only be step 1 for this douche

Monologue Dialog: This is a school of TV writing that first showed up in and around 1997 on the now defunct WB network. The most early example of this was Dawson's Creek. The Monologue Dialog would be characterized by two people technically talking to each other but really just delivering long-winded monologues. These monologues would involve superfluous four and five syllable words, frequent use of the third person and literary references beyond the realistic grasp of the conversation's participants. It is the most uneconomical conversation ever. Here's an example:

Pacey's Mom: Would you like some eggs?

Pacey: Depends on what you are getting at by like. The chorus rings out for one Pacey Witter being defined by whether blah blah blah.. Proust...metaphysical...Waiting for Godot... forlorn ... Pacey Witter... existentialism... Fellini-esque...whatever.

And this would go on for hours, if not days. People talking and talking but not quite saying anything. This style was born out of an idealized vision of how people should talk with no connection to how people actually talk. The genesis was likely a group of frustrated writers who were high school outcasts creating a revisionist history for their own disappointing experience. Oh what a world it would be if people mentioned French satirists in every second sentence and conversations took hours not mere minutes. Later incarnations were seen with the Gilmore Girls, Grey's Anatomy and on the big screen with Juno. There was even talk of TV's first crossover/spin-off involving cast members from Dawson's Creek and the Gilmore Girls. It was to be called "Endless Inane Babbling" and was schedule to air from 7AM until 11PM on Thursdays. Rumor has it that this was at the root of what caused the WB to shutdown. Supposedly the network was faced with a crippling lawsuit after 49% of the focus group committed suicide halfway through the pilot screening. I see no reason to doubt this actually happened.

Well that's a good enough list for now. I'm sure with a little hard work we can get rid of these few things before moving on to the next list. It doesn't seem like much now but when you add these up their combined absence will make the world a much better place for generations to come.

Gowan my way?

2008-06-02T11:18:00.000-07:00

...you have to respect his dedication. No other coach in the AFC East would dress up as a woman and jump in front of a moving SUV in the faint hope of taking out a star running back he would have to face twice a season. I highly doubt the coach of the Jets, Dolphins or Bills would go that far.

***

There's awkward, there's really awkward and then there's my experience with a bed salesman yesterday. Everything started off normally enough as we were shown a couple of different models and asked a couple questions about how we sleep, any ailments we have etc...you know, a seemingly typical interaction between interested bed buyer and commissioned bed seller. He struck me as a bit keen but, for the most part, a relatively normal, hard-working young salesperson and, on a personal-level, probably a reasonably cool guy. Then the song on the sound system changed. Not even a half-second into the keyboard intro and his eyes lit up. Inside this young man a fire was immediately ignited. "This" he declared in an excited fashion "is my favorite song ever". At this point I had absolutely no idea what the song even is. In fact I was shocked that he could have identified it given the fact that we had only heard a split second of a fairly generic 80s synthesizer chord. He continued. "Anytime you hear Moonlight Desires by Gowan, you know its going to be a good day". I had absolutely no idea how I was supposed to react to this. Was he kidding? He can't possibly mean that. He was being sarcastic, making a joke, wasn't he?

If he was kidding, however, how did he instantaneously know what song it was? This lightning quick reaction indicates more than a passing familiarity with the song. Maybe he was serious. This guy couldn't have been older than 26 or 27. Moonlight Desires just turned 21! There's no way that song had any role in this guy's life as a new release. Even if he had some sort of mature-beyond-his-years appreciation for music I find it highly unlikely that he would gravitate towards something that most likely debuted on an adult contemporary station. As a young person you tend to look for something that to some degree or another rocks. Gowan clearly didn't rock in 1987, nor does he today. Even if it was something his Mom used to play as a kid he would have surely moved on to something else upon developing his own taste in music. Maybe he came across the tune later in his life. Though slightly more plausible than a 5 or 6 year old becoming a diehard Gowan fan I don't view this as particularly likely either.

Growing up, I'm sure he may have heard the song a couple of times but I can't imagine an environment being created where it would become his favorite song and maintain that status to this very day. As far as I can tell the song didn't have a resurgence at any point that would coincide with some seminal moment in his life. Surely there's no chance he got drunk for the first time, got to second base, drove his first car, watched his favorite team win something or do anything remotely awesome with "Moonlight Desires" cranked on the stereo. That song is the soundtrack to elevator rides and dentist appointments. Picture May long weekend around 1998 or 1999, the time I approximate some, if not all, of this guy's firsts could have occurred. I highly doubt a Gowan CD gets anywhere near this imagined cottage or campground. This is pre-digital downloading so there's no way someone is travelling with a limitless musical library. Someone would have needed to pack an actual Gowan CD or at the very least a mixed tape that had included "Moonlight Desires". I really don't see someone dedicating backpack space to this when that space is at such a premium. Let's see, I'm a 16 year old kid. Let's leave the beer funnel and bong at home so I can rock out to Gowan around the campfire. Wait a minute, no wonder I don't have any friends. May 2-4!

This just doesn't add up.

Maybe its a gay thing. I really doubt he was hitting on me as I was with wife and child. Besides if you're using some sort of gay pick-up code wouldn't you mention something a little less cryptic just in case your intended target was a bit new to the man-love game. "The Pet Shop Boys are my favorite band. Would you like a backrub?" or "I love this song as much as the volleyball scene in Top Gun" would be a bit more clear in getting the point across. Regardless, this guy really didn't seem like a man's man. There really is no ready explanation for this.

Moonlight Desires is a relatively obscure song with no discernible kitsch value, cult appeal or critical acclaim. Also, from my research the song has never been covered by a better/cooler band. If you play it backwards it doesn't talk about drugs or the Maharishi. It's not a rebel song, a fight song, an anthem or an epic. No chaperone has ever admonished a couple of adolescents at a school dance for not leaving room for Jesus while Gowan brought the houselights on. This is a completely unremarkable song from an unremarkable era. Having this as your favorite song is akin to saying your favorite food is iceberg lettuce. I went over the lyrics dozens of times. Trust me, this is pure fluff. Even if you like crap there is plenty out there that's crappier. I have racked my brain trying to come up with a single reason why anyone, nonetheless a guy in his mid-late 20s who sells beds, would chose this as their favorite song and have come up empty.

I'm brought back to his inexplicably quick identification of the song that started all this. Even if I were to assume that this was his favorite song of all time I find it hard to believe that he could have picked it out so quickly. This is not Hell's Bells we're talking about where the very first sound immediately sends a message to your subconscious identifying what's about to happen. It was almost as if it was staged, like he knew what was coming. Maybe the music is on a loop so the salesmen, particularly those who've been there for a while, have the playlist memorized. That could explain the inhuman reaction time in naming the song but why then did he say it was his favorite song when there is clearly no reason it would be? Maybe it wasn't about him. Maybe it was about me. Maybe he saw something in me that said to him "make him think you're a Gowan fan". Why would he want to do that? Do I look like a fellow Gowan fan and this is his attempt to improve his chances of a sale by making some sort of connection with me? I'm not even sure what a Gowan fan would look like but presumably it's not a look one would strive for. Maybe there's no logic to the statement itself and this is all just some technique to put me off. That would be quite a piece of gamesmanship. If that was his intent he's certainly been successful. Here we are more than a day later and I'm still thinking about it. In fact, you could say it haunts me...it haunts me.

Well played Bed Salesman, well played.

Taking the Bills by the Horns

2008-05-30T07:34:00.000-07:00

...and that's why you'll never see me order anything with a cream sauce at Applebee's.

***

Much has happened during my recent hiatus. Charlie is growing like a weed (she can palm a basketball which strikes me as being pretty advanced for 10 and a half months). The Jays have turned their season around and, despite all my complaining, I went ahead and bought Bills tickets for their eight game series here in Toronto. The price was absolutely egregious and I dread what Rogers and the Toronto scenesters will turn the games into. In the end, however, I caved to my heart. The thought of waking up ticketless on a Sunday morning knowing that my team was about to kickoff only a streetcar ride away was too much to bare. It would be akin to the recurring dream I have about being stuck inside on Halloween watching the other kids trick or treating. Trust me, its an awful feeling. Now I'll have those tickets...and probably a metropass as their exorbitant cost may force me to sell my car. I also feel it is important for the team that there are at least a handful of actual fans on the premises. There will now be at least eight of us. Hopefully they'll be able to hear us over the Blackberry ringtones and small talk about cottage traffic and running groups.

We are now less than three months away from the first of the eight games, the pre-season tilt with the Steelers. That should give us enough time to mount a campaign against the Torontofication of the Bills. This may even require a whole new forum (I have yet to make a decision on that). Regardless it is our duty as legitimate Bills fans to provide some oversight here and put pressure wherever and whenever it is needed to ensure that these 8 games, particularly the 5 regular season games, do not become neutral venue spectacles. Home field advantage is crucial in the NFL and especially to the Bills. Here's some quick, admittedly simple math. The Bills have won nearly 60% of their home games while only prevailing in 37% of their road games. Over an entire season that's the difference between a 10 win team and a six win team, which is essentially the difference between a playoff team and a team with a top 5 draft pick. Perhaps put a different way its even easier to grasp. The Bills average point differential at home is over 7 points meaning they win by more than a touchdown. On the road they lose by an average of 4.5 points. Its therefore not a ridiculous assumption to say that a supportive home crowd and a familiar environment could be worth 11-12 points as opposed to a hostile fanbase at someone else's stadium. The midpoint of 5.5-6 points could then be viewed as the benefit of a home crowd versus a neutral crowd. Let me illustrate the spectrum of possible support levels starting with rabid Buffalo and ending with Dolphins fans (the first regular season home game will be against Miami) in pictures:

Hardcore...

Quiet, yet supportive...

Reserved and disinterested...

Douchey and self-absorbed...

and finally...Go Dolphins!

Clearly the difference between a supportive home crowd and an indifferent "come late, leave early" crowd can mean the difference between winning and losing. Taken a step further if the Bills games in Toronto are allowed to turn into home games for the "visitors" due to the fairweather nature of the local ticket buyers/corporately entertained then there is a better than 50% chance that a win could be turned into a loss. We in Toronto have been entrusted with the role of stewards for Western New York's team for five very important games over the next five years. Think of it like being asked to housesit for the guy who lives down the street...a guy who's house is all he has left because he lost his job, his wife took off on him and his dog died. That's quite the responsibility. Then imagine we don't do our job as fans and allow the stadium to turn into a nice comfy place where the "visting" team feels more at home. That's akin to trashing your buddy's house and then sleeping with his ex-wife just for good measure. That's hardly being a good neighbour/neighbor.

Having done this analysis (and looking at these pictures) it has become clear to me that the enormity of this responsibility is even larger than I had anticipated. A such I have decided to anoint myself The Bills in Toronto Ombudsman. In this role I will do whatever I can to ensure that while the Bills are in our fair city they will be taken care of. Fans will be both educated and motivated. The moneyed backers of this venture and the douchery that defines the event-going population of this city will be kept at bay. This is a promise I make to Bills fans everywhere, particularly those of you in and around Buffalo. We will do all that we can to ensure that they return home every year just as they left, only with another win under the belt. Apart from the $78 million dollars you won't even realize they were gone.

NFL draft report card: A for Affort!

2008-04-29T13:04:00.000-07:00

Websites dedicated to analyzing and grading the NFL draft are the third most common on the Internet trailing only those featuring porn and those promoting gold and agriculture stocks to Canadian retail investors. So why would I, with my humble little column, dare enter the fray? Good question. Firstly, that's a stupid question and secondly, I have an edge. While most of the analysts focusing on the draft spend countless hours poring over tapes, stats, Wonderlic scores and criminal background checks I have the advantage of having very little time, experience or resources. Most of the acknowledged experts who preview, and then review, the draft are usually made to look like absolute fools once those selected actually start playing (assuming they ever make an NFL roster. I'm looking at you Oakland Raiders!) so perhaps the time has come for a whole new approach. Without any further ado, here goes...

The first ten picks were not made by the Buffalo Bills so I'm going to venture a guess that there were a couple of decent picks, presumably the Falcons and Lions made bad choices (Lions weren't even in the top 10. Shows what I know) and that Howie Long's son is ridiculously overrated just like his Dad was. Beyond that, who cares (you read the not Bills part, right?). At number 11 we have the 87.5% Buffalo/12.5% Toronto Bills. They addressed one of their two glaring needs with...

CB Leodis McKelvin of Troy. This pick was a homerun and here's why:
a) Have you ever met someone named Leodis you haven't liked?
b) Helen of Troy was hot but couldn't run a sub 4.5 40. McKelvin of Troy can. Best of both worlds.
c) Insurance for the Bills in the return game and immediate help in nickel and dime packages even if he isn't ready to start across from Terrence McGee. By midseason our starting corners will be just Leodis and Terry McGee. La dee da, da da da da da da da.

A new favorite at all-girls summer camps

Picks 12 through 40 were again made by other teams that I couldn't have cared less about. A handful of guys from big name schools picked too high, two or three guys who will be in NFL Europe by 2010, the Lions presumably picked up another couple receivers and the first Kentwan ever selected in the first round. It's a big day for Kentwans everywhere. With the 41st pick, the Buffalo Bills selected:

WR James Hardy of Indiana. Another one knocked out of the park by the Bills brass. I immediately went searching for a Hardy jersey on eBay only to find a bunch of obscenely expensive t-shirts. Let me get this straight, there are t-shirt with tattooish patterns and rhinestones that sell for over $200...to men?! You idiots. You've seen this movie before with that last incarnation of "Hardy" t-shirts. It was called Von Dutch. Now you can find all the trucker hats you want on the TJ Maxx clearance tables beside the poker chip sets and martini shakers. Anyways, Hardy is exactly what this team needs. The shady past is hopefully fully in the past. Besides, there have been some truly awful receivers who were choirboys. Michael Irvin went to the Hall of Fame with his fur coat, coke and hookers in hand.

42 through 71 more of the same. Why can't you guys just go on auto-draft so we can get to the Bills next pick. Finally (a day later!!!!) we get back to Buffalo at 72.

DE Chris Ellis of Virginia Tech. Defensive end....Pass rush specialist....Va. Tech....name that doesn't clearly denote whether he is white or black.....Bruuuuuuuuuuuuuce!

Blah, blah, blah on to pick 115 and the highlight of round 4.

CB Reggie Corner of Akron. You know when someone says "____ is my middle name" to indicate some sort of interest or aptitude. Well, Reggie Corner has them all beat. Corner is his last name (his middle name is lockdown) and yes, if you're wondering, he is a Corner of the Lancashire Corners. They've been proud corners for generations, going back to the late 18th century. Unfortunately, Johnny Pass Catching Tight End decided against entering the draft this year.

116 through 131 went by without a German or anyone who graduated with a degree in Pharmacology selected. I wonder what Mel Kiper thinks of that! Whatever he thinks he'll be proven wrong in less than 18 months so I guess it's irrelevant. At 132, the next member of the future Super Bowl champions is:

TE Derek Fine of Kansas. I'm pretty sure he was the bass player on their 5th and 6th albums. Unfortunately he had nothing to do with "Carry on my Wayward Son". Still, a valuable addition to the thin tight end ranks.

Then with the 147th pick in the 5th round the good guys went out and got:

LB Alvin Bowen of Iowa State. An undersized linebacker. You can never have too many of those! I know nothing of him so I'm going to make up something interesting. Alvin speaks Aramaic and once correctly identified the last 23 US Presidents by their handwriting alone. He was stumped by James Garfield who Bowen claimed never used cursive and that the whole test was a fraud. Alvin is clearly someone who doesn't like to lose. That's exactly what this team needs especially on special teams where he is most likely to see the bulk of his playing time.

Round 6 saw the Bills make a pick that seemed a bit strange at first, but there was method to their madness.

RB Xavier Odom of Northwest Missouri State. I immediately thought this guy's name sounded made up and so did his school. It turns out this was a diversion the Bills used to confuse the Patriot spies within the war room. While they were busy trying to figure out who this guy was the Bills were able to write down the names of their next three picks without anyone in New England seeing them. If you rearrange the letters in "Northwest Missouri State" you get "Belichick go F yourself". If the Patriots were smart enough they would have realized the ruse from the start. The Bills have enough running back for three or four teams in the shape of one Marshawn Lynch.

With pick #219 the Bills made a very intriguing selection.

OL Demetrius Bell of Northwestern State. Demetrius' Dad never really identified with his son. "I'm pretty sure he's mine but boy, does he ever look like that mailman". Let me explain that stupid joke, Demetrius Bell's deadbeat dad is multimillionaire Republican, Karl "The Mailman" Malone. Apparently this mailman didn't always deliver when it came to solid parenting or sufficient child support. Hopefully Demetrius, who is (like his father) a ridiculously gifted athlete, can channel the anger towards his deadbeat Dad into becoming a force on the O-line. The Bills best lineman now, Jason Peters, was an even more raw project when he was brought in as an undrafted free agent so there is precedent here.

Anyone not drafted now must really be pissing themselves. Inboxes are being filled with resumes of applicants with half-finished Communications degrees. With the 224th pick the Bills threw a bone to:

WR Steve Johnson of Kentucky. Surprisingly a guy named Steve Johnson from Kentucky has dreads. Apparently he's buddies with Marshawn so he must be amazing.

The Bills last pick was a compensatory pick for losing a free agent. I think the concept of compensatory picks should be used in all facets of life. "Sorry I your stole your girlfriend but hey, you'll get a late 10th round pick to try and replace her". It would certainly take the sting out of life's more traumatic moments. I think this was also the basis of the Marshall Plan but then again history was not my major.

CB Kennard Cox of Pitt. Well Ken, good luck. Guys picked 251st rarely make it but at least you can enjoy a training camp in Rochester. I'm sure they'll let you keep your jersey.

Well that's it. Overall I'd say the draft was perfect. The two glaring needs were met with the first two picks and everything else is gravy. Now we wait. If anyone knows of a way that I can hibernate until two-a-days start, let me know.

Get to Know Your Fellow Commuters: International Edition

2008-04-29T09:15:00.000-07:00

...what types of salad dressing do you have?

- (in heavy Italian accent) Uhh, we have oil and vinegar on table.

- No, I mean like ranch, thousand islands. What are my choices?

- The oil is right here.

- I guess that means Eye-talian dressing?

(this was an actual conversation between a group of American tourists and a remarkably restrained Italian waitress overhead recently outside of Rome)

***

The Holt family has recently returned from Italy (this fact should explain the lack of output from us here at the WWNW). While there is much to love about that fine country there was one very disturbing aspect that reminded me all too much of home. We were staying in a small Tuscan town just outside of Florence. After a number of days filled with adventurous and often frustrating attempts to navigate the area by car we decided to take the train into Florence (notice I am not using the Italian name for the city. There is very little in the world more annoying than someone who comes back from a trip and shares their new found 10-word foreign vocabulary with their friends and co-workers. "The coffee was so much better in Bartthhelona." It's all very Madonna/Paltrow-esque).

Our party included my wife, her mom, her aunt, Charlie and I. As we walked on to the rain I assumed that someone would vacate for any, or all, of us. Father with baby in arms, new mom, Grandmother or Great-Aunt are all people with a claim on seats that clearly subordinates that of the median train passenger. This group appeared to be a particularly able-bodied one yet, no one got up. It was a full ten minutes of pacing up and down the train before the single decent person on the crowded train did the right thing and offered up her seat.

I'm reasonably confident that even the miserable crowd on a typical Bloor-Danforth westbound morning run would have at least a couple volunteers gave up their seat. Quit clearly, in Italy TTC stands for Treno full of Total Crap. The most surprising aspect of this collection of asswipes on rails is how much they worshipped young Charlie everywhere else we went in the country. We could hardly walk a block without being stopped so some starstruck local could fawn over little Charlie. It was as if we were pushing a 9.5 kg George Clooney around town. Men and woman, young and old, it was as if these people had never seen the world's cutest and smartest little blonde toddler before, that is, unless it required the sacrifice of standing for a 25 minute train ride. On that train she, and the surprising amount of stress she was putting on Daddy's back, might as well have been invisible. These are, for the most part, wonderful people accept when seating is involved. Then everyone's inner Mussolini shows up.

What was the big deal? Italians stand around a lot. They drink coffee standing at the counter. There are no public benches anywhere. Doorways are full of people smoking while standing. I saw little old ladies trekking up Tuscan roads. It is quite evident that they have learned to cope very well in the absence of a chairs. The seats weren't even that comfortable. So to all but one of the passengers on the Filigne Valdarno to Florence route last week, voi suck!

Other than that, Italy was wonderful. Thanks for asking.

I came home to one very troubling sight. Where the Hell did all these "diehard" Montreal Canadiens fans come from? When I go away is no one keeping an eye on this place? By the number of car flags seen around town you'd think Marty McFly had gone back to the Plains of Abraham and seriously messed things up.

There are a couple of possible explanations for this contagion of habs fandom. Firstly, the "closeted" Habs fan now feels free to flaunt their deviant proclivities given that Leaf fans have been demoralized by three straight years of missing the playoffs. While bothersome there's really no solution. As Leafs fans we have no ammunition to berate legitimate Canadiens fans with, even if they are being more boisterous now that the hometown team has been vanquished.

The second explanation (and most likely both of these are applicable to some degree) is that these are Leaf fans who are just jumping on the Montreal bandwagon because they're the only remaining Canadian team. This is quite simply ridiculous. Would Yankee fans support the Red Sox if they were to face the Jays just because their teams both played their home games in the same country? This is more of the misguided nationalism that I have lamented in the past. Would Canadiens fans don the blue and white if we made it farther in the playoffs than they did? If you believe that, well, you're an idiot.

In sports, former enemies don't band together to take on greater foes. This isn't Revenge of the Nerds 2. If you are a fan of the Maple Leafs you cannot also be a fan of the Canadiens or the Senators. I heard the same sort of absurd talk last year when Ottawa made their run to the finals. If Ottawa was in a seven game series against the combined stars from North Korea, Iran and Syria I would have bought an "Axis of Evil" jersey. Yankees fans can't support the Red Sox. People will souls can't support the Patriots. It is unnatural behaviour. Your contempt for your rival should far outweigh any potential allegiance you may have based on something less pertinent like geography, religion or culture. Ethnographers and paleontologists have been chronicling this for centuries. It's science, look it up. So unless you are a legitimate fan of the Canadiens, and the Canadiens alone, take that damn flag of the car and go watch a Jays game, you treasonous fool.

Get to know your Fellow Commuters: Part 4

2008-04-11T14:04:00.001-07:00

....No, no, no. I said "caulk". I was talking about the advertisement with David Suzuki and his "caulk". I guess that did sound kind of funny.

***

This Friday afternoon is moving at the speed of continental drift (or a Molina brother, take your pick). 4 o'clock felt like three days ago. I'm in desperate need of something to occupy my mind for the next hour or so. If MLSE really wants to reach out to the fans they should have one of their teams, on a rotating basis, play a Friday afternoon game. It would engender much goodwill with the fans looking for something to get the clock moving at the end of the week. Even better they could have an extended intermission, between say 5:30 and 6:30 regardless of the sport, so we could watch the conclusion at home or at a local establishment with a beer in hand. At first glance it sounds a bit absurd but if you consider the PVR world we all live in it seems less ridiculous. Now that media can be consumed on an a la carte basis why not take the work out of it for your customers. This is starting to make more and more sense. I hope you're reading this Dick Peddie. I'll even let you take credit for the idea.

Oh, I almost forgot. I've got a couple more people to add to the "Get to know your fellow commuter" series. Ah screw it, I'll finish this on Monday...

Too soon?

2008-04-07T06:55:00.000-07:00

..."well," said the nurse "they seem pretty cold. I guess we can take his gun away now".

***

The Complete Lack of Passion that Unites us all

2008-04-03T12:15:00.000-07:00

...first of all, it was for a part in A Chorus Line, secondly, it was the eighties and finally, I was probably high. Things were a lot different back then so don't you dare judge me.

***

I've had some time to cool down. I think I can now comment on the pathetic end of the 2007-2008 Toronto Maple Leafs season without resorting to violence or tears. While the newspaper pundits, talking heads and predominantly mouth-breathing fans that call the local radio stations are tripping over themselves to point fingers at every player and every member of the organization, very little criticism is being levelled at those that deserve it the most. A week ago this Tuesday, the Leafs came home after back-to-back wins in Buffalo and Ottawa to play what had somehow become a legitimately important hockey game against Boston. The Bruins were the weakened prey desperately clinging to the 8th and final playoff spot and we, the Maple Leafs, were hot on their heels. The game started with the young Leafs looking nervous and suddenly unsure of themselves as they faced a game that actually meant something. This is where your fans rise up to support you with both encouragement and energy. It is the players' job to win but every now and again those in the seats are called upon for a bit of a push. Football teams put the "12th man" on their walls of fame because of these very moments. Of course, we all know what happened. The fans showed up late, sat on their hands and eventually started booing before leaving early. Game over. Season over.

There's been a certain symmetry to this forgettable season. It started with a spirited effort on the ice which was met with apathy and petulance from the privileged assemblage at the house that inflated investment management fees and $100 oil built (see October 4th post) and ended with an even less enthusiastic response when it was needed most. The energy and electricity that the home team thrives off of was absent throughout the 40 home games played to date, with the possible exception of this past Saturday's game when the lower bowl was full of Montreal fans. As distasteful a concept as that is, at least there was a large gathering of actual hockey fans in the good seats. In fact, that meaningless game was the most fun I'd had at a Leafs game in the last few years.

As I watched the Jays and Yankees play their opening night game I was literally moved by the passion of the sold out crowd. This was for 1 of 162 games in a season rather than a "do or die", "lose and you're done" affair. Plus, its in New York where their bankers are richer, their CEOs are more important and their old money is even older (and more monied) than ours. If there is any populace that has a justifiable case to act like a bunch of self-important, "too cool to stand up and make noise" wallflowers it's them, not us. Yet, there they are. Standing and yelling, resplendent in team colours, even if they came directly from their Wall Street offices or a foie gras tasting in the Hamptons. Okay, that may be a bit of a stretch but please allow me a bit of leeway for exaggeration here for emphasis.

What is it about our upper crust (be they legitimately up and crusty or just pretending to be so) that makes them so miserable? Why must they ruin every sporting event in this city by turning it into a place to be seen but definitely not heard? Furthermore, why does this not elicit more of an outcry from the legitimate fans of the Leafs or those of the other Toronto teams? Sure the team has a myriad of deficiencies and ample room for improvement, but at some point the silent majority in the golds and platinum must shoulder some of the blame for yet another waste of a season. Look deep inside that empty suit of yours and see if there is even the slightest bit of you that actually cares about this team. If so, and I'm begging you here, just stay at home next year. If you must just please don't buy Raptors playoff tickets as well. It's Spring so the ByMark patio will be open soon. Take your clients or meet your douchebag friends there.

My new Band

2008-03-27T09:22:00.000-07:00

...If I ever started a rock band I think I would call it "Hey Son, it's your Dad. Even though I left you and your Mom I love you and I'm very proud of you". Whenever any fatherless child saw the band name come up on his iPod or digital radio he'd feel good about himself. The band would most likely suck as I have no actual musical talent. As such, the music would not bring about much joy but everyday the name would provide an inspirational message of hope to millions of kids. My second choice would be "The Small is the Message" because nowadays a medium is actually a small. If you don't believe me order a small drink at a fast food restaurant.

So keep an eye out for HSIYDETILY&YMILY&IVPOY or The Small is the Message coming to a town near you. I've even got a promo shot ready to go. Doesn't it rule? That's me with the moustache.

A quick hello from Jonathan Roy

2008-03-26T07:35:00.000-07:00

Hi everyone,

You don't really know me but, trust me, I'm a total douchebag. Why, you ask? Well, first of all, I'm wearing this chain. That, along with the cocky, jackass look on my face, is a pretty damning piece of evidence right there. Secondly, my Dad was a douche and seems more than happy to act as an enabler for my bad behaviour. "Saint Patrick" is an apt pupil of his idol Guy Lafleur's school of fathering young offenders. Thirdly, as you've all probably seen by now, I jumped a guy and kept throwing punches at his head even though he was not willing to fight back. That's classless and borderline psychopathic behaviour but hey, that's me. On top of that, I'm not a very good goalie so I have that "I'll never be able to do what my father did" stigma. I'm a backup goalie even though my Dad owns the team, is the GM and the head coach. Nothing says "you're not very good at stopping pucks" like being benched by dear old Dad. So that's a little bit about me. My name is Jonathan Roy and I'm a douche.

All the best,

J. Roy

A Nugget in the Footnotes

2008-03-25T06:40:00.000-07:00

...so there we are sitting in the board room waiting for everyone to dial in from the international offices. Jones, as usual, was late calling in so Peterson asks "maybe he got the time difference screwed up. What time zone is he in?" I then got that tingling feeling you get when you know you've just been set up for the most perfect joke ever. Your eyes get wide, your body starts to shake in anticipation and then it happened. "Oh" answered my boss "I think it's Bangkok Time".... and was it ever. Whamm-o! Direct hit. He's on the ground in obvious discomfort. It was literally perfect.

In retrospect, maybe it wasn't the most appropriate venue and maybe that contributed to my subsequent dismissal but really, how can you let something like that go?

***

You political junkies out there are surely familiar with the most recent bit of campaign controversy. Sen. Clinton is coming under fire for not actually coming under fire. Yesterday it came to light that one of her favorite war stories, the one about dodging sniper fire while on a critical foreign policy mission in Bosnia, was just a little embellished. The media has grasped on to video footage of then-First Lady Clinton walking casually off the plane with her daughter Chelsea. It also shows her stopping to listen to a young girl read a poem. Either this is one steely broad, not to mention a young poet with ice water coursing through her veins, or the sniper fire angle is a tad manufactured. The other exaggeration appears to be in regards to the "critical foreign policy nature" of the trip. This is not getting as much play as there may not be actual proof as to what was on Mrs. Clinton's itinerary. Luckily, the crack investigative journalists here at the WWNW have all the proof we need. Accompanying the First Lady and Chelsea on this trip was this guy:

That's right, noted Balkan affairs scholar Sinbad. Something tells me that if you're planning a trip to "get down to business" you'd probably opt for the head of a think tank, a professor or maybe even a civil servant. Sinbad was none of these things. Trust me, I looked it up (he was, for a short time, a secret service agent in First Kid and was the head of a Dorm, not a professor, in a Different World). Apparently she also brought along Pauly Shore to help monitor elections in Haiti and Urkell to advise on a multi-lateral trade agreement in Central America. Given this apparent inability to chose qualified people for important jobs I would be very wary of what a cabinet under President Clinton part Deux would look like.

Decision 2008: It's 2008 and we're making a decision

2008-03-19T10:57:00.000-07:00

...legally speaking, Ms. Mills-McCartney's case didn't have a leg to stand on.

Don't give me that look. Heather Mills is a miserable shrew who used all possible forms of deception to cheat Sir Paul out of his money. The judge ruled that she constantly made up things in a sad attempt to paint Paul as some sort of abusive drunk. For shame, this is a guy who performed at the Super Bowl halftime show and the last song at my wedding. Admittedly it was a recording of "Hey Jude" but he still deserves our respect. She claimed to have donated a bunch of money to charity, which she hadn't, and poured a glass of water on one of McCartney's lawyers (er... barristers?.. solicitors?.. bobbies?.. lorries?). The leg was lost in a motorcycle accident anyways, it wasn't some sad childhood disease that would have been rightfully out of bounds. She was on Dancing with the Stars for pete's sake. Were not talking about a war amp here. Anyways, she's an awful person who doesn't deserve what she got though thankfully its far less than she was asking for.

Now its time for that important moment where I announce who I am endorsing in the 2008 Presidential election. Given that I am not a US citizen I cannot vote but surely my words will influence many of those who will. As such, I have put as much thought into this as possible. So here goes. Let me first run through those I didn't chose, along with a brief explanation of why:

Mitt Romney: President Mitt? No way. First Ladies? Double no way. Governor from Massachusetts? Triple no way. Speaking of things from New England who were widely predicted to have no problem winning only to flame out when the pressure was on, let me use this opportunity to put my most prophetic prediction in print. Bill Belichick will not be the head coach of the Patriots at the start of next season. The commissioner and congress will somehow put the pressure on ownership to get rid of this menace. You heard it here first.

John Edwards: Clever little guy, but background as a class-action lawyer turned me off. Same reason I didn't support Cellino or Barnes.

John McCain: A little edgy, which I like in a power forward or a defenseman but not necessarily presidential. I swear he was about to dive across the desk during his debate with Dubya around the time of the South Carolina primaries in 2000. If he had I would be all over this guy. He really could have used the release as every time I see him he looks more and more repressed. Clearly this guy is going to blow and at that point he should not be in arm's reach of any sharp objects, nonetheless "the button".

Rudy Giuliani: Worst campaign strategy in recent memory. If you're going to put all your eggs in one basket make sure you're picking the right eggs. Florida was to Giuliani what shoot-first, no defence headcases are to Isiah Thomas. That probably doesn't make much sense but who cares. Even if it's a weak comparison, anyone who can even be considered in an analogy with Isiah Thomas should not be President.

Mike Huckabee: If I were ever to throw my support behind a baptist minister it would be this guy, no question. Likable, genuine and shockingly open-minded on many issues. Unfortunately he comes with all the baggage of the religious conservatives who would flock to him so he's a no-go.

Hillary Clinton: Sorry Hillary. I'm not even sure your own husband wants you to win given some of the things he's said and done. If he's not convinced, how can I be? If you're mad at someone be mad at him.

All Others: Too small, dumb, tall, smarmy, bug eyed, wordy, fat, double-jointed, Austrian, not Austrian enough, undecided, tanned, dead, secretive, grabby, red-cheeked, whorish and/or incarcerated.

That leaves only one logical candidate. My nod goes to Illinois Senator Barack Obama, with the one caveat being that I reserve the right to change my mind if Marv Levy decides to run. While my conclusion may not be that surprisingly, my rationale may have differed from some. Others will point to his moving speech from last night where he courageously tackled the issue of race in America rather than throwing his friend and pastor under the proverbial bus. That was commendable and very much in keeping with his message that he is truly a different sort of politician, but not what led me to his camp. Will.i.am with his cast of C-minus celebs and their performance of "Yes we can" had nothing at all to do with my decision. If anything it was a bit disturbing that Jimmy Kimmel could bring together an all-star group of A-listers for his "I'm F@%#ing Ben Affleck" song while Obama's camp tops out at the late Milo Pressman. Couldn't you have at least roped your buddy Oprah in? By the way, Oprah's endorsement actually worked against him. Her and I have issues going way back. I won't get into it other than to say, I'll never forgive her for what she did to that poor Steadman.

Much attention has been given to how cool and collected Obama has been throughout his campaign. To me its is not his demeanor that necessarily swung my decision but the context in which he has maintained it. Am I the only one who is not blown away by the fact that he has managed all this while in the process of quitting smoking? This is a truly remarkable feat and clearly speaks to his ability to handle any potentially stressful situation. When I went cold turkey I would fly off the handle if my radio reception was less than perfect. If I was forced into a debate during this period I would have certainly told my opponents off at least a half dozen times, and probably the moderator too. My opening address would have been something akin to "why the F--- are the lights so bright and would someone please tell this harpy to quit yapping". Breaking a nicotine habit puts you on the absolute razor's edge. It can turn even the most mild-mannered amongst us into raving lunatics. Haven't you seen the Nicorette commercials? They aren't far off. If Barack can carry himself with such class and poise while in the throes of his battle against cigarettes there is likely very little that he can't handle. Throw in the fact that he overcame the challenges of growing up as a mixed race child with the initials B.O. and its safe to say he has the experience necessary to deal with whatever adversity may come his way.

So there you have it. On behalf of the editorial board here at the WWNW I would like to take this opportunity to publicly endorse Barack Obama for President in 2008. Yes, I'm pretty sure we can!

Would you Schadenfreude up!

2008-03-14T10:17:00.000-07:00

...for the one-time peasant her newfound status as a Manhattan socialite was quite an adjustment. It is some 7,000 miles from Tajikistan to America but even that understates how far she had come. Who would have thought that a crude act of village dentistry some forty years earlier would leave her with a mouth that was now worth over $170 million? Then again who would have thought gold would go up as much as it did?

Olga, the mysterious benefactor of the Tajik-only Horse Feed Dispensary (formerly known as the Guggenheim)

The preceding was a dramatization but was meant as an illustration of the extremes brought about by unrestrained financial speculation. As you will learn from reading on the possibility of such ridiculousness may have just increased. This is not good news.

***

Watching the floor of the New York Stock Exchange erupt into joyous applause brings back memories of capitalism's great victories. The re-opening of the markets after 9/11 and the Dow hitting 10,000 are two ready examples. Earlier this week we saw and heard the trading floor go wild with exuberance once again. Why, you ask, aren't the stock markets going to Hell? With gold hitting $1,000 an ounce and Bear Stearns on the brink of extinction you're certainly right to think that the markets, as a whole, have few reasons to celebrate. The cheers from the pits were in fact driven by something that had nothing to do with stock prices. Arms were raised and happy cries were heard because news broke that New York Governor Eliot Spitzer had admitted that he cheated on his wife with an escort. Hizzah rang the chorus from the Wall Streeters!

Every day cheating husbands are forced to come clean to their families about their lascivious ways. Usually its kinda bad news, hardly the cause of such hootin' and hollerin'. This was however not just your average John. Much of what elevated Eliot Spitzer from his role as relatively unknown civil servant to Governor of the Union's third largest state was his work as Wall Street's Top Cop. After the Internet Bubble popped at the beginning of this century then-Attorney General Spitzer went to work zealously prosecuting the Wall Street enablers and unwarranted beneficiaries of the preceding excesses. Perhaps the term "zealously" requires a prefix there but as the old saying goes "you need to break a few eggs to punish the jackasses that made millions convincing poor schmucks to blow their life savings on eToys.com stock". He was by all accounts a ruthless prosecutor who may have, on a few occasions, crossed the line in making his cases too personal. The results, however, were impressive. Fines were levied, previously unassailable crooks were perp walked and, eventually, confidence was restored in the integrity of the financial markets. Spitzer and others joining his fight restored law and order to an industry that had become desperate lacking of both. Was self-aggrandizement a driving force behind what he did? Sure, but who cares. Most successful prosecutors rely as much on their ability to grandstand as their ability to interpret case law. Besides, these weren't the Sisters of the Poor he was going after here. These were grown men and women who had benefited from their excessive greed often at the expense of those who didn't know any better.

Now, flash back to the traders slapping high-fives and promising "drinks on me tonight"! Is there not something imminently distasteful about the joy they're getting out of this? Is this not akin to a bunch of high school kids celebrating the fact that Jimmy's parents just left for the weekend and left the liquor cabinet unlocked? This is not just some concerned New York citizens reacting to the fact that they will be getting another shot at electing a governor. This is a bunch of cowboys ready to turn the town upside down because someone just shot the sheriff. The cat is away and its time for the mouse to play...and, trust me, they won't play nice.

This is probably a good time to reveal a bit about myself so you don't infer any false biases (I have plenty of biases, just not this one). I work in the investment industry and have for 10 years now. On a purely selfish basis the reforms Spitzer and his ilk put forth probably cost me a few bucks. I was around for the idiocy of the Internet era, the subsequent implosion, recovery and now whatever you call this period. I like to think of myself as reasonably successful and, as such, am (for the most part) free of envy for what others in my field achieve. As much as I can tell, this is not being written out of any jadedness. Hopefully this is just an honest account of what I have witnessed. In my experience, a sadly large percentage of my fellow financial professionals need someone watching over them. I don't believe this is because they are particularly less ethical than those in other fields its simply that the temptation is that much larger. I'm not referring to large-scale fraud of the Enron variety or rampant pilfering like we saw at Tyco. Even a slight twist of the rules or an overlooked conflict of interest can result in a substantially lucrative benefit to the perpetrator. That being said, there must be a reason that the CFA curriculum (the industry standard designation for most categories of financial professionals) teaches ethics in each of its three exams. Ethics strikes me as something more innate than that. Maybe there is something inherently wrong with many of those attracted to the money game. Regardless of whether its is nature or nurture, history has shown us that left to their own devices far too may of those that do "what I do" with invariably find a way to screw you. Now, there's much less between them and said devices.

Eliot Spitzer is a shitty Dad and an even worse husband. There are, in fact, a whole lot of things wrong with him personally. He was, however, someone that kept the worst element of Wall Street at bay. For anyone with a couple of bucks in the stock market this is an important thing to keep in mind. This isn't the vanquishing of just another hypocritical politician or, as the media is lazily referring to it as, Schadenfreude. As flawed as he is and regardless of what his motivations were, he was on our side and his absence will be felt.

Hey Subway! (the restaurant chain, not the mode of transportaion)

2008-03-12T13:10:00.000-07:00

I presume you're paying attention given how frequently your banner ad shows up on my site, so listen up! Quit treating Jared like he's a freaking war hero! Way to not eat yourself to death and good job keeping the weight off for a couple years! To show how appreciated you are we're going to get Quarterback Brady Quinn to congratulate you. "Hey Jared, nice work and that means a lot coming from me as I've never thrown a single NFL touchdown pass and you've only heard of me because I'm white and went to Notre Dame. When you look back in a couple years you'll ask yourself 'why did they ask that guy to be in my commercial? Wasn't there a Detmer or Huard brother available?' Anyways, I love you".

If you want to stay on my site please respect my wishes.

The Management.

Get to Know your Fellow Commuters: Part 3

2008-03-12T12:27:00.000-07:00

...Hey, isn't that the hotel we stayed in when we went to Washington?.....I've never been to Washington with you.....Oh, crap.

***

The relative calm of March Break has unfortunately not completely rid the subway of its more unlikeable passengers. This morning I ran into "Queen Shit". This miserable woman believes that her 4-digit handbag is entitled to its own seat. In her misguided view of society's hierarchy her bag ranks ahead of me and a handful of other Torontonians on their way to work. Thankfully she didn't have her lap dog with her or we'd all still be waiting on the platform. To step back a week or so, I started this series as an attempt to avoid unnecessary confrontation and the stress that would cause. I felt that rather than getting myself all worked up about how inconsiderate and oblivious the majority of Toronto's subway riders are I could find a way to channel it into something amusing. This was my attempt at modern-day anthropology. Actually, I'm not even sure that's the right term. Regardless I just wanted to rip in to people in a manner that released, rather than built, tension. Besides, there is clearly no way to change this behaviour as it seems so deeply ingrained in these soulless creatures. There does not appear to be even a shred of decency which I could possibly appeal to. Today I had to remind myself of my detached observer role as I fought off the urge to ask this shrew if her purse was comfortable. I would have followed that up by explaining to whoever was next to me that "the bag needs its own seat...as does her purse". As much as that would have been enjoyable for me it would have likely sent this woman straight to her local botox purveyor, followed by heroic amounts of percocet mixed with Grey Goose. I don't need that on my conscience.

So there you have it. Queen Shit, you suck!

Get to Know your Fellow Commuters: Part 2

2008-03-11T07:07:00.000-07:00

It looks like my esteemed comment makers are doing my job for me. I very much appreciate their help in completing this commuters who's who. Our combined work is becoming much like that of the Group of Seven except that ours is obviously much more original (Why don't you paint another windswept tree, A.Y. Jackson!). So to recap, we have "The Remora", "Marital I-formation" and "The VIP". Let me add two other wacky characters today. The first is the polar opposite to the aforementioned VIP. While the VIP is known for their premature push to be at the front of the line, the "Snoozer" is characterized by their delayed, frantic dash to escape the car. The VIP is too eager to leave while The Snoozer is too late to leave. As their name would dictate the Snoozer can miraculously fall asleep in any position be it standing, seated or leaning. No one actually knows what rouses the Snoozer from their slumber or if they have any idea what stop they're supposed to get off at. All that is known is that they will awake only when the doors are about to close triggering the half-asleep passenger to bolt towards the closing door regardless of what may be in their way or what stop they're at. Watching this desperate rush towards the closing door can be quite entertaining when you're not in their direct path. It's similar to the opening scene of Raider's of the Lost Ark if Indy was completely uncoordinated and just woke up. A close relative to the Snoozer is the patron who is awake but is not paying attention due to an engrossing Sudoku, a fascinating conversation about what they read on a fellow student's Facebook page or just because their head is firmly up their ass. At the very last moment they realize that they need to get out and make the very same clumsy, hurried dash through the crowd to get off. This person is simply, an idiot.

One of the more harrowing experiences I had on the TTC was during one of my very first commutes. As the subway was heading east on the Danforth-Bloor line I noticed a passenger who was somewhat agitated yet also very excited looking. His expression went from just any other irritated passenger to wild-eyed nutjob as soon as we approached the DVP overpass. If any of you remember the look on the face of that crazy bastard who tried to run over his daughter and her boyfriend a while back because of some backwards customs (BTW, don't label me insensitive for that comment. Even the most tolerant amongst us need to call bullshit when someones beliefs involve running over their own daughter). Anyways "Wild Eyes'" expression, along with the presence of an overpass and the geopolitical issues we now face combined to put me into instant "let's roll" mode. If he reached for his shoelaces I was ready to jump him. Thankfully he just sat there revelling in his own craziness and the commute went off without any need for vigilantism. "Wild Eyes", I apologize for thinking you were a terrorist when, in fact, you're just a whack job or perhaps you may just suffer from some sort of ocular condition.

Anyways, "The Snoozer" and you're cousin "The Idiot", you suck! "Wild Eyes", you may need to see an eye doctor.

Get to Know your Fellow Commuters: Part 1

2008-03-06T11:51:00.000-08:00

...talk about a violation of free speech. What's the point of asking for contributions from the general public if you're not going to use them? The thought police at Alesse apparently didn't feel that my idea fit in with their campaign. Personally, if you think you're going to sell more birth control pills with "I'm flalesse" than with "You must be alesse because you wouldn't go out with me in high school" you don't know the first think about marketing.

***

Now that I've spent a good eight months commuting to work via the TTC I have had sufficient opportunity to get to know my fellow passengers. They are a diverse group from all walks of life: lawyers, students, nannies, life coaches, homeless drunks. What most of them share, however, is a common awfulness that comes together to make every subway ride even more miserable than the last. Over the next few days/weeks I'll be introducing you to some of them. Let's start with this guy...

The Remora: The marine biologists amongst you will know what I'm talking about here. Remoras are the suckerfish that attach themselves to sharks in the hopes of feeding off the scraps that fall from the mouths of their carnivorous hosts. On the subway the remora will quickly attach itself to the back of a larger patron usually by burrowing their forehead into your lower back (there are some shockingly small people on public transit) as they squeeze in for that last square inch of open real estate. While the remora can go unnoticed by the shark in the depths of the ocean the TTC remora is impossible to ignore. The constant bumping and the sound of shuffling feet can't be missed. The most irritating of these leeches will latch on to you as soon as the doors open, even when there is seemingly more than enough time and space to get on without being in the back pocket of your fellow passenger. There really is very little in the world more annoying than being gently nudged in the back as you step into a smelly subway car.

So to you, Remora. You suck!

More TV observations

2008-03-04T19:37:00.000-08:00

..."just like the help used to make". "No Galen junior", the producer gently interrupted, "it's just like your grandmother used to make". "Grandmother's make apple crisp?" the confused grocery heir asked. Sixteen more takes and the commercial was finally finished.

That's it. I just needed to call out those gawdawful Loblaw ads. I know he's the boss but there must be one person in the boardroom with the balls to stand up and say that chosing this douchebag as the spokesperson was a bad idea. Usually a slight hint of a fake English accent combined from an individual with no actual job experience and a heaping helping of blatant nepotism doesn't typically add up to "likeable spokesperson". We're not exactly talking Dave Thomas. Hell, this guy isn't even Sy Sperling.

The middle toe and other potentially unnecessary things

2008-02-27T06:59:00.000-08:00

...I wasn't even halfway through the powerpoint presentation when Gayle interrupted me. "So let me get this right. You want us to put our name on a care package full of complicated books, land mines and famine. This is quite frankly the worst presentation I've ever seen." With that she got up and stormed out of the board room. That's why "Oprah's least favorite things" didn't make it to shelves in time for Christmas. We're hoping for better luck in 2008.

On my way off to work last week I decided to quickly turn back for one more hug with little Charlie. What should have been a heartwarming moment between father and daughter quickly turned into an excruciating moment between bedpost and middle toe. In my haste I inadvertently booted the corner of my bed. After suffering through a day of nagging pain it had become quite evident that this was more than just a stubbed toe. The removal of my left sock quickly confirmed this diagnosis. My gnarled black toe was a clear indication of a bad sprain. The news hit hard. One minute I was in perfect health, the next I was facing a life-changing injury and a long, arduous road to recovery. At least that's what I thought. After a bit of research I quickly learned that having a sprained toe has actually zero impact on the injured party. Despite having an appendage being rendered absolutely I managed to go about my routine as I always have. Half-ass was not diminished to one-third or even one-quarter ass. I would not require the services of the "Make a Wish" foundation after all, which is too bad because I've always wanted to go to space camp.

What I learned from this harrowing ordeal was that not everything you view to be critical is so. Absence can in fact illuminate the fact that you are, in actuality, not missing anything at all. This had me quite worried as my wife and daughter are heading out of town some much deserved Florida sun (Charlie's been busting her ass studying for her SATs and learning how to drywall). What's to say that, to her, I would be the equivalent of that middle toe. Will a week or so away from Dad show her that I am completely superfluous? Anyone can make stupid faces and play the "blast off" game with her. Beyond that, what critical needs do I meet that can't be fulfilled from other sources? I imagined I had at least until she turned 14 before I became expendable. Suddenly I was completely convinced that day had already come still months short of her first birthday.

Luckily I arrived home a few nights ago to the reassuring sound of "Dadadadada". Despite the fact that that is all she ever says I immediately knew that if it wasn't for me she wouldn't be saying it so happily. Though admittedly not a signed contract there was something in that excitable expression and nonsensical babbling that clearly promised she would miss me and would be thrilled to see me upon her return. That split second immediately told me my worries were completely unfounded. I may be a lot of things but I am not, as of yet, unnecessary.

Breaking the chains of television oppression

2008-02-12T07:09:00.000-08:00

....steam room scene and full frontal! Sign me up. I've never heard of this "Eastern Promises" but it sure sounds good.

***

Last night I spent a quiet evening at home with Charlie and my HD as Mrs. Holt enjoyed a well-deserved night out. The night was spent flipping between the Raptors game against the Spurs and "Ross Kemp on Gangs" on National Geographic. The former was an ugly affair with the Raptors never giving any indication that they would possibly win the game despite the fact that the score was very close at the end. The latter was an altogether more entertaining affair. Ross Kemp is a UK actor and star of Eastenders. This series has him travelling around the globe investigating the world's most notorious and violent gangs. It's truly fascinating content which is made all the better given that it is all shown in glorious HD. Kemp is either one fearless bloke or just good at acting like one. I enjoyed the show so much that I decided to honour it with the inaugural "save all episodes" status on my PVR. Perhaps if it weren't for the writers' strike I would have chosen something else but this is the hand I was dealt. Congraulations Ross Kemp. Now go make me proud. After nearly a month I have yet to re-train my brain to adjust to my new PVR life. I still watch appointment television and get upset when I miss something someone says or only catch the back half of a scrolling headline. I can only imagine what it would be like for someone older than I am to adjust to the new relationship between viewer and content. It could take years. Perhaps there is some sort of reprogramming available that would allow us to more fully utilize this wonderful technology. There could be a retreat in the mountains where those of us who grew up with "must see TV" can learn to retake our lives back from the major networks.

The first thing I will do once I fully accept personal video recording into my life is to eliminate all Canadian-produced commercials. I know this is not a unique complaint but last night struck me as unusually annoying. Perhaps it was just my frame of mind, though I was actually in a pretty good mood. Allow me to just mention a couple of the more blatant offenders:

Tim Horton's "Chicken, Sausage, Ham": Here's the premise, the boss at what appears to be a small sporting goods retailer takes sandwich orders from his three employees. One asks for chicken, one asks for sausage and one asks for ham (who asks for a sausage sandwich? That doesn't even make sense). He, being the boss, is such a mouthbreather that he needs to repeat "chicken, sausage, ham" to himself as he walks to the Tim Horton's. Upon arrival he notices a sign for their new sandwich which has chicken, sausage and ham. He then buys three of said sandwiches, returns to his shop and delights his empoyees with their sandwiches, none of which is what they actually asked for. Are we to believe that none of the three would be upset by the fact that their orders were completely butchered by this idiot? They made very specific requests. Now you hand them something that is no longer kosher or halal, not to mention the allergy or dietary issues. Are they so hungry that they'll take whatever scraps you hand them? If that's the case, why go through the whole farce of asking them what they wanted in the first place? This ad is a trainwreck from start to finish..and the sandwich looks disgusting.

Home Depot, "You can do it, we can help": My problems with this are not so much with the ad as much as they are with the slogan. I spent about 45 minutes at a relatively uncrowded Home Depot on Saturday. While I have proven with every home project that, in fact, I can not do it, you (being Home Depot) didn't hold up your end of the bargain either. No one was around and those who were were about as helpful as using a Pickton brother for a character witness. Let me correct your erroneous slogan, "I can't do it, you're of little help, when does Lowe's open?"

Province of Ontario: "There's no place like this..": Really, there's no place like Ontario? Really? You're being serious? Of all the places in the world you could be, you're going to go with what, Sarnia? Oshawa? Richmond Hill? Forget Disneyland kids, we're going to Cambridge! You're bound to bring in the real discerning tourist with this completely unsubstantiated claim particularly when its being delivered in an irritating gingle performed by a poor man's Rob Thomas.

These are just three of many irritants which I will hopefully be rid of one day soon. Only then will I truly be free.

Don't mind him, he's just old...and a total ass

2008-02-07T12:40:00.001-08:00

...it felt good to laugh again, that was until the staples in my spleen ripped. It then felt terrible to laugh.

***

I'm just going to say one more thing about football and then I'll move on until at least the draft run-up. I promise. This is a quick message to Ted Rogers, "Ted, shut up". Maybe you've gone completely senile in which case this is a message more for your nursemaids and bag changers. If so, keep your patient away from microphones. From all accounts Ted is, however, still very much "with it" other than the fact that like many men who've reached his advanced age he has shut off any filters between his brain and his mouth. His performance at the press conference yesterday announcing the Bills games in Toronto was atrocious. While his "we'll charge as much as we possibly can" for tickets honesty was welcomed by shareholders and local media it showed a complete lack of tact for those that are legitimately worried that we (being Toronto) are stealing their team. Bills owner Ralph Wilson approach to the issue showed a bit more sensitivity but still did little to calm those of Western New York that see us as the Yankees, Cowboys and Haliburton all rolled into one. Jerry Sullivan, the long-time Bills columnist from the Buffalo News, described Rogers as having "the smug, lascivious expression of a fox who had just been invited into the henhouse". Wow, sounds like something I would write only more coherent. With Ted essentially giving the people of Buffalo a big "go F yourself" he is fostering a rather uncomfortable environment for existing Canadian Bills fans who still want to travel to the Ralph to watch a game with actual fans. You might as well take a piss on old glory while calling Jim Kelly a tranny. He is doing to us what Dubya has done to Americans with passports. The figure representing us publicly has turned us into absolute pariahs. I could already sense some tension last year after word of a pre-season game coming north began circulating. Things will get significantly worse thanks to the actions of old man Rogers.

At that moment Ralph suddenly thought "My God, what have I done?"

When I first heard about this press conference I was worried more that Ted and Ralph, at a combined age of 238, would embarrass themselves in some sad way as you'd expect from a couple of very, very old guys. I imagined they would start arguing about something being too loud or that things were taking too long and they may miss "Murder She Wrote". Instead I was embarrassed for completely different reasons. Ted, some may say your "straight talk" in showing that you care about nothing other than maximizing every dollar you can stuff in your front pocket is refreshing(Ted Rogers has no back pockets because he can no longer reach his own ass. True story. I used to get my haircut at the same place he did...terrible tipper apparently). Obviously, I would disagree. Ted, of course, would not be so frank when discussing cable rates or cell phone prices as he needs to maintain some semblance of customer service. He has no financial reason to show any compassion to the fans who have spent their hard earned money supporting this team for decades so he doesn't bother. Forget my little complaints about how I'll be treated and worry about how you're treating the good people on the other side of their border. They're having quite a tough go of it in that part of the country. Having the rich old guy from the big city callously bragging about how much he could sell tickets for a team that many people struggle to pay an average of $46 bucks to see is, quite frankly, appalling. Ted quite clearly is not, and has never been, a fan of sports or of anything other than making as much money as he can before he kicks it. His clear disregard for the importance of the Bills to their hometown is a clear indication of this.

So go on people, sign up at Billsintoronto.com for your one in a million chance to get royally screwed. The Inflated Cable Bills tickets will go fast and quite clearly Ted needs the money. Hopefully he can use it to buy a touch of class.

The tears of the Un-undefeated

2008-02-04T07:15:00.001-08:00

...he slammed the door to his hotel room behind him and tossed his keys on the dresser. At that moment he noticed a handwritten note folded on the bed. "Adeus Tom. The time has come for me to leave". He clutched the note to his chest, crumpled into his chair and began sobbing...they were the tears of the un-undefeated.

I apologize to you my readers and my employer for getting in a bit late today. After a long night of dancing around Pat Patriot's funeral pyre with all the ewoks I was a wee slow this morning. What a glorious evening it was. What began with duck and fennel scotch eggs (thanks to my brother-in-law for those) ended with the wonderous sight of a dejected Patriots team slinking back to their locker room with forked tails between their legs. While everyone is talking about how unlikely an upset this was I am not so shocked. History has taught us that evil will eventually be defeated as long as hope and goodness still lie deep somewhere within the hearts of men. Eli and company, thank you from all of us.

"Yeah Tom, here in the back. I've got a question. 'You suck'."

I am, however, a bit hesitant to fully let my guard down. Perhaps I've watched a bit too much 24 but I'm somwehat concerned that the threat posed by the vile Patriots has not yet fully passed. Could there be some sort of contingency plan? Did Belichick sneak out some back stairwell into the sewer system only to emerge on the Celtics coaching staff tomorrow? Was he actually the mastermind of all this or are the Chinese somehow involved? Did Victor Drazen have another son we don't know about? and who was Nina speaking german to? The Patriots are defeated, but are they really gone?

All this being said, it is probably time that I move on from slagging the Patriots. It is no longer neccessary to act as the sole dissenting voice in a sea of Patriot panderers. Clearly the tide of public opinion has turned against this team and their coach in particular. Now I feel as though I may even be guilty of excessively piling on and kicking an opponent while they're down. That's very Rodney Harrison of me and quite unbecoming. I shouldn't be taking this much pleasure in one team's defeat no matter how repugnant their behaviour has been. It is time to make ammends and move on. New England, great season, glad you lost. Let's just put all this ugliness behind us and start fresh in September.

Quest for 100k: and the grand total is....

2008-01-31T13:17:00.000-08:00

Well today marks the end of January, let's tally up the kilometres to see how close I got to my goal. Alright...add this...and that...carry the 2...adjust for wind resistance....that leaves us with, not even close. Unless I decide to run 34k after work it looks like I'll come up a bit short. In the end, this is not altogether surprising. In fact, two thirds of the way there is about how far I normally get towards the arbitrary goals I set for myself. Usually I lose interest very quickly using the slightest bit of advesity as an excuse to quit. Luckily I'm not running CTU or 24 would be more like 1 and a half. The second episode would most likely have me complaining, "so we disarmed the nuke and killed who we thought was the ringleader but you're telling me I can't go home for another 22 hours? F that, I just shot like a dozen guys. I'll be at the bar". Oops, I just gave away season 7 (except that Jack Bauer then drives home and gets caught by a R.I.D.E. program).

You would imagine that I'd be quite happy with the news that the Bills are on the verge of announcing that they will play 8 games in Toronto over the next five years. Logically given that I am a more than casual fan of the Bills and I live in Toronto this is not an outlandish leap. Your assumption, of course, would be way off. Here are some of the details of this wonderful opportunity. If you commit now you get five regular season games and three pre-season games starting later this year running through 2012. All this for only $250...a seat...per game! That's $2,000...on average. Let's just start with the pre-season games. Have you ever watched pre-season football games? For the most part they have the intensity of a Doogie Howser/Whoopi Goldberg love scene. Have you ever been to the Rogers Centre? It has the atmospere of small claims court. You put that crap in that venue and expect me to pay $500 for a pair. Not only that, its a pair of tickets I can't use for 3 to 5 years and I have to buy three of these? There is overpriced, there is outrageous, there is MLSE and then, there is this. We have reached a level of absurdity that even those used to scoffing down $50 ByMark hamburgers may not even stand for. I don't think there are enough exclamations marks in the world to articulate what an outrage this is. It's enough to make Richard Peddie say "I'm all for screwing people but even I have my limits". I must admit he didn't actually say that. Truthfully, he doesn't have any limits. Who will possibly pay for these? I would imagine corporations would be hesitant to splurge on something they can't use for up to five years. I know this town is flush with cash but at least some of that has to have already been earmarked for platinum lounges and box seats at the ACC.

Must I remind you that this is for Buffalo Bills tickets? You can drive down the road and buy as many as you'd like for around $60. For $250 a group could buy tickets and a hovercraft to get you there and back. Of course you won't get sushi and pinot grigio or the chance to sit beside some douchebag in a scarf, cap and tartan sweater reading text messgaes (yes I'm talking to you, Asian guy sitting courtside across from the Raptors bench on Friday). Instead you'll have to watch a football game with actual football fans. How gauche!

We'll see if these rumoured prices are true. Despite the egregiousness I'm sure they are. I just hope that the money ends up in the hands of the Bills organization rather than the cabal that runs Toronto sports and, more importantly, they use it. The team has been crying poor for years. Now you've got your smitten sugar daddy in the form of the nondiscerning Toronto ticket buyers so go treat yourself. Perhaps the personal shoppers at Holt's will recommend a solid #2 receiver or an outside linebacker?

Surprise, Boston teams can lose!

2008-01-24T12:44:00.000-08:00

...so why am I telling you this? I'm not sure really. I just thought you should know. Most people only have one, I have a few. I've never understood why that's such a big deal. Hopefully we can all just move on and be adults about this.

Last night contained the greatest few minutes in recent Toronto sports history. Just before 10PM Jose Calderon turned the corner on a couple of Celts on his way to the winning three-point play. This was followed by one of the most wonderful things I've ever seen. The camera panned to the bench to focus on head coach Sam Mitchell. Luckily the wide screen captured the Raptors assistant coach Jay Triano celebrating in a manner which could only be described as awesome. Triano couldn't constrain his exuberance. He immediately broke in to, rather convulsed in to, a rain dance/dosi-do that would have made even the least rhythmic amongst us cringe. With his left arm he started a Dawg pound sort of twirl, while jumping on his opposite first, all while spinning in a circle. If you've ever been to a wedding in the suburbs you would recognize this move as "half-in-the-bag uncle, dancing to Beyonce". He sure went crazy right then! It was spontaneous, it was spectacular. Moments later the Celtics missed a couple shots and the Raptors escaped with a road win against the best team in the NBA. A quick flip of the channel brought the sight of Captain Mats banging in a rebound with 30 seconds left in the Leafs game. The next half minute of hockey caused some consternation but luckily no damage was done and that game too ended in victory for the good. Late game comeback, awkward white guy, Now, that's a Wednesday night!

The death of Heath Ledger is rather disturbing. People around the office, myself included, were genuinely upset when the news broke, more so than I would have imagined. From what anyone could tell, he seemed like a decent guy (he was Australian after all) and was a talented actor. The fact that he had a young kid probably explains much of why people seem more affected by his death than that of his ilk. I know its been a while but I don't recall such an outpouring of sympathy after River Phoenix kicked it or Chris Farley dropped dead. Personally I felt quite guilty when the news broke as I had recently been convinced to join a dead pool by an old acquaintance. While I had not picked Ledger the news still made me feel rather ghoulish. I have since decided to withdraw my name from the pool. I had a terrible vision of running into someone that I had in my pool and bringing up that fact in a bid to make conversation. I've heard professional athletes mention how awkward it is when fantasy sports geeks talk to them about being on their teams. This would be infinitely worse. Telling a guy he should steal more bases is one thing. Telling him you think he's going to die this year and that you are, in a way, hoping for such an outcome is a whole new level of poor taste. Admittedly its a bizarre thought but who's to say Tara Reid wouldn't be in town for...whatever it is that she does these days. What if I was right and bumped into the widow of one of my selections in an elevator. My penchant for inappropriate conversation would make it very likely I would mention this. What's the etiquette in such a situation? It wouldn't be right to thank them, would it? Regardless, the best thing to do is to bow out now before I get any further into this devilish game. This is not really the type of thing a Dad should be involved in.

CBC's hot new show: Not completely terrible, yet!

2008-01-22T06:27:00.000-08:00

..."Ha, ha" I said in a clearly sarcastic tone. "oh by the way" I added "have you been assigned a specific suicide bomber for all eternity and if so have you set up some sort of time-sharing arrangement with all his other virgins?" That shut him up. I know it may have been a bit harsh but he needed to be brought down a peg. Who cares if he was only 13.

Oh, the things a writer's strike and a brand new TV will make you watch. I have had this wonderful new television for only a couple days so I am still at a point where I watch things based on the availability of high-def programming versus the actual content. We're definitely both in the honeymoon phase where just being together makes us happy. Of course, by "us" I mean the TV and I. So far I have watched college basketball games that I had no interest in, a National Geographic program on the gangs of El Salvador and a great deal of the Australian Open. I must say, there is a very good chance that HD was invented with leggy Russian tennis players in mind. None of these things would have been on my radar screen in my old life, my standard definition life. Last night I watched something that even surprised the new HD me. I watched, from start to finish, the premier of "The Border" on the CBC. As you have probably seen from the numerous promos during hockey games or plastered all over the subways, The Border is Canada's 24 (about -4 depending on wind chill). I'm not sure why I watched, perhaps it was some sort of misguided nationalism. Regardless of what drove me to this strange behaviour I might as well tell you what I thought. In a word, not nearly as bad as I would have imagined. The production values were higher than I would have guessed with a couple of decent explosions and some reasonable gunplay. Unlike most Canadian programming I didn't immediately recognize all the actors/actresses from commercials or The Air Farce. That being said there was the obligatory Canadian Stage over-acting and occasionally terrible writing that are to be expected, but neither were bad enough to force me to turn the channel. Like most high-quality US cop/action shows the female characters were all much better looking than they would be in real life. My gut tells me that the CBC put all their budget and energy into the first episode. By week 2 we'll probably see Colin Mochrie playing the terrorist mastermind with the production values back to Street Legal-levels. Hopefully I'm wrong and they can actually develop the show into something worth watching even when stuff isn't blowing up.

Just one quick note on the upcoming Super Bowl. Today's big dish is that America's Dad, Tom Brady was seen walking around New York with a cast. I guarantee this is nothing but gamesmanship by Belichick and the forces of evil. He's fine. Remember how bad wrestlers in the 80s would feign injury knowing that good wrestlers would not attack them. It was a standard weasel move made famous by the likes of The Million Dollar Man and Ric Flair. They would then sneak up behind their opponent with a ring bell or chair. This is exactly what Brady is doing now. He's preying on the good sportsmanship of his opponents. I fully expect him to take off the cast and use it as a foreign object or, at a minimum, to create an even more painful figure four. Over the next week or so I imagine Rodney Harrison will be seen wearing a neck brace and Richard Seymour will start walking with a heavily-jewelled cane. Whatever you do Eli Manning, don't accept any invitations to Piper's Pit. It's a trap.

Super Bowl XLII: Eli vs. Evil

2008-01-21T07:35:00.000-08:00

...that brief switchover between songs was all the time I needed to run onstage, grab the mic and unroll the banner. The audience was clearly there for a good time but they still needed to be educated about Darfur. Security was surprisingly slow and I ended up with a good 20 seconds before they shut down the audio and wrestled me away. I spent a couple hours in holding and was let off with just a warning. Of course, I've been given a lifetime ban from the karaoke bar but that's a small penalty to pay. I know Mr. Kowaguchi and the other 5 gentlemen in his party will go home tonight with something to think about.

Firstly, happy Martin Luther King day to all the American readers. Enjoy the day off before all of your investment portfolios disappear. In case you haven't noticed all the world's stock markets are simultaneously imploding. This whole capitalism thing was fun while it lasted, wasn't it. At least we've got Super Bowl XLII (interestingly, also Rogers Clemens' hat size) to look forward to. Not surprisingly, the AFC will be represented by the New England Patriots. More surprisingly, the NFC will be represented by the resurgent New York Giants. The matchup reminds me of a movie I saw once, I think it was called Star Wars. Giants' Quarterback Eli Manning is an unlikely hero and not one I would have chosen a few months ago but hey, why the Hell not? Luke Skywalker was just an awkward kid who kinda dressed like a pixie before Obi-Wan discovered him. He, like Eli, had not previously displayed any of the phenomenal talents afforded to him by his lineage. Now he's finally starting to get it just when he is being called upon to defeat the bad guys and save the world. With his imposing size and strange voice Michael Strahan is clearly Chewbacca. For sake of simplicity let's just say Coach Tom Coughlin is C3PO, placekicker Laurence Tynes is a lightsaber and Offensive Coordinator Kevin Gilbride is the Oscar-winning score. The Patriots' resemblance to the dark side is so obvious that to point it out would be condescending to you my readers. Let me just leave you with one thought. The guy in charge where's a hoodie...

Somehow Belichick looks even more miserable when he smiles.

If I recall the Death Star was a 14 point favourite as well, and wasn't there a scene where one of the bad guys slapped Princess Leia around (I think it was Lt. Moss)? The parallels are uncanny. Let's just hope the results are the same.

World Issues: no longer just a BS OAC course

2008-01-17T12:08:00.000-08:00

..."Apparently the Leafs are still referring to it as an upper body injury". I told President Musharraf that I didn't think that was very funny or appropriate and that he should keep it down until the end of the funeral. Secretly, I actually thought it was quite funny and made a mental note to steal the joke.

Speaking of Pervez, I wonder if he goes by Perv for short. If he does let's hope, for his sake, he doesn't come to North America when he steps down/goes into exile/is overthrown. It would be a huge culture shock for Perv. Every eVite he would send out would sound like a Toronto Sun headline. Imagine his housewarming. "Perv has moved to your neighborhood". Poor Perv would have no idea why no one showed up. Say he wanted to volunteer to get involved in his new community.

Charity director: "This new guy seems to have a lot of experience in leadership positions. He seems like the perfect guy to run our youth centre. All we need is a background check."
Volunteer #1: "Don't bother"
Charity director: " Why, is he a perv?".
Volunteer #1: "He's a total perv. He wrote it down right on his application".

Perv would be completely shunned through no fault of his own. Poor guy. Hopefully there's some arm within the Citizenship and Immigration ministry that helps those with names that sound dirty in English come up with alternatives. Craig Musharraf would have people lined up at the door for his housewarming party.

I thank my lucky stars that I am no longer a single man. I would not relish having to compete for women's affection with this guy.

Sure, but can he cook?

So let me get this straight...he's a prince and will one day be the King of England, he has one of those proper accents, he's tall, he's very dreamy and now he's freakin' Top Gun!?! How does this guy not have every girl in the world and I mean every last one? All the committed woman out there must be kicking themselves right now for settling.....and thank God they did.

Travel Advisory

2008-01-17T06:55:00.000-08:00

...his lawyer claimed it was some sort of exercise, "Tie chee" or something like that. As far as I was concerned he and his gang were starting something so I defended myself. Hopefully the judge sees it the same way.

On the ride to work this morning I was listening to a band called "Explosions in the Sky". If you've ever seen Friday Night Lights, the movie or the TV show, you'll recognize their music. If I was a more articulate man I would probably describe it as ethereal, like what Sigur Ros would sound like if they grew up in the South (the American South, not the Icelandic South). It's very good background music. I wonder, however, how many out of town fans they get at their shows particularly in the US. If they were playing in say, Atlanta, what would you tell the customs guy if you were flying down to see them? I imagine the conversation would be brief:

Customs agent: "Why are you flying to Atlanta?"
Indie rock fan: "I'm going to see explosions in the sky."
Taser: "Bzzzzzzzzhhhhhhh"

Unfortunately where you'll be going the opening act will be waterboarding and the headliner will be sleep deprivation. You'll disappear faster than Haley Joel Osment's career with even less chance of coming back. No concert is worth the risk of being tortured in Guantanamo, particularly one with no vocals.

WWNW pre-emptive movie review: I bet this will suck

2008-01-15T07:10:00.000-08:00

....Ini Kamoze? Ini freakin' Kamoze? That's your answer? Of all the possible choices in the world you went with the Hotstepper, the lyrical gangster? I know six months have passed but I'm still extremely angry about that. You completely ruined a perfectly good evening.

Is anybody else somewhat surprised that Jason Statham has become the next Jean-Claude Van Damme? On the subway this morning I saw a poster for the new release he is headlining (something about castles and swords). The rest of the cast was Ron Perlman, Leelee Sobieski, Mathew Lillard and Claire Forlani. Apparently Alan Thicke and Judd Nelson were unavailable. Shockingly two others were given special mention (you know how the poster puts "with" or "and" before some veteran actor's name and the end of the cast to give a movie legitimacy). They were, get this, Ray Liotta and Burt Reynolds. That's the best you could do? Pacino will show up and scream for a minute or two for under fifteen grand these days.

Obviously this movie is going to be awful. The most surprising thing on the poster were the words "in theatres". This stinker seems to have "direct to video" written all over it. Statham was the guy who's career started in Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels which he followed up with the comparable, but not as good, Snatch. Since then its been nothing but brainless action movies usually centred around Statham and the little Chinese guy trying to beat each other up. Perhaps it is simply that all things associated with Guy Ritchie have been completely soiled. The absolute and total destruction of his credibility given his relationship with, and subsequent marriage to, Madonna has been well chronicled. Is it possible that her presence has become so venomous that it not only destroys those around but also those one step removed? That could explain how Statham has gone from character actor in critically acclaimed movies to Van Damme with an English accent.

That's about all you'll ever get out of me in regards to movie reviews. As I've said before I don't go to movies given my Dad duties. If I have a free night that would be about number 18 on my to do list even if it was a movie I wanted to see. Hollywood writers, please end the strike soon so we don't even have to contemplate watching something like this.

It's never too late...to make an ass of one's self

2008-01-14T07:33:00.000-08:00

...watching at home you could never fully appreciate how loud the music actually is, to the point that the desperate screams of the crowd are completely indecipherable. Just a garbled rarrrr, arrrrr is all you can really make out above the yodeling. Perhaps it was this chaos that caused him to lose his focus. All the months we spent walking up and down aisles memorizing prices, the flashcards we went over and over on the long drive to Burbank, the countless hours we spent building up to that big day. In the end, none of it mattered. He froze. How could he not see my hand gestures? I clearly signalled 7-9 in reference to the Braun electric shaver and yet he blurts out "14 dollars!". His one chance at glory came to a crushing end as that little mountain climber eased past the number 25 and toppled over the edge into an abyss of failed dreams. This image forces its way into my mind every time I look at my old dinette set. It serves as a brutal reminder of what could have been. To this day, part of me believes he chose to fail. But why? How could he not want the same things that I did?

The last few days have been busy for little Charlotte as she blew threw a couple more firsts. Earlier in the week she started sitting up on her own while yesterday marked her first foray into eating real food. That's more than most kids manage in a month! At this pace no record is safe. Within a few months I fully expect her to be walking, while an explanation of the difference between "empathy" and "sympathy" written in alphabet blocks would not be out of the question by the time Labour Day rolls around. Her Bonds-like pursuit of personal milestones (in terms of its prolific-nature not any pharamceutical help, although her head has gotten bigger and she did get two shots at the doctors last week...) has even given me a bit of a kick in the pants to work harder towards my own goals. Not surprisingly I am well behind pace in my pursuit of 100k but with the help of Charlie's shining example I am slowly catching up. 29 down, 71 to go.

My other current personal endeavour comes with an embarrassing admission and represents something I should have done long ago. I, at 31 years and having lived all but about 9 months of my life in Canada, am just now learning how to skate. When I tell people this they don't fully grasp it. The say things like "so you're learning to play hockey?" or "you're working on your backwards crossovers?". No, I'm actually learning how to skate, as in I'm learning how to propel myself forward while on ice skates without toppling over. I grew up in Vancouver during a bizarre era when the parents in my neighborhood put their kids in soccer instead of hockey. The legacy of that new age, West Coast hippieness is that as soon as I step on the ice I look like a Chilean soccer player, except that I'm not falling on purpose. As the only non-New Canadian in my adult "learn to skate" program my failure as a native son of this country is impossible to hide. I've even been tempted to fake an accent in a lame effort to hide my shame. The whole thing is all very humiliating particularly during the warm up when I have to share the ice with five year olds, soccer moms and old guys. Did I mention that they are all skating circles around me?

Nevertheless, I soldier on. The longer I put this off the more difficult it will become. The ramifications of falling on the ice will provide more and more discouragement as every year passes. If I wait any longer I may end up breaking a hip. After two lessons I think I'm making some progress. My instructor seemed quite pleased with how far I've come. That being said, he's 16 years old so he may just be humouring me.

Mother Nature is a dirty tease

2008-01-11T06:14:00.000-08:00

....so needless to say I'm no longer welcome in any of Toronto's public libraries. As far as I'm concerned it was a simple misunderstanding but unfortunately they don't see it that way. Bunch of fascists!

In other news, what's with the weather? I keep having to remind myself that it is January (Hell it's not even mid-January!) despite the fact that I was able to walk to the subway without an overcoat this morning. Invariably when I step outside and don't shudder from the bonechilling cold my mind shifts to all things Spring. Sitting on patios, playing golf, the arrival of better produce, having sunlight after 5 PM. Of course, those things are still months away. This unusually warm spell is nothing but a tease to make the coming weeks of snow, ice and slush that much more unbearable. Thanks for the reminder of what we're missing. Quit screwing with me Mother Nature! The false hope is soul crushing, much like when you wake up in the morning thinking its a Saturday only to suddenly realize its Monday, and that its noon, and you're in prison, and that's not your wife's hand. I took out the garbage the other night in a t-shirt (and pants). It was 14 degrees for Chrissakes! I swear I heard a pack of hyenas laughing in the distance. On Tuesday we hit a high of 15, 4 degrees hotter than it was in Baghdad. I'm sure it will take time to tally up the damage but I'm presuming we've had at least a couple of species die off given this absurd weather. I haven't seen a pigeon or squirrel in the last couple of days so I'm hoping it's one (or both) of them.

Don't listen kid, Mother Nature is just f-ing with you

When Spring does actually arrive it seems increasingly likely that it will once again not signal the start of a Leafs playoff run. Up until a few years ago spring brought with it the optimism of car flags, spontaneous honking and random high fives. It was a great time to be in the city. 2008 will, unfortunately, mark the four year anniversary of the last time there was any such merriment. The current state of the Maple Leafs represents a new ten year low. Mediocrity was the previous nadir, but this year they've plunged right through, now wallowing in a previously unseen level of undeniable shittiness. Even their most blindly optimistic supports, a group in which I would include myself, can no longer find any silver linings or reasons for optimism. The saddest thing about this year's debacle is that it is now painfully clear that the Mats Sundin era is about to come to an end without him ever even reaching the finals as a Maple Leaf. Mats is one of the classiest star players we've ever had in Toronto (in any sport). The fact that he has never been fully embraced by the city despite being the best player to ever don the Blue and White in the modern era is probably as much a commentary on Leafs fans than it is on any of his relatively non-existent shortcomings. Seeing Mats leading another team through the playoffs will give the guys in the Tucker and Domi jerseys a little sense of what they're missing. I believe it was Cinderella that said it best: "You don't know what you got (til it's gone)".

One day soon we will pick up the paper only to read that Mats Sundin has been traded. From that day forth all car flags will fly at half mast.

Thanks America

2008-01-07T12:08:00.000-08:00

Here's a piece of great news I inexcusably missed from late last year. Chipotle Mexican Grill, the greatest quick service restaurant the world has ever seen, has announced that they will be opening their first restaurant outside the contiguous 48 States by the end of this year. The location....Toronto, Ontario (or Toronto, Canada as American TV often refers to it. I'll complain about that next time I'm in New York City, America). For the uninitiated, Chipotle offers amazing Mexican food. Comparing it to Taco Bell is an affront to Mexico and to cookery. Mentioning the Chipotle Carnitas burrito (carnitas is/are a beautifully slow-cooked pork) in the same paragraph as something like border fries is akin to lumping Steve Nash and Clifford Olson together simply because they're both from out West. Chipotle uses much higher-quality ingredients and more authentic recipes than any Mexican chain before it. Trust me, if you haven't had it before you're in for a treat. So far, no other details about location or exact opening dates have been released. I'm hoping for something close, but not too close. A couple of subway stops or a long walk away would be ideal. Anything closer and within six months I will likely take on a decidedly more Rubinesque physique. That is to say, I will grow one of these and a couple of those.

They're real and they're fabulous

So the next year or two will see two of the five greatest things about America (being Chipotle and the Buffalo Bills) being shared across the 49th parallel. I haven't figured out what the other three are but let's just go with a responsive service culture, self determination and TV commercial producers. What will we give them in return? Oil, wheat and Little Mosque on the Prairie. Seems to me like we're making out like bandits with this trade.

Here's something else I'll gladly throw in - Newmarket, Ontario native Steve Downie. Downie won two gold medals with our Canadian junior hockey team and scored 92 points in only 45 games last season. Oh and one other thing, he sucker punches guys with cancer. Downie, who's checkered past includes being suspended for 20 games to begin this season and beating the crap out of a teamate in junior, threw a punch at Maple Leafs forward Jason Blake while he (being Blake) had his arms restrained by a linesman.

Downie completing misinterpreting the call to help beat cancer

America, or whoever else wants him, he's all yours.

2008: 10 years since 1998!

2008-01-02T09:21:00.000-08:00

The new year welcomed us with a bitter, "freeze the snot in your nose" cold this morning. My face actually hurt at the conclusion of the twelve minute walk to the subway. The shift in the weather happened all very suddenly as last night was actually quite pleasant. I was even able to go for a run. In an attempt to force myself to exercise I set the somewhat arbitrary goal of running 100kms in January (cumulatively, not all at once). If successful I would up the target by 5k every month with the goal stretching to a realistically unachievable mark of 200k by November. By 2026 I will be running a marathon every day the very same year I turn 50! Pretty impressive, isn't it. I haven't decided whether or not to adjust the targets by the number of days in the month but let's cross that bridge when we come to it. Right now the over/under on how many months I reach my target is set at 1 with the smart money coming in heavily on the under. So far I've got 6 down and 94 to go. Hopefully I don't put myself in a position where I have to run to Brampton and back on the 31st as it'll be a Thursday and that's not a particularly scenic route...and I'd die.

Other than that I don't really have any restrictive resolutions for the new year. Instead I've decided to set some resolutions that will require no effort whatsoever. Firstly, no more Panda (except on vacation). Secondly, I will not swear....in Arabic or Farsi. Thirdly, no John Mayer concerts and finally, 2008 will be completely Sloe Gin-free (unless I'm forced to break my third resolution). Clean living will clearly be my mantra for this year. Let my sacrifices inspire and guide you each and every day.

Happy Birthday Jesus, take a half day!

2007-12-24T07:27:00.000-08:00

Well here we are, Christmas Eve 2007. Much has changed, much has remained the same. Another year come, another year gone. Clearly I have nothing of interest to say hence the reason I'm rambling. Despite my previous post in regards to seeking out the best mall Santa we ended up making our decision based solely on proximity. Charlie can blame the car problems of last weekend for the fact that her first picture with Santa is taken with a St. Nick that could best be described as disinterested. I guess that's not the worst potential defining characteristic. It certainly beats intoxicated, half-naked or beardless. At least he was an actual Santa, not just a creepy bald guy signing "Santa". Be thankful as due to the fallout from subprime mortgages this is all the Santa many people can afford this Christmas.

Sign language for Santa...or your wingman warning you that your blind date has a neck fat issue

Gerrard Square Santa wasn't too bad, though he was clearly ready to punch the clock. Next year we'll definitely make an effort to show up at the beginning of Santa's shift when he's still able to manufacture a smile or a "ho ho ho".

This is probably as good a time as any for my best of 2007 list. Here goes:

Best of 2007: My Daughter

Worst of 2007 (tie): The New England Patriots and war (honorary mention to disease and droughts)

Hottest vegetable: Rapini. Blanch it quickly, pat dry and then set it aside. At that point you can do most anything with it. Sauteed with lemon and chili, finished with sea salt is my favourite.

Gayest thing written: see above

Best movie: Didn't see any (see posts re: new child)

Biggest surprise: Britney Spears and Marcus Vick turn out to be the "good kids" as both see their misdeeds trumped by their idiotic siblings.

Biggest surprise (sarcastic): Frank D'Angelo's Steelback brewery files for bankruptcy. Who would have thought that you couldn't build a successful business on shameless self-promotion and bottled piss? The sad thing is that a number of the cheques that his mouth wrote that had no chance of ever being cashed were written to charities and small community rinks. While we're at it, let's just go ahead and hand him the...

Biggest douche of the year: The aforementioned Frank D'Angelo.

Best play: Bryan Westbrook downing the ball at the Cowboys 1 yard line. In an era where all we hear about is the selfishness of professional athletes Westbrook's decision to forgo personal accomplishment to absolutely ensure his team's victory (in a meaningless game) ranks as the most commendable single sporting play of the year.

Best merger: Sporting goods giant Dick's Sporting Goods buys smaller California rival Chick's for $40 million. $40 million gets you Chicks with Dicks. That could draw some strange traffic.

Most disappointing Google search: 13 individuals from 8 different countries have ended up on The World Wide Net Web looking for "office decorum". They were all likely very disappointed when their search for tips on how to act at the Christmas party or which co-workers you should buy holiday gifts for brought them to my post on dropping a deuce. I guess there isn't much else written on the subject. This should also serve as notice that I know exactly what your keywords are when you google me (I'm talking to you, "World Wide Net Web or Plus-size and topless").

Best new television show: Dirty Sexy Money. I'm not sure if it's got the legs to go on for more than a season or two but it's been a pleasant surprise so far particularly given the fact that it looked like something I would hate.

Most intriguing unanswered question: Do gay guys have two separate stags before they get married/civilly united or do they just have a Jack and Jack party? If so, do you invite your future husband? How could you have a stag without your best mate? Who's going to pay the stripper and buy your beer? Then again the whole idea of a stag is one last night out without the future misses/mister. The whole subject is very thought provoking. This should be the basis for an entire column.

Clearest sign that popular culture has destroyed art: Dirty Dancing: The Musical. This is what passes for "going to the theatre" these days. Bill Shakespeare would be freakin' pissed. The predominance of contest winners, runners-up and Disney stars on the Billboard charts, in a year when The National, Editors and Pela all had new albums, sends the same message. Yes, that was another sad attempt by me to look cool. I've been in bed by 11 on three of the last four Saturday nights. Please don't tear down my facade.

Well that's it for 2007. A great year for me but only an average to mediocre year for the world as a whole. C'mon 2008, step it up!

Happy Holidays everyone.

The lost weekend

2007-12-18T08:37:00.000-08:00

In order to avoid reminding myself how miserable my weekend was I won't rehash the litany of misfortunes I suffered through. Let's just say it started with a broken car window and ended with me searching through snow banks for my wedding ring with my father-in-law. Nothing that happened in between those two events went much smoother. I should probably mention that the snowbanks were outside a wretched strip joint and it was during the worst December snow storm in over 60 years. Ah, bad times.

Here's one piece of advice. If you have any suspicion that your car window may be frozen do not try and open it. If that means opening your door at a R.I.D.E. stop of suffering through your own flatulence, so be it. Power windows don't react well to being forced open. Essentially I broke my wife's car with a fart. That's something that no one can take away from me.

As I've said before having a newborn softens the sharp edges of even the most miserable experience. This weekend was a perfect case in point. Given all the crap I suffered through (did I mention the Bills season ended on Sunday and I was so tired from all the digging that I fell asleep missing the whole 4th quarter?) I should be deep in the doldrums. Well I guess I am to some degree, but without the joy I get from staring at little Charlie I would be substantially deeper. In fact, I would look like this guy (the guy in the middle)...

So what happened to cause such a sour face? He, being Portuguese International and Man U player Christiano Ronaldo, didn't win FIFA footballer/soccerer of the year. Poor guy is only the third best in the entire world. No wonder he looks like a ten year old who ended up with a case of dental floss at the end of "pass the parcel". The guy who won (I think he was one of our summer students) and the runner-up (Gerard Depardieu Jr.) seem much happier with their results. Maybe the bronze clashes with Christiano's anklets.

The look on Ronaldo's mug reminds us that occasionally life stinks for all of us and the worst thing that we can do is act like a complete suck about it. Hell, my daughter takes disappointment better than this complete and total douche and she's a few weeks short of her 6 month birthday. It's Christmas for Pete's sake. Buck up and enjoy what you have (I'm talking to myself as much as anyone here). At least be thankful you're not Christiano Ronaldo.

In a hurry, not a total dick

2007-12-13T07:13:00.000-08:00

I had the very unpleasant experience of walking through the Toronto underground yesterday during the panhandling crackdown protests. The unpleasantness was not due to any sort of confrontation or even catching a whiff of one of the anti-globalization, anti-hygiene professional protest groupies. Rather it was more of an internal discomfort. In full business attire, hurriedly on my way to a Bay Street luncheon at Canoe I couldn't have looked more the part of the self-absorbed, money-obsessed finance type. Seemingly I was the prototype of the person they were targeting with this presentation of guilt. What bothers me is that, at least in my mind, that's not me. At the luncheon I felt as out of place sitting in a room of spoiled, arrogant financiers who whined about the presence of the great unwashed in their underground and the great hardships caused by the mild delays, as I did with the homeless guys, OCAPers and anarchists participating in the protest. The question is how do I identify myself as someone who wears a suit but isn't a total dick? For those of us that give a crap about the plight of those less fortunate yet happen to carry a briefcase to work isn't there some way for us to brand ourselves as decent guys? Is there a scarf I can wear or some sort of button?

Outside my office there are always a group of earnest (though pushy) volunteers asking passerbys if they can spare a moment for Sick Kids. How do you answer that? By walking by you are essentially saying, "no, I'm pro-child illness". I don't have the time to stop and explain to them my views on charitable giving, nonetheless how and where I allocate it. I usually don't even have the time to say "sorry I don't have any time". Of course they don't know any of this. They just assume that I'm yet another guy who couldn't care about anything other than minimizing his taxes and maximizing his blackberry reception. Some sort of all-purpose "not a total dick" indicator would somehow express all that a long conversation with exhibits and tax receipts would without any time or energy required, while most importantly eliminating the nasty looks of disdain from the fundraising community. Sometimes people who are raising money will give you a sticker or ribbon to indicate that you have already contributed but that will usually only last for a short period. Over the holidays you may come across the same money-raiser dozens of times over a few week period. There's no way you're going to wake up every morning and remember to put on your Salvation Army ribbon or your "I support those without taste buds" sticker. Besides, there are so many worthwhile charities to support that come Christmas Eve you may look like a well-decorated general. God help you if you want to switch coats. It'll be an hour before you get out of the house with all the pinning, re-pinning, unsticking and sticking. Invariably you'll end up walking by someone you've already given your hard-earned money to with no way of indicating how wonderfully charitable you are. You'll just get the same dirty look that those greedy Bay Street types deservedly receive. I know giving should be done for giving's sake rather than any self-aggrandizing reason (the second wing of the Steve Holt home for Tom Brady's forgotten children will not bare my name) but it would be nice to at least avoid being lumped in with the selfish grinches of the world.

As far as I know no such brand or identifying piece of clothing exists. There are certainly things you can wear that say "I'm probably a decent person" (a Brian Moorman jersey comes to mind, as does a Nun's habit) or the opposite (anything with the words "Bush Cheney 04" or "Red Sox" on it), but nothing that definitively says "I should not be made to feel guilty about walking by fundraisers". I guess we can't have everything we want. As my grandfather once told me, "don't go chasing rainbows as you may run into the side of a gay bar". I don't quite now what he meant by that. Presumably the only solution is to just keep on giving. It's probably better to be a bit short on pocket change and a bit long on charity, than vice versa.

A Trailblazer gets his due

2007-12-05T14:38:00.000-08:00

Given the propensity of the sports media to beat to death any storyline with even the slightest whiff of broader societal implications, I'm shocked the story of one of the newest Toronto Raptors hasn't received more attention. While much has been written and broadcast about the rookie Jamario Moon, with his smalltown upbringing and circuitous route to the NBA, little is known of his teammate, Carlos Delfino.

Fans have taken to Delfino's quiet intensity, quick delivery and surprisingly solid defense. What has gone unnoticed is that Carlos has achieved this success while also carrying the burden of being the first North American professional athlete who happens to be a transsexual. On the court Carlos is just another teammate, busting his tail helping the Raptors in their efforts to repeat as Atlantic Division Champions. The only difference is that before the game while the other players are taping up their ankles and tying up their shoes, Carlos is tweezing his eyebrows and touching up his eyeliner. He's just one of the guys, albeit a much prettier guy.

Good for Carlos. Tranny or not, he's been a great addition to the team. Presumably years of gender confusion have toughened him to the rigors of being a professional basketball player. He certainly seems unfazed by anything that's happened so far this season. A friend of mine tried to convince me that Delfino was just "very metro". I don't buy it. Have you ever seen him and Carmelita from Dirty Sexy Money (a surprisingly good show) in the same place, at the same time ? Didn't think so.

Charlie's First Christmas

2007-12-04T12:32:00.000-08:00

With but 21 days until Christmas I already feel stressed that I won't have anytime to actually enjoy the season. Halls remain undecked, eggs have yet to be nogged and I need to build a chimney in a hurry. As far as I can tell Charlie is pretty excited about her first Christmas and I don't want to disappoint her, particularly now when I don't need to spend a great deal of money to make all her holiday wishes come true. I'll wait until she starts asking for expensive electronics or designer clothing to do that. She has started "saying" a great deal recently but, to be honest, I can't understand a single word she says. I think she may be from out east. Regardless of what she's saying the tone is quite clear. She wants to remember this Christmas fondly.

The simplest way to ensure this is to get a photo taken of her with Santa. That should provide her, and us, with a treasured keepsake from her first Noel. Originally I thought this may be a bit of a challenge to orchestrate until I heard that PetSmart is offering pet owners the chance to get a picture of Ol' St. Nick with their cat or dog. I'm assuming it's only cats and dogs but who knows? It seems to me like you've already crossed a line separating ludicrous and non-ludicrous behaviour by facilitating such photography so why not throw in a ferret or a tarantula. This is good news for us as it presents options. If the Mall Santa seems a bit uncomfortable with a squirmy baby we can always head over to PetSmart where I'm sure their Santa would be thrilled to have something diapered on his lap.

That raises an interesting question. Is there a hierarchy of Santas and if so how are ranks determined? The PetSmart gig strikes me as one not particularly high on the list of desirable assignments so how is it determined who has to take it? I saw a gentleman who was clearly of Middle Eastern descent dressed up as Santa waiving a sign outside of a cell phone store in Florida the other week. Let's presume that's the bottom of the ladder. He was slender and had a visible black moustache. At the other end of the spectrum would be the Santa from the parade float. He's the fat guy who grows his own long white beard and has prescription spectacles. Between those two extremes things get a little less clear. Who's to say who deserves the gig at the high-end mall and who's stuck ringing the bell outside the liquor store? Is there a measure of a jolliness that also accounts for creepiness? Is there a scale of redcheekedness that won't favour problem drinkers? I wouldn't know where to begin.

I recall a conversation with a former co-worker who told me that her husband was a rabbi at an old folk's home. This was a position he had "graduated" to after serving as a rabbi on a cruise ship. I found this all very fascinating. Unfortunately I didn't think to ask her what his next logical progression would be nor where he would have been relegated to had he not made the grade on the cruise ship. Presumably with rabbis it would be a bit easier to establish rank based on experience and mastery of the rabbinical texts. What makes a good or bad Santa is a bit less tangible. There's a chance that given the less scientific approach to determining which Santas get the plum gigs and which ones are forced to pose with some idiot's poodle we could end up finding a hidden gem of a Santa somewhere unexpected. If anyone out there knows of a great, clean Santa please let me know as my time to research this is already quite limited.

A Bills fan in North Florida

2007-11-29T08:13:00.002-08:00

It appears as though I've mentioned religion one too many times in this forum given that the most recent banner ad is for something called "God's Final Witness". Whatever the Hell that is, I cannot possibly endorse it. Presumably it's something insane so I recommend you avoid it. If nothing else it may get you on an e-mail spam list you'd probably prefer not to be on.

Let's get back to the important stuff, your Buffalo Bills. After watching them on Sunday in Jacksonville I'm not 100% sure these are still my Buffalo Bills. It was interesting travelling to Jacksonville, a vibrant, youthful city, to watch the Bills. For those of you who have never been to Florida's First Coast, it really is a very unique part of the state. The weather is more moderate and there are few, if any, retirees or tourists. If nothing else, its worth a trip for the seafood which tends to be served in a manner showcasing its freshness and variety, not the ease in which it can be fried as is the focus of most Floridian tourist traps. Anyways, when we showed up on gameday it was not difficult identifying those who had travelled from upstate New York to watch their team. How can I say this nicely...there is something distinctive about woman from Buffalo versus their Floridian counterparts that goes beyond the Bills merchandise. As we drove towards the stadium I remarked to the other three people travelling with me "I guess these are our people". I imagine Stefan had the same awkward feeling when he brought a date somewhere that Steve Urkell's old friends were hanging out. It was also not dissimilar to what Matt Damon must experience when Ben Affleck shows up at an Ocean's 11/12/13 premiere. (Ed: I couldn't chose which one I liked better so I doubled up)

The game started with the obligatory jingoistic patriotism...and by jingoistic I mean freakin' awesome! I was able to sit back and smirk at the contrived post-Thanksgiving cheese-fest until four F-15s flew overhead in formation. Instantly I went from cynical left-leaning foreigner to flag-waving zealot. Thank God there wasn't an Army recruiting centre (er...center) nearby or I would be in Basrah by now. You can literally feel the fly-by. It reaches deep into your bones to bring out even the most hidden flagophile. Damn the $25k pricetag or the fact that air defense is rendered temporarily unavailable, I need to start everyday with a fly-by. I would be twice the man I currently am.

Unfortunately the action on the field didn't measure up to the action flying awesomely low above the stadium. The Bills performance was reminiscent of recent "Bad JP" efforts. He made some decent plays, couldn't make the big play and ultimately made a few crippling mistakes. The defense was decent until they got the Jags into third and long situations in which they were woeful. An overly simplistic post-mortem goes something like this: JP only makes one, or even two, or his costly turnovers and the defense stops the Jags on 3 or 4 of their 5 "third and longs of 10+ yards" (as opposed to only stopping them once) and the result would likely have been different. The defense is banged up and undersized so I'll give them a bit of a pass but in terms of JP, it's time to move on. It's not me, it's you. One day you may develop the ability to make better decisions but we can't afford to wait. Trent Edwards may not have your arm or swagger but his time has come. In the end the Bills did what I asked which was to give JP every chance to prove he wasn't the guy. It pains me to say it, but the Losman era is officially over in Buffalo.

So back to the fans. Gameday at Alltel Stadium, the home of the Jags, was remarkably different than a Sunday afternoon at the Ralph. This was true in terms of what I didn't see (vomiting, fighting, fat chicks taking their shirts off) and what I did see (kids, sunshine, courteous behaviour). This is clearly another sign of my advancing age and changing point of view now that I have a kid but this experience was a bit of an eye-opener. The fans were still loud and the beer was still flowing so it still felt like a football game as opposed to the whitewashed experience of the SkyDome or the Air Canada Centre. Now ultimately Buffalo can't help the fact that they have terrible weather and a crumbling stadium but there has to be something they can do to make it so you don't feel so dirty when you get home after a game. Maybe they can just import some Southerners to bring a touch of friendliness to the proceedings. The essence of this is best displayed in a story from my encounter with a local man in the men's room. Weird... Let's continue. I'm at the urinal beside a couple of Jags fans as the game is wrapping up who are in the midst of a not so hilarious debate as to whether it is pronounced Loss-man or Lose-man. The guy beside me then notices me and says "Oh sorry didn't see the Bills fan" in what I presumed was a sarcastic tone. As I'm walking out he follows me to apologize! "I'm really sorry man, I like to be a good sport so I didn't mean any disrespect". I was flabbergasted. What a gentleman! In Buffalo the guy would have followed me out to continue berating me or to punch me in the face.

Please don't read this as any indication that my Bills fanhood is in question. As I have already stated I will follow this team regardless of the depths of Hell they bring me to. It was just interesting to catch a glimpse of how the other half (or 95%) lives. Perhaps fans in Jacksonville will read this and get a sense of how good you have it. They haven't been selling out all their games so they may be taking their team somewhat for granted.

The Role of a Lifetime

2007-11-28T09:24:00.000-08:00

We returned home from our not-so-southern getaway (more on this later this week) to find a very interesting proposal awaiting us. My mother-in-law's church has requested that our daughter Charlie play a role in their Christmas nativity play. Oh, and it's not just any role. They have asked that she take the headlining gig as the one and only, our Lord and Saviour, baby Jesus. This is fascinating in a number of ways. Firstly, we are not a member of the church, or any church for that matter. Charlie has never been to this house of worship nor, do I believe, has she met any of the individuals organizing the play. As far as I can recall we have not sent them any of her headshots. I'm just kidding, we didn't have promotional headshots taken. We're not crazy people. There appears to be a possibility that she has been selected purely due to some good "word of mouth". I can believe that but obviously I'm somewhat biased, as regular readers could attest to. Perhaps a celestial message was sent to the play's directors that a particularly messianic baby was born to a family in Greektown. It's a pretty good size church so presumably some of the parishioners have given birth recently. It's not a Catholic Church so I can't say that with complete certainty. Assuming that at least a handful of the actual churchgoers have introduced potential thespians in the past year they must be devastated that the most prized role is being offered to an outsider. Imagine being told that your kid wasn't Jesus-y enough. That would be crushing. Maybe the whole congregation will be up in arms over the perceived outsourcing of Baby Jesus. Do we want to send our helpless daughter into the midst of this potential controversy? The mix of religion, offshoring of labour, jilted parents and child actors seems like a particularly incendiary one.

The other issue to consider is the aforementioned fact that we aren't members of any church. Both my wife and I were brought up in loosely religious Waspy homes with her church attendance record being slightly better than mine. Mine could be accurately classified as non-existent. I'm not anti-church I just haven't chosen one yet. I've also been hesitant to give up my Sunday mornings. Given that I haven't adopted a faith would I be in violation of some unwritten rule by allowing my daughter to assume the role of the Son of God in a play commemorating his birth? If she was asked to play a camel, some Myrrh or anything a little less significant I wouldn't be too concerned, but depicting Baby JC seems to me like a fairly meaningful commitment. If I'm to allow her to join the ranks of Willem Dafoe and Jim Caviezel am I implicitly signing her up for something? Will the play be rudely interrupted by one of the jilted parents of one of the less Jesus-y babies angrily declaring "That Baby Jesus wasn't even baptized!". Would we be chased from the church by angry townsfolk with torches and pitchforks? I hardly think turning one's daughter into the Salmon Rushdie of North Toronto constitutes sound parenting. What happens if word of her blasphemous portrayal spreads? I guess that trip to Jacksonville would end up being her first, and her last, to the southern United States.

On top of these quandaries we have the issues of gender confusion, the potential pitfalls of child acting and the additional responsibilities in an already crowded December. Everything seems to be pointing towards us declining the offer, plus she's not 100% sold on the script. Why then, am I considering it? What is it that is so intriguing to me about having my daughter play a role in a kids' play? I can safely say I have no desire to live vicariously through her given my own successful stint on the stage (Chippendale's alumni 1994-1997, don't act like you don't recognize me) so there must be something about what this role may do for her, or for us, that speaks to me. Maybe we should give religion a shot. Professional sports sure aren't working as my altar of worship so an actual altar of worship may be worth trying. If nothing else it will give us a holiday experience that doesn't involve rampant commercialism or over-the-top political correctness. You know what? I may have just talked myself into doing this. Watch out everyone, here comes the best dam....er....darn Baby Jesus the world has ever seen!

Degree of Difficulty

2007-11-20T12:17:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I do things without fully thinking out the possible consequences. That occasionally leads me into difficult situations. Tomorrow will be a perfect example of this. A few months back I booked a flight for the family's first plane trip. We're heading down to Jacksonville for a little sun (little being the key word as North Florida is hardly West Palm Beach), some cross-border shopping and what turns out to be a critical game for two teams seeking an AFC wildcard spot; Bills v. Jags. The timing couldn't be better as the weather's making a turn for the worse and the stock market's taking a turn for the absolutely terrible. Here's the idiotic thing. In my infinite wisdom I booked the flight on "the busiest travel day of the year"! What a freakin' mouthbreather I am. Charlie is a very easygoing kid but even she has her limits. Presumably a flight, with layovers, will be a bit of a challenge. Instead of easing into this I decided to up the ante by about 30-35 million people. This is akin to taking your first driver's ed course at Talladega in the middle of a NASCAR race or a dermatology student taking on Edward James Olmos as their first client. Man, I need some more up-to-date references. This has the potential to end very badly. We may not make it out of O'Hare. I'm imagining Planes, Trains and Automobiles minus the cunning of the late John Candy to save us.

I need to relax. Regardless of what happens I have five days before the game and six days before the best restaurant in Jacksonville hosts it's weekly 50% off the entire wine list night (remember what I said about the Americans and their service industry a couple months back. I wasn't kidding!). Worst case we rent a car. I can just borrow a couple of Charlie's diapers and drive through the night like that astronaut chick. Astronauts are American heroes. That's right, I could be an American Hero....the Greatest American Hero. Believe it not, I'm walking on air...

Anyways, the point of all this is to say that I probably won't be writing anything for the next week or so. Consider it my bye week. For non-football fans "bye weeks" are not the same as "bi weeks", unless you're Bob Kraft. There, that's my random Patriots rip for today. As far as I'm concerned they're all bad people, each and every one of them.

Wish me luck. I'll leave you with this gift of Thanksgiving. It has nothin' to do with nothin' but it sure made me smile. You can add your own caption if you'd like.

"Kirk, you've met Jesus from the Phoenix office right?"

Corporate Jesus may be my favorite picture ever. I've literally spent the last 45 minutes looking at it and giggling.

Are you a douchebag?

2007-11-16T06:44:00.001-08:00

My regular readers will be aware that I use the term "douchebag" rather often. This word, along with its more to-the-point short form "douche", is in the midst of a great resurgence. Perhaps other derogatory terms from 1980s-early 90s such as dipshit or dickweed will also make comebacks. We can only hope. The uniquely great thing about douchebag, however, is that it was evolved. In its earliest forms this would be the epitome of the douchebag....

Self-righteous, overly fashion conscious and ridiculously primped. Interestingly, just as in Ted McGinley's day the jeans and blazer look has returned as a staple of the douche's wardrobe. The douchebag has always been characterized by both a look and a personality type. Both facets must be in place for true douchebaggery to occur. Today's douche is, however, a much more dangerous creature. Across our cities and suburbs a greater number of douches exist than ever before. They clog up our shopping centres, deplete our haircare supplies and poison our air with the sound of terrible music and souped-up engines (more about this later).

What I've given you so far is a very general diagnosis of what makes a douche a douche. Self-diagnosis on this basis would admittedly be quite difficult particularly given the lack of self awareness on behalf of your average douche. Besides, I've proably used a few too many big words. Right now your average douche may be asking his fellow douche "Hey Brody, what does rig-hit-ous mean. Is that something I should slip into girls' drinks?". To provide some further clraity I'll provide some more concrete symptoms that can help you identify your potential affliction. Then and only then can we work towards a cure. Here are some signs that you may, in fact, be a total douchebag:

1. You bought a car, took it home and did something to it. You lowered it, you put some running lights on it, you did something stupid to the muffler to make it louder, you tinted the windows, had a fin put on or you put some decals on it that say something self-congratulatory or derogatory to other motorists. Pretty much any detailing puts you firmly in the douche camp. If your car is yellow you get bonus points.

2. Do you buy sports merchandise for purely fashion reasons? Team allegiance is a rather important issue for many people so for you to sport a Yankees hat or Barcelona jersey because it matches your wristbands could be construed as being very offensive. If you couldn't participate in a conversation regarding that team and its current state of affairs you shouldn't be wearing their stuff. If you were wearing a priest's colour you would be expected to hear people's confessionals so why should a team jersey be any different?

3. Could your facial hair be described as "sculpted"? If so, put down your rum and diet and go get yourself a razor. Note, if you choose your drinks based on calorie count or carbs you are a super-douche. There is no argument.

4. Are there pictures of you and your buddies standing around that could be mistaken as promotional shots for a boy band? If so, it's Douches wild for the whole lot of you! Look for the Zoolander facial expressions, hand gestures and general posturing. No one will be smiling or holding a bottle of 50.

5. Black guys can't be douchebags. Sorry, I just don't see it. Perhaps one day we'll have a Jackie Robinson of douchebaggery. If I had to put my money on one guy it would be Wayne Brady. White guys pretending to be black guys are, of course, welcome members of the douche crew.

6. Do you style your hair before:

- going to a sporting event?

- working out?

The working out thing actually happens. I saw it with my own two eyes. A tooootal douche at my gym sculpted his fauxhawk before going to work out. He also sang along with the song on his iPod in a very disruptively loud voice. I was originally angered until I realized he was singing along to a Jon Bon Jovi song. At that point it just became funny, particularly given how hard he was trying to hit the notes. That's another douche sign right there, awful taste in music often skewing towards douche-produced music such as boy bands, Sean Desmond and, of course, Euro techno (often heard emerging from the previously described customized automobiles).

7. Are you a complete misogynist predator? Even the most hardened douche won't admit to this (perhaps because they don't understand the word "misogynist") but it's often the case. The hordes of douches that patrol the velvet rope districts are looking for two things: one, mirrors, and two, prey. This is perhaps what's at the root of my anti-douche sympathies. The aesthetics of the douche are irritating but harmless. What lies beneath, however, can be a much more lascivious element. Watch your drinks, ladies.

8. Do you accessorize? A regular guy's accessories are a belt and shoelaces, maybe a watch if you're feeling fancy. The douche's repetoire includes mandanas, wristbands, earring, chains, hats, dog tags and assorted other unnecessaries.

9. Do you speak in an accent that is in any way embellished or altogether made-up? This is a little more subtle indication of the presence of douche but a damning one nonetheless. At work or school you speak in your native Mississauga accent but ramp up to full Portuguese or, even better, the Eminem "8 Mile" as soon as you drop your first $20 cover charge of the evening. Yo wad up, douche?

10. Are you this guy?

or this guy?

11. We're you the twerp in front of me in line at the Ralph for the Bengals game wearing the Brazil sweater? That may be a bit too specific.

12. Take off your sunglasses, hold them so they are hanging straight down and place a medium orange on one of the lenses. If you can see no orange from underneath the sunglasses guess what? You be a douche. If you refused the experiment because you never remove your sunglasses even when indoors or refuse to place produce on your sunglasses for fear of smudging the test is clearly unneccesary in the first place.

13. It's Friday morning. Have you already called to put your name on a guestlist somewhere for this weekend? Perhaps you should just ask them to put down "D. Bag and guest", the guest being your unjustifiably large ego.

If one or more of these apply to you then I regret to inform you that you are a douche. I'm not sure what the prognosis is. Maybe you'll grow out of it, maybe you won't. As evidenced by this guy it can be a terminal condition.

Wow, this guy has it all. The chain, the designer glasses, the undone shirt, an earring, the painfully styled hair and the overly earnest expression. What must the rest of the guys down at the legion think of you? For shame, douchebag, for shame.

Save the Bills, save the world

2007-11-14T12:01:00.000-08:00

I really have no idea what I should write about but I know I have something to say today.....

Final score Buffalo 30, New England 17. As the game ends Dick Jauron walks over to Tom Brady and hands him the game ball. This seems odd at first but makes perfect sense given the fact that Brady threw 3 second half interceptions including the last one which was intercepted by Terrence McGee and returned for the game-clinching touchdown. Somewhere Bill Simmons angrily crosses out all the names he had doodled during the game as he fantasized about what it would be like to be Mrs. Bill Welker, Bill Vrabel or Bill Bruschi. He seems fine with his maiden name now. Bill Belichick staggers as we walked towards the tunnel and then literally melts like the nazis at the end of Raiders of the Lost Ark leaving nothing but a tattered hoodie. Anthony Hargrove picks up the hoodie, waves it in the air and is now simulating something quite disgusting with it. The stadium is literally shaking from the combined exuberance of the Bills fans and their freedom-loving brethren around the globe.

What just happened there? The last thing I remember was turning my computer on. I think I went all Isaac Mendez. My eyes turned completely white and I just started writing. Amazing....

A Call to Arms

2007-11-13T12:32:00.000-08:00

As many of you may know the Bills host the axis of evil, otherwise known as the New England Patriots, this Sunday evening. You are probably also aware that the Patriots are undefeated and are being widely heralded as the greatest team ever, likely to run the table from here on in culminating with a Super Bowl victory. I will not bore you by once again recollecting the myriad of offenses that the Patriots have committed and why all good people should stand united against them. Let me just say, without an ounce of hyperbole, they are an affront to football, common decency and the sanctity of all things holy. The oddsmakers in Vegas have the Bills as 15.5 point underdogs. For those of you unfamiliar with gambling that is as large of a spread as you'll ever see favoring a team playing on the road. Essentially they are saying that the Bills are as likely to win this game as Nell Carter is to win this season's Celebrity Fit Club. Rest in peace, my sweet flower, rest in peace.

Allow me to drift into fantasy land for a second. What would happen if, dare I say it, the Bills.....won? How would the world be a better place if the Bills not only covered the spread but....won? Would there be any reason left to question the existence of a higher being if....THE BUFFALO BILLS BEAT THE MOTHERF%!#ING NEW ENGLAND PATRIOTS! I'm positively euphoric with the mere thought dancing in my head. The rest of the season would be rendered meaningless as the Bills team would be too busy accepting keys to various cities to actually play their remaining 6 games. They would be welcomed as liberators wherever they went. We could start using the word Marshawn as an all-purpose verb like the Smurfs did with "smurf" or the fake goth on this year's Amazing Race does with "goth" (Ed: I can only imagine what real goths did when they saw this. If they weren't so emaciated and sickly they'd probably go kick his/her ass). I would end every conversation with "I love you" regardless of who I was talking to. The sick would miraculously be healed, the annoying would be quieted and the unwashed would be deoderized. We would enter a period of unmatched joy and tranquility.

Why, you ask, would a silly football game mean anything to anyone outside a small group of diehard Bills fan? Don't for a second think this is just about some meaningless football game. I cannot stress enough how important it would be for the betterment of society that the Bills win on Sunday. If the dirty, cheating Patriots are allowed to go undefeated this season we will have essentially allowed the bad guys to win. We will have lost the culture war for good. If Bill Belichick and his henchmen are rewarded for their atrocious behaviour how could I ever teach my daughter the difference between right or wrong? Here's how a theoretical conversation with Charlie will go in a few years if we don't stop the Patriots here:

Me/Dad: Charlie, it was wrong for you to steal that car and set that farm ablaze!

Charlie: Why Daddy? How can I be expected to know what I did was wrong when a football team is rewarded for running up the score and blatantly cheating?

And she would be right! All moral authority would be lost. Society will descend into anarchy and we will have no one to blame but ourselves. We cannot let that happen. The time has come to take a stand, the time has come to beat back the forces of evil, the time has come for the good guys to win! In defeating the Patriots we can essentially go back in time and refuse the apple from the serpent, thus casting evil from our world. Hell, we may even prevent the Armageddon that our old friend Prophet Isaiah has been promising. Come together all of God's Children and let's speak in one resounding voice! It ends here New England, you bunch of friggin' douchebags!

Take the Bills, with the points.

Hello Dalai!

2007-11-12T07:29:00.000-08:00

Sorry for the lack of columns over the past week. There was a bit of a misunderstanding involving Charlie and a group of Tibetan monks who showed up, unannounced, early last week. They were under the misguided impression that my daughter was the 15th incarnation of the Dalai Lama. Given the language barrier and a general level of pigheadedness on behalf of the monks it took some time to convince them that Charlie was not the incarnation of anyone. Apparently they were unaware that the 14th Dalai Lama was still alive thus making it kinda tough for him to be reincarnated. Supposedly he left his place a few years back to go hang out with Richard Gere and accept honorary degrees. No one bothered telling the monks who understandably assumed he was dead. As to how they came to the conclusion that Charlie was their next Gyalwa Rinpo, I have no idea. Perhaps cuteness is a determining factor, as it clearly was with the existing Lama, or the ability to kick really hard with one's right leg while making a high-pitched squealing noise. Other than that she's an unlikely choice given her pro-capitalist sympathies which should have been quite evident to the monks given her vast collection of worldly possessions. Thankfully, through the magic of Wikipedia I was finally able to convince my Tibetan visitors that the current Dalai Lama is still very much alive (and that the Dalai Lamas have to be dudes...you think they would have looked that up themselves). They stuck around a few more days so they could watch the Bills game with us. Their flights home were cheaper if they stayed over the weekend so it made sense that they stayed.

Running low on entertainment options I took the guys to see Jaws 3

As you could imagine explaining the rules of American football to a group of Tibetan monks was a bit of a challenge. By the end of yesterday's early games they seemed to have a pretty good grasp of the general rules but couldn't get their heads around why Bills tight end Michael Gaines decided to step backwards in an effort to avoid tacklers rather than just fall forward over the first down marker during the winning drive. You and me both, Lobsang. Besides that they all seemed to enjoy the game and were pretty stoked about the Bills four game winning streak. This we can all agree on.

Cancel those New Year's 2014 plans

2007-11-01T14:20:00.000-07:00

According to Isaiah Robertson ("Prophet Isaiah") of Niagara Falls, New York, The second coming of Jesus is scheduled for 2014 in Niagara Falls. The story appeared in the Buffalo News. It's nice to see them cover other apocalypses, not just the Bills. Apparently JC is a big fan of wax museums and mini-golf. No word on whether or not he will appear at Fallsview. I wonder who would open for Jesus? Jeff Foxworthy may be a good choice. I presume his material is clean enough as not to offend the Son of God while also being cruddy enough so JC won't have to worry about being upstaged. It is unclear as to whether or not the "big guy" is heading to the Falls for its natural beauty, the convenient amount of water to turn to boiling lava or just simply because, like most people heading to Niagara, his buddies are too cheap to go to Vegas. The Falls will turn to blood and fire, they'll be a bunch of smoke, fireworks, cotton candy etc.....I actually stopped reading after a while as the story became less and less entertaining, regardless this is all very exciting. Presumably there's no way for Bruce Willis and Ben Affleck to drill a hole into Niagara Falls, fill it with nuclear explosives and blow the hell out of it so it looks like our fate is sealed.

If we're to believe Prophet Isaiah, and he's given us no reason not to, that gives us a good seven years to enjoy ourselves before the end of days. I really should learn another language. I've been saying that for years and have done absolutely SDA about it. Other than that I'm good. I married my university sweetheart and have a beautiful baby girl. On top of that I once got to tour the capital building in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania and, on a separate occasion, saw Brutus "The Barber" Beefcake in the airport. I have lived a very full life even if it must end in a river of molten brimstone in only seven short years. I'm assuming I won't be one of the select few chosen to ride on the Maid of the Mist thus saving them from eternal damnation. From the "holy rollers" I've met that's one bus trip I'll gladly pass on. My eternity doesn't include 100 Huntley Street (and it has an open bar). My only regret, if I have one, is that I missed out on a mid-life crisis. Given that the world will come to an end during my 37th year I won't be able to enjoy a year or two of absurd decisions and bizarre behaviour. My midlife crisis would have occurred between my 18th-19th birthday when I had no hope of affording a corvette or any need for a terrible looking rug. That's a shame.

So there you have it. You've got seven years everyone (only 2,555 shopping days left). If you've been putting off those safari plans or procrastinating about coming out to your Ottawa Senators' teammates there is no time like the present. There's no point saving for a rainy day when you now know that on that "rainy day" you'll be too busy dodging hellfire to enjoy yourself. Besides, while I have no cause to doubt Prophet Isaiah there's always the chance that his math is off a few years. Open that bottle of wine you've been saving, tell people you love them even if you don't and take your boxers to the dry cleaners. Enjoy life while you can because the end is near....well near-ish.

C'est L'Halloween!

2007-10-31T05:59:00.000-07:00

To celebrate this godless holiday I've dressed up as a dipshit yuppie. It's a bit less adventurous than last year when I dressed up as Bennett, the bad guy from Commando (played by the second most famous Vernon Wells). In retrospect, that wasn't the greatest choice. The chainmail sleeveless shirt and the creepy moustache made for alot of unwelcome advances on the subway. Once I got to the office people just thought I was dressed as Freddy Mercury. Now, as we look back some 20 years later, why did we find that guy (Bennett, not Mercury) so menacing? He would look more at home shooting a super-soaker into a crowd of parade watchers than leading a band of murderous mercenaries. Even the name of the movie has taken on a more salacious meaning. I may need an actual costume for after work. Unfortunately my Marshawn grill and dreads kit hasn't arrived in time so I'll be forced to improvise. In a pinch I could just dress up in head-to-toe black and go as Bill Belichick's soul. My other option is to put on a wig and talk in a really deep voice. I doubt there will be many other people dressed as Jennifer Hedger this year.

It appears as though I'll be getting my wish and Jesus P will be back behind center on Sunday. In true Halloween spirit he should be able to carve up the Bengals secondary. Hell, they've even got orange uniforms. There couldn't be a more timely opponent. Of course the porosity of the aforementioned defense will give JP's detractors an easy out. Sure he threw for 350 yards and four touchdowns but it was against the Bengals. Edwards was on his way to a sub-200 yard game against the woeful Jets but that's blindly ignore that for now. Don't let the facts cloud your decision-making.

Have a safe and enjoyable Halloween.

Jonathan Powers, hand over your crown!

2007-10-30T07:14:00.000-07:00

As the good book says there is no greater sin than allowing your guests to leave hungry...or sober. I think its safe to say that Charlie, Mrs. Holt and I were successful in avoiding that offense in hosting a very successful Iron Chef contest this past Saturday. The two teams brought the art of cookery and creativity to unprecedented levels. With nothing but our wits and guile six people transformed the simple squash, our theme ingredient, into a collection of mouthwateringly beautiful dishes. In true Iron Chef style I would have been honoured to have fallen to Marty and his team had the judges deemed them more worthy. In the end we won but the decision could have just as easily gone the other way. Here is a photo of the elated champions:

Oops, that's the other squash contest we won (that's me on the left). What a wonderful day that was.

On Sunday we embark on our annual pilgrimage to the Ralph to watch our beloved Bills. This marks the 8th year we've made the trip. The rejuvenated Bills have ridden a two-game winning streak towards respectability and a 3-4 record. If NFL contests were only 59 minutes long the Bills would be 5-2 and sitting in the driver's seat for a playoff berth but you know what they say, if my aunt had balls she'd be Erin Davis. As with most every year we watch a Bills team with uncertainty at the quarterback position. I didn't think I had the energy to wade into this debate before listening to the post-game show on WGR 550. The ridiculousness of their analysis, however, has served to wake me up. The hosts (prominent members of the "Edwards propaganda crew") continued the beatification of Trent Edwards despite another mediocre performance, which included another ill-advised throw that led to an interception. This is quickly becoming Edwards' signature move, much like Ted DiBiase's "Million Dollar Dream". If you had only listened to these two while not actually watching the game you could have come away with the impression that until being felled by a wrist injury, Edwards had looked like Joe Montana with an even more Patton-like command over his team. They even went so far as to claim that Edwards left the game with the lead showing the same regard for the truth that they do for objectivity. Edwards then gave way to the "reckless gunslinger" JP Losman who's 19 yard completion (that led to the go ahead field goal) was critiqued with an amount of venom usually only reserved for poorly-chosen Oscar dresses. Meanwhile, nothing was mentioned about Edwards momentously bad interception. He gets a pass on a play that could have cost us the game while JP gets raked over the coals for successfully gunning a 19 yard pass? Now that is some impressively delusional partisanship. I think we've found the next two candidates to be Dubya's press secretary. The 85 yard touchdown pass that JP threw to Evans that officially clinched the victory was similarly ripped apart with the hosts even suggesting that JP (and perhaps Evans) went against the coaches to call that play. Usurpers! How dare they! I also heard the two of them tried to buy yellowcake from Niger. Of course, JP didn't hit Evans in stride but he put the ball in a spot where the team's best weapon could make a play, something Edwards does not yet seem capable of. Nothing was said of Edwards lame duck "bomb" to a wide open Evans in the Ravens game that caused him to cut his route short thus turning what should have been an easy touchdown into a long completion. His other attempt to hit Evans deep in that game was short and over his wrong shoulder. Again, nothing was mentioned. Edwards is the champion of the Buffalo sports media and the Bills brass. No evidence to the contrary will cause them to second-guess their premature anointment. Of course they brought up the intellectually lazy argument that the team has a better record with Edwards than with JP this season. They also have a better record with Di Giorgio at middle linebacker than Pozluszny. Let's just cut Poz now to save our self the trouble of doing it in the offseason. They're winning games in spite of Edwards, not because of him.

As I've said before (perhaps not in this forum), Edwards is probably the starter next year but Losman is the better quarterback right now. In today's NFL there's no reason to play for next year if you have any hope of making the playoffs, particularly if it's been so long so you've been there. Look around the NFL. There are very few decent quarterbacks. Just look at the putrid list of has-beens, never-weres and has-weres that took snaps this past Sunday. The downside risk of giving up on a potentially solid QB far outweighs the loss of some extra snaps to prepare Edwards for next year. Who can say with absolute confidence that JP has been given a chance to completely disprove that he is a quality NFL quarterback? Let's have a thorough evaluation of what we have before we move on to the next guy, who has done even less to prove he's an NFL-calibre pivot.

The sad thing about this is that like most sports debates the sensationalist media forces the fans to take one side or the other. Trent Edwards seems like a great guy and may turn out to be a very good quarterback. Unfortunately the vitriolic discourse around who should play quarterback makes me feel that I need to despise him because I want JP to start. Can't we just look at this rationally without having to turn this into a civil war? We're all pulling for the same team here.

Ohnoyoudint!

2007-10-25T07:06:00.000-07:00

The Csonka comment was one thing (in fact I took that as a compliment) but the Rachael Ray comment crossed the line. What began as a friendly contest has now crossed over to bloodfeud status. This is the literary equivalent of me ripping the microphone away from Mean Gene. In the immortal words of Mike Tyson "I'm going to rip out your heart, all praise be to Allah!". Notice I didn't include his "I want to eat your children" comment as I prefer to avoid eating anything you've made.

Saturday evening will see as one-sided a victory as the world has ever witnessed. It will make the Falkland Islands war look like a triple-overtime playoff game in comparison. This will be about as close as a game of Trivial Pursuit between Stephen Hawking and Miss Teen South Carolina. You will emerge from this as ravaged as Tom Sizemore's liver. If I were you I would be praying that you win the coin toss and go first as the judges will likely swear off food having already found heaven in our creations. Why go on when you have already tasted perfection? Particularly when the next offering is a selection of uninspired gruel that would make Bobby Flay look creative. If they're sadists they may try a bite or two but even those who enjoy discomfort have some standards. While the taste should be offensive the aesthetics will be even less appetizing. I expect something that is to food what the 1980s Vancouver Canucks were to haberdashery.

Imagine this, served to you on a plate...

For those of you who will not be attending don't feel left out. Pair a six pack of Steelback with a three-week old ham followed by brushing your tongue with a toilet brush if you would like to recreate the experience of "enjoying" their meal. Bon Apetit!

Steve Holt throws microphone to the ground, makes slashing motion across throat and nods head intensely while staring into camera.