CBC Presents...

Some American sports writer once commented that hockey in Canada as a sport and cultural phenomenon is still pure and thus, unifying. His tone was one of lament and nostalgia as he noted on a trip up Nord that everyone from grandmothers in Trois-Rivère to dishwashers at East Side Mario's in Mississauga all tune in to their respective squad's games and follow so intently, its as if Orson Welles himself were announcing that Martian shock troopers were dropping from the heavens in droves. It's like what baseball used to be in the States. Before the Selig Era, before steroids, before the dark times, before the Empire...

I know this all sounds like some CBC "One Nation...One Passion" style of narration that we've all been subjected to countless number of times but don't worry, you won't have to go running to the bathroom to puke up trite chunks of cliche Canadiana. Anne Of Green Gables is not coming on next. Just crack a Molson product, give me my one CBC patriotic hockey commentary, put me in the Group of 7 next to A.J. Casson and don't worry about it.

Earlier today, The Spouse and I were engaging in good old North American big box consumerism at Costco, situated right across the street from Canucks HQ, G.M. place. I tried to con her into a plan that involved me scoring two scalped tickets and us proceeding to take our massive haul of groceries into the stadium to cheer on Luongo and the lads. Drawing up divorce papers while she balanced 8-packs of chicken/minestrone soup on it we hailed a cab instead.

Only to make it home to a game nowhere to be found on the telly. Pay Per View. Pay Per Fuck Off. MLB Commish Darth Selig probably had a hand to play in this fiasco as well, not content enough fucking up big league ball for me.

So...whilst donning a white Hanes undershirt, I did what any Red Sox or Cubs fan would've done in 1947. I flipped on the radio and proceeded to make pasta, almost half expecting to find Ray Liotta and Joe Pesci drinking scotch and cracking wise on the couch.



"Whaddya mean that shit's on Pay Per View!!?? Who do I gotta whack!!??"





And had a pretty good time doing so, gorging myself on Ragu, listening to the exploits of Les Frères Sedin, even though we lost in the shoot out on an Nikolai Zherdev wrist shot that beat Luongo on the glove side.

Without going into seven parts like they do on the CBC, I will say that Mr. American sportswriter is right. This was pretty amazing. It's what baseball must've been like in it's Golden Era. The state of hockey has more than a clean bill of health in Canada and does remain...for lack of better term...pure. From my brother grinding it out in Junior A for the Oakville Blades to my buddy that has a Batcave full of video of the greatest hockey tilts of all time (from EVERY league), to everyone that filtered into GM Place tonight, cats in this country dig their game and tonight I was happy to be part of the club.

I'm Peter Mansbridge signing off...

The Big Game - A Glimpse

Look, just because I know nothing about football doesn't mean that I'm not allowed to weigh in on North America's most celebrated un-official holiday, namely next weekend's All Hallowed Super Bowl Sunday. So humongous the event has become over the years that if John Lennon were alive today, I'm positive he would draw the further ire of Southern Baptists by adding it to his list of things that are "Bigger than Jesus."

Beatles? Check.
Super Bowl Sunday? Check.

With all the hoopla ranging from multi-million dollar multi-sequelled ad campaigns, to endless breakdowns of each team's QB right down to the shoelaces, to slaughterhouse stock prices soaring, to bar owners sending handwritten thank you cards to the Budweiser brew house, to fans ready to commit Jonestown style suicides en masse following heartbreaking losses, it has become apparent that the Superbowl has become one big continental Pagan ritual. Hell, they might as well award a golden calf to the side that emerges victorious instead of the Dad's den, over sized paperweight they annually dole out as a trophy.

So where to begin? As I mentioned earlier my knowledge of the NFL is limited. Pretty much to the few playoff games and Super Bowls I watched as a kid in my grandparent's basement, rooting for Joe Montana and the San Francisco 49'ers at the same time wishing for the collapse of the Cowboys. Although I waved the SF flag as a kid come playoff time, I really had no team that I cheered for exclusively.

The NFL to me is divided into a spectrum of: "I hope they win", "I hope they lose" and "I don't give a shit either way."

For example, last Super Bowl, I sat in on The Spouse's rather ambitious tattoo session, ducking out of the shop at between ink changes to follow the Seahawks' progress. As it turned out they had very little and it was as painful to Seattle fans as the needle carving into my gal's side. Despite the outcome, the Seahawks were definitely in the "I hope they win category." Call me neighbourly. I'm sure residents from Tacoma to Puyallup will return the favour when Luongo leads the inevitable Canucks march to the Stanley Cup this June.

Now let's talk about Dallas. And let's talk about Troy Aikman. And let's talk about the union of the two defining everything I absolutely loathe about American Football. Not the NFL...don't get me wrong...the league itself is one of the best run in pro sport and at the risk of sounding like a turncoat, I prefer the extra down and shorter field, two aspects absent from the Canadian game.

What I'm talking about is American football as a cultural entity. Where the star quarter back with the gelled hair and game winning grin marches out to legions of rabid Republicans all of which are screaming for the heads of the other team and Saddam Hussein's, cheering on Mr. All American QB despite the fact that he's date raped half of the Sigma Phi Omicron sorority and wrapped his Audi around a power pole. And been on the favourable side of blind eyes ranging from faculty staff that have upgraded poor test scores to police officers that have ticketed offending power poles for getting in the way.

I realize I'm extrapolating, and I'm sure Aikman hasn't done any of this stuff, but can't a guy be guilty of looking like he did it? And can't Cowboys fans be aptly branded as just about the most obnoxious out of all pro sport? Only Yankees fans give them a run for their money. Needless to say the Cowboys are in my "I hope they fucking lose category."





"You know I did it..."


















Pretty much the majority of the league falls into "I don't give a shit either way." The Baltimore Ravens. Wow. Tennessee Titans. Don't care. Arizona Cardinals. Mike Ditto.

The closest thing I have to a team would probably be the Carolina Panthers. Only for the reason that whilst hanging at a friend's pad for a beer soaked week in early '97, we happened to tune in as the Panthers made a drive to the Conference Championship by upsetting Dallas. One of the Panthers defensive linemen announced after the emotional victory something to the tune of:

"Last week (some Cowboy player...i can't remember who...) was saying before facing us, 'Carolina? Where's that?' Well next week when you're sitting on the couch watching us play in the NFC Championship you KNOW where Carolina is baby!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!"

Now how can you not cheer for that guy? Impossible. Ever since then I've kept half an eye on the Panthers.

I'll give the NFL this. It creates a grand spectacle. From T.O. lifting weights in his driveway to "Panthers Cheerleaders Gone Wild" these cats give the WWE a run for its money. Honestly, I like watching the interviews more than the games themselves. Unlike hockey players who spout the same tired, tired, cliches, game after game, season after season, football players crack wise routinely and do it with a flair that would make even Flavour Flav feel shame.

So having laid down the foundations, where do I stand on Super Bowl '07? Let's put it like this. The Bears are in "I hope they win" camp and the Colts are in "I hope they fucking lose" and with nary a sniff of an "I don't give a shit" team anywhere to be seen. Seeing as how the last two halves of football I've watched (actually the only two all season) have been some of the most exciting I have seen in my life (the Colts stunner over the Pats and the Bears' successful OT campaign over Seattle), it's looking like Super Bowl XLI "The Golden Calf" is shaping up to be quite the showdown.

Much has been said about the Bears' D so I'm not going to pretend like I know what any of it means, but I will say that that when a squad boasts a brute like Brian Urlacher, you have no choice but to root for them. Christ the guy looks half-orc and the only way that any Indy reciever is going to get by him is by putting on the magic ring and turning invisible.




"I'll have my Hobbit medium rare please..."








And everything I read about Chicago QB Rex Grossman makes me happy. Everyone's scared that he's going to shit the bed. Some pundits think he could have the game of his life. And the bottom line is that nobody really knows. Aside from last week, you always knew that Pats Quarterback, Tom Brady the epitome of every Uber All American Polished Smile quarterback would some how pull it off, game winning grin and all then jump in his diamond crusted SUV after winning the MVP and drive off to Disneyland to boink Anna Kournikova or something. But this guy Grossman makes everyone as tense as if they had to navigate their way through some Cambodian field littered with Pol Pot era land mines. You literally take your life in your hands with each step.

And I don't care if Peyton Manning hasn't "won the big one". I'm sick of hearing about it. Yes, apparently he has superpowers in the regular season yet is hampered by Kryptonite in the post season. I don't care. He's represents another aspect of American Football I can't stand. He is the Patron Saint of Rednecks. This Gomer Pyle good ol' boy looks like he should be hawking Republican memberships at a Promise Keepers rally. I am branding him scapegoat for every gas guzzlin', gun totin', Bush lovin' NFL fan on the planet. Sorry Peyton, that's the cross you have to bear, fair or not.

I am a little concerned that the big game is being played in Florida, what with the state's track record in the last two elections coupled with Peytons obvious political leanings. If the Colts win a squeaker, I know Jeb and the boys at the Pentagon had something to do with it.

And since the game is in Florida shouldn't we have some local talent during the half time show? Seeing as the Sunshine State is the undisputed birthplace of American Death Metal, shouldn't we see Terrorizer or Morbid Angel actually rip someones tit off whilst the Colts and Bears are resting and eating oranges? Ever since Janet Jackson's very un-PG "slip" (go to Europe and the kids have seen more topless women by the time they've finished their bangers and mash at brekky), we've been forced to endure safe, tame, family friendly "rock". No offence to Sir Paul, but it's time to turn up the volume. At the very least send Billy Joel out for a flat of Bud and let the Morbid Angel belt out the National Anthem:

"RRRRAAAAAAAAAR say can you see....(blast beats...double kick drum...high pitched stacatto screams)....and the RRRAAAAR of the brave...."

If this is impossible, at the very least then, let's hope the Bears recapture Refrigerator glory on Sunday and hoist the Golden Calf high, not for me, as I'm just a casual observer, but win it for that guy in working in the factory on the South Side, or the kid dreaming of a life outside of the Cabrini Green housing projects. Or for the fans that live, breathe and die NFL football and the Bears. Like my friend Mike who named his dog Payton, (after the Walter variety, not the Manning variety) and whose brain will probably short circuit and whose heart will turn to cold, black coal if they lose.

Let's see them win it so I can see Urlacher and the rest of the defensive core cutting a rug alongside Usher in a "Super Bowl Shuffle '07" music video. Most importantly lets see them win it for all the lads that have the team a little higher on their list then "I hope they win."