Spring Training Hats Usher In Season Of Doom

Watching my first inning of of Jays Spring Training Ball this season, broadcast from sunny Winterhaven, Florida, I was overcome with an impending sense of doom. It is one that has been with me all winter, engulfing me not unlike the torrential clouds that seasonally swallow up this city and surrounding region.

I tuned in in the ninth where the Jays were tied 2 a piece with Cleveland, the go-ahead runner on base due to being hit by a pitch. Somehow I knew he was not going to make it home. Somehow I knew that the Tribe would rally in the bottom half of the ninth to take the game. Somehow this is what ended up happening.

Sometimes you just know.

I have no reason for this line of thinking. None whatsoever to call the season a complete write off before it has even began. It's not like we're a bad squad. Far from it. We're coming off a strong '06 where we finished higher than 3rd for the first time since '93, in the toughest division in all of Pro Sport. We inked superhero slugger Frank Thomas in the off season while avoiding (not by choice, mind you...) the financial pitfalls of the over inflated free agent pitching market.

We resigned Vernon Wells, who insisted on a back loaded contract, thus freeing up cash for the team to remain competitive this year. Wells is a true ball player. The anti-A-rod in the sense that although his contract was gigantor-mega-manga-robot-size ($126 million over 7 years...whoa), and there is speculation that he could have commanded EVEN MORE on the free agent market (which he would've been eligible for next off season), good old V-Dub put the Jays' chances of winning ahead of a huge first and second year payout.

Erratic starter Josh Towers, fighting for a starting spot, is looking good in his Spring tune up innings. As do recent acquisitions Victor Zambrano and Tomo Ohka. Between these three, two will be added to compliment Doc, Burnett and Chacin in the rotation. I'm hoping that Ohka, who had his best season with Montreal, will get the same whiff of crisp Canadian air, thus inciting him to drink maple syrop by the litre, trap mink for the Hudson's Bay company and ultimately duplicate his '02 performance.

Yeah, everything seems swell in Skydome land this season, but I still feel uneasy. It's as if the wheels that support and roll out the stadium roof could fall off at any second, causing a collapse that would make the Olympic Stadium and BC Place debacles look like slight dings on a fender.

Citing no rational reason, I'm blaming MLB's new Spring Training hats. Just god awful. The arc of piping along both sides of the cap make players look like they should be putting for par rather than cracking jacks into upper decks.




"Where's that muthafuckin' Caddy??!!"







And it is for this reason alone that I am predicting one very long, excruciating, gallstone passing season for Toronto this year. Sorry lads. Blame the tailors at MLB HQ.

Long Overdue Musings from the Sugar Shack

Yes, I know it's been a while. Yes, I know there's alot to weigh in on....Daisuke Matsuzaka and David Beckham starring alongside Eddie Murphy in "Coming to America III - $$$$$HOW MUCH$$$$$!!!!????"... Mario Saves Steel Town From Everything Short Of Rodan...Chacin drinks a bottle of his own cologne and gets picked up for DUI, thus setting the stage for the Jays' inevitable disastrous season... and most of all... Roberto Luongo does his best impression of The Incredible Hulk from Secret Wars #4 by hoisting the entire Lower Mainland on his shoulders, The Stanley Cup perched atop.

Plenty indeed...and you will hear the loud chime of those bells soon enough but for now have a gander at this piece The Skip sent me re: a recent rafter ceremony....

Simply shocking.

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I sat there in the warm confines of my Cabane à Sucre in the majestic maple woods near Boucherville . Beside me sat my femme, Claudine. On the floor at our feet rested our young neighbour, p'tit Jean-Michel.

Jean-Michel had had a tough go of things lately. His papa had gone off to his 8-week shift working in the zinc mines in Abitibi-Temiscamingue. His maman was back on the sauce. No. Not the booze. I'm talking SAUCE. As in 'sauce brun'. As in the magical visco-elastic ooze that traditionally drowns our repas-nationale: poutine. She's gotten bigger lately. Really big. Bed-ridden big.

Sometimes when Jean-Michel is feeling down, he wanders over to our maison to regard un match d’hockey. About a month ago occurred such a night; in fact, 'twas the night that Ken Dryden’s #29 was being retired by les Canadiens.

The ceremony itself was nothing special; certainly, one might even call it uninspiring. Quite frankly, it was probably one of the more antiseptic spectacles in the history of 'honor', a seemingly endless plod ensconced with the worst attempt at a public figure speaking French since the Preston Manning years.

However, the one thing that stuck out the most was the total lack of class displayed by the opponents that night – the Ottawa Senators.....

You might be asking yourself, "Hey Skip. Why the long face? What got your bee in such a bonnet? What did they do to get you so darn nettled?"

Were they openly booing? Nyet.

Were they spewing well-pointed barbs at his unsuccessful bid to lead the federal Liberals? Nay.

Were they wearing their athletic support straps outside their protective pantaloons, rubbing their space-age-polymer-covered genitalia, smelling their fingers, rubbing the SAPC-G again, then spitting at the ground at approximately a 40 degree angle (as measured between the projectile line and the ground)? Nope.

Worse.

They weren't even there.

Repeat.

THEY WEREN'T EVEN THERE.

Good god.

Sayeth my small ami Jean-Michel: "Hey Monsieur le Skip. Whaddya mean? That they weren't there emotionally?"

No, mon p’tit. That is not what I mean.

No. On a night of historical significance – not just for the Habs, but for hockey in general – the Ottawa Senators were sitting in their dressing room, hiding behind the excuse that the ceremony “affected their pre-game routine”.

Excuse me? Affected your pre-game routine? What?

Others had the good sense to be there. Commissioner Gary Satan was there. Legendary broadcaster Dick “back-when-my-dad-was-coaching-the-Canadiens” Irvin was there. Hell, even Vladislav Tretiak was there, and he had to hitch-hike in the back of a truckload of beets to make the trek (mind you, he did reek of kwas, but it was nice to see him anyway).

Let me tell you something. In ten years when the Senators are trying to create some instant history for themselves and their fans by retiring Daniel Alfredsson’s jersey for his long-standing devotion to regular-season glory, you can be damn sure that if the bleu-blanc-rouge are the opponents that evening, not only would they be present, but they would be standing and applauding. They have the good sense to know what’s right for the game.

Monsieur Alfredsson et al. owe it to players like Ken Dryden to show a bit of respect. Over Dryden’s illustrious career, the NHL average salary was about $60,000. Let’s put this number in perspective: Wade Redden currently makes 60k in just over two periods of play. Daniel Alfredsson makes 60k every night. Hell, even Chris Neil takes only five games to rake in that amount.

EVERYTHING that today’s players have in terms of revenue, exposure, and benefits is owed to the greats of the past. Had it not been for players like Dryden, today’s average NHL’er would more resemble a CFL player: toiling in their sport for the duration of the season, then wallowing in some dead-end office job to pay the bills for the rest of the year.

Perhaps it’s fitting that the Sens missed a ceremony honoring possibly the greatest playoff goalie in the history of the game (in case you’re forgetting, Dryden won six rings in eight years. Just think about that for a second….). Given the steaming piles of rubbish that Ottawa has placed between the pipes for their various Cup runs, it’s obvious that they don’t truly understand what a clutch netminder looks like, nevermind what it takes to honor such a player.

To John Muckler, Bryan Murray, and the rest of the Senators’ organization from top to bottom, may you be “blessed” with the likes of Patrick Lalime and Damian Rhodes for the remainder of your existence. Perhaps then you’ll truly realize the value of having a Ken Dryden in your lineup during May and June, and you’ll give him the respect that he deserves.

Do it for what's right. Do it for hockey. Do it for p'tit Jean-Michel.

- The Skip