The Maniwaki Eastern Invasion

Having jetted out to Southern Ontario to attend my sister's high school graduation ceremony, it became increasingly clear that in addition to this monumental occasion, there were many-a-Maniwaki-matter worthy of comment.

As I reside in the west, one gets accustomed to a removed, analytical look at the world of sport, all Canucks aside. Perhaps a shudder at a Bronx box score or a disapproving holler at a roster move made in Anaheim. Descending into Pearson International Airport, I literally descended into the belly of the beast. Here there is no escape. One is literally pummeled with stats and fanfare of not only the region's representatives of every major sport, (Jays, Raps, some team called the "Leafs" ) but also of minor league squads making waves in their respective pools. So with a plethora of particulars to comment on, let's get this GO Train going by dedicating this column to:

The imminent NHL draft. And the pursuits of many a southern Ontario lad with big league aspirations. One such pursuit being conducted by my little brother who ain't so little. In the past 48 hours I have been indoctrinated into the training regimen of the modern Junior A competitor. Daily, brutal, morning workouts coupled with afternoon on-ice skills development sessions. All conducted by ex-Eastern European Olympians in massive suburban training facilities. Even 50 Cent himself would be put through the paces in one of these compounds as the one I visited bore a striking resemblance to the very one Fiddy found himself tread-milling away in in his In Da Club video.

Witnessing the skills session first hand, I marveled at the the advanced dexterity and co-ordination that these upstarts displayed. Intricate puck handling mixed up with various skating strides: frontwards, backwards, diagonal...these players were no snowflakes clumsily navigating their way around pylons. These were first rate "danglers". (A term bestowed upon one who masters the "ways of the puck", a term that I became familiar with after being clued into it's meaning by the aforementioned little bro who ain't so little. Said brother, who will be only referred to henceforth as The OakTown Dangler).

The ante of astounding moves, being already high, was raised by the trainer. The danglers were instructed to stand in the middle of the circle and criss cross the puck left to right then throw it between their legs catching it with their stick, almost like the hoops style dribble or the jaw dropping shoot out goal scored by Marek Malik in the regular season.




After catching this highlight during the regular season, I often became perplexed as to where it could have originated. But after attending the afternoon's session I now know that it probably was developed in some massive suburban training compound, run by ex-Eastern European Olympians who mean business.

A very pleasant Eastern European lady sat next to me. She was waiting for her 15 year old grandson to start his session that was due up after the dangle-a-thon. She told me about her family that was spread out all over North America, and about her recent immigration issues to her former home, the former Yugoslavia. She spun a tale of squaring off against an ornery border guard and about how she fended off almost certain jail time. I was surprised to learn that this woman, made of such stern stuff, could not bear to watch her grandson and his teammates play in tourneys where they were facing larger opponents. She said that her grandson needed to put on weight.

A sentiment that was echoed by the archetypal Ontario hockey dad that joined us.
"That boy's got to put on some weight," he spoke of his own 15 year old son.

I piped up. No choice.


"He's 15!!!"


Speaking of both of their lads. 15 year olds are only going to be so big. They're not going to be WWE behemeths. Christ they're just learning how to lather up and apply Gillette shave cream. The pressure on every hockey player over the age of 13 to be Rick Nash or Cam Neely is insane. It's like the anorexic model syndrome but reversed. Size does not necessarily equal talent.

Hopefully the NHL is cluing in, as a Kyle Turris, the projected #1 pick (who Wayne scooped up at #3) trotted up to the podium on draft day weighing a paltry buck seventy. Physical skill, fostered by near Shaolin style work regimen is what's required. A mutant like clairvoyance as to where the puck will be, fostered by paying constant, unblinking attention to the action on the ice is what's required.

The Oaktown Dangler had finished and had come to get me. We were to catch the GO Train into town to watch the Jays try and take series from the Dodgers in interleague. He was drenched in sweat from a hard day at the office. We left the complex and talked about the game and about martial arts and how they relate to each other. Not only was it good for hockey. It was good for the future of hockey.

Banish Him Back To Syracuse

So there's Josh Towers talking in the pre-game interview about how it might be kind of cool to give up a jack to Barry Bonds in his steroid drenched quest to capture the all time home run record.

For Towers, a guy coming off a year where he went 2-10 only getting injected into the rotation because Tomo Ohka stunk up the mound so much the Jays cut him loose, he should be happy he's not walking down the same dusty road alongside Ohka playing a harmonica. Never mind giving up the game winning dong to a guy who hasn't hit one in a month and has no business being mentioned in the same sentence as Hank Aaron.

The Battle Endeth

Really what can you say? Nice to see Teemu finally hoist the Cup. You gotta cheer for him. As crestfallen I was for Alfredsson, Heatley and the entire Nation, the whole playoffs were worth seeing the usually UFC calibre combat ready GM Brian Burke walk on the ice misty eyed to join the squad that he meticulously assembled in celebration. Now here's a guy you definitely cheer for. "Bro Hymn" by Pennywise blasting all the while. This was not as crushing as Calgary and the Oil losing in Game 7 to Southeastern squads that have no business being in the League. So to use a hockey cliche:

"Although we didn't come out on top, I'm focusing on the positives..."

To close I will leave you with an e-mail from the Skip that read "Stanley Says.." in the subject box, followed simply by one word in the message body:

Yup.






"Fuck kyllä!!!!!!"

"But Baseball Is So Boring..."

Inevitably, I hear this lame statement every time I'm in a sports related discourse and bring up The Game. Usually it's with some rabid NHL supporter who thinks that The Earth is flat, consisting of one landmass: Canada. And sailing 50 miles off the coast of Vancouver Island, Newfoundland or Baffin Island would bring certain doom as one would fall over the face of the earth.

Or when I'm yakking with some NFL/CFL fan jacked up on a combo of Budweiser and human growth hormone, eating chicken wings also doused in Bud and injected with the same growth hormone, who believe that their respective Pigskin League is so comprehensive and all encompassing it should be used as a government model replacing participatory democracy itself.

To these stalwarts I submit these recent Jays snippets. In the last two games I have been treated to two insane comebacks:

Sunday. Vs Chisox. 1B Lyle Overbay joins the rest of the squad on the DL by getting hit on the hand with a fastball. Adam Lind, called up from Triple A in April (as with the rest of the current Jays replacing everyone on the aforementioned DL) commits a base running gaffe that ends the inning costing the Jays a run. Then comes back in the sixth, driving in double vaulting the Jays over the Sox. 4-3 Final. Not boring.

Today. Vs Tampa Bay. Staff Jedi, Roy Halladay on the mound against rookie Ray, Andy Sonnanstine. Vegas would have the odds at 4 billion to 1 for the Jays. However, uncharacteristically, Doc Halladay leaves in the fourth after getting touched up for eight runs, and the kid goes seven strong innnings for the Rays. WTF? T-Bay OF, Carl Crawford just about HITS FOR THE CYCLE, coming up one triple shy and by the bottom of the ninth the score is 11-6 for Tampa. None of this, thus far, any way you slice it can be deemed as boring. And we still haven't gotten to the Jays half of the ninth. Where:

THEY PROCEED TO COME BACK AND SCORE 6 RUNS AND WIN THE GAME ON A RUN WALKED IN FROM TAMPA CLOSER CASEY FOSSUM.

Two days of drama, two days of shenanigans and heroics and nary a boring game in the lot. So do yourself a favour. Tune in for a couple of innings when you can, because if this is June, I can't wait to see what October will bring.