Worked

We need to make a play for Mats Sundin.

Immediately.

This was the consensus in the chalet as our snowboard crew sipped brandy post-ride, (ok... Canadian..) and watched the highlights of another slim loss. (4-3 in favour of Tampa)

Granted, our defensive core is occupying the infirmary, but yet again we got worked over in the grit department. Three scraps. All of them with unanimous decisions going to the Lightning. We battled back after going down 4-2, but yet again it wasn't enough.

The organization is in dire need of a physical, skilled presence on the ice. Enter The Nordic Wolf. Having another great year on a lame duck team with an even lamer duck front office, Sundin would provide the Canucks with the can of spinach that is sorely needed.

What would we give up?

Mortgage the future. Send Toronto a package consisting of a Bourdon, a Jaffray and even an Edler or two. Or some combination that makes it appear like T.O. is ready to get serious about fixing their broken down jalopy and makes us look like we're serious about taking a Cup.

Because in order to hoist, you have to barge in a claim your prize.

And for that you need a big, scary wolf with fangs dripping points.

Santana Headed To NY

But at least it's not to the Yanks.

VERY. RELIEVED.

Had he ended up in the Bronx instead of Queens it would have spelled certain doom for the Jays of '08. The Mets made off like bandits in this caper, getting Santana for four prospects. It's the equivalent of acquiring Arnold Schwarzenegger in '85 for Charlie Sheen, Ralph Macchio, C. Thomas Howell, and Keith Gretzky.

Close But No "W"

Two squeakers that didn't squeak down the way I would've liked:

1. Raptors/Wizards. Bosh and the boys roll into DC, play a heck of a game, lead at the half, fizzle in the third, and come back in the fourth. Anthony Parker drains a ridiculous three as the final buzzer sounds to send the game to OT. Drop the match 108-104. The only "W" to be found in DC is in the White House playing a game of "Risk - Persian Gulf Edition" with the VP.

2. Canucks/Stars. Modano and his mugs roll into town and handily hand it to the Canucks for three straight periods. Back up goalie Curtis Sanford allows three garbage goals, then gets the hook. Cursing continues from my bar. Customers become frightened. Leave hastily. Remarkably the Canucks chip away with the Captain scoring with just over a minute to go in the game. 4-3. Doable. One pulled back up, back up goalie later and it looks like OT, as well as hope, is imminent in this match as well. However, not to be. The final stands. 4-3. No "W". But a pretty solid "C".

A Gritty Performance

Curt Schilling. Bobby Orr. Kirk Gibson. We remember these players for providing stunning performances while playing hurt. Digging as deep as Hades itself to annihilate the concept of "pain threshold", the strength that these players were able to summon when it was really needed is legendary.

I witnessed such a performance last night and would like to submit the following name for addition to the ranks: Frank Carter of Gallows.

My compadres and I took in the highly anticipated show at the Plaza last night and walked out as off balance and shaken as if we had been hit by a Brian Urlacher led line. The lads from London provided one of the most explosive and volatile shows I have ever witnessed in this town. And they did with a very injured front man.

A few songs into their set, I noticed that Carter seemed off. Although his trademark guttural and rawer-than-freshly-butchered-Angus shriek still tore through the club pummeling everyone in attendance, he often winced and slumped over onto the mike stand almost using it as makeshift crutch.

At first I feared the worst, that this band that had gained such notoriety in such a short period of time, had peaked and was rapidly descending. Was Carter's affect due to the rigors of rampant touring? Had he become so disenfranchised with the music industry at such a young age, that he had resided himself to the machine and was merely going through its' motions? Had he ventured down some foreboding alley on this tour and been introduced to the hellish vacuum of west coast heroin?

It appeared to be none of these was the case as he explained four songs in, that he had some big dude had fallen onto him during the mayhem of their LA show and that his back was giving him severe trouble. He hadn't seen a doctor yet because "we're on fucking tour," and decided to soldier on.

And even with this apparently nagging injury, Carter and crew still managed to decimate the 800 block of Granville. Buzz saw riffs, timely placed double kick drum blasts that rivaled suppressive cover fire, and that fucking 7th circle demonic wail left everyone in a UFC style stupor. One of the perfectly placed power punches coming from a rendition of Black Flag's, "Nervous Breakdown," which saw the floor erupting into a volatile volcanic pit of flailing limbs.

After pitching a hardcore gem for 8 2/3 innings, Carter's teammates picked him up to complete the game. He exited the stage during the final song, "Orchestra Of Wolves," leaving Travis Reilly, singer from opening band This Is Hell, to take over.

And he sealed the deal, screaming the anthemic, aortoa-exposing chorus:

"The hardest thing!!! You'll ever learn!! Is to love! And be loved in return!!"

as the rest of the Gallows flung themselves into each other and across the stage.

A sentiment directed towards the song's intended target, and not the crowd as they left with much admiration for this epic display of heart.

This Sucks...

This is the All Star Game? The upper echelon of the league skating around like snowflakes playing a friendly game of shinny? Rick Nash scored on a "breakaway" that looked like a Markus Naslund shootout attempt. (He casually meandered toward the net at 1/4 speed and attempted a weak deke. Except unlike Naslund, Nash actually scored.)

The crowd is noticeably quiet. They're probably checking their cell phones to find out when Michael Vick gets out of the clink and suits back up for the Falcons.

The only good thing about the All Star break is that our hockey pool is allowing three rounds of drafting in which we can dump three lame duck players. However right now my lame ducks are looking a hell of a lot better than what the league's elite are showcasing.

Time to grab the GM cell phone and start making some moves.

Jays Playing Russian Roulette

Overall, I like what the front office is doing. They've made some moves, they've landed some big fish. Most importantly they've managed to keep the club competitive in the toughest division in pro sport.

Yet, I have some concerns.

GM JP Ricciardi has often maintained that the Jays can contend for an October spot if they are able to stay healthy. You know it. I know it. Hazel Mae at Sportsnet knows it. Even with the injuries, the club isn't that far off.

What perplexes me is Ricciardi's penchant for signing injury prone players recently. I gave kudos to the Rolen deal, but the latest signing of back up catcher Rod Barajas has got me a tad leery.

Barajas appears to fit into the Jay's apparent plan of beefing up the infield defence. This cat has a caught-stealing percentage of 33.7 which is juice. This is definitely an area the Jays need to improve on, because after keeping a close eye on them the last few seasons , I can safely say that one of those Mystic muppets from The Dark Crystal would be called safe at second.

However, if he gets a stabbed with a shard from the Injury Crystal it would usher in a n era of unparalleled doom and oppression in Sky Dome land. And then Ricciardi will have to throw down big bucks to sign a puny muppet with a great quest-completion average and send him on his way to the dreaded land of the Bronx. Where the l'il gaffer will have to save the world by hucking an evil Yanks' World Series Ring into the furnace of Yankee Stadium or something

And who needs that?





SAFE!!!

Enjoy The All Star Brizzle...

Sometimes you don't even need to say a word.

The Maniwaki Code

Enough shit. Yes hockey is a physical game, yes a successful team has to demonstrate mental and physical toughness, and yes fighting is tacitly permitted. This is always how it has been and this is always how it will be.

I don't think many hockey fans want the formula tweaked too much.

But a few things need to be changed toute suite before someone becomes a paraplegic of worse, gets dead. Something really nasty is going to happen soon unless players and the league wise up.

So hear me out because I'm dropping the mits and dishing out The Maniwaki Code Of The Jungle.

1. Dirty hits from behind. These have got to go. Players getting driven head first into the boards by idiots with intent to injure is cheap. How many players this year have been put on the DL needlessly? The league needs to crack down on this nonsense harder and more decisively. Kovalchuk and Laroque, you're both tops in my books, but you both know better. Also, all players need to do like Don Cherry says and, "keep your heads up kids."

2. Punching a guy when he's down. This practice has got to go the way of the glowing puck. Two players want to duke it out? Fine, but the second a guy falls, the haymakers cease. End of story. Nobody wants to see anyone's brains on the ice. Except maybe a few zombies.

3. Samurai stick work. This isn't "Kill Bill" it's the fucking NHL. That's a Sherwood you're wielding not a Hitori Hanzo. Quit acting like a tit who's watched too many Van Damme vs Mario Van Peebles straight-to-DVD's.

4. Enforcers need to grow mullets or appropriate facial hair. If you're unsure as to what is deemed as acceptable attire please refer to George Parros. Extra points if they train out in the prairies, by hitting freshly bagged elk carcasses hanging to cure.



RYE OR DIE!!!

LIVE TO THE WWW

Alright folks, enter the new dawn of this world wide web of information. Here we go…

The Skip’s just set himself up with an account on this so-called “net” (as I’m told the kids are calling it these days), so now I can post my thoughts even more rapidly than before. My people no longer have to wait the additional ten minutes it used to take to send a snip to the Admiral, who would then proceed to “Control+C, Control+V” the hell out of it.

In this new world of instant reaction and analysis – even when entirely unwarranted (call it ‘the Access Hollywood corollary’) – people don’t want to wait an extra ten minutes for anything anymore. Nor are they going to do so. Just think of all the things you can accomplish otherwise in those ten minutes:

You can eat almost a whole bag of Cool Ranch Doritos.

You can peruse the footwear section of the Sears catalogue.

You can watch the first ten minutes of ‘Gigli’.

You can read about the flying buttresses atop Paris’s famed Notre Dame cathedral.

You can learn Eli Manning’s entire post-season playbook.

Ok, maybe that last one is an exaggeration. It should actually take more like two. Ready?

(1) Hand off to Brandon Jacobs;
(2) If (1) wasn’t called by the sidelines, look for Plaxico;
(3) If (2) isn’t there for you, dump it off short;
(4) If (3) isn’t an option, TRY NOT TO DO ANYTHING STUPID.
(5) Re-read (4).

How long did that take you? Do you have it memorized? Good.

Laugh if you will, but it’s flat out working for him. Certainly he’s been resoundingly unspectacular over the past three games, but at least hasn’t lost the Giants any of them.

Let’s get this straight. Eli was never going to be the guy that said to his teammates “hop on my shoulders, boys. I’ll carry us through this”. Instead, he always more resembled the rancher’s son that was just put in charge of keeping the gate closed, only to see the steely resolve in the heifers’ eyes; “Uhhhh…. Pa? What’s me gunna do now?”

I find it unfathomable that he hasn’t thrown a single pick yet. Not one. My god. I truly do not know what combination of words I can use to sufficiently convey my disbelief.

Look, I realize that my gambling instincts have been completely off recently. Hell, if this piece didn’t convince you, I also picked both New England and Green Bay to cover last weekend.

But believe you me, if I was a bookie in Burkina Faso three weeks ago I would have run down to the village to convince the first Bobo tribesman I saw to wager his prized ceremonial mask that Eli could not possibly have a bagel in the boxscore’s INT column at this point in the season.

I would also now have a spear through my spleen.

It remains to be seen how he’ll deal with the remaining two weeks of hype, the suffocating expectations of Archie and Peyton, and the inevitable nightmares about Belichick’s blitz packages, but you definitely have to give him credit for getting this far.

I know my good friend Mbingu thinks so. He still has a mask. And I still have a spleen.

- the Skip

In Contrast...

...The Celtics look downright scary. Smacking Bosh and lads around, I was amazed that the Raptors were still walking never mind up by two at the half.

Now this Boston crew, if they haven't already, would definitely inspire a hardcore outfit or two. It's like they're all Cam Neely on the court. They're not afraid to bash and play physical, they come up with what seems like every rebound, they drain threes. I haven't seen Cloverfield yet, but at this point it wouldn't surprise me if it's revealed that the monster that trashes NY turns out to be Kevin Garnett.

And how about those Raptors? If this game wasn't a Jays of '85 defining moment, I don't know what was. After they won the razor thin contest 114-112, they leaped around ecstatic as if they won the Championship itself.

I almost expected the obligatory post game locker room champagne celebration coupled with white Championship hats that read "We Beat The Celts At Home - 2008." Maybe even an interview with Bosh saying something to the effect of, "this was an emotional win and we'll celebrate tonight, but tomorrow we'll be preparing to meet George Brett and the Kansas City Royals in the ALCS."





And you thought Manny and Papi could do some damage...

A Tale Of Two Squads: Les Habitants Sont Méchant/ Boston Pops

Caught a bit of the Canadiens/Bruins tilt tonight. Wow. Just scary. Every time I turned around Montreal had netted one. The final being an 8-2 trouncing.

What's even more surprising is that the Canadiens held the title in the pugilism department as well. One particularly nasty 3rd period scrap between the Tom Kostopoulos and Shane Hnidy, saw Montreal's Kostopoulos throw down like he was auditioning to become Hatebreed's new vocalist. Maybe he heard the UFC is coming to town...I don't know, but he wasn't going to win by decision. He was looking for the knock out.

But what's happened to the Bruins?

Back in the day they were one of the toughest squads around. They even inspired the local band Slapshot, a hardcore unit who emerged out of the notoriously brutal, early '80's Boston hardcore scene. The way the Bruins are playing now it looks like they're inspired by the band Boston.

Is this same organization that once boasted Don Cherry behind the bench?

And Cam Neely?

And Bobby Orr?

The Most Depressing Day Of The Year

January 21st. Apparently, according to the experts, the most depressing day of the year. All the Christmas lights have been taken down, the tree sits out in the dumpster, the family has all retreated back to their respective residences and all one is left with is a massive Visa bill and 10 extra pounds occupying your midsection with the resiliency of a 1968 Abbie Hoffman led sit-in.

Contrary to this doom and gloom the pundits were spouting, my spirits were in great shape. A stunning sunny day here in Van as sunshine reflected spectacularly of the snow capped skyline.

There was no way I'd become another morbid mid-January CNN stat.

That is until I watched the Canucks game vs the Wild.

Joining the ranks of the disenchanted, I witnessed as the Vancity dropped its fourth straight match plummeting to eighth in the conference while handing the division lead to Minny.

A chill came over me. Shades of 05/06, when we limped down the stretch, all the way out of playoff contention.

...brrrrrrrrrr

Let's hope that icy breeze was just passing through on its way to Grouse Mountain.



















Fresh powder on all 26 runs courtesy of the Canucks' shitty play!

To Enter The Hallowed Hall...

Re: The AFC Championship.

Like it was going to turn out any different.


Re: The NFC Championship.

Whhhhhhaaaaaaat???!!!

The '04 Redsox on their march to greatness had to defeat two adversaries of epic proportion to ensure that their marble Idiots statue would sit in the Pantheon of Great Squads. If they were ever going to win the World Series again after an 86 year drought, they would have to go through the Yanks. And for good measure would have to knock off the Cardinals as well as these two teams hold the numbers one and two spot for number of total World Series wins. The Cards have ten. The Yanks have ten thousand. The point being, that a team destined for the Pantheon must defeat a worthy opponent to get through the gates.

So it seemed inevitable that Favre and the Packers would win the day at Lambeau, thus providing Brady and the Pats the required test for the Superbowl and entry into the Pantheon. Especially after Giants kicker, Lawrence Tynes missed two field goal attempts to capture the lead. One from 36 yards. His second gaffe, a last second kick in regulation, shanked way to the right of the uprights and it was as if the entire continent of North America willed it to happen. You know you had a part in it. Admit it. Like you didn't wanted to see a Favre/Brady showdown. Of course you did.

But not to be. Tynes redeemed himself by booting a 47 yard rocket dead center in OT, thus insuring that he would not end up the subject of aU2 video, collecting his royalty cheque from an address that's next door to Bill Buckner's. Giants win. The second Manning goes to the Super Bowl in two years and the Pats are one win away from an 19-0 season.

But it is a Manning that Brady and co. will have to face...

One who's on a roll...

Looks like the criteria for Pantheon entry still stands.

The Preview Post

A few upcoming items worthy of mention:

Canucks/Kings. 01.19.08. Which Canucks will show up tonight? The highly disciplined Navy Seal unit who methodically and meticulously position themselves, striking swiftly and without compassion when the opportunity presents itself? Or will the Ice Capades show up, trying to get to score extra points with fancy footwork and triple sow cows, endlessly cycling the puck around to the tune of 2 shots on net per period?

AFC/NFC Championship Games. 01.20.08.Will the Chargers be able to continue their run of incredibly dumb luck ala Mr. Magoo and knock off the Pats, one of the toughest End Bosses in pro sport history? Will Brett Favre be able to sell more Bowflexes by out gunning Eli Manning and the Giants? How much of a factor will icy Lambeau Field in Green Bay be? Will Sidney Crosby skate onto it and shoot the pigskin through the uprights in OT for the Packers?

UFC 84 in Montreal. 04.19.08 Will Georges St. Pierre be able to get Matt Serra to tap out and claim the Welterweight Championship in front of the home town crowd? Will GSP then have to battle GLR (George La Roque) for the NHL belt?

Jays Bullpen. Begins 04.02.08. GM JP Riccardi locked up relievers Scott Down, Jason Frasor and Brian Tallet for '08. Although it is under the radar, this is monster. The Jays had one of the best bullpens in the bigs last year, and with the recent acquisition of Defensive Jesus, 3B Scott Rolen it looks like the only thing exiting the Jays infield this year will be alot of batters with hurt feelings.

The Tavern

I am working on a screenplay. It is a dark tale, reminiscent of Scorsese's classic, "Taxi Driver". It's the story of a socially maladjusted blue collar joe who witnesses every facet of the human condition from the unique vantage point provided by his agonizingly monotonous job.

The increasing aggregate of total hours he's clocked in, coupled with the ever present vista of society's black heart, inches him closer and closer to a precipice that he dare not look over. For if he does, what gazes back will be a beast of the foulest of nature: one that most certainly will become unleashed.

This story is mine.

And it is entitled, "Bartender."

...

Tonight's scene served as a break in the quietly building tension of the script. A lively room with energetic staff and engaging patrons served as a bizarre composite forum for many aspects of the game of hockey.

Tabled were such subjects as Forsberg's potential acquisition by the Canucks, Sundin's potential banishment from the ACC, as well as John Ferguson Jr's most certain, Detroit's realistic chances for Cup hoistage and an intriguing grass roots insight into the state of the game in Cali. The last item provided by a superb couple from the Bay Area, Chris and Megan.

Chris, a kindred spirit to myself, runs a fanzine in San Francisco dedicated to hockey and is an aficionado of "the punk rock". He confirmed my suspicions that the game is growing in the Golden State and that the rivalry between all three squads is intensifying. Especially the one between San Jose and Anaheim, as they are two of the toughest teams in the league. No argument there. I watched the playoffs last year. I saw the Ducks dismantle the Canucks. I witnessed this season as the Sharks manhandled us in every contest so handily that we didn't put up one win against them.

Like the early hardcore bands spawned from California at the start of the '80's, these California squads are out to prove something. They play fiercely and decimate all in their paths. I wonder if Henry Rollins is employed in the Duck's front office?

It also appears that at a grass roots level the game is growing as I was alerted to the fact that many bands in the Bay Area have formed squads and play in leagues. Apparently, a club that I visited in Oakland actually sponsors one of these teams. Good show. It would be quite the spectacle to see how a southern Cali punk rock squad fares against Vancouver's own Murder Squad, DOA's roughneck team. If it mirrored what's going on in the NHL, I'd feel pretty bad for Joe and the boys.

As everyone that was settled at the wood watched Iginla and the Flames throttle the Kings 6-1, we wondered what tomorrow would have in store for the Canucks. Would LA bounce back after their drubbing in Cowtown and emulate their State brethren battering us into submission? Or would the Canucks do their best Black Flag impersonation and "Rise Above"?

Curious to see for myself, I decided that I would hold off from shaving my head into a Travis Bickle mohawk and would refrain from ranting in the mirror. For at least a day.




"We...Are Tired...Of Your Abuse...Try..Stop Parros...It's.No.Use!"

Four More Years....

{Ties noose}...

{Fastens rope to balcony railing}...

{Checks headline one more time to be sure}...

{Shakes head}...

{Salutes}...

{Leaps}...

...

The headline was one that most likely went unnoticed in many residences across North America today. It, however, did not do so in mine.

Feeling elated after a thoroughly vigorous workout this morn, I sat down with my laptop and a cup of coffee. What news from the world would my browser bring? Would Hillary's campaign be in full swing? Would Britney Spears have snorted a line of asbestos of the court reporter's desk? Would the Jays announce that Scott Rolen tripped over third base in a tour of the Skydome thus relegating him to the DL for the entire '08 season?


I flipped to one of my favourite bookmarks only to be greeted with this iciest of daggers:

"Commissioner Agrees To Three-year Extension"

"NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

How could this happen? Not two days after admitting culpability (sort of) for the steroid era, Bud Selig was granted a three year contract extension by the owners. His term was supposed to be up after next season. How did he orchestrate this latest fiasco? Did he hypnotize the owners at the Winter Meetings? Did he secretly employ a small alien who wields immense X-files-esque powers of mental manipulation? Was he able to manifest such powers himself? Was there an accident in his laboratory of evil, located in the deepest sub-basements of MLB HQ, that inadvertently granted him these ungodly abilities?

Was he, himself on some super-steroid?

Regardless, this turn of events proved itself to be quite distressing. I thought I felt let down when Bush won his second term.

If you haven't read the post from two days ago, please do so and you will begin to empathize with my dismay towards this situation.

To sum up. Selig's excruciating tenure can be defined by:

1. The cancellation of the '94 World Series. Bad enough as it stands on its own, not to mention;

2. The nixed playoff hopes of the Expos the same year. In '94, Montreal held the best record in baseball and was on its first trip to the post season since '81. Apparently, this wasn't adequate as Selig continued;

3. Pissing in the poutine. To make a very long story short, the Commish decided to help systematically dismantle the franchise in any way he could over the course of the next decade. In conjunction with former owner, Jeffery Loria, many schemes were put into place to kill what little fan support remained in the city. (More on this later. The Skip has promised the definitive exposé that will be published sometime in the future. Perhaps as a week long series, it is so dense and damning.) When the dust cleared, the Commish continued on;

4. Robbing the city of Washington, DC blind. By leveraging City Council and the District to pony up the full 600 million for the new stadium. Although MLB officially owned the team, Selig felt that Nationals' Park should be funded by the constituents entirely. I mean it's not like Major League Baseball made any money from;

5. The steroid era. Attendance that sunk to record lows after the strike suddenly picked up when Big Mac and Bonds starting hitting all those jacks. With virtually no drug policy in place, and balls flying out of parks at record pace, MLB raked in. And didn't have a care in the world, until Barry got pinched, Congress stepped in and we all know the rest...

So on top of this, we have to endure four more years of The Empire? I don't know...if it gets any worse, I might have to start watching Major League Lacrosse.



Even Pedro couldn't withstand the power of the dark side...

Anatomy Of A Deal

Remember that game "Operation" where you had to remove various organs and bones from a patient lying on the Milton Bradley slab? Remember how careful you had to be with your forceps not to even graze any part of the patient? And then when you inevitably did botch the job, a sharp buzz coupled with a flashing light went off and it actually felt like you got zapped with a kajillion jolts?

Never mind this Wii or X-Box 360 nonsense , board games like "Operation" ruled supreme back then and if you are old enough to remember it, give yourself 10 Maniwaki Points immediately. Thus, I am using "Operation" as a template for my official breakdown of the Glaus/Rolen Deal.


{washes hands}...

{dons mask and scrubs}...

{puts out cigarette}...

{demands scalpel from nurse}...

{makes incisions}...

{grabs forceps}...

{begins to operate}...


Isolating: Defensive Capablity.

Operating: While Glaus was respectable at 3rd, Rolen is an extraodinary defensive specimen boasting 7 Gold Gloves. They should just give him a Platinum Glove at this point.

Result: Clear.


^---^---^---^---

Isolating: Offensive Capability.

Operating:Both played roughly the same amount of games last year and had almost identical numbers, Glaus having a slight edge. The most notable being 12 more homers.

Result: Clear.


^---^---^---^---


Isolating: Overall Health.

Operating: While Glaus had issues with his foot resulting in season ending surgery last September, Rolen's shoulder woes are the bigger issue. He underwent the knife in September as well, his third surgery in three seasons. Over the course of which he's missed a total of 176 games. That's over a full season in the infirmary.

Result: ZZZZZZT!!!!


^---^---^---^---

Isolating: Media Scrutiny.

Operating: The aura of Glaus being called out as a juicer even prior to the Mitchell Report, is something I'm sure the Jay's front office is happy to not have floating around the Skydome this season.

Result: Clear.


^---^---^---^---

Isolating: Clubhouse Chemistry.

Operating: One of the main reasons for this trade is that Rolen had a very public dispute with his former Cardinal's manager Tony La Russa over being benched in the '06 playoffs. This was after his many feuds with his former former manager while on the Phillies, Larry Bowa. Add to the mix that his new manager, John Gibbons, is a hot head traded punches in the dugout with then starter, Ted Lilly, a few seasons ago and the '08 Jays could look to steal some fans from the UFC.

Result: Massive, potential ZZZZZZZZT!!!

^---^---^---^---


Overall Assessment: While not a steal in any respect, this trade is good for the Jays. But just barely. If Rolen manages to stay healthy for the majority of the season and stay off the Milton Bradley operating table while staying out of Gibbon's hair, he will be an upgrade to Glaus. At this stage in his career he's on par with Glaus offensively. However, defensively he's light years ahead, residing on Alpha Centuri. This should allow the Jays' pitching staff a lot of breathing room to get creative with getting batters out.

We'll see in '08.













Glaus was juiced in '02?!! ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT!!!!

Mr. Selig Goes To Washington...

...and gets a stern rap on the knuckles regarding his part in the steroid era courtesy of my new hero, Congressman Elijah Cummings of Maryland. Finally. Someone other than a reporter asking the question. Someone with some actual clout. Asking point blank. This is like the Emperor laying the smack down on Vader.

For those of you who don't know why I'm always harping on the Commish in these pages pay heed:



Sleeper hit: Cummings' transition from Fehr's statement to Selig's, at minute 1:34. The Representative from the 7th District of Maryland shows that he could out duel Ving Rhames for a part in Pulp Fiction II.

SLOTS, ROULETTE, AND NORV TURNER

[In contrast, The Skip provides some compelling insight on the state of the NFL Playoffs...]

***

I’m really glad I don’t gamble.

After this weekend’s NFL gong-show there’s no way I’d be able to write this snip, given that I obviously would been forced to pawn my computer along with all my other belongings to avoid having my ankles broken and my ears cut off to settle outstanding debts. All that would have remained of the Skip is a shadow of his former self, playing the part of that weird homeless guy wearing a big oak barrel with two suspenders, wandering up and down the street yelling over and over in a turrets-like rage:

“Billy Volek!!! Billy Volek!!! Damn you, Billy Volek!!!”

I speak, obviously, of the improbable (impossible?) Chargers victory over Peyton and the defending Super Bowl champs. What the hell? Seriously? Did that really happen?

Take a moment to digest the following…

(1) Peyton’s line for the game: 33/48, 402 yards, 3 TD, 2 INT;

(2) LDT’s line for the game: only 7 carries for 28 yards before going down with a knee injury;

(3) Philip Rivers was forced to watch the duration of the game from the bench while nursing a knee injury of his own;

(4) Norv Turner was running the show on the Chargers’ sideline. NORV TURNER, for godsake!! Yes, the same Norv Turner with the .415 career winning percentage. Yes, the same Norv Turner with exactly two playoff victories in 10 years as a head coach. Yes. That one.

Un-freaking-believable. You’ve got a game where Peyton throws for over 400 yards, San Diego was forced to use a backup quarterback AND tailback, and they’re relying on Norv Turner to come up with a plan to right the ship? What are the chances that they win that game? 10,000 - 1? 1,000,000 - 1? 1,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 - 1? No number of zeros can adequately express my incredulity.

Hell, not only would I have bet the farm on the Colts before the game, you could have read me those four statements late Sunday afternoon (without showing me the final score) and without hesitation I would have taken out a 3rd and 4th mortgage to wager that we’d be looking at a Manning-Brady gunslingers showdown next Sunday. I am in absolute awe.

The Pats should be thanking Jobu or whichever god they pray to that the Colts are out of it. Seeing the embarrassment that was the New England defensive secondary (wilting against the ‘prowess’ of David Garrard) I honestly believed that Indy would have had not only a puncher’s chance to win next weekend, but rather a legitimate / bonafide / insert-your-own-adjective-here opportunity to return to the Big Show. Seriously. I really think they could have done it. For godsake, if Garrard can put up that kind of performance against the Pats’ safeties and corners, what do you think Manning could have done?

The reality, however, is that an outrageously overmatched Chargers team is going to fly to Foxborough under the sadly-misguided notion that they have a hope in hell shocking the world. Good lord. This will not be pretty.

I shudder to think what the opening Vegas line is going to be for the game next weekend. Do the Chargers get 15 points? 20? Nothing would surprise me. Hell, I’d bet everything I have on the Pats -22.

I’ve even got a nice oak barrel to put up as collateral…

- The Skip

***

Before I leave you, some other lingering questions from weekend past:

- Who’s responsible for the Green Bay Packers story right now? I thought the Screen Writers Guild was still on strike…

- Anyone else get the sense that everyone’s feeling a little too good about how Eli has looked over the past couple of weeks? Look for a minimum 3 INT performance at Lambeau followed by the inevitable reappearance of the “awww-shucks-dang-it-all-I-sure-do-wish-I-didn’t-just-throw-into-triple-coverage-again” expression on Manning’s face…

- Has there ever been a more beautiful performance to watch than Brady’s 26-28 masterpiece? The only two incompletions in the entire game were drops (by Watson and Welker). Just think about that for a second…

- Speaking of which, when’s the last time anyone has ever said an 11-point victory in the second round of the playoffs was a disappointment for the winning team because it was such a “close” game? For the love of god, the Pats’ drive chart reads as follows: TD, TD, missed FG, end of half, TD, TD, and FG before a single punt with :21 left on the clock. Purely ridiculous…

- Finally, can the media now pleeeeeaaaaassssseeeeee stop referring to Tony Romo as a marquee quarterback? How can he not win a home playoff game considering that (a) he had a full complement of receivers to work with, and; (b) New York’s secondary was as makeshift as the outhouse I once built out of driftwood on the coast of the Arctic Ocean…

Later, kiddies…

This Given Sunday

I know nothing about the NFL. I admit it. My big prediction of the Jets spoiling the Pats' perfect season missed the uprights by a mile. But I do tune a bit more during the playoffs just to see what's happening. My observations thus far:

1. Games that goes down to the wire rule versus games that die as the clock runs out. Case in point. Indy vs San Diego. Peyton's last gasp pass in an attempt to score what would've been the game winning TD was pretty good Sunday afternoon telly.

2. As was the Giants' match against The Cowboys in which Romo QB'd a thrilling final minute as his squad was down by only four. Too bad his last ditch pass got picked off thus dooming him to Jessica Simpson jokes for the next 30 years.

3. It's cool that the other Manning will be moving on to the next round for once.

4. It's also cool that Dallas won't be. (I always hated them as a kid.)

5. But it's not cool that Terrell Owens season is finished. I wanted to see him bench press a reporter or get caught going to Vegas with Simpson in the next week.

6. I want to see New England win the whole thing. Only for the sole purpose of not having to listen to countless debates by drunken jocks for the next 30 years as to the Pats' place in history if they don't win the Super Bowl. Just win it and shut everyone up. I don't want to hear it.

Attack Of The Clones

I've had it with clichés. If I have to hear one more "you've got to dig deep", or "there are no short cuts" sound bite, I'm going to grab a lightsaber, disembowel myself and spill out my smelly Tauntaun innards. I am saturated. Enough.

Two examples. Compare, contrast, cremate:

1. A forum on starting one's own record label or music publishing business that I attended this afternoon with one of my fellow musician compadres. My associate (which is how he will be referred to henceforth in these pages) attempted to pose a valid question to the panel regarding some intricacies of the current music biz.

Before he could finish, he was met with was a fury of animated, condescending, entry-level recitations bellowed out by a self aggrandizing industry type who was too busy "educating the peasants" to learn that said associate:

1a. had just dropped a big league record, recorded by a producer that routinely produces solid platters for big league artists and;

1b. has toured extensively with some of said artists. Not to mention is;

1c. light years ahead of knowing that "you-have-to-sell-your-disk-at-your-show-to-build-a-grass-roots-following."

I half expected this industry type to whip out an iPod with accompanying PowerPoint presentation illustrating "why cassette tapes don't sell anymore."


2. Some random Maple Leaf being interviewed in the 2nd intermission on Hockey Night In Canada (Kubina, I think). Surprise, surprise, after a couple of tough losses on the road the team really had to take a step back and regain some focus. They got back to doing the little things, which could be directly attributed to the 2-0 lead they held at the break. If they managed to keep their composure, good things would happen, they would continue to find the net and protect their lead.

Too bad San Jose grew their mullets a few more inches during that same intermission and rifled off three goals in the third to win the game.

Maybe label heads should convince the Leafs to hang it up early on the 07/08 season and hire the squad to speak at "Remedial Music Business 101" seminars.

Canucks/Coyotes Match Notes

1. To reiterate, Luongo deserves all the rest he wants. Tickets to Bermuda, a room at Harrison Hot Springs, whatever. If he was in net tonight, the game would've been ours. After the All Star break he will undoubtedly be worked harder than Arnie was in Conan The Barbarian, pushing that big fucking wheel around. Let's hope Luongo will be able to wield his Sherwood as skillfully as Schwarzeneggar swung that monster bastard sword around.

2. Cowan needs to go to Don Cherry's Reform School For Boys That Take Dum-Dum Penalties. The double minor he served as a result of trying to put the sleeper hold on Jovonovski, put the Canucks down two men. Which of course led to Jovo retaliating with a goal. I fully expect to see Grapes sound off on this fiasco tomorrow on Coach's Corner. While sporting a hat that Dr. Suess would cook up and place on the Cat In The Hat. Perhaps even a kalmoozler or two.

3. Even though the Canucks lost, the fact that Wayne was in town and seems to be back to the winner's circle is good for hockey. With the loss at the last Olympics, the lackluster last couple of seasons, and all the gambling shenanigans from his wife and former assistant coach, I was starting to get worried. Wayne was starting to look worn down. Even worse, he was starting to look like Jeff Van Gundy. And that's not good.





This was just about Wayne.

First Ticker Of '08

...Second snowboard ride of the season for me. First in BC. Kicked off the 07/08 campaign at Aessissippi resort in Manitoba over the holidays. Cracked my head off some hard pack, saw stars and took it easy for the rest of the day that day.Today I didn't fare much better. The after effects of the race to 200 were evident. Had trouble actually bending over to grab frontside as my gut got in the way. No good. Felt like the Norm Peterson of snowboarding. Was actually more like the Bryant "Big Country" Reeves of the pow pow...

... Canucks get manhandled again by the Sharks. Beaten in all four meetings this season. How is it that two of the three California squads have been more fierce on the ice and sport better mullets than Canadian squads over the last two seasons?...

...Ovechkin signs the latest monster contract in the NHL. 13 years. 124 million. Washington Capitals signing the cheques. Let's just hope Alexander doesn't change his name to A-Ove, and try and upstage the Cup finals by demanding more. Or that the Soviet Union doesn't reform for good and try to yank him out of Washington in some Red Dawn inspired sortie...

...Dallas QB, Tony Romo takes heat in the media for skipping town for a few days and going to Mexico with Jessica Simpson. Wouldn't you?...

...Canucks G, Luongo takes heat for skipping the All-Star game to spend time with his wife who is expecting. The guy is the lynch pin to our entire season and march to The Cup. The Canucks front office should try and steal Jessica Simpson from Romo and The Cowboys if that's what it takes to keep him happy...

Raptors = '85 Blue Jays?

I love watching the Raptors. I caught the end of Sunday's heart breaker when they dropped a 13 point lead in the 4th to the Cavaliers, (well to Lebron more specifically) and I just couldn't get mad at them.

If it were the Canucks that blew a cushy lead, I'd be sharpening my axe, and heading off down to GM Place. If it were the Jays I'd be screaming blue murder so loudly it would carry all the way to Blue Jay Way, but I just can't get to peeved at these Raptors. Especially when one of the premier players in the league decides to hold court. (Yes, its an overused King James quip. I'm aware.)

The Raptors remind me alot of the Jays in the early '80's. A young team, with an internationally diverse roster who are starting to find their footing. By playing as a unit. By playing with heart. Ever since Vinnie The Bitch sluffed off to New Jersey and the Raptors' front office took on Phoenix phenom, Brian Colangelo as GM, the team has done nothing but get better and become more enjoyable to watch.

Tonight against the 76'ers, they held that lead 13 point lead, to a 109-96 win.

Just like the Jays of the '80's the city is taking notice. On my trip out there in the summer, I heard as much buzz about the Raptors as I did about any of their other teams. They're a viable alternative to the Leafs for a few reasons because unlike the Leafs:

1. You can actually land tickets.

2. You won't have to sell your gall bladder to actually buy them.

3. The Raps will win, where the Leafs will make you want to rip out your gall bladder anyway if you didn't sell it first to walk through the ACC turnstile.

Generally, you're going to walk away from a Raptors game feeling pretty darn good about yourself and about sports in your town. Just like you would've walking out of Exhibition Stadium in 1985.

Bosh: the new Barfield.

The Shootout

On my first tour of duty as student of Karate, my Sensei taught the class an invaluable lesson in regards to preparing for a tournament; that you are not judged once you step in the ring to spar or perform a kata, but in fact you are on judged once you enter the building and put on your uniform. To project confidence and discipline before actually throwing a single punch in competition will give you the advantage.

Turns out he was right, and our small club from small town Saskatchewan took home the bulk of medals at that year's provincial tournament. I even nabbed a silver.

I wish the Canucks shoot out unit could've been privy to this tutelage tonight. Although they forced OT (after a rare yet allowable off-night by Luongo), and even managed to win the shoot out, they looked terrible in one on one.

Just terrible.

With the exception of Trevor Linden and Alex Edler (who were the only Canucks to score), the rest of the lads looked more nervous than a seventh grader at his first junior high sock hop. I had a better chance of scoring from my living room than Kesler, Pyatt, Raymond and the Captain did as they feebly shuffled around on the ice before their respective attempts.

No excuse for this. None. Especially from Naslund as his was the weakest looking for both sides, Isles included. Coach Vigneault should let Linden tutor the whole squad on how to succeed in the shootout. There's a reason that Trev is 4 for 5 in shoot out attempts this year.

He knows he's going to score before he touches the puck. Just watch him. Prowling and circling the opposite end blue line, he looks hungry to jump on the puck, even before the whistle. And akin to a successful Karate technique, he hits his target by keeping it simple and committing. If there is any old NHL war horse that deserves to hoist The Cup this year it is him.

Edler didn't look as sure as Linden but at least he didn't look like he was going to faint.

My challenge for the rest of tonight's SO crew:

The next time you're in the shoot out, I don't care if you score or not. Just act like you're going to. Charge the net like you're meeting an opposing Samurai clan on the battlefield. Then at least, if you die, you die with honour.

Ok enough lecturing. I'm off now to go throw some old Earth Crisis onto the iTunes and bench press my refrigerator.




See what I mean.

Staff Party Last Night

And just hung. Ouch.

WELCOME BACK

[a New Year's pledge straight from the desk of The Skip... ]

***

Happy new year, kiddies. Let’s get straight to brassies… We’re here today to introduce a new feature on the Mauler: “Skip’s Snips”.



Here’s the scoop…



Over the past year or so I’ve had about 10 billion ideas that I wanted to put into a post, only to end up jotting down a few brief notes, hem and haw about them in my head, then have them lead nowhere. Once I got the inspiration to get a piece rolling, it seems like there have been only two possible outcomes:



(1) watching it balloon into some 1500-word tome that takes eons to write, edit, rewrite, edit again, then go and throw up in my mouth because it’s getting too verbose (see “Fall Colors”);



(2) adding it (yet again) to a folder full of half-written snippets never seen by you, the viewing public.



It stops now. You deserve better.



Hence the impetus for ‘Snips’. To be frank, I don’t have the time that I need to write a ton of articles of the quality and breadth sufficient to satisfy what we all have come to expect of the Skip.



I do, however, have a responsibility.



Don’t get me wrong… this isn’t to say that I won’t, on occasion, dip ye’ ole quill and completely fill my parchment with ink. Certainly there will be more than enough topics requiring a chain smoking, ether induced, epic sit-down session hearkening back to H.S. Thompson’s early days hunched over a typewriter at the San Fran Examiner.



Rather, I simply pledge to more regularly ensure that the subjects worthy of mention receive their due course, albeit in an abbreviated, quick-strike fashion. Call it the writing equivalent of football’s ‘two-minute drill’.



Over the coming weeks and months, expect a more regular series of updates from the sugar shack. With the NFL playoffs now underway, PGA tour players dusting off their spikes from a few weeks of winter neglect, the continuation of baseball’s silly season, and the ongoing shenanigans of ‘the-league-run-by-Gary-Satan-that-must-succeed-in-the-US-at-all-costs’, we’ll have more than enough fodder to fling around like colobus monkeys and their feces.



Grab a towel, folks. This could get messy.



- the Skip

Blame Canada

Look, I'm as pleased as the next guy that the kids one another World Juniors. Pleased as punch. But I must admit that it's a little tough to get amped up for the tourney "W" when it's the fourth straight. And as much as it pains me to say this, I actually found myself rooting a bit for the Swedes in the OT.

Blasphemy you say? Well you may be right. But there is a method to my madness.

Haley Wickenheiser really grinds me. As does the rest of Team Canada's Women's squad. (Cassie Campbell excluded. Hot, great player, great commentator, and hot.) The Team Canada Women ran the show at the last Olympics by shamelessly humiliating every other team (and ultimately themselves) so badly that there was debate as to even having the sport included in the next Olympics.

After Canada throttled the Italian women in the opener of their tourney 16-0, Wickenheiser and Coach Melody Davidson defended their squad's display in the post game, stating that, "it's the Olympics and you can't let up."

Really?

After doing the equivalent of squatting and pissing on the host nation in the opening match? You couldn't have chilled out and played a game of keep away after 10-0?

Even the UFC has a tap out.

And to make things worse what do they do in the next game? The same thing, lambasting the Russians 12-0, spouting the same claptrap post match.

I remember Wickenheiser saying something to the effect of, "We just had to keep on pressing."

Ok Haley, you do that. And then wonder why the next generation of female Canadian hockey players are watching the Van Olympics in their dad's basement with some pretzels and a case of Moosehead instead of lighting shit up on the international stage.

Not that there is the same gaping disparity in the Junior Men's International system. There are plenty of competitive squads. But I get a tad leery when we win every single time. For the game itself to get better, more interest needs to be built. Not just in Canada. Europe already has a solid grass roots fan base, but there is always room for growth. A larger talent pool overseas will definitely make the NHL a better league. Imagine if there were a few more Ovechkins, Kovalchucks and Haseks kicking around the league.

With this in mind here is a list of countries the Mauler endorses, if just for the sake of competition.

1. Slovakia. This small European nation boasts the highest number of pro players per capita. And they go fucking bonkers over hockey. They deserve a title.

2. Germany. Pretty substandard right now, but I'd love to see them ice a team that comes out of nowhere and makes it the semis in some international tournament. Victory is always better sweeter when you've gone through formidable German opposition. It's the same thrill as beating:

3. The Soviet Union. Oh my god, I wish Putin would annex all the Estonias and Georgias and Kazakhstans of the world every time there is an international hockey competition. Don't get me wrong. Russia is a great opponent and all, but the U.S.S.R was an intimidating, communist F.O.R.C.E. Remember Wayne and Mario rocketing down the ice to beat Vladislav Tretiak in the Canada Cup comps of the '80's? In those days if you beat the Soviets, you might as well have saved the galaxy.




"Things were looking a little scary for us when we were up 11-0, but we knew somehow we'd find a way to press on."

Podium Platitudes

Congrats to Team Canada trouncing the Yanks 4-1 in the World Juniors semis match today. If their post game interview is any indication of what kind of squad they are, these future Canadian NHL'ers will most certainly will win the gold.

Some sound bites spouted in the media following the win:

"Our team showed a lot of character today."

"Anytime you play the Americans it's easy to get up for the game."

"He [goalie, Mason] proved the critics wrong today. He showed a lot of poise."

"We have a lot of guys in that dressing room who hate to lose."

"We faced some adversity early in the tournament, but rose to the challenge."


....Good job lads. Way to not drop that torch.

On Board

It's taken roughly three months, but now I'm officially and unequivocally fully on board with the Canucks. Admittedly, I bleed Vancouver blue or green or white or crimson or black or orange or whatever the uni colours are for the season, but truth be told, I've kept a bit at arms length thus far. The new sweaters have been a huge reason. A colour and logo scheme are more schizophrenic than if the Joker himself designed them while tripping on 23 shots of LSD. Not good.

But enough about the unis. It's a new year.

The Canucks tonight looked like a squad that meant business. From Brown dropping the gloves with Hollweg off the opening face off, to D. Sedin not trying to out dance Michael Jackson while in front of the net resulting in a sweet dangle-a-thon of a goal, to Willie Mitchell teeing the fuck up while on the power play to slap a scorcher that went in off a Jaffray tip. And of course Luongo Of Nazareth doing his usual water into wine bit.

These Canucks tonight made the Eastern powerhouse Rangers look like a snowflake squad. Who knows, maybe they were just amped up because Pamela Anderson was in the crowd, but after witnessing this gritty display, I just about marched down to GM place to book tickets for June.

"To Hell With The Cynics..."

These words were uttered by Sabres Coach, Lindy Ruff, when asked how he thought the outdoor "Winter Classic" match between Buffalo and Pittsburgh played out yesterday.

I could not agree more.

While hosting a low key hangover New Year's brunch yesterday, watching the scrum intermittently throughout the afternoon, I was blown away by how well this grandiose game of pond hockey manifested itself. Players on both squads suited up in their respective retro unis, meandering and rocketing across an outdoor rink. The falling snow casually swirling amidst them provided such a picture perfect Rockwell-esque scene that I had to wonder if Bettman had hired Edward Scissorhands to create the ambiance.






Paid off by the Commish?











This match captured the essence of the game so perfectly I thought that if it was not for the TV cameras, lighting and 70 000+ in attendance, it could've been played on the Whitesand River. The same stream that my house in rural Sasky overlooks, and the same one that hosted a couple of epic tilts between the Skip and I in the mid '80's.

Yes, there were many delays in the game. Yes, the ice surface probably wasn't at it's highest grade, yes it was a gargantuan risk to take, and yes it should probably not become a yearly event, but the outcome was undeniably a triumph for the sport of ice hockey.

Tell me you couldn't have seen Crosby skate over to an awaiting Winona Ryder after his thrilling shootout winner, sweeping her off her feet and skating off down the river into the sunset...

Of course you could.



"WINONA!!!!!!!!!!"

The Winter Classic

Never mind that game of shinny in Buffalo...

I returned home two days ago, after a week in a Western Canadian Winter Wonderland, namely my fam's newly renovated homestead on the plains of Saskatchewan. The former "Little House On The Prairie," now resembles something out of "Dallas," as a massive addition has been added. A monstrous great room, which overlooks a snow capped field has been connected to the original house making the entire estate about twice the size. And twice the fun. It proved to quite the HQ for the Holiday Season.

The daily pace was akin to that of an all inclusive resort, in which the primary objective would be to consume as many tasty treats as one could stuff into his or her gullet. Followed by some solid relaxing time, and then perhaps some casual visiting as many friends and relatives stopped by. A fresh Caesar or beer or glass of Australian Shiraz in hand always within an arm's reach.

The joint has got Punta Cana or Punta Anything beat by a solid mile.

Which allowed the Skip and I to engage in the most ridiculous of contests. Playing J.R. to his Bobby, I challenged mon frère to an insidious duel that made Barry Bonds' quest for 756 home runs seem charitable. Our mission was a race.

The race to 200 lbs.

In which the victor would secure bragging rights for the ages, by cementing his place in the Pantheon of Christmas Gluttony. The idea originated after noting that I had reached a portly 191 lbs, even before I had boarded the jet from Van back to Never Never land. After spending a few days on the farm, consuming many a meat and cheese plate as well as many Kokanee, I estimated that I had at least hit a 195 and was officially flirting with 2 hun. Never having reached such a summit, I decided that the only thing that could help me achieve this goal would be the spirit of competition. In which the Skip was only too happy to oblige, being the competitive soul that he is.

Sparing you, dear Maniwaki faithful, the gory details, it pains me to announce that after much gorging on both or our parts, that elusive peak of 200 lbs was not reached. The Skip had came very close by hitting a respectable ceiling of 198, while I plateaued at 195. Honorable mention goes to Brother Carn, joined the competition late and had no hope in Hell in winning, as he began a paltry 135 but finished an astonishing 145, thus displaying the most rapid weight gain out of all of the competitors. Pound for pound the most exciting challenger in this relatively new sport.

Although, the Skip and I were neck and neck for most of the tourney, I attribute his last minute weight gain to the Icelandic potato dough balls that were supplied to him by his lifelong trainers and confidantes, Gaza and Bingo. These two brothers who hail from lands to the North of us, supplied the substances at a shady coffee meeting. Had the Skip actually cracked 200, I most definitely would've requested hearings into the matter, chaired by Senator George Mitchell.

So, it seems that the record books will not have to be rewritten for now. But it is a New Year, and with determination, a solid game plan, and most importantly a whole year to prepare we can only assume that the next contest (to be held at the end of '08) will substantially build upon the foundation that was laid this holiday season.

Dare to dream...