OPENING CEREMONY !

That's right. It's time to light the torch for the Olympics; the only Olympics that matter. The first ever International Search Engine Olympics where we shall find out what search engines will champion our search needs and which are the stinking losers!

Now bear with me, 'cause this was supposed to be the first event but suddenly I found myself yammering out an opening ceremony instead so... whadda we need? A torch, a song and some fireworks? Okay. Torch:

And now here's a song which seems to be trying very hard to be funny, by someone who has apparently never experienced anything remotely funny in their entire lives. Apologies in advance:

And... fireworks:

See you tomorrow for the first event!

Okay, a secret:

Here in Scooterville - okay - TWO secrets. ONE: Scooterville is actually called Hamilton. The word Hamilton, as far as I know, is an Iroquois term meaning He who rides through burger drive thru on a scooter with case of beer on his lap [citation needed].

Hamilton has many sports teams calling it home. Famously, the Hamilton Tigercats of the Canadian Punting League (since 1950), Forge FC of Canadian Premier League Soccer (otherwise known as football by humanity) and the Toronto Rock of NLL lacrosse who is officially Toronto's team but they're currently playing out of a Hamilton venue for shits and googles.

Other Hamilton hockeyball highlights include the Steelhawks, Generals and Real McCoys of Ontario Sr. hockey, and the Blues, Rangers and Kilty Bees of Junior hockey (Kilty Bees literally referring to bumble bees wearing kilts. I shit you not). Add baseball's Cardinals; Soccer's Hamilton United, Hamilton City SC and Chantilly Forever FC; Rugby's Camels R.F.C. and Hornets R.F.C and Australian footballers' Wildcats.

But wait. Secret number two today is Hamilton's best-kept sports secret: The Hamilton Bengals. If you want to see some of the most talented athletes in the world while they are young, just before turning pro, for 5 to 10 bucks admission, the Bengals are the obvious choice. Every year multiple Bengals players graduate from Hamilton to affiliate Jr. A team Burlington Blaze before getting drafted to the pros. We are a hotbed of lacrosse development in this country. Hamiltonians are missing out on such a treat it's crazy.

Heroes and villains

So they're calling the Dallas Stars vet-rookie pairing Joe Pavelski and Wyatt Johnston the Batman and Robin of the NHL.

I'm okay with that as long as we agree that teammate Max Domi is the Penguin.

A potential story part 2: the two towers

There is a new fellowship running the Affiliation. LaxMastermind has officially stepped back into an advisory role and a humble, selfless one-time Enforcer has stepped up, taking co-coaching reigns with a host of supporting characters including a 20-something junior record-breaking sniper with whom I'm also very familiar and a quiet fuzzy old-timer who I'm meeting for the first time.

More introductions: Our new full time GM and the same from our Junior A affiliate. They are both young and seem free of ego and give off the greatest vibes. And there are new-to-me brass from the Junior C's here, of the same bent. How different an environment from those of other regimes I have once known. I love the widespread selflessness of this organization. Everyone seems to be doing it for the kids and not for ego. I love it.

There has to be at least sixty youths at this late-stage tryout. Perhaps a couple will be relegated to an Intermediate rep team. A few will be disappointed, signed to the C's rather then B's or to B instead of A. But this way they'll get the valuable development they need, get promoted a couple games to cover injury absences and get a good shot at a full promotion next year.

Talent galore. I struggle to take notes and start learning who's who. A couple lads stand out but of course I learn that they are A players who showed up for some floor time. Floor time, we say. For love of the community are not the words spoken but the smiles on their faces give something away.

I'm constantly aware of my physical discomfort while internally I feel a deep comfort. I feel home again. And needed. No one has been shooting promotional video. No highlight reels, no player bios, no pump-up videos. This has to be corrected. Too many tiger town players are up for US scholarships and pro careers They need film! It's the norm in scouting and recruiting. And its video of course which grabs social media attention which leads to game spectator attendance. I hope.

My video-editing skills and instincts have been really coming together. But to actually do the physical shooting is frankly a terrifying prospect. I'll have to find a way to do it from my walker and make it work. Maybe low angles will be our... look. A brand even?

At the end of the night I tell my fellows, "No promises. I have to go home and see how I feel. I have to see if I can even get out of bed tomorrow. I'll be in touch." They know that this was just my first tentative peek at things. The lacrosse season is one heavy grind. A jam packed summer. And a long one given the constant playoff presences of these teams.

Our new GM is nodding and smiling. He's been taking note of my comments this night. "Hey is this a younger brother of so and so? How's he doing? Did he graduate from that prep school yet?" Every return to lacrosse welcomes you with familiar names; brothers and sons of former charges and teammates.

I like this new GM and I learn that like me, he once got burnt out and fled lacrosse but was drawn back in. It probably began with LMM as it did with me. Nodding and smiling when I say, "no promises."

"You'll be back," he says. "You're gonna do this." I'm surprised at his sudden boldness. He's still smiling. "I can tell. You love this."

*no actual two towers were harmed in the making of this sequel

A great potential story ruined by an invading rant

Toddled to the bus stop, survived a transfer and discovered a long walk was to be had to get from the local stop up a long long parking lot to the arena. Put on my big boy pants and began the journey.

Plenty of time to kill. I'd arrived two hours early. One can never be too safe when you're the Slowest Man On Earth. Plus I may have been confused about the time.

Found a good spot for my first intermission rest, settled in to my rollator walker seat and lo and behold here comes an SUV and a familiar driver. It's Coach; the Guru, previously known here as LaxMastermind. I see him squinting at me. Is it me, he wonders. I was not expected. I wave. He pulls over. There is much to talk about. It's been a few years. Immediately I must warn him that I been off my meds for a few days. Because I feel the emotions welling already.

We do some catching up. Some real shit has gone down. One could say that LMM and the new world organizations he works with, are not held dear by the ruling class of the Provincial Lacrosse Regime who, some might say, are loyal to their old friends, the pale-faced traditional lacrosse hotbed communities whose names share the record halls with those such as Powless, Bomberry or Montour for instance, who kept white lacrosse barely alive in its meagerest decades, who kept the Western Nemesis Province from winning too many national titles and threatening the Big Baby egos of these old boys who do what they do for themselves, for old boy adolescent pride, for the reptilian joy in making other's kids suffer because they have the POWER! One might say that power is the default end-goal of every brain-stunted greying psychopath who can't think of any other pursuit with which to disguise himself as an actual adult. One might blame this exact phenomenon for the completely deranged state of lunacy that is North American politics and the corporate maceration of society and humanity.

Aw shit, have I digressed into a rant already? I need to take a break and come back to this story from a concise and personal angle. And by the way, dear diary, no one is actually saying any of those things: Certainly not LMM, and not me either; not officially. And to be fair, I am not as intimate with the Provincial Lacrosse Regime as I used to be or as I should be before making any kind of accusations. But I'd have to be pretty blind not to notice how innocent kids, who the PLR has been charged with nurturing, keep getting their lives fucked over by old men who explain their punitive sledge hammering habits by saying "That's my decision! My MY MINE! I DECIDED! How dare you QUESTION my RULING...! now go away; you are ruining my beer-guzzling pursuits! Glub-glub-glub-glub-glub-glub-glub... " rather than with any coherent interpretation of actual rules and how "MY RULING" somehow benefits kids in the long run.

Cause they don't.

The Villain-Penguin Committee, or How Pennsylvania Twice-Screwed Quebec

Ladies and gentlemen: Exciting times! The Hall of Filth has hereby trebled in size.

Prologue: It should be noted that "The Great One" Wayne Gretzky was never drafted into the NHL. He chugged into the league aboard the Pompous Peter Pocklington Profiteering Express and together turned the NHL upside down in terms of rule changes and player salary dynamics. But excuse me; Pocklington is not on trial today. Maybe another time. Don't leave town, Peter.

The biggest draft anticipation of hockey's modern era came in 1983-1984 with the "Magnificent One" Mario Lemieux the undisputed Number One Pick headed for draft day. The Pittsburgh Penguins, under the ownership of Mafia Scumbag Edward J. DeBartolo Sr. reacted by hiring new General Manager Eddie Johnston who had a reputation for excellent goaltending in his playing career and a knack for finishing last place as a GM.

Sure enough, Johnston did not disappoint and led his new team to a 16-win season; currently the 18th worst in NHL history (bottom one per cent) thus assuring the Pens would acquire Lemieux.

Predictably Lemieux was a super-star, challenging legends Gretzky and Orr in any conversation regarding "best player of all time" but in six years could not bring Lord Stanley's Cup home to Pittsburgh for it's first ever visit.

No problem. It's 1990. Enter new GM; former headlining goaltender Ron "Hot Head" Hextall; a man and mouth who played by their own rules! But he's no Eddie Johnston. "The Joker" Jaromir Jagr is the creme de la creme of the coming draft but best pick ol' Hexface can come up with is fifth overall. So he calls up Jaromir in the barely-still-existing Czechoslovakia and says, "Hey, Joker-Baby! I know you want out of that poop-hole-ovakia. But you want to come to Pitsburgh don't you? So you can play with the best player in the world; Super Mario. Right? He can teach you how to be a proper super star!"

"Why yes," says the Joker to the Penguin. "Yes I do!"

"Great. So here's what you do. You tell everyone, No, I won't come to North America if you draft me. I'm staying in Europe to play with my friends, my family, my countrymen. Then we draft you anyway! And then you show up and say, Ha ha! fooled you Faggots! You fell for my little joke! Then you play for us, and you and Mario will be the best duo since Lefleur and Cournoyer!"

So that's what they did: leveraged the Magnificent Acquisition they earned by being the worst team in memory and then ran over the league with two elite superstars and immediately snicker-snatched two Stanley Cups!

In fairness it was the Quebec Nordiques who should have had the privilege of drafting Jagr. Instead they landed Mike "The Italian One" Ricci who whelmed the NHL with his Pasta Offence (he got few pucks past-a goalie).

And to make the Quebec story a little more hilarious, they drafted newest sensation Eric Lindros in the very next draft; the guaranteed Gretzky-Lemieux Heir Apparent - what "One" was he? I honestly forget. The "Bull-Headed One" maybe? Or "The Egoist?" And his reaction was "Fuck those losers, I ain't playing for Quebec! Send me to the Pennsylvanias where they know how to manufacture Stanley Cups and Yankee Bucks!"

"Oh. Okay. Whatever you say, Boss." said the league, and he went to the Pencildelphia Flyers and Petr Forsberg went to Quebec as compensation and both players were awesome and both spent half their career injured and the Nordiques sans Jagr or Lindros, fizzled and were dragged away to Denver. Au Revoir mon freres.

Fast-forward to the turn of the century and Penguins fans are still hungry for a third drink from the Cup. Thanks to their glorious bankruptcy accomplishment and rather sensible buy-out arrangement, our old Magnificent friend Mario now owns the team and he and Hextall preside over another toure de farce; another bottom-twenty season in NHL history with "The Sexy One" Sid-the-Kid Crosby gathering everyone's attention.

Things got weird with the following lockout season and a special lottery arrangement in which The Penguin Committee made out with another steal, nabbing superstar Evegny Malkin 2nd overall and still qualifying for best ball entitlement for the following year, sans season, snapping up Crosby first overall. And with the most privileged NHL duo since Lemieux/Jagr they won cups in 2009, 2016 and 2017.

Let's look at the best 16 players of the modern era by point-production on a per-game capita.

1. Mario Lemieux  PITTSBURGH
2. Connor McDavid  Edmonton
3. Sidney Crobsy  PITTSBURGH
4. Peter Forsberg  Coloraado
5. Joe Sakic  Colorado
6. Pat Lafontaine  Buffalo
7. Evgeni Malkin  PITTSBURGH
8. Steve Yzerman  Detroit
9. Eric Lindros   Philadelphia
10. Leon Draisaitl  Edmonton
11. Artemi Panarin  NY Rangers
12. Nikita Drunkerov  Tampa
13. Pavel Bure  Vancouver
14. Jaromir Jagr  PITTSBURGH
15. Alex Ovechkin  Washington
16. Patrick Kane  Chicago

the Penguin Committee managed to acquire 2 of the top 3 players all-time, 3 of the top 7 and 4 of the top 14! None were made great within any superior Penguinese development program. All were drafted pre-great and under peculiar circumstances.

It's a terribly sketchy distribution. 

Broadening the scope above to top 32 players all-time, where in a 32-team league the average organization should have experienced one player at this level in their entire history, here's how long it took teams to acquire fastest multiple examples:

• Edmonton: 5 in 37 years

• Pittsburgh: 4 in 21 years

• Colorado: 3 in 15 years

1. Boston: 2 in 2 years
2. NY Islanders: 2 in 3 years
3. St. Louis: 2 in 11 years
4. Buffalo: 2 in 21 years
5. Chicago: 2 in 24 years

• Anaheim: never
• Arizona: never
• Calgary: never
• Carolina: never
• Columbus: never
• Dallas: never
• Detroit: never
• Florida: never
• Las Vegas: never
• Los Angeles: never
• Minnesota: never
• Montreal: never
• Nashville: never
• New Jersey: never
• NY Rangers: never
• Ottawa: never
• Philadelphia: never
• San Jose: never
• Seattle: never
• Tampa Bay: never
• Toronto: never
• Vancouver: never
• Washington: never
• Winnipeg: never

HoF Proudly inducts the Villain-Penguin Committee to the Hall of Funk:

• Edward J. DeBartolo Sr
• Eddie Johnston
• Mario Lemieux
• Ron Hextall

Indictment: Greedy Hornswoggling

Sentence: 15 months each

What do you think? Who were the worst offenders? The Penguins or the Hitler-Schnitzel Death Machine? Comment, like and subscribe. Just kidding. Take a hike!

Lakmé 2022

So I discovered I needed to put together a motorcycle compilation and decided to focus on esthetics and aerodynamics, with a hint of death. So I give you: the opera Lakmé adapted to the speedway.

I don't know if it will play here because it's 18+ restricted and the reason is - well, here's the rant I provided in the YouTube "About" panel:

Rather than suffer the exhausting boredom of dealing with YouTube's ever-growing army of censorship monkeys and their deluded efforts to protect their dullest most-superstitious viewers from themselves, I just went ahead and designated this an adult-only video so that only adults and super-smart kids who know how to pretend to be adults will be able to enjoy this uplifting opera: It is Lakmé by Léo Delibes, conducted by Alain Lombard and adapted to the speedway by Alfonse Floofter Gnu Jr. 

Any ads will have been placed on behalf of a lovely but unpronounceable Parisian theatre organization. We never choose to monetize here at Half Ass Films.

Please note that some of this film's participants are dead, disfigured and/or mentally debilitated due to their actions captured herein. If this offends you it is because your strings are being pulled by an aggressive ego who enjoys being offended. Suppressing this footage will not bring these people or their brains back to life, but indeed, promoting it may help dissuade others from making the same dire mistakes. This video is best enjoyed with two or three ounces of Irish whiskey or, in a pinch, Kentucky bourbon.

This video is dedicated to my pal Ivosaar over at The Automan Empire.

Baby, you're the best!

Here's a video I put together which was removed by YouTube and actually earned  a strike against my channel because it violates child safety policy. Any video showing young people (not even children, necessarily, but young adults) engaged in dangerous behavior is considered a violation under the theory that it entices children to emulate the behavior.

What is interesting is that FailArmy and other big-money sites seem to get away with this all the time but I guess they are profitable to YouTube so.... too bad, kids. I guess you'll have to rely on your parents being remotely competent human beings in order to keep you safe. But someone like me who gets almost no views for the most part, does not target a child audience, actually includes warnings to kids not to engage in this behavior and actually SHOWS clips of some subjects being clearly injured, is somehow the bad guy. Welcome to the ass-backwards world of corporate-owned North America. Enjoy the fucking Kool Ade y'all.

The joke is that all of my clips which they deem unsuitable for YouTube, were downloaded from YouTube to begin with. And when I cast an appeal, stating this fact, I just get the canned response stating that my material was verified to be in violation and I am banned from activity for 30 days or whatever. Further more, three strikes and my channel gets shut down - or something like that.

Oh well. Whatever! 

Let's see if it gets by the Blogger firewall. I suspect it will not and not because of child safety hoopla but because there is probably no license agreement which will allow me to use popular music, which YouTube does thankfully feature. I'm fine with using popular songs and letting the rights-holders monetise my vid for their profit. I would never try to profit from a vid which borrows other peoples' work.

Here goes:

Nope. Maximum file size exceeded. It's a five minute vid and not even HD. Oh well. I already know it won't get by the DailyMotion copyright blocker. I'll give Vimeo a shot.

HA!! Thanks Vimeo:

Baby, You're the Best!

Karakurbagasi

KARAKURBAGASI: a Turkish toad. And by that I mean it's just Turkish for toad. And by that I mean that this is a totally random word and I have no idea what I'm about to say. And by that I mean that this will be the worst blog post ever. 

Let's see if I can dig up something short and sweet and get you out of here so we can both get on with our lives:

Here we go. A turkey/toad chimera for your enjoyment.

Now, if that looks to you more like a bat/squirrel/ram chimera that's because you need glasses.

Hey! What's that behind you!

(runs away)

Question K: What do you miss most about being a KID?

Playing street hockey. I was damn good but its just playing I miss, rather than the recognition. And also the innocence. I assumed the world of adults would be sane and I would fine comfort in growing up. But not so.

A Fool's Gold

When I was a kid a found tennis ball was gold. It meant insurance. It meant we'd be able to play more sacred street hockey once the current ball got lost or fell apart. Yes they fell apart after awhile. Quicker if it was a newish ball when we'd obtained it and were forced to puncture it in order to tame it a little. Too much bounce was not good for a hockey ball.

But as we grew our boundaries grew and we enveloped a couple new kids who were serious tennis players and then we had all the balls we wanted and then we hit high school and grew deeper pockets and bought proper hockey balls.

A song you loved was gold. You'd wait a week before managing to catch the song on the radio when you were ready with a blank cassette tape to record a crackly version, the intro missing or dulled under a DJ's chant. These days kids grab any song they want, I guess, from the internet.

A James Bond movie was gold to a young kid. And once or twice a year City TV would host a James Bond festival. Two or three a night for a whole week! It was paradise. These days kids grab any movie they want, I suppose, from the internet. I don't know what they do for gold.

Once every couple months I would manage to scrape together eight or ten bucks plus bus fare and journey to the mall.  I might get a vinyl single or an album or, right across from the A&A was the hobby store, Leisure World. And there they had the Dungeons & Dragons campaign modules; at least a dozen to choose from at any given time. I would peruse each one at great length, just the front and back covers through the clear plastic wrappers. The art work; the synopses; titles like The Curse of Xanathon or The Sinister Secret of Saltmarsh!

I collected about a dozen of these over the course of my entire childhood and adolescence. As the Dungeon Master I'd study these adventures carefully and then creatively insert them into the ongoing campaign which my friends; the players always enjoyed.

In the last three days I acquired... two hundred and forty more of these modules... and counting. All the classic modules from the eighties are now available on the internet, downloadable for free.

It's raining gold. An embarrassment of riches. I don't know what I will possibly do with them all but knowing they were out there and for free... I couldn't possibly not have them.

Gold

Help Helen Naslund, victim of abuse... and the justice system.

Christmas gifts for my Minecraft friends

Augusta

Hey kids: Welcome to April A-to-Z blogging 2020. I’ve been farting around with this for a bunch of years, actually completing the entire challenge in 2015 with 26 must-read books, which may have been some of my most useful blogging ever. I followed that up in 2016 with 100 must-see films which I am very happy with - so far - and I still plan to complete this effort one day!

This year I have outsourced my topic assignments to my associates. Without further ado, I give you the amiable, affectionate, almost-altruistic, athletic and academically apt… Aqualad! And he has assigned the topic:

Albatross

The very prestigious invitational Masters golf tournament was first launched at Augusta National Golf Club which was built specifically for the occasion (as far as I understand), in 1934.

Craig Wood was a damn fine golfer in the day; though perhaps not as big as the threesome of Bobby Jones, Gene Sarazen and Walter Hagen for each of whom the Masters would prove fairly elusive.

Wood finished the inaugural tournament second only to Horton Smith at 2-under and 4-under par respectively.

Then in year-two of the gig, 1935, Craig Wood kicked ass, leading his nearest challenger by three strokes as he entered the clubhouse on the final day. That challenger was Gene Sarazen who was informed by playing mate Hagen that his chances “were dim” with four holes remaining.

“Oh you never know,” Sarazen is reported saying. “The ball can go in from anywhere.” He then hit a mighty drive on the 530-yard par-5 fifteenth hole, and then aggressively opted to go for the green in two. Today there is a plaque at that very spot, titled “the shot heard around the world.”

The long ambitious shot bounced, then landed on the green, then rolled… right into the cup.

The incredibly-rare three-under par shot suddenly tied him for the lead with Wood, who at that moment first coined the phrase “Are you fucking kidding me?” [not true that I know of].

Sarazen finished the round still tied and the two then played a 36-hole playoff (unheard of today) which Sarazen won decidedly.

The three under-par result is called a “double eagle” in America due, I assume, to some amazing American mathematician concluding that -2 (an eagle) multiplied by two is, not -4, but -3. Who knew? In the British Isles/UK/Great Britain/whatever such a feat is called an albatross. So there.

This feat gave Sarazen his only Masters victory and combined with previous PGA Championship, British and U.S. Open victories, gave him the very first Career Grand Slam status in golf history. That feat has only been replicated by Ben Hogan, Gary Player, Jack Nicklaus and Tiger Woods.

Craig Wood, meanwhile, did not so much wear “an albatross around his neck” having finished runner-up twice, but more of a “monkey on his back.” Always the bridesmaid…  

This first phrase loosely refers to being haunted by something you are guilty of. It comes from lyrical ballad The Rime of the Ancient Mariner in which an angry crew hangs a dead Albatross around the captain’s neck, believing the captain doomed them by killing this bird who had evolved to be a good, not a bad, omen. Or something like that.

But Wood would finally shake the monkey off in 1941, winning the Masters three strokes ahead of two-time Masters champ Byron Nelson.

See you tomorrow!

Progress

I finally concluded that some degree of my reluctance to surrender important writing projects to a sleep-deprived brain, was edging into the overly-cautious realm. I won’t say paranoid. And so in my fair-to-middling condition I pushed forward and finished the rewrite of Mom’s Spring is Coming kids’ story and sent it off to her.

Relatively content with that endeavor I summoned the gumption to make my way to the Cat House (home of the Scooterville Tigers) where the Scooterville Stingers junior hockey club currently reigns, and caught a game.

But first I slipped in the home team door where I was met with a hallway full of stampeding husky young hockey players. Like some kind of fat Indiana Jones I scurried head-on and ducked into an alcove just in time to let the pack pass. They then about-faced and regarded the route back. I turned to the stragglers, now at the pole position. “Do you know where I can find Ken the Reporter or Chris the Marketing Dude?”

“Never heard of them.”

“Really? They’re part of your organization. Are there any execs here at all at this time?”

“Yeah. End of the hall on your left.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s a long way. If I head there now are you guys gonna trample me to death?”

“Yes,” he stated flatly.

I made the leap that he was prodigiously gifted in the art of irony and not a young psychopath and made the trek without tragedy. I finally tracked down their VP.

“Hi. I’m with the Tigers,” I said, “The guys who stink up your dressing room in your off season.” I offered a lightning-round summary of our shared concerns and opportunities as I saw them. “I’m hoping we can have a proper chat some time.” I then accepted an invitation to attend one of their exec meetings. Primarily I hope to land them as a partner in an ongoing trivia night fund-raising enterprise I’ve been putting together.

Okay. Were getting somewhere.

W is for Wavelengths

I met with Video Kid for the first time in months. We started making plans for a series of promotional videos with Scooterville Tigers players in pairs interviewing each other. I aim to provide all the necessary props and environments where they can just have fun with each other and bring out some humour. The idea is based on the Leaf to Leaf videos on youtube. I believe that potential fans need more than just a great product on the floor. We have a great team (and a strong organization to guarantee future great teams), and lacrosse by any criteria is a fast and fascinating sport but that’s not enough. Besides making Scooterville’s half-million-plus population (with pro and semi-pro teams in football, hockey, basketball, soccer and field lacrosse all competing against me) aware of us, let alone convincing them to come out and put their asses in a seat, I believe that fans need the opportunity to get to know the players as people, or at least feel that they are, in order to really build a solid fan base.

Video Kid has excellent equipment and shooting and editing skills but I don’t yet know about vision. We talked about the telling of stories, whether written or on film. I talked about their complex structures, in terms of novels, how multiple types of rhythms interact like wavelengths: writing flow; emotional resonance, the pattern of tensions building and dissipating…

I know that similar structures must exist in video but I am not experienced enough in this realm to view the accounting. Or am I? Have I actually tried?

We agree that there is too much video work worth doing for him to handle alone, and he is only ours for free for a limited time, and that I need to acquire some good equipment and get in the game.

I have put some lo-fi artsy fartsy little vids on youtube but this format won’t cut it in the realm of sports journalism.

K is for Kenny (and Joe)

This is the true story of Kenny and Joe: They were best friends since childhood; best friends for life it seemed. They were at the centre of one of the circles of friends which I inhabited. A sports crowd. We played hockey weekly and sometimes golfed or what-not. Kenny and Joe were always near the centres of attention. They were the biggest personalities; informal leaders. Beneath their party personas Kenny was quietly the smart one; Joe quietly the big-hearted one.

Kenny and I took a little trip together, to see a big game in another city far away. We were both fans of that team. This was before the cell phone days. Kenny would have to step aside to make a phone call at an appointed time to get an update from a girl he was sleeping with. Not a girlfriend. Just one he was sleeping with. He needed an update.

I drank alone until he returned to the bar table. “I talked to her,” he said, “and yeah… she’s pregnant.”

I could tell he was pretty blown away. He had already resigned to becoming a father. Ready or not.

They skipped the girlfriend phase and went straight to fiance. She was younger and a little wild and frankly had scored pretty good with Kenny. He was a responsible dude with a good income and lots of his shit together.

She… liked to have a good time. I started hearing troubling stories from guys in the group when Kenny wasn’t around.

Finally I drove Joe home one night when he’d drank way too much. I was surprised that Kenny didn’t take him. I knew something was wrong. We sat in his driveway and talked.

“She tried to sleep with me,” said Joe. “And it wasn’t just flirting either. She practically tried to rape me. He told me all the sordid drunken details. Joe had gone to Kenny, determined not to let him get blindsided by this girl. But Kenny had cut him off almost at once and threatened him: Don’t ever say any bullshit about my girl again or we are through. I’ll never see you again.

“I can’t let this marriage happen,” Joe told me. “Kenny has no idea. He would never go through with this if he knew. Why is he trusting her instead of his lifelong best friend?”

With the wedding just days away, Joe had a terrible decision to make. He could have played it safe and shut his mouth. Or he could risk losing his best friend by telling the truth, in order to save him. He felt he had to speak up. It was the right thing to do; the honourable thing. I supported his decision.

But Joe didn’t go about it the best way possible. He could not summon the courage until the night before the wedding. He was very drunk. This thing was weighing on him; killing him. Kenny was not taking his calls. Joe went to Kenny’s parents home. He needed their alliance. And he was almost like a second son to them.

He showed up at their place, drunk, blurted out the story and said, “We gotta stop this wedding.”

Kenny’s parents were enraged. They kicked him out of their house, told him not to attend the wedding and to never let them see his face again.

Game Over.

After the wedding Joe and Kenny were sometimes in the same dressing room together or on the same bench, or at the same bar but different tables. Everyone knew that something was wrong. The group wasn’t the same after that and not long after I parted ways but more so for other reasons.

The marriage ended in divorce very quickly to no one’s surprise but Kenny and his parents. Yet no reconciliation came out of it for Kenny and Joe.

I’ve been thinking about Joe the last couple days and how he tried to do the right thing; tried to avert what he feared would become a disaster - at the risk of losing a friend and how he went about it badly and the friendship ended for good. It’s a sad story but… I’ve been through something of late and what I think now is that Joe probably feels okay about everything because he knows he tried to do the right thing. It is a great comfort to know such a thing.

G is for Gutted

Last season our tall tough ace defensemen Riggsy and Grace were gradually absorbed into our Junior A affiliate team and were not around for our historic playoff push to the conference finals and not beyond. After a Scooterville Tigers executive meeting the other night I am told we will lose the following this coming year: Junior B leaders L-Robb and (goalie) Naggs; Our fan-favourite ace defenseman Downtown Brown; the occasionally-brilliant and always-entertaining Aggador-Spartacus and… the Wizard.

The Wizard. The guy who is worth the price of admission every game. The guy whose stick skills alone were enough to make me fall in love with this game again - though I do credit that to the whole team.

“How is he not in Junior A?” I once asked an assistant coach.

“I think they think he’s too small and gimmicky.”

“Great. Their loss.”

I am kind of broken-hearted. Have I been in denial that this is a development team? And as such we are always at a disadvantage against the outlying lacrosse-first communities who throw all their best players into their junior B program and maintain those kids’ loyalty through to age twenty-one.

We are a team of perennial teenagers, waiting for their shot at Junior A. How am I supposed to market this team as THE elite spectator sport product of Scooterville? (Yes, even better than the supposedly-professional basketball team and supposedly-professional football team and threesome of Junior hockey teams. None of those teams will send more of their players to actual pro leagues then we will send to actual pro lacrosse. The guys I have named will all have a shot at the NLL.) How do I adopt such an elite professional attitude and posture in terms of marketing when few of our best players can really fully commit to us? It seems incongruous to me.

“Don’t worry. We’ll have another good team,” said my old pal; our GM and head coach; our guru, “We’ll just be younger.”

I don’t care how good we’ll be. I was invested in some of these guys. I’ve been planning how to market them. I’m fond of them.

The Wizard. Well god damn it. I’m happy for him if this is what he wants. But I’m sad for me.

E is for Elite

Here we are on the rez. We have the leading goal scorer in Ontario Jr. B. He’s only 19 in a league of 17-to-21-year-olds. Our goalie is either the best or narrowly second-best in the league depending how you interpret the statistics. And he’s only 18. They are both too good for this league; destined to be surrendered to our Jr. A affiliate team next year almost certainly.

Our opponents are up two games to nil in the best-of-five conference finals. We are finally facing elimination after a great run. Our opponents have the game in their blood, some would say. They are loaded with a dozen 21-year-olds. The bulk of our squad are teens. We have a handful of 20-year-olds and one 21-year-old who we picked up at the trade deadline from a failing opposing team because he’s a class act; a young man of substance who deserves one last playoff run. And the guys here love him like family and did so at once because that’s just who they are.

Our affiliate team is going to the Junior A finals. We have not withheld players from them. Our stars are where they are for legitimate reasons. Our opponents have an affiliate too. Right in the same community. But theirs is not going to the finals. No one has pondered, at least not aloud, if their stars are here legitimately or not, and I’m not asking now. It doesn’t matter.

We’re up 3-to-2 on the scoreboard but I think we all know this is temporary illusion and we do not have any such momentum. We have the same fine tools as our opponents but not the same confidence. We have four gears to their five.

By the second intermission we are well down on the scoreboard and a lot of proud Scooterville parents are making peace with things, or else just resigning.

The players emerge for the third and final period. Our boys of August. It is still July but they will always be the boys of August to me though they will not play on that calendar. What you do and who you are, are two different things. August is who they are. They are that quality. No one can possibly doubt that.

I slip into the vacated dressing room and out the back door. I am parked right there. I load the two cases of bottles into the big cooler and then the ice. And I add a bottle of root beer for the VP; an abstainer. There’s enough for two per player and one per attending staff. I don’t give a shit about the government and their rules. This is family. This is the least we can do. I intend to be anonymous about it but if shit flies I will happily take the blame and probably do it again next year if, like this year, it’s the right thing to do.

God the sucker is heavy but I drag it through the door and into the dressing room where suddenly our star scorer is present and readying to shower. So much for the Santa routine. I’m busted.

“You’re ejected? What did you do?”

“I gave the refs some advice.”

I think for a second and nod. “Fair enough,” I say gently and head back toward the floor to give him his space and to watch the game. Not to work it though. Just to watch. And really take it in. There is still joy to be had. When will I see two such fine teams again? “Oh and have a beer,” I say over my shoulder.

“Thanks.”

The third period goes well for both teams. No land-slides. And it’s over. I’ve never elected to participate in the handshake all year but now I go. I have things to say. I praise what few of our players I have the chance to while the new guy holds things up with long embraces. Most of these players have known each other most of their young lives. This team is home grown. But it’s the new guy who garners their immediate concern. He’s 21 and this was his last shot.

In the dressing room I usually visit briefly and just inside the door where I study the brick wall while listening to what the coach has to say and who gets passed The Hammer.

Tonight I am looking and listening to a surprising silence. A few have grabbed a beer already and no one on the staff has said a word about it.

The coach speaks. He speaks well and is kind and full of praise but keeps it real. This team was designed to win it all and no one pretends otherwise. Still we have made Scooterville history and that will have to be enough for now. Coach opens the opportunity for others. The VP speaks with his back to me. He speaks from a historical perspective and I am impressed to hear his voice breaking. I put a hand firmly on his shoulder. Most staff pass on the opportunity. Of course I do not. I speak truthfully:

“It’s been two decades since I was last involved in lacrosse. I did not see many Junior B games back then. I was not a fan of the B game back then.

“When I came out to see you guys, you blew me away. I had no idea… It has been such a joyful experience watching you guys play lacrosse. Everyone in this room - and I mean everyone! No exceptions - has left me breathless at least once this year from something you did on the floor. Left me in a state of wonder. It’s been such a joy; such a thrill. I’m real grateful you all took me along on this ride. Thank you.”

I’m sorry they did not get what they wanted and worked so hard for, and made sacrifice for, so I don’t tell them how I, on the other hand, received everything I could have asked for. And thanks to them. They made me fall in love with this game again.

I had no choice but to write about the experience, but I deemed it unfit for publication. Too personal a perspective. Too sentimental. The players might feel it an invasion.

It sat on my computer a couple days until I knew that the piece, or some version of it, needed to be on the web site, at least for posterity. I gave it a solid edit: toned it down; eased in a little subtlety, and slipped it onto the web site with no links from social media. My two main media associates with the club were informed, and being coincidentally the last two team officials likely to tolerate sentimentality, they made perfect gatekeepers. If they wanted to plug it online then it had to be safe to do so.

They did.

Here’s the article. It’s brief. I hope you give it a look. Because I’m proud of these guys:

https://www.hamiltonlacrosse.com/news_article/show/1037743

Departing

Well, this piece got away from me… as some do. Oh well. I post it intact:

The Liaison’s funeral was not a big one. His influence manifested mostly through the wires to many locales beyond Scooterville. But I think that both his family and co-workers may have been surprised by the extent of outreach from the writing community. More than a hundred writers sent words of comfort or even flowers (and we accounted for a good third of the attendance). I was proud of sick boy’s moving speech at the event which helped to crystallize this for everyone.

His boss was a very sweet man who spoke very kindly of him. I was grateful for this brief insight into the other side of the Liaison’s life and said so later to the fellow, on the lawn, as we shook hands, both failing to hold back tears entirely. We’re likely to meet for a drink at some point.

The brother also spoke, of their childhood struggles for one thing, and it was very sincere and moving.

Then the final speaker was a soulless troglodyte named Pastor F.U. or thereabouts, who had never met the Liaison once in his life but who felt empowered to condescend to us with the usual outrageous doublethink concerning atheism versus faith and the inane ass-backwards idea that belief provides meaning in life.

I tried not to walk out. I reminded myself that I was here for the prime purpose of supporting the Liaison’s family. I thought carefully; realized I could not in any good conscience give permission to this hijacking, got up and walked out and waited in the parking lot to take my assigned passengers to the cemetery. I hoped very much that I had not caused a scene in any way; that I made no one other than the troglodyte uncomfortable. I did not want this event to be about me and my principles. Dog Whisperer, despite being an employee of a church, came to find me afterwards and issued firm support. She wanted to follow me out but her seating was trapped in essence. So that was a comfort to hear.

It can be immensely sad to reflect on the apparently-growing collective human insanity. It is not only the swiftly-deteriorating economic and environmental systems which point to impending disaster. It is the realization that almost nobody among the privileged societies which steer the world has any regard for truth, but only the addiction to the clinging to falsehoods derived from cherry-picked factoids, peddled by the world’s grotesquely-untrustworthy horde of priests, politicians and corporate-sponsored mouthpieces: whichever ones happen to peddle the particular bullshit which is most flattering, convenient or profitable to the ultimately self-serving and self-righteous listener.

We created a society wherein there is no requirement, regard or reward for truth (except in the field of science which cannot function without it - and look how the field of science is routinely maligned by the above perpetrators), a society riddled with problems which will not be solved because problems are not solved without truth.

But truth is so buried. The internet is surely 99% rubbish. And we’re so busy chasing our unfortunate addictions there is no time for the average person to unearth truth. We need specialists devoted to it. I am trying to do just that I suppose, but society does not include this in the ledger of currency nor afford a framework for accountability.

Where oh where are the people who can summon the courage to just want the truth no matter what it is? No matter how unflattering, how inconvenient, how unprofitable it might be? Are you out there? You’re certainly not in the youtube comment section; I know that.

And if you exist, where do you turn to for real news? for real authority? Where are the leaders or other powerful voices who only want to report truth without personal interest? Probably the Buddha, probably the real Jesus of Nazareth prior to being exploited and misquoted and misunderstood. Einstein of course. Likely Eckhart Tolle. Likely that dude who wrote the Four Hour Work Week! Read Tolle by the way, for goodness sake.

I’m not going to be falsely humble. I am a devoted adept of truth on my good days and frankly, even on my mediocre days. I was a self-identified Catholic who denied my tribe when I learned it untrue. I gave up my position as a climate-change denier when the truth became all-too apparent. I walked away from my sports tribes when I learned of their delusion. I have largely given up many instinctive tribal mind comforts having learned of their treachery. I even gave up my self-image as a good person, prepared to accept that I was an evil person if that was where the pursuit of truth led me - which it did - for a while. Somehow (through very fortunate circumstance) I was afforded a certain brand of courage that I can see almost nowhere else.

I wish I knew how to tell my story. I wish that people would know what I know: that the reward for this kind of courage is utterly freeing and joyful and transformative; transcending even, and that the fears which contain you will be revealed illusion! Where are the champions of truth to lead us? I appear not to have what it takes, nor where to find such a congregation.

Happy Miniature Golf Day everybody!

That’s right. Today is Miniature Golf Day! And how does one officially celebrate Miniature Golf Day, you ask? By playing a round of miniature golf?

Why yes!

And what are three fun facts about miniature golf, you ask?

Well, I’ll tell you!

1. Mini golf has also been known as Crazy Golf.

2. Mini golf was first commercialized in North Carolina as a game called Thistle Dhu (pronounced This’ll do).

3. Mini golf is believed to have evolved from the Ladies Putting Club of St.Andrews where it was deemed unseemly for precious womenfolk to handle a full-size club.

If you know what I mean.

So yeah. Like just about every holiday ever conceived: dig deep enough into its origin and you’ll find something bigoted or similarly ghastly at its roots and an excellent reason not to celebrate it.

However… On a lighter note:

Today is also Rosh Hashana, so… Shana Tovah!

And it’s also the U.N.’s International Day of Peace.

*All dubious facts above - courtesy of timeanddate.com, masters of time since 1995.

Peace out, dudes.

FWG

Fifteen year hiatus

It must have been about twenty years ago when I agreed to produce a web site for a local Junior A lacrosse team which my young brother was playing for.  The internet was not what it is today. The site was a bulky laborious one by today’s standard but quickly became the most substantive one in a league in which probably half the organizations didn’t even have a team site yet.

I photographed and interviewed the players and other team officials and began writing articles and attending the games in order to track statistics. The site was even featured in a national lacrosse periodical.

I kept stepping up to fill holes within the organization and the community at large. I became the team statistician, was appointed Director of Media Relations,  headed up fundraising efforts, produced the most voluminous game program in the league, served as timekeeper or ball boy on occasions and was soon elected Vice President. I served occasionally on the Junior A council and began touring the league watching games and posting game stories online under the pen name Blue (my dog’s name and my presumed nickname due to a misunderstanding). I was embraced by a small community of eccentric “internet reporters” and developed a following around the Ontario lacrosse scene. My game stories were then picked up and published on Ontario lacrosse’s premier web site which garnered thousands of hits daily.

This experience was important because it gave me some cred and confidence as a “writer” which I’d never before imagined I would become.

But aggressive parents, organizational politics and tribal delusion began to wear me out. I had a voice and thus became a target of the posturing and positioning of everyone with an agenda: mostly unhealthy ones. After five years I was burnt out and exited the lacrosse scene entirely. I didn’t even attend games as a spectator.

I have aged well though , and peace has worked its magic. It has dissolved bad memories and strengthened the good memories: Like the artfulness of the masterfully creative native teams I admired; the dazzling performances of so many great young players and their eventual promotions to the pro league; the road trips with lacrosse pals; the accolades from random spectators who spied my note-taking and asked, “Are you Blue?” The warm greetings of players who thanked me enthusiastically for my service to the team; and perhaps mostly: the amazing feeling that came from giving back to a community from which I once benefited as a youngster. I was astounded to discover that the joy of giving back was not just some platitude. It was precisely real.

Last Thursday night, after about fifteen years, I finally attended another OLA lacrosse game: A Junior B tilt between Scooterville’s Bengals and the visiting Thunderhawks. It was a joyful return. The junior B game appears to have evolved mightily in a decade and a half. I would have believed it a junior A match. What a treat to just enjoy the game without the shadow of diplomacy lurking over me.

The home squad jumped to an early lead and carried it comfortably until the end. The boys were all new to me of course though some had familiar names: like the son and the nephew of players (and coaches) I once knew in their prime.

Old habits die hard. I scribbled constant notes and swiftly began to glean the various roles, strengths and idiosyncrasies of each player who now seem ridiculously young to me at fifteen to twenty-one.

Afterward I had a beer with their general manager and coach, Mister D, who was a close associate years ago and has since won Ontario and pro league championship titles as coach and who earlier in the year sent me an email out of the blue to lure me out, without disguising his interest in getting some volunteer work out of me. I’m not ready to commit to anything and he was wise that night in not asking. But I know we’re both thinking about next season.

I do feel an urge though, already, to write about lacrosse again. It is sparked by a paternal inkling, as it was two decades ago though I did not understand it then. My inclination at the time was to write with players and parents in mind (though there were other followers). My artless policy at the time was to ensure that every player in the game was mentioned at least once in a positive light: some measure of praise for something done well; even if just a great pass or a faultless period on defense.

I think my reports would differ now though, for I am not much the same person, and that I would remain more neutral and noble and write more consistently from a non-partisan perspective; from the context alike the traditional native view. For lacrosse is an ancient game; a creative one; a game of collaborative rhythms; a game prone to serendipity; to beauty in motion. A game that, it was long ago said, was a gift from The Creator, and one to be played for His enjoyment.

100 Must-See Films! -- Awakening

Can the forgotten ill breathe new life? Can captives of technology recognize the real world when it confronts them? How does childhood cope upon opening its eyes to the dark side of human society?

“A boy raised a question, a man answered, and the whole world paid attention.”

1. Amazing Grace and Chuck (1987, USA)

Joshua Zuehlke, William Peterson, Alex English, Jamie Lee Curtis, Gregory Peck

NBA all-star Alex English makes his acting debut as fictional Celtic Amazing Grace Smith with a low-key performance in a gentle, understated yet ultimately powerful movie. Described by some as a sort of fairy tale, it suggests something that is wonderful to ponder which stems from the question: Can a regular person change the world just because they care? And the simple fact is: nothing happens in this film that isn’t actually possible.

I first saw this movie when I was barely out of my teens and I still find the concept fascinating to contemplate. And the central idea of the film is now more relevant than ever. Never has so much in this world needed to change and so fast.

I like what these guys had to say about it:

President: “The constitution gives you the freedom of speech but that doesn't mean you can walk into a crowded movie theater and yell fire."

Chuck: “But sir, what if there really is a fire?”

Writer: David Field (Passion of Mind)

Director: Mike Newell (Harry Potter & the Goblet of Fire)

Budget: unknown

IMDB rating: 5.9

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xC8go9VlhKo

“There is no such thing as a simple miracle.”

2. Awakenings (1990, USA)

Robin Williams, Robert De Niro, Julie Kavner

This is simply a magnificent emotional ride made all the more intense by the knowledge that it’s based on actual events. In my opinion, De Niro’s best ever performance, and Williams is delightful as always; convincing as the socially awkward Oliver Sacks (fictionalized as researcher Malcolm Sayer M.D.) They were nominated for best actor Oscar and Golden Globe respectively and the project also received academy award nominations for best picture and best adapted screenplay (Zaillian). Roger Ebert gave it four stars out of four. Keep the kleenex tissues handy.

Beth: “Miriam! I have to take your blood pressure!” 

Miriam: “I was sitting still for twenty five years. You missed your chance.” 

Writers: Dr. Oliver Sacks, Steven Zaillian (Schindler's List)

Director: Penny Marshall (A League of Their Own)

Budget: $31,000,000

IMDB rating: 7.8

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAz-prw_W2A

3. Disconnect (2012, USA)

Jason Bateman, Jonah Bobo, Alexander Skarsgård, Paula Patton, Andrea Riseborough, Max Thieriot, Hope Davis, Frank Grillo

This movie is an emotional firestorm of ever-increasing tension in which a great number of interconnected characters are strongly developed and very real; a feat that is rare with such a wide cast.

Does the title refer to a space? A disconnect between circumstances?  Or is it an imperative? We must disconnect or else! It is surely a cautionary tale and while the lessons in this film are derived from seemingly uncommon circumstances, they are a caution to us all. We are all in jeopardy, both internally and socially, when we attempt to engage through phones and laptops devoid of expression, sound, touch and accountability;  when we sift our identities through the filters of the wired world. For we are human. We are not ones and zeros. I believe this film should be required viewing for every first-world citizen. I cannot understate its importance!

The picture’s climax is nothing short of stunning; unforgettable.

The film scored four stars out of four from Richard Roeper  (Chicago Sun-Times) who wrote:

 "Even when the dramatic stakes are raised to the point of pounding music accompanying super-slow motion, potentially tragic violence, "Disconnect" struck a chord with me in a way few films have in recent years. I believed the lives of these people. I believed they'd do the drastic things they do in the face of crisis. I ached for them when things went terribly wrong and rooted for them when there were glimmers of hope. You should see this movie. Please...There wasn't a moment during this movie when I thought about anything other than this movie."

Writer: Andrew Stern

Director:  Henry Alex Rubin

Budget: $10,000,000

IMDB rating: 7.6

Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2nYbj2jNzlc

4. The Hounds of Notre Dame (1980, Canada)

Thomas Peacocke, Frances Hyland, Barry Morse, David Ferry

Father Athol “Pere” Murray was a Catholic priest, well educated in Ontario and Quebec, who was “loaned” to a Regina Diocese where he immediately formed a boys athletic club. In 1927 fifteen of those boys followed Murray to his appointment at the then-seven-year-old Notre Dame of the Prairies Convent and co-ed residential elementary/high school in rural Saskatchewan.  Those boys immediately became the original Hounds, the school’s junior ice-hockey team.

Pere was an atypical priest, fond of tobacco, hard drink, and anti-socialist political activism, but doubly fond of his students and staff, just as they were of him. He once said, "I love God, Canada and hockey -- not always in that order." Until his death at age 83 he remained at the school where he is widely credited for building “…one of the finest colleges and hockey programs out of nothing.”

The film portrays life at the little school over two days in the harsh winter of 1940. The characters are charming. The good guys and bad guys are all, deep down, good. The scenery and tones are somehow both austere and idyllic, the story laced with humour, economic struggle and small town solidarity. The immediate conflict involves a new student; a city boy with a hostile attitude, but the greater threat looms in the background: world war two has already taken the lives of some of the school’s alumni and cast its long shadow over their present boys.

The film captures Murray’s penchant for charity and strong paternal leadership as those around him embrace his life-long motto: “struggle and emerge” (translated to “triumph over adversity” in the film).

In the film, Murray fondly refers to his charges as “little muckers” and one has to wonder whether this too, is the result of translation!

The war eventually took the lives of 67 Notre Dame graduates, while more than a hundred have gone on to play in the NHL, including some of pro-hockey’s hardest working stars. Murray has been awarded the Order of Canada and was posthumously inducted into the NHL Hall of Fame as a hockey builder.

He was here portrayed by actor Thomas Peacocke whose inspired performance earned him the 1981 Genie award for best actor. The film garnered eight other nominations including best picture and best original screenplay. This was a delightful movie about a beloved historic Canadian, and thanks to eternal Hollywood extortionism, probably one of the finest movies you’ll never get to see.

Writer: Ken Mitchell

Director: Zale Dalen

Budget: $1,200,000

IMDB rating: 7.6
Trailer: Harder to find than the city of Atlantis

Short List:

V For Vandetta (2005, USA) Hugo Weaving, Natalie Portman