Oil Crisis (of Conscience)

It could have been practically anyone else, but last week, the Edmonton Oilers announced the signing of Alex Formenton, one of the "London Five."  These are the infamous players from the national juniors team who were arrested in 2024 for an alleged sexual assault that took place in London, Ontario in 2018. All 5 players were acquitted.

The circumstances of the case are troubling and the details can be found elsewhere, but at the end of the day, a young woman agreed to go back to a hotel room with a young hockey player, but more teammates showed up by his invitation. Questions remain about what consent actually means when you are potentially inebriated, as well as intimidated and outnumbered 5:1 by burly hockey players.

After the acquittal in tJuly of 2025, their collective suspension from the NHL stood until they were reinstated by the league and eligible to return after December 2025. Two other members of the five have found a home on NHL teams as well, Dillon Dubé for the St. Louis Blues and Carter Hart, whose playoff run with the Vegas Knights last year was marked by opposing fans chanting "no means no" whenever he took to the ice. The players' union (NHLPA) argued that all the players should have been eligible to return to work following their acquittal despite breaching the NHL code of conduct. 

And this is the argument many people are making to defend the Oilers decision to offer a place to Formenton: without a guilty charge, without a league suspension, why shouldn't the Oilers give him a second chance? It's not like he (or they) did anything illegal?

While this is true, it is not reasonable to say in this case that "not guilty" equates to "innocent."

Regardless of the ability to prove a case in a court of law, where the onus in sexual assault cases is on the accuser to prove their position, we can establish that some serious wrong was done, and that the players involved knew this.

People who say "it was consensual" or "that puck bunny wanted a wild night" are choosing to ignore text messages showing the second guessing by the players themselves ("am I allowed to do this?") and obvious attempts to get their stories straight. 

More damning though is the testimony from the victim, EM, herself, stating she tried to get dressed and leave multiple times, sometimes while crying, only to have her way blocked or an arm placed in front of her by one of the players.

None of this behaviour endears any of these males (I won't call them men) to me because I believe consent can be withdrawn at any time. I also believe that texting teammates with offers of a three-way or oral sex to indulge in porn film fantasies with an intoxicated woman is generally reprehensible.

But defenders are correct in their assertion that there was no crime committed. Guess what though?

That doesn't make it right. Not by a long chalk.

Formenton and the others didn't have to go to jail, fine. I won't think he should be denied a livelihood, even though at one point he had told everyone he had moved past hockey and was going to work in construction. No, playing hockey at a lower level in Switzerland is a perfectly acceptable form of 21st century exile. 

Why shouldn't the biggest league in hockey reserve itself for not only great athletes but also people of good, or at least decent, character?

Many Oilers fans are saying they have had enough. That the hiring of manager Stan Bowman (after not addressing the sexual abuse of one of his own players while managing with the Chicago Blackhawks), followed by Mike Babcock as coach (after being accused of brutally bullying his players and getting released by Columbus after demanding players show him the photo rolls on their phones) and now Formenton, is sending a message that this organization does not care about character, and are doublng down on a philosophy of not just winning first but winning only. That public perception is an afterthought, if it occurs to them at all.

I have to say I am most disappointed in Captain Connor McDavid. Let the front office make a business case justifying $850K for a reportedly average player who came very close to being a convicted sex offender, but the team captain? The guy supposed to lead on the ice and in the locker room? His statement on Formenton was the most vacuous of nothing-burgers: "“Listen, I think he’s gone through a process. He’s been transparent through the process, and that process has led him here today, and it’s a great opportunity for him.”

It was, perhaps unsurprisingly, nearly identical to Formenton's own statement: “I think throughout this whole process, I’ve been open and honest about my actions in it,” said Formenton afterward. “Given that, and being open and honest, I think that has granted me an opportunity today.” Where is the accountability? The compassion for the victim? The contrition? Has he ever asked for forgiveness?

Let's contrast McDavid's stale, canned response to Patrice Bergeron of the Boston Bruins. After learning that recently signed 20-year-old Mitch Miller had admitted in juvenile court to abusing, bullying and taunting a developmentally delayed classmate, calling him racial slurs and making him eat a candy that had been wiped in a urinal, that captain said, "To be honest with you, the culture that we’ve built here goes against that type of behavior. We’re a team that’s built something about character, character people and individuals. What he did, obviously, is unacceptable and we don’t stand by that.

"For me, I know for myself, anyways, in this locker room, we’re all about inclusion, diversity, respect. Those are key words and core values that we have. We expect guys to wear this jersey to be high-character people with integrity and respect. That’s how they should be acting."

The Bruins reversed the signing two days later.

Meanwhile in Edmonton, some fans are putting away their jerseys for the season. They are cancelling Sportsnet. They are refusing to buy tickets. 

Superfan Mama Stanley has not only withdrawn support for the team she once loved, but has started a petition asking the Oilers to reverse the decision to sign Formenton. "I've cried in waves," she writes, because I feel betrayed by an organization I have proudly loved and represented for years."

"Losing Game 7 two years ago meant losing a Stanley Cup; this feels like losing a team I have loved with all my heart for most of my life."

I came back to watching the Oilers after a long absence during their 2006 Cup run. I became a fan in part because of the guts and determination displayed by the team, but even more because of the character shown by players like Ryan Smyth.

I want to feel good about my team, that they are worth my time and loyalty. And this current iteration of the team just isn't.

So I am done, at least for this season.

I won't watch any games, even if they make it to the playoffs. I won't wear their jersey, I won't even follow their results on the news if I can help it. I have not only signed Mama Stanley's petition, I have donated funds to help circulate it. As of Sunday night, the petition has garnered 60,399 signatures. Wow!

Will the Oilers listen? I kind of doubt it. And that's their choice - after all, no one broke the law here. 

But by ignoring the outrage, regardless of ticket sales, they are setting themselves up to be the villains of the league, while burning up a half-century of pride, goodwill and community support.

The Cup: Half-Empty

Lionel Messi, at 39, played an astonishing 120 minutes of football in the World Cup final tonight. In addition to losing the game 1-0, as team captain he led his Argentinian team and maybe his nation into ignominy.

In an absolutely brutal display, his team was not only outplayed to an embarrassing degree by the Spanish side, but earned the disrespect of much of the global audience by playing in a completely undisciplined and thuggish manner that was not only unsporting but also dangerous.

If you look up the play that earned Enzo Fernández his second yellow card and ejection from the game in the 93rd minute, you will see a man take out another player in a way that suggests that if the rumours of preferential treatment by officials are not true, that at least he believed them.

Brutal fouling, dirty play, and cheap shots that the Argentinian fans describe as ‘passionate’, ‘spirited’, or ‘part of the (South American) game have followed La Albicelestes throughout this tournament, despite having one of the easier pools and even paths to the final, particularly in their match against Egypt.

Even worse, after the final whistle, ARG player Nahuel Molina took a swing at .Spanish captain Rodri as he trotted past to celebrate with his teammates, and I think he connected. Rodri turned around to confront Molina, there were words, then shoves, a scrum formed and then Leandro Paredes jumped in, shoving, throat punching, throwing a second Spanish player down to the ground and got the game’s second red card for his troubles. (Fun fact: if the six red cards doled out at World Cup finals over a near-century, three of them belong to Argentina…)

And then, during the trophy ceremony, the Argentines appeared to turn their backs on Spain as they hoisted the trophy - truly classless.

It’s a sad way to end Messi’s legacy as the dominant player of the last decade and some, but I have no sympathy for the man. On top of him personally riding Jude Bellingham out on the sidelines in a headlock worthy of a steer wrestler at the Calgary Stampede during the semifinal against England, he tried to get Spanish player Marc Cucurella sent off under FIFA’s new rule prohibiting mouth covering during confrontations (a way to punish players trying to conceal racist attacks on opponents).

The video makes it abundantly clear that Cucurella was only pointing to his lips, not covering his mouth, but Messi’s hand shot up in a callous attempt to turn the situation to his advantage, which, blessedly, didn’t work.

Gracias to Spain for playing a great match and restoring some faith in football, if not FIFA.

Messi can cry himself to sleep on a pillow filled with money, and you know what? I kind of hope he does.

The Cup, Half-Full (2026)

My enjoyment of this year's World Cup, like most of the sporting events I bother to follow, is a mass of contradictions.

I hated watching Canada lose to Morocco, a solid, solid team.

I loved Canada not only making it out of group but into the Round of 16 for the first time! 
And playing the best 45 minutes in the history of the CANMNT for the first 45 minutes. This will not be our last World Cup!

I hated watching Canadian mid-fielder, Ismail Koné, get his leg broken after a flawed tackle attempt by a player from Qatar. 

I loved seeing that same player, bereft at the consequences of his action, being consoled by a Canadian player before being eject from the game. (The Qatari player, Qassim Madibo, not only visited the Candian locker room to apologize immediately after the game, but visited Koné in the hospital the following day.)

I hate having 48 teams in the round robin (with the possibility to expand the tournament to 64 teams by 2030).

I loved having Cabo Verde, a tiny group of islands off the coast of Africa with half a million souls and a 40-year-old goalkeeper, make it out of group undefeated and hold the reigning champs, Argentina to only a 3-2 victory in the round of 16.

I hate the corruption of international organized sport, which seems so endemic, being made so blatantly visible by Trump's demand that a red-carded American player be allowed to compete, and FIFA capitulating.

I love that Belgium, a weaker team on paper and not having a great tournament up to that point, beat the USA in a great match, and that the red-carded player made a point of shaking hands with the Belgian coach.

I hate knowing that, of his own free will, English captain Harry Kane played a round of golf with Donald Trump.

I loved seeing Jude Bellingham score a brace of goals in Estadio Azteca, perhaps the most intmidating staidum in the world for a visiting team, leading ENG to a thrilling  victory (seriously, the match to beat for years to come in my eyes). 

(Even better, after the Congo game Bellingham stopped to speak to a disabled reporter from Venezuela that almost everyone else in the tunnel ignored, and in Spanish, sent well wishes to the people there struggling after an earthquake.)

And despite his Norwegian side losing to England yesterday, I loved learning that Erling Haaland exists. 

My Instagram and Threads feeds are filled with this enormous lug, this Shrek-adjacent behemoth who, as near as I can tell, is winning the hearts of millions simply by being a hard-playing, decent human who appears to be one of the few millionaires playing professional football to actually be enjoying himself while respecting others.

And as long as we are talking about Norway, let's give it up for their brilliant team kit, unequalled team photos, and most importantly, their Viking row, hands down the best fan movement since the Mexican wave.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G5WUEqEkQZU

In the end, bringing the four corners of the globe together in sport will always be problematic - there is too much money, too many problematic personalities, too much greed for it to be otherwise. But despite this, the positive moments and quality individuals continue to make it a worthwhile endeavour, at least for me.

In A League of His Own

All in all, it was a good weekend, despite Audrey being away for a family visit down south. I had plans to have friends over Saturday night to watch the Australian GP with Glory and I, and a crock pot meal to simmer whilst I did other things during the day.

But when I removed the seasoning package from the cupboard Saturday morning, I wondered just how long it had lingered there, and whether envelope food even has a best before date - turns out it does indeed:

🤯

I made this discovery a little after 9 am, and with an 8 hour cook time (because fast cooking in a slow cooker seems pointless to me), I dashed out to the grocery store immediately but discovered shortly after arrival that they do no make that package any more, or at least my neighbourhood Save-On does not carry it.

"Well that's just great," I thought to myself. "I already have all the other ingredients and time's a-wastin' - what am I supposed to do now?"

(Does anyone else ever have those moments where your own mind or self or consciousness somehow speaks to you directly and pull you up short? If not, buckle up.)

A voice inside my head, audibly exasperated, spoke with crystal clarity, saying "are you serious? what kind of chucklehead makes stir-fry in a slow cooker in the first place? just buy the sauce, dumbass."

Shocked and chastened but in complete agreement, I did exactly that and dinner was saved - and quite tasty to boot.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

That evening four of us sat down to watch the first Grand Prix of the Formula 1 season, in Australia. Yes, Glory's sudden onset interest in this sport has not abated and I continue down the rabbit hole after her.

This year the four of us entered the F1 fantasy league, which allows to pick a team of five drivers and two constructors under a set budget of $100M. The top drivers and constructors are all $20M+ so judicious selection is critical - seven average picks, or carve out the middle with one ace driver and several ho-hums?

As a newbie who is kept in the loop primarily by his daughter and her TikTok intake, I thought there was merit in nabbing the lead driver for Mercedes, George Russell. Full disclosure, I like his teammate Kimi Antonelli more (friggin' kid is adorable), but George gives great radio and is being tipped to have quite a season. And with the Mercedes car provoking other teams to call them cheaters, that seemed like a good team to pick, despite the expense.

This didn't leave me a lot of money left for the other five slots, but I got it rounded out eventually, and loecked in about an hour before qualifying and the cutoff for entries. My picks were based more on drivers I want to do well who fit in my budget as opposed to my hopes for their season, but I got this year's rookie, Arvid Lindblad, who is clearly just giddy to be there (like Kimi last year).

The new car construction rules (or "formula") have been a challenge for most teams and many drivers are unsure or downright skeptical, but I will say it was an exciting race with a lot of overtaking, and a solid finish for Ferrari who had a rather terrible 2025 season. 

My boy George took first place (which was great as I doubled down on him for points), and his teammate Kimi getting second was great for my constructor points.

Feeling smug, I was shocked to check our 4-person league standings today and learn that Glory had snaked me by 20 points!

Despite finishing in P6, her main driver Max Verstappen had earned 100 points compared to George's 79.

This is because you get points in the league for more than just final position; points for having the fastest lap, for overtaking positions, and in his case, winning the Driver of the Day poll (normally 10 points, but worth 20 from Glory doubling down on him).

When I complained in our group chat about this unexpected change in positions, her response was unequivocable, direct, and completely consistent with her personality:

"Get wrecked"

Ah well, perhaps the Shanghai results next week will turn out better for me.

Silvering To Victory

Like a lot of Canadians, Audrey and I got up before 6 am this morning so we could watch the gold medal hockey game against Team USA.

So, like many Canadians, in addition to being sleep deprived, I am saddened, frustated and yeah, disappointed.

Not with our team - heavens no!

Without their injured captain and gold medal hero Sidney Crosby, they still played their guts out, tying the game, penalty killing a 4-minute major, shelling the American goalie (who played supernaturally well!) with nearly twice as many shots as their opponents in the 2nd and 3rd periods, but ultimately losing early in the 3-on-3 overtime period (which, by the way: why?!).

"We did everything but score," a crestfallen player said. What more could we have asked of them?

On social media, many Canadian sports fans credited the USA with playing a good, hard game, and thanked our side for a tremendous effort, but I am sure this outcome will rest on their spirits for years to come.

And sure, some Canucks pointed fingers at uncalled penalties, but my frustration didn't stem from them:

 

Disheartening stuff to be sure, and I am confident that there are people who find the stuff above amusing, gratifying and all part of the game.

But I think these laughs have a very low return on investment. Magnanimity feels like a lot to ask for in our currently heated environment, at least in some quarters. But I truly believe the overhead costs on hubris and arrogance will be debilitating in the long term. 

Seeing well-wishers from Finland (who we beat to get to the final), Great Britain (who we'd beaten in men's curling that very morning) and even some from the United States prior even to the puck being dropped, gave me a little consolation in the wake of the gloating and sneering that small-minded folks find preferable.

Canadian playwright Christopher Earle is quoted as saying, "Be humble in victory, and gracious in defeat." There is no second part to this aphorism or epigram; no promised reward or surety that goes with it. It doesn't promise good luck or to keep the doctor away or to make the practitioner healthy, wealthy and wise. Perhaps that is the point of it, actually.

In truth though, what it does is nurture relationships, and build community. It reduces division, something that many people rely upon to make the world continue running in an established pattern.

And while that promise might not be as flashy or alluring as gold, it has the shine and purity of silver, which makes it covetable (and accessible!) to that many more people!

Formula 1 2025: Season's End

As we left the theatre after seeing the F1 movie on Canada Day, Glory commented, "you know, that movie was really well done, but I just can't see motorsports as being something I would be at all interested in."

Two weeks later, she opened a conversation with me by asking, "did you hear that Red Bull fired their team principal, Christian Horner? It is a huge deal!"

A week after that, as we were in the early hours of a multi-hour road trip to Burns Lake in BC, she broke the silence from the back seat by starting to tell us about some other F1 incident that had recently occurred. I asked her to pause a moment, turned to Audrey and said, "11:14 a.m. - you owe me $5," which made Glory laugh. "You guys, I am not obsessed, honest!" she protested.

But the hook had been set, and soon, I was also getting F1 factoids or news bits in my Instagram and Google Discover feed. I started watching highlights with her, and she would fill me in on the background she had learned from watching Drive to Survive on Netflix.

To her credit, bite-sized bits of real life like this probably helped her maintain her sanity during a grueling prep and study schedule for her nursing licensing exam. She looked at a subscription to F1TV but said she wouldn't consider it until after her NCLEX. 

The first race we watched was Singapore in early October, a street circuit. We stayed off the internet for spoilers and watched it with friends who are fans (which was a huge help to us because I still find the strategic elements completely baffling).

Watching the US and Mexico City races live (at a reasonable hour!) was wonderful, Brazil's wet race was terrifying in places, the night race in Las Vegas was a gorgeous spectacle, and I missed Qatar due to a packed Sunday. 

With two of the three leading contenders DQ'd in Vegas, today's race in Abu Dhabi meant any one of them could walk away with the big trophy.

Most interesting of all, neither of us had a strong favourite. We both like Lando Norris with McLaren gunning for his first title, but had to give mad respect to Red Bull's Max Verstappen for a comeback that saw him virtually erase a mid-season deficit of nearly 100 points. The other McLaren driver, Australia's Oscar Piastri, had been hobbled by poor outcomes during Verstappen's ascendancy, but was still in the running, and competing against a teammate - all very dramatic.

I think this illustrates how strange F1 is when compared to other sports. Most sports you cheer for a team, and this is true for many fans (especially the tifosi, the Ferrari supporters), but many others cheer for a specific driver they follow from team to team. And remember, there are only ten teams (well, eleven next year), with two drivers each, so you only have to remember about as many names as you would for a single NHL team for the entire 'league', as it were.

I'm there mostly to see how it all turns out, which for me is a very refreshing way to watch any sporting event. I like this Kimi Antonelli kid, a rookie who drives for Mercedes and turned 19 this year, so when he becomes a seasoned contender I will likely be pulling for him, but for right now, I am driven as much by curiosity as I am by fandom.

So I got up at 5 am so I could feed Canéla and make some English muffin eggwiches for Glory and I, and we were settled in to watch the race, live from Saudi Arabia, downstairs at 6am. 

Truth be told, it was not that exciting a race; Verstappen took the lead from pole and only relinquished it when he pitted, with Piastri close behind and Norris in third most of the race, which is all he would need in order to win the championship, even if Max took P1. 

There was a bit of a nailbiter when it looked like Lando might get penalized for driving out of bounds, the five-second penalty for which might well push him to P4, but it was determined the other driver had forced his hand by changing directions too many times. Mexico City was a far more exciting race that also had some of the best radio chatter I have heard thus far, and we may go back and rewatch it.

And while there was some tremendous passing in the backfield (and there are ponts to be gained for finishing in the top 10 each race), Verstappen proved impossible to catch in the end. His first place won him the day, but Norris' third place won him the season, and his genuine emotion at having won was a real treat to witness, actually. Brushing tears away from his eyes he told commentator David Coulthard "I look like a loser," to which the 13-time winner replied, "you look like a winner to me!"

Having enjoyed our quarter-season introduction, I think Glory and I will likely be back following and watching Formula 1 in 2026 as well, as a new team (and first American constructors), Cadillac, enters the fray. Honestly, it is kind of fun being taken along for a ride by her, after doing the same to her many times in her life.

Perhaps when the new season begins in March, I will have gotten tired of repeating her quote about not seeing herself ever being interested in motorsports...but probably not.

Oil Country for Old Men - 2024 NHL Playoffs

I don't consider myself a fair-weather fan because it isn't like I cheer for a different NHL team or anything, but I simply cannot be arsed to watch regular season games in pretty much any sport. But tournaments? The games that really matter? I am there every time, and twice for my hometown hockey team.

So I got one of my intermittent Sportsnet subscriptions (and will do so again this summer for the Euros and the Olympics - games where no one gets traded!), dusted off the McDavid jersey I bought last winter and for better or worse, tied my emotional well-being to a bunch of rich athletes whose job it is to chase a rubber disc around a fake pond with sticks while another group tries to murder them.

And to be honest, grit, determination and character is what drew me back to watching the Oilers back in 2006 (Ryan Smyth in particular), and not every player I cheer for brings that to the table. But even guys I feared were old school enforcers like Corey Perry, or potential malcontents like Evander Kane have proven to be great additions to the squad.

Frankly it is easy to like a group led by one of the greatest players in the game today, and even a casual fan like myself can be amazed by the speed and talent that Connoir McDavid brings to the ice - he is simply uncanny to watch.

And likewise Leon Draisaitl, who I keep mistaking for Jake Gyllenhall when they show him on the bench sometimes.

But Nugent-Hopkins, Bouchard, Ceci and especially (playoff goal-scoring leader!) Hyman all add needed ingredients to the cocktail.

I respect Desharnais' size. I love Ekholm's beard, possibly the league's best. And Stuart Skinner adds great, if not always consistent, goaltending that has long been a missing component for my home team.

And tonight, after a stressful seven-game series against Vancouver that featured not one but two elimination games for my team, the Oilers are on to the Western Conference Final against Dallas, who will be even tougher than Vancouver.

Will this next round of playoffs continue to take a toll on my nerves as well as my liquor cabinet?

In terms of self medication (remember kids, it is still medication!), tonight's game required quite a few paralyzers, and the last ten minutes of nailbiting almsot warranted another. But in the end, they were able to hold off a strong team that had already notched a nearly impossible comeback in the same series.

Here's to victory in Dallas on Thursday!

A Messi Finish - World Cup 2022

I am not the biggest sports fan in the world by any measure, but do root for my various home teams and enjoy a good contest sometimes even without context, but I do have an enduring weakness for international team sports.

When all the talk of contract negotiations, free agents, salary caps and whole teams being bought and sold like chattels, it can be difficult to discern the difference between the sports pages and financial section sometimes. But in an event like the World Cup, when everyone competes for a spot on the national side and then fights to qualify for the tourney and then tries to battle their way out of group and eventually lift one of the globe's most iconic sports trophies, and only get to make the attempt once every four years? That's something pretty special.

And even though the governing body is almost irredeemably corrupt and the host nation bribed their way to an economic and sportswashing victory (and tip my hat to anyone with more willpower than myself, able to boycott this event), there are still thrilling stories to be found.

Canada scoring their first goal at a World Cup in more than three decades.

Amazing upsets like Saudia Arabia beating the eventual champions, Argentina.

So much of the world lining up to cheer for Morocco, the first African team to make it to the semi-finals.

I have a number of teams I cheer for until I have to make a choice (which, tragically, seldom happens) including England, Holland, my home nation (obvsly!) and most any African team (who seem to have a lot of the best nicknames, like Les Fennecs, the Atlas Lions and the Black Stars). But as we went into the final, it was less about my cheering for Argentina and Lionel Messi and more cheering against France, the returning champions. 

It wasn't always this way - I remember scheduling our return from a trip to Gettysburg in 1998 so that a friend could watch the final between France and Brazil, with el Canarhinhos heavily favoured but les Bleus obliterating them 3-0, a true underdog victory.

But their behaviour on and off the pitch in 2010, including a player strike and the team being recalled to France in semi-disgrace, really soured me on the team. And so I have resolutely cheered against the Gallic side, despite their obvious skill, despite their many strengths, and two marvelous players like the goalkeeper Lloris and 23-year-old phenom Mbappe.

After today though, and what many commentators are calling the greatest Wrold Cup Final in the tournament's near century of existence, and possibly one of the greatest matches of football in the history of the sport, I can let it go.

I was cheering for Argentina, eager to show up the reigning champions and hoping retiring legend Lionel Messi could gain the last accolade that has eluded him, and I got that, but I got so much more.

• Exemplary football played by gifted athletes with skill and tenacity.
• Besides stars like Messi and Mbappe, the chance to marvel at the astonishing speed of Enzo Fernandes and the astounding goalkeeping of Emiliano Martinez/
• An indomitable French side which, despite rumours of a virus infecting the team, managed to come back from a 2-0 deficit to push the game into extra time, then answer a goal late in extra time to push the game into PKs.
• Fantastic officiating, with Polish referee Szymon Marciniak making bold, tough calls in a high-pressure environment.
• After a grueling tournament and 120 minutes of play,m descending into a penalty shootout - possibly one of the most feared and hated ways to end a major tournament until you realize they used to replay the entire match or decide it with a coin toss.

Football is not everyone's sport, and overall I probably prefer the pace of hockey, but watching world-class athletes run around an enormous pitch for up to two hours of virtually uninterrupted play gives them a claim on standards of endurance no other team sport can hope to match.

It also might explain the surfeit of emotions at the ends of every elimination game: players on both sides with tears in their eyes of either relief or anguish, grown men wracked with sobs, inconsolable due to lost opportunities that may never come again. 

Today's final game was an astonishing window into human competition, in all its artificiality and sincerity. It ensured a legend for Messi bordering on divinity, and has wiped away my dispassion for an excellent French squad that I have no doubt will be a force to be reckoned with yet again in 2026.

Truly a match for the ages, and a sporting event the likes of which I may never see again. Amazing!

Not Exactly Roughing It

We have deployed Frankentrailer to the Alberta badlands in a long-overdue return to the Drumheller area. We estimate that we were last here in 2006, and at that time we camped in a tent, but that is not the most interesting change.

I've really enjoyed this year's World Cup matches for their unpredictability, mad upsets, and only one scoreless draw in the entire tournament. Even though the final didn't contain any of the teams I normally cheer for (England, Holland, most African teams) I still wanted to see it.  Alas, nowhere in Drumheller appeared to be screening it, let alone an all-ages venue that would let Glory watch! After a couple of futile email exchanges it appeared I would have to sort myself out. A thankful combination of hospitality and technology made this possible.

It turns out that  River Grove Campground where we are staying this week has complimentary wifi. The phone I upgraded to this spring came with a free projector, of all things. I downloaded the TSN app, fired up the tiny projector, and that is how we managed to watch Croatia's valiant but doomed effort against France this morning on the ceiling of Frankentrailer, while curled up in our sleeping bags.

There were more than a few breaks in streaming due to buffering issues or the wifi connection being momentarily lost. Thankfully, my self awareness regarding my position of privilege returned when I caught myself saying aloud, "I just want to watch a live sporting match from the other side of the world on the equivalent of a 40" television, while camping, on the ceiling of my 40-year-old trailer - is that too much to ask for?"

Probably, yes, in reality; but we watched nonetheless, and enjoyed ourselves tremendously. What a time to be alive, as they say.

Flying the Colours

Has it already been four years since the last World Cup? Here we are again, and with England not even making it to the round of 16 (for the first time since 1958!), our household is once again pinning its hopes of soccer glory on Holland's national team, the Oranje.

 

It's a great chance to balance the family heritages out a little bit; the Irish side can fall back on St. Patrick's Day, storytelling, singing, drinking and Glory's Irish dancing. The Dutch side is left with the distant memory of being a 17th century superpower, wooden footwear, and a current legacy of liberal permissiveness and a reputation for frugality that borders on the unsettling, whether or not it is deserved.

 

Audrey's folks were up last weekend for Fenya's profession of faith, and we took the opportunity to watch Germany v. Ghana (and as much as I love the quality of play Die Adler brings to the pitch, we were all cheering throatily for Ghana's Black Stars!), followed by a trip to Ben's Meats.

 

Ben's Meats is a family-owned Dutch deli and butcher shop on Stony Plain Road that is normally our source for quality licorice (especially the double salted!) and other ethnic treats like metwurst (a dry sausage like landjaeger but with spices like cloves added), but during international soccer matches becomes a great place to get jerseys, car flags and other paraphernalia declaring our football allegiance to the Netherlands.

 

Audrey's folks picked up a Dutch tricolour for their truck, Audrey got a jersey, and I picked up a cap as well as some orange mirror covers for the Flex, since the window covers prevent the attachment of a flag.

 

Since Holland progressed to the round of 16, we were all prepared to forego church this morning in favour of watching KNVB take on the Mexican team, until Audrey reminded us that our friend Tani would be preaching as part of her training to become a diaconal minister (what you would once have called a deaconess). So we set the PVR, and pledged not to listen to the radio or check the internet until after we had returned home to watch the recorded game.

 

Tani's sermon was excellent, weaving Jesus's parables about the kingdom of God (mustard seed, pearl, etc.) together with Buddhism's Noble Truths and C.S. Lewis's Narnia series, along with her own experience of being admonished for buying a homeless man outside a convenience store a coffee and muffin. Great stuff! Before going to church however, I was told in no uncertain terms that I would need to be flying the team colours in church along with the ladies if I intended to sit with them, which is why I went to church in a t-shirt for the first time since I was 11.

 

After church, we maintained radio silence, grilled up some buffalo smokies (brilliant!), and headed downstairs to watch Oranje beat el Tri 2-1 in a nail biter of a match played in sweltering heat, and now we have a week to wait before they face off against either Greece or Costa Rica in the quarter finals.

 

Another trip to Ben's Meats may be in order...

 

Posted with Blogsy

Huddle Town Hijinks

Glory and I popped into Churchill Square briefly today to check out Huddle Town, a set of exhibits and activities celebrating Edmonton's hosting of the Grey Cup this Sunday.  Let's be clear here, I am not a huge sports fan, and Glory's not entirely sure which sport football even is, but we both like festivities, so off we went.

It's kind of trade fair-ish, with lots of booths giving away swag, media and product and financial services sponsors all out hawking their involvement.  Plenty of food tents with chili and hot dogs and the like, but I didn't spot the ubiquitous Edmonton green onion cake; perhaps they were serving them in the Boston Pizza sports bar they had setup in a tent on the square.  The line-up for the immense zip line was fairly manageable, but Glory was intimidated by both its height and its speed, and I'm just too big for it, so we had to pass it by, although we saw quite a few people enjoying it.  She did have some fun running an inflatable obstacle course though.

There's a mini-field set up right in front of city hall where amateur teams are playing over the weekend, and CN has a locker room set up where you can try on a jersey and helmet from every team in the league.  The majority of the square is covered by a huge tent that TSN is broadcasting from and that a number of sponsors have set up all kinds of event in, from autograph sessions with CFL players, to obstacle courses, exhibits from the CFL Hall of Fame and video games controlled with either your body or your cell phone, depending on whether you are at the Kinect or Telus booth. 

The Edmonton Journal was giving away cardboard helmets and photos of attendees with a virtual Grey Cup, and Glory and I won a bandana and some lip balm playing a bean bag toss game.

The live stage was just getting set up, and acts like Bif Naked and Big Sugar will be performing there over the next couple of days.  The volunteers were all smiling, friendly and helpful, and this is all helping to make Edmonton look very good indeed to all the sports fans coming here for the big game on Sunday.  it's a bit of a sad counterpoint to what might have been had the federal government elected to support Edmonton's Expo 2017 bid.

Still and all, it's easy to enjoy the Grey Cup as a great bit of Canadiana, even if the majority of players are from the U.S.; a (mostly) outdoors game, with the championship coming to a northern city on the cusp of winter, and pitting East against West in a way the National Energy Policy never could.  Memories of watching Grey Cup games at the Legion or at home with my folks in the glory days of Tom Wilkinson and Warren Moon put a bit of a nostalgic veneer on practically everything I saw, but what I appreciated most was the sheer variety of people I saw there: old and young, working class and posh, hipsters and squares.  Huddle Town was a great place to spend a little time with Glory while Fenya and Audrey are at choir camp this weekend, and I am glad they will return in time for all of us to watch the game this Sunday, even if the Eskimos aren't in it.

The Grace of Second Chances

Given my previous posts reviling Roman Polanski, you might think I would be the last one to speak up publicly in defense of the Edmonton Eskimos hiring Eric Tillman as their general manager, but on Thursday the Edmonton Journal printed my letter doing exactly that.

For those of you who don't know, Eric Tillman was convicted of sexual assault in 2009 in a case involving a sixteen-year-old babysitter, and was subsequently let go by the Saskatchewan Roughriders.

His hiring by the Eskimos has prompted a number of very emotional responses, mostly negative. While many people agree that Tillman may be deserving of a second chance, very few people want him to have it here in Edmonton, in a high-profile position like GM. Representatives from two Edmonton women's groups call the hiring "a horrible mistake" and say they are "outraged."

So why would I, of all people, speak up for a guy reviled by some as a convicted child molester? No, that strange sound is not a dog barking backwards or the sixth seal being cracked; it's not because what he did does not matter, because it does, and not because of his reputation up to that point. It is his actions since this incident took place that seem to indicate his character.

To begin with, since sexual assault can include the act of rape, that's what most of us associate that charge with, even though this was not the case in this instance. Tillman had been sent home from work due to erratic behaviour that may have been caused by a reaction to medication he was taking. At home, he grabbed the teenaged babysitter looking after his children by the belt loops and pulled her towards him in a sexual manner. The entire incident took no more than ten seconds, and while undeniably terrifying for the young woman involved, certainly is not rape.

The police became involved a week later, and charges were laid. Despite having no memory of the incident itself, Tillman eventually changed his plea from not guilty to guilty, and apologized to the victim. He asked for forgiveness, which he received, from both the victim and her family. The conviction was discharged this year, meaning that Tillman no longer has a criminal record.

He did not use a 'not guilty by reason of chemical insanity' plea, never tried to muzzle anyone, never denied what had happened. He shortened the process by pleading guilty, and by doing so, has taken accountability for his actions.

Listening to him being interviewed on CBC Radio Tuesday evening, Eric Tillman struck me as a deeply remorseful man who watched a half century of great reputation get washed away by an act he described as one of 'stupidity'. He made a point of not minimizing or diminishing what he did or what effect it had on the victim. His contrition felt very real to me, as did his genuine gratitude for this second chance.

If a man owns up to his mistakes and shoulders the blame, and is then forgiven by the victim and the sentence discharged by the courts, is he not worthy of a second chance? If he is not, is anyone? Craig MacTavish killed someone while drunk at the wheel, served time for it and turned his life around afterwards to become head coach of the Oilers; how does he merit an opportunity but not Eric Tillman?

Suppose a guy gets convicted of thieving, does his time, then gets caught trying to steal from a church while out on parole; who would give that guy a second chance? Well, besides anyone who saw Les Mis, that is.

A second chance, like forgiveness, is a pretty subjective thing, predicated as much on feelings as on facts. Do I believe this person's account? Are they genuinely contrite, or just sorry they got caught? Will forgiving them help me to move on? Everyone, from the victim, to her family, to the Eskimos leadership has had to ask themselves these questions, and have decided to offer that second chance, and I am glad they did; the idea of having my entire life defined by a single regrettable act like Tillman's pretty terrifying.

What's the message we send by not forgiving?

TIllman should not be allowed to work and should just crawl into a cave and die?
He should work, but not in sports?
He should work in sports, but not on my team?
He can work for my team, but not in such a high profile position?

It smacks a little bit of the NIMBY argument: 'sure Habitat for Humanity is a great idea, but not in this neighbourhood.'  I'm thinking the season's ticket holders vociferously proclaiming their opposition to the hiring (and their intent to stay away from future games) haven't imagined that Moccasin Mile in Tillman's shoes.

A Vancouver Sun writer posted a column lamenting how quick we are to forgive sports figures, citing the examples of Tiger Woods, Michael Vick (as well as O.J. Simpson), and while she may have a point, the first two examples were not damned by a single incident, but by a pattern of repeated behaviours either illegal, immoral or both.

Forgiveness is an act that carries substantial emotional risk, which is certainly a contributing factor to its rarity, and explains why the debate over Tillman's hiring is so heated. Granting second chances carries similar but different risks, ones to reputations, to judgment, and even livelihoods, but hiring Eric Tillman is not going to put children at risk or send a message that sexual abuse is somehow acceptable. In the end, the entire terrible experience may end up teaching us a lesson about accountability, grace, and the opportunity for people to re-define themselves.

In time, some of these vocal and judgmental people may end up asking Tillman for his forgiveness, and I would not be surprised at all if he gives it to them.

Something for Everyone

Even though I couldn't name half of the teams involved two weeks ago, I am now displaying multiple symptoms of World Cup fever.

* getting dressed in front of the television due to early morning games
* discussing team rivalries with my daughters
* lamenting France cheating their way in due to a blatant handball
* cheering teams based solely on the esthetic appeal of their jerseys
* watching people in other nations take this sport so seriously that Canadian hockey fans go, "whoa..."

I don't really have a dog in this fight, but have decided that I will cheer for the following teams, in the following order:
* England - great chant, plus it will make a lot of people I know very happy
* Holland - my wife's family is Dutch, and Ireland didn't make it in (boo France)
* Germany - young, high scoring squad, will make Island Mike happy
* South Africa - great jerseys, host nation, catchy name (Bafana Bafana)

And even though the games themselves aren't often as fun as they should be, what with most teams playing to not lose instead of playing to win, there are still elements of the World Cup that even non-sports fans can enjoy:

Desmond Tutu: I've been an admirer of the Archbishop for some time now, but his heartfelt welcome at the opening ceremony was absolutely wonderful: I loved his comparing Africa's metamorphosis over the last three decades to 'an ugly caterpillar' becoming a 'beautiful butterfly' but my favourite was his welcome: "Africa is the cradle of humanity so we welcome you all, every single one of you. We are all Africans; welcome home!" Plus, he cuts a rug pretty well for a 78 year old clergyman.

Pachyderm Traffic - The US team has been delayed twice now by elephants on the road; you can't make stuff like that up.

Flag Day - Seeing so many different flags flying from cars and balconies. There is no "Greece Town" or "Little Chile" in Edmonton, so seeing people sporting their colours is wonderful, like the librarian the other night with her Portugal jacket, jersey and t-shirt. Plus it's been great playing "whose flag is that?" with my daughters and nephew

African Teams - Bafana Bafana is just fun to say, and how can you not love Cameroon's team, the Indomitable Lions? It's too bad that the African teams aren't faring so well against the Europeans, but hopefully some of them will make it out of the first round.

Nelson Mandela Bay Stadium - 'Nuff said.

Wavin' Flag - I don't listen to a lot of pop radio, so I am still enjoying K'naan's song and it's childish, cheerful chorus. Plus I am a huge fan of his 'you don't need gangsta cred to be a successful hip-hop artist' stance.

It's Early Yet... - but none of the four teams I am cheering for have lost a game so far.

"Hand of Clod" - the British headlines about their goalkeeper Green and the spectacular fumble that ended up giving the US a tie against them have been great. My favourite: "That's one spill the Americans can't complain about."

Fresh Commentary - In hockey you might hear, "there's a scoring chance, oh, just wide!", but with British sportscasters you get, "here is an opportunity for England to prosper..."

Nicknames - A lot of the team nicknames are simply the colours of their jerseys, but I found a list that covers things like Greece being known as "To Piratiko" (The Pirate Ship) and Algeria as "Les Fennecs" (The Desert Foxes).

The Waka Waka - The official World Cup 2010 song by Colombian artist Shakira and African band Freshlyground incorporates Latin rhythms as well as bits from an African soldier's song called Zangalewa. In addition to being infectiously catchy, it is also being used to promote world literacy. Victoria School will be dancing the Waka Waka next week and uploading it to YouTube, so I will post a link as soon as I can.


(Does anyone else love that lion logo shown at the start where his face is an outline of Africa, or just me? Someone find me that t-shirt please!)

Despite how ferocious the competition can get, or how contentious the fans, or how noisy the vuvuzelas, everyone seems to appreciate a good competition, a surprise upset, an artful goal, a daring save, and it is a great reminder that despite its size, the world really is not too big a place. 32 nations from every corner of the globe congregating to find out which country has the best football team might not be the greatest of human aspirations, but if it reminds us that we all share common ground, even North Korea, it can be a step in the right direction.

Fanatical

Watching the World Cup and seeing so many national flags on cars has reminded me of my first trip to England in 1996 for a Games Workshop sales conference. I was new to the company and eager to make a good impression, and also very excited about my first journey overseas.

Meeting international colleagues was a real treat as well; people passionate about the same things you are, a lot of overlapping interests, an invariably great sense of humour, a lot of what my boss would call 'switched on blokes', and so on. That said, however, a lot of them were too distracted to worry about being good hosts, since the European Cup was not only going on at the time, but was actually being hosted in England, with some games being played right in Nottingham, where GW is headquartered.

After the FIFA World Cup, the UEFA Euro Cup is the world's largest soccer event, with all the sportsmanship and international pride and rivalry this entails, both positive and negative. Bringing people together over a common passion is often a good idea, but sometimes pride or one-upmanship can drive people to do funny things, such as in 2006, when Dutch fans wore bright orange WWII-style German helmets to symbolize their 'invasion' of host nation Germany.

Well, all in good fun, one would hope, but, still.

At any rate, I have never been a huge soccer fan, enjoying scoring as much as I do, but the enthusiasm among my British colleagues was infectious. Far better than the events on field, however, were the challenges, taunts and boasts among the many nationalities present. The Americans, Australians and Canadians, having no dogs in this fight, were free to either sit back and watch the fur fly, or, if feeling impish, exacerbate things by misquoting other co-workers or simply lobbing easy meat into the crowd, like, "This is pretty much Britain's national sport isn't it? You guys must win international tourneys all the time, right?"

A statement like this was guaranteed to open up a row even if there were only British people present. If there were any German fans there, you were assured of hearing someone (often a lot of someones) quoting the announcer of the 1966 World Cup and his, "there's someone on the pitch...they think it's all over...well, it is now!" with a group usually chorusing in on the last four words.


There had been some minor trash talk going around the office before we boarded the buses for the West Retfords Inn, where the conference proper was being held. By the time we arrived there, you would have thought that soccer, sorry, football, was why we had come in the first place.

At registration, each participant was given a laminate showing their name, what division they worked in, and a flag denoting what country they were from. I walked away with mine, happy with how well my maple leaf had turned out, when I heard the person in line behind me say, in clipped tones, "What's this then?"

I turned to look, and saw Paul Sawyer, then editor of Citadel Journal, holding his laminate like a dead rat and showing it to the staffer handing them out. The staffer was not having any of it, so he simply answered, "What's wot?"

Paul tapped the Union Jack on his laminate. "This."


The staffer shrugged. "Everyone's got 'em, so we know who's from 'ere and who's, you know, Johnny Foreigner. You're from England, so.."

"That's right," interrupted Paul, smiling in a not entirely friendly fashion. "I am from bloody England. So you will get that Union Jack off there, sharpish, and put a proper English flag on there. It's not as if the bloody Cup isn't on, you know."

The staffer turned to his colleague, who shrugged in turn. "He's not wrong, you know. We do play Scotland on Sunday."

"All right then," said the first staffer agreeably. "One St. George's cross, coming up."



A moment later, a beaming Paul Sawyer, head held high, marched away from the registration desk, a proper English flag on his badge. This took him, not coincidentally, into the path of studio supervisor and Scotland backer for life, Gordon Rennie, who wasted no time accosting Paul with a grab of the arm and an interrogatory "Wot's all that then?"

Here we go again, I thought.

A moment later, Gordon had pushed his way to the front of the line and flipped his laminate at the staffer who had just re-done Paul's badge. Anyone who felt slighted took one look at Gordon's face, broken nose, creased brow and all, and thought better of mentioning it.

"I dunno why ye put the wrong flag on there, and I dinna care, but I'll gi' ye a chance t' fix it.," Gordon's burr proclaimed.

The staffer sighed. "I don't even know what the Welsh flag looks like, Gordie..." Looking up, Gordon's reddening face prompted a comment about some people not knowing a joke when they heard one, and two minutes later, Gordon walked away proudly, a St. Andrew's cross adorning the flag on his laminate.



Seeing the exchange, one of the American attendees whispered to me, "I hope I'm still here for that England v. Scotland game!"

I nodded, and whispered back, "Save me a seat at ringside."

The following day, I was in a seminar early in the morning, and as jet-lagged and hung over as we all were, we were all rapt with attention. Ronnie Renton, one of the legendary sales managers of the company, was telling us a very personal story about corporate dishonesty, and the importance of humility and doing the right thing, even in the face of failure. It was great stuff, and you could hear a pin drop when a knock came at the door near the end of his talk. He opened the door a crack, accepted a piece of paper that was passed through, nodded, and returned to his presentation.

When Ronnie finished, we all sat back in our chairs, stunned by what he had told us, deeply impressed by his courage in sharing it and all agreeing that it was a brilliant illustration of his point, when he said, "If there aren't any questions, in conclusion, I just want to say... England is going to the semis against Germany."

The place went apeshit. While the non-Europeans sought cover, all the Englishmen leapt from their seats, cheering and hooting, and eventually all joining in singing "One World Cup and two world wars, doo dah, doo dah..."

Well, this all came as quite a shock to the politically correct Americans and the quintessentially polite Canadians, but we were soon joining the irreverent Australians in enjoying the spectacle of the affair, and by the time we left the room, my sides ached from laughing.

There was no hooliganism, no serious repercussions, and in all, it was probably healthier than many North American sports rivalries I've seen (Edmonton? Calgary? I'm looking at you!). Despite the competitive nature of the affair, the tournament was a means of bringing people together from different parts of the continent, and many a pint was shared, and many a good play admired, whatever country it might have benefited. Maybe that's why they call it, 'the beautiful game'.

And by the time England played Scotland, Gordon and Paul were far too exhausted to do much more than watch quietly from the patio loungers of the hotel, side by side.

Olym(nit)pics

Sometime in the past 20 years, the opening ceremonies to the Olympic games went from something I avoided, to something I endured, to become I look forward to. The opening to the 2008 summer games in Beijing were spectacular in both scale and execution, and at the time, I remember thinking "I hope the Vanoc guys are taking notes". Having watched the ceremonies from Vancouver on Friday night (and portions again yesterday with Fenya and Glory), I have to say it doesn't look like they did. To be fair though, they did only spend about 1/10 of what the Chinese did, so full marks for getting the most bang for their buck.

Part of the reason I love the opening ceremonies is the great opportunity it gives the host country in terms of showing the rest of the world what they are all about, or, at least, what they think they are all about. Despite the disappointments (most notably the failure of one of the cauldron pillars to arise in time), the Vancouver opening ceremonies are probably a pretty fair representation of Canada, for better or worse.

Let's start with the bad:

* Energy Crisis - CTV's telecast was completely lacklustre, with poor pacing and no sense of drama and excitement. Crowd noise was filtered out of most portions, giving the initial proceedings a feeling of sterile detachment. We want to hear the cheer, dudes, why do you think they include it in so much rave music?

* Too Sexy For This Song - I know there are a lot of people who wish Canada had a sexier image, but do you know what song totally does not need to be slowed down, sexed up and performed by a torch singer in a slinky red dress and 4-inch heels? THE NATIONAL ANTHEM. (Can I get an 'amen'?) Nikki Yanofsky is awfully talented and has a tremendous voice and, yes, is very easy on the eyes for a sixteen year-old, but her rendering of "Oh Canada" felt overdone and inappropriate, having more in common with Marilyn Monroe's rendition of "Happy Birthday Mr. President" than the song I am familiar with. And my mom thinks so too.

* The Kitschen Synch - Nelly Furtado and Bryan Adams singing "Bang Your Drum" wasn't bad, but didn't feel like it had a lot of energy. This may have been due to the lack of crowd noise, but is more likely due to the fact that they were clearly singing to tape, and Bryan Adams' voice can clearly be heard joining in even though his microphone is down around his hip. Sigh.

* Shut Up Already - I should mention that I have never liked Brian Williams, but I can't fully articulate why; I think he just comes across as a smug git, full stop. My distaste for him is balanced out by my appreciation of Lloyd Robertson, his partner in commentary. They both get failing grades however, as they continually interrupted any of the cultural proceedings that didn't include singing with their reading of the crib notes about what every element symbolized. My thinking is that if the audience doesn't need it, neither do we. If you want to compromise, put in a text crawl or something.

* Symbolic Dysfunction - The torch. Well, what can you say? Four flawless rehearsals, and the hydraulics pack it in at the worst possible moment. Watching Wayne Gretzky and the others wait for a giant pillar that never materialized was the definition of awkward pauses, but thank God they didn't cut away to a Viagra commercial. The worst part was that Catriona LeMay-Doan had to stand and watch while everyone else got to participate in the lighting.

* Driving Farce - As Gretzky rode in the back of a truck, carrying the Olympic flame down to the waterfront where the outdoor cauldron awaited, random happy or drunk dudes ran alongside. It's hardly the presidential motorcade, but does this strike anyone else as weird, especially given how much security there was for the regular torch relay?

That being said, though, there was a lot to like; frankly, all the cultural elements, the singing, dancing and music, were all top notch.

* Grand Entrance - The fantastic footage of the snowboarder coming down the mountain, culminating with a leap into the stadium through the Olympic rings as they erupt in fireworks was a great way to kick everything off.

* Aboriginality - Giving the First Nations chiefs a post in the dignitaries box to share in being the host nation (an Olympic first), and having their people give their own welcome prior to the parade of nations was great. And as a bonus, all four of their totems made it out of the floor without incident.

* Sadness & Respect - If you kept a dry eye when the Georgian team entered the arena wearing black armbands in memory of their dead teammate and then doffed their hats, prompting a standing ovation from all 60,000 people in attendance, I don't want to know how you did it.

* Sarah McLaclachlan - 'nuff said.

* Fiddles and Dance - this was a great production number, and the idea of linking the country together by regional styles of fiddle play would never have occurred to me. Plus, it was good to see Ashley MacIsaac again.

* The Floor - They used over one hundred projectors to create a number of effects on the floor, from waving wheat, to cracking ice, to pods of orcas swimming through the stadium, complete with whale spouts. Spectacular!

* Poetry in Emotion - I am not very hip, so I can't really tell you the difference between beat poetry, slam poetry, free verse and rap, but Shane Koyczan's poem "We Are More" was a real highlight for me, and in an evening that included Wayne Gretzky, Betty Fox, Rick Hansen, Sarah McLachlan, k.d. lang (singing Leonard Cohen), and Cirque de Soleil, that's quite an accomplishment. From the opening of

Define Canada
You might say the home of the Rocket
Or The Great One
Who inspired little No. 9s and little No. 99s
But we're more than just hockey and fishing lines
Off of the rocky coast of the Maritimes
And some say what defines us
Is something as simple as 'please' and 'thank you'
And as for 'your welcome,' well, we say that, too

he had the audience in the palm of his hand, and has prompted a lot of very positive responses from around the world. The complete text can be found here, but unfortunately I can't find a link to the reading itself. Ah hell, here is the whole thing:

"Define Canada

You might say the home of the Rocket

Or The Great One

Who inspired little No. 9s and little No. 99s

But we're more than just hockey and fishing lines

Off of the rocky coast of the Maritimes

And some say what defines us

Is something as simple as 'please' and 'thank you'

And as for 'your welcome,' well, we say that, too

But we are more than genteel or civilized

We are an idea in the process of being realized

We are young, we are cultures strung together then woven into a tapestry

And the design is what makes us more than the sum totals of our history

We are an experiment going right for a change

With influences that range from A to Zed

And yes, we say 'Zed' instead of 'Zee'

We are the brightness of Chinatown and the laughter of Little Italy

We dream so big that there are those

Who would call our ambition an industry

We reforest what we clear

Because we believe in generations beyond our own

Knowing now that so many of us

Have grown past what we used to be

We can stand here today

Filled with all the hope people have

When they say things like 'someday'

Because we are more

Than a laundry list of things to do and places to see

More than hills to ski

Or countryside ponds to skate

We are the abandoned hesitation of all those who can't wait

We are first-rate greasy spoon diners and healthy living cafes

A country that is all the ways you choose to live

A nation that can give you variety

Because we are choices

We are millions upon millions of voices

Shouting, keep exploring

We are more

We are the surprise the world has in store for you, it's true

Canada is the 'what' in 'what's new'

So don't let your luggage define your travels

Each life unravels differently

And experiences are what make up

The colours of our tapestry

We are the true North

Strong and free

And what's more

Is that we didn't just say it

We made it be"