Every piece, be it written or spoken, over the last three and a half days regarding Don Cherry's final Hockey Night in Canada Coach's Corner segment follows a fairly standard template. First, the person excoriates the commentary regarding 'You people,' and then launches into their own personal saga of acceptance as an open-minded person. Finally, a fair percentage salute Sportsnet for having the courage to 'fire' the seventh greatest Canadian of all time according to the 2004 poll CBC ran.
I want to go in a slightly different direction, although I end up in the same place. And I worry that it will come off as an apologist. It isn't. It's an explanation and an appreciation for years of public service by Cherry. But I assure you, I don't condone his words. Or many of his words of the past two decades.
Many a moons ago ... about 37 years ago, give or take three months, I was working as the Sports Information Director for a radio station that has been gone for awhile now. There suddenly developed a hole in the syndicated market when a weekly show about the NHL went under. Ken Mackenzie of the Hockey News and I had a conversation and I pitched a quiz show set in a pub with a celebrity quizmaster. Even wrote the pilot episode. The man I wanted behind the bar dispensing quips and questions was none other than Donald S. Cherry. He had his own pub-based hockey commentary and interview show on at the time. I thought 'easy set to transform' and a star with proven ability to tell a joke.
So, off to see Don at his then-home in Mississauga. As a guest in his house, Don made every attempt to treat me as well as Ken (a legend that possibly eclipsed Cherry at the time, at least in the media). We didn't stay long enough for libations, but it was a pleasurable meeting. If Don had decided to do the job, I think he would have been a breeze to work with, even though he was as far right as possible and I'm a small C (as in conservative) Liberal--like the majority of Canadians.
Sadly, Don passed on the show, making the task of bringing it into life immeasurably harder. We eventually landed Dave Hodges to be the emcee/quiz guy. But I never felt comfortable with him and the meeting at CHCH TV in Hamilton to pitch the show went ... disastrously. Hodges made more than a few 'change' suggestions and I felt that, plus the incredibly tight schedule to pull it all together, doomed the show. And yes, I never liked Hodges subsequently. Hodges probably doesn't even remember ever having met me.
Now, over the years, Don Cherry was very predictable in his behaviour and his commentary. Never strayed an inch. He loves the people who serve this country. Putting their life on the line immediately makes that person a hero in Cherry's mind. His support of the military, the police, the firefighters, has never wavered a second. And when he tears up talking about a fallen hero, Don, is as genuine as the definition of the word. That support prompts comments from the heart, not the head. As in this past weekend. And the ugly words he spouted Saturday are Donald S. Cherry at his least finest.
Not that Cherry's commentaries on immigrants need reinforcing as examples of him at the core of his being. He supports Canadian-born hockey players at the expense of all non-Canadian born players. That's always been the case. When Cherry, who famously mangles foreign names, states his admiration for a player like Alex Ovechkin, I guarantee it's grudging admiration. He hates, absolutely hates, something that promotes foreign involvement in the NHL over a Canadian. By the way, those mangled names? Absolutely not planned out. I laugh when I think of Cherry and my father both trying to handle Yvon Cournoyer. A hero from Canada, from MY favourite team, the Montreal Canadiens. Ivan Corn-you're-yer. (It's actually Eevahn Corn-why-ay) They'd both go that route, almost in rhythm.
Hockey-playing kids are next dearest to Don's heart to his family and the service. In 'CBC/Sportsnet' retirement, I expect Don to see even more kid's hockey, where he is adored. There might be some parents and some old enough kids to be perceptive that some of what he says is puerile. But the kids? If they'd had a vote back in 2004, he would have been named the top Canadian ever, not just seventh.
When I think of the sudden end of Don S. Cherry, media icon, I wondered immediately who to compare it to. Woody Hayes, the great Ohio State football couch, and the perpetrator of an attack on an opposing player in a moment of madness beyond the pale. Joe Paterno, maybe the greatest college football coach, and a man oblivious to the sexual predation done under his nose by an assistant coach, turned into pariah when the story broke. Bill Cosby, if you want to include non-sports folks, although his days at Temple included being a part of the Track and Field squad. Any number of people who didn't censor themselves sufficiently to hide dark, ugly sides.
And who knows, maybe a President of the USA can fall, through the means test of his own words. Lies revealed through the pomposity of an enfant terrible's own boastful accounts that nothing was wrong here.
In a different time, at a younger age, Don would be able to apologize (completely out of character and he's already refused to do so), spend some time hanging around hockey players of a younger age (not in a creepy way, but in a supportive way that they almost all appreciate), and then come back, probably on Sportsnet's competitor TSN. But the 85 year old Cherry will not do that. He'll go to his grave thinking he got a real raw deal supporting the troops who gave their lives in muddy fields in Normandy, France all those years ago. He won't understand.
And that's the sad part. His greatness was his weakness, the inability to be impartial, to see everybody NOT on his side by his own definition, as the other side, the enemy.
And as Jeff Blair said so eloquently on Monday's Writer's Bloc on Sportsnet, EVERYBODY, either personally or through ancestors, has been "You people, the others." What Don missed and still misses, is "We Canadians" ALWAYS supersedes "You People."
Every time.
Tuesday, November 12, 2019
Tuesday, October 22, 2019
All Hail Canada, My Country
My fellow Canadians did our country proud yesterday/last night, electing a Minority government.
Canada is a multi-party parliamentary system. We have 338 Members of Parliament who then have the right to elect their leaders without further interference from the electoral masses. The leader of the party with the most votes in a Majority (i.e. 170 seats) government becomes our Prime Minister. For the last five or so years, Justin Trudeau has ruled Canada as a Majority leader.
Trudeau, the charismatic son of a former multi-time Prime Minister, Pierre Elliott Trudeau, didn't exactly make the last few years smooth ones. He had a variety of issues, starting with possible malfeasance in trying to protect the crooks from SNC-Lavalin. He then had cultural issues that offended many people of colour or of Indian heritage. And Indian heritage here in Canada is amongst the most widespread of any ethnic group. (NOTE: By Indian, I mean from the Indian sub-continent, not First Nations)
On the other hand, in a world where the Oleaginous Orange Oaf of the Oval Office represents Western leadership, the good-looking PM from the north looked SOOOOOOOO much better in comparison, that he was able to give Canada some serious world cred. Canada's leadership on Climate Change responses is to our nation's credit. I think MOST Canadians are happy with Trudeau as our figurehead ... and occasionally with his policies beyond Climate Change.
Ergo, the Minority government. Canada is a small-C Liberal country. We think of taking care of each other before ourselves, as a nation. We hold out our helping hands. Suburbanites are liberal, farmers and oilmen are conservative. No different than our American neighbours. But we have a different form of government. The American citizen that ran for the Conservatives nationally actually won the plurality of votes nation-wide. The Conservatives wiped the Liberal presence on our prairies out of existence. So, the electoral map of Canada shows the Liberals with a healthy prominence in Ontario, a dominance in Atlantic Canada and a carving up of Quebec with the separatist Bloc Quebecois. With a smattering of seats out on the west coast, it gave Trudeau the chance to continue to govern.
BUT the key difference is one that bedevils Majority governments, whether it is here or down south in the good 'ol USA. The arrogance of insulation from consequences.
Trudeau was not a rousing success in his first go-round as the PM. Growing pains?? Some of his problems could be given to that. Murphy's Law?? Well, every government runs into that. The response to Murphy running the nation off the tracks in a way nobody could have anticipated is more important than that Murphy screwed things up. No, the real problem Trudeau had was being secure in the knowledge that he was going to be in his seat for five years come hell or high water. Ergo, he stuck his hand into the SNC-Lavalin hornet's nest and got stung. And paid for it years later.
In reality, the case against Trudeau was almost ALL SNC-Lavalin. There was the hassles of the complicated energy issues out West. There's oil on the east side of the Rockies and tankers on the west side. Ever the twain needs to meet. The hows are ... complicated. And Trudeau and cabinet didn't get it right in a way that left MOST people happy. Cultural misappropriation?? From decades ago in the worst case, cluelessness in the latter examples. Still, not worth toppling a majority government over. It was SNC-Lavalin that made Conservative Andrew Scheer think he had Trudeau by the short hairs. He was wrong. But not FAR wrong.
So we have a Minority. Trudeau's had his hands slapped. But the country hasn't given way to the conservative Populism that has been a blight on the world this century. The worm has been s-l-o-w-l-y turning with rebuke after rebuke of the poster boy for Populism petulance, Comrade Donald. The Israelis seem to have gotten over their Netanyahu fixation and installed somebody who doesn't fall into line with Putin, President Small Hands and a host of other calamities for world peace. And we in Canada, who elected a village idiot to run our largest province, seem to be learning from the mistakes of others.
Why do I like Minorities?? Well, they have short-lived existences, six months to three years seems predictable. But a Minority government has no arrogance. It cannot. It must govern with a consensus of sometimes opposing points of view. That's not always true. Stephen Harper governed Canada as if he HAD a Majority, even when he didn't. To Canada's detriment. But that required particularly weak Liberal opposition and the acquiescence of the other parties. Mostly however, Minorities pass the laws the country needs, without the agendas that Majority governments employ when the arrogance of a Majority lets them. Those laws tend to be ideologues. And bad laws.
Generally speaking, the laissez-faire attitudes of Majority governments are diminished when there are true consequences to things like patronage appointments. We don't have utterly unprepared national diplomats representing Minority governments as adverse the kind of dipsticks that have represented the US on the international stage the last three years. We don't make TV hosts and hoteliers with big checkbooks posts as our representative to the UN or Europe, for example. Trudeau COULD have done that with a Majority. He didn't. And won't with a Minority.
There's one last advantage of this particular Minority. No upheaval of the government. It'll operate largely as it has last week. No learning curve for new incoming (in one big Tidal Wave) as there is when the colour of the team changes. The country's still Red. (and Orange with a little bit of Green thrown in. Heck, the teal of the Bloc might also come into play). But not Blue.
Canada remains stable. Trudeau has been chastened. The next few months/years will show whether he and the Liberals have learned from the experience. And that should lead to a better-governed country. Won't be MANY laws passed (Gridlock tends to be the greatest negative about a Minority government), but the laws passed will be good for all.
And if that last paragraph is wrong, the country will be awash in Blue soon enough. Maybe I'll be dead by then.
Canada is a multi-party parliamentary system. We have 338 Members of Parliament who then have the right to elect their leaders without further interference from the electoral masses. The leader of the party with the most votes in a Majority (i.e. 170 seats) government becomes our Prime Minister. For the last five or so years, Justin Trudeau has ruled Canada as a Majority leader.
Trudeau, the charismatic son of a former multi-time Prime Minister, Pierre Elliott Trudeau, didn't exactly make the last few years smooth ones. He had a variety of issues, starting with possible malfeasance in trying to protect the crooks from SNC-Lavalin. He then had cultural issues that offended many people of colour or of Indian heritage. And Indian heritage here in Canada is amongst the most widespread of any ethnic group. (NOTE: By Indian, I mean from the Indian sub-continent, not First Nations)
On the other hand, in a world where the Oleaginous Orange Oaf of the Oval Office represents Western leadership, the good-looking PM from the north looked SOOOOOOOO much better in comparison, that he was able to give Canada some serious world cred. Canada's leadership on Climate Change responses is to our nation's credit. I think MOST Canadians are happy with Trudeau as our figurehead ... and occasionally with his policies beyond Climate Change.
Ergo, the Minority government. Canada is a small-C Liberal country. We think of taking care of each other before ourselves, as a nation. We hold out our helping hands. Suburbanites are liberal, farmers and oilmen are conservative. No different than our American neighbours. But we have a different form of government. The American citizen that ran for the Conservatives nationally actually won the plurality of votes nation-wide. The Conservatives wiped the Liberal presence on our prairies out of existence. So, the electoral map of Canada shows the Liberals with a healthy prominence in Ontario, a dominance in Atlantic Canada and a carving up of Quebec with the separatist Bloc Quebecois. With a smattering of seats out on the west coast, it gave Trudeau the chance to continue to govern.
BUT the key difference is one that bedevils Majority governments, whether it is here or down south in the good 'ol USA. The arrogance of insulation from consequences.
Trudeau was not a rousing success in his first go-round as the PM. Growing pains?? Some of his problems could be given to that. Murphy's Law?? Well, every government runs into that. The response to Murphy running the nation off the tracks in a way nobody could have anticipated is more important than that Murphy screwed things up. No, the real problem Trudeau had was being secure in the knowledge that he was going to be in his seat for five years come hell or high water. Ergo, he stuck his hand into the SNC-Lavalin hornet's nest and got stung. And paid for it years later.
In reality, the case against Trudeau was almost ALL SNC-Lavalin. There was the hassles of the complicated energy issues out West. There's oil on the east side of the Rockies and tankers on the west side. Ever the twain needs to meet. The hows are ... complicated. And Trudeau and cabinet didn't get it right in a way that left MOST people happy. Cultural misappropriation?? From decades ago in the worst case, cluelessness in the latter examples. Still, not worth toppling a majority government over. It was SNC-Lavalin that made Conservative Andrew Scheer think he had Trudeau by the short hairs. He was wrong. But not FAR wrong.
So we have a Minority. Trudeau's had his hands slapped. But the country hasn't given way to the conservative Populism that has been a blight on the world this century. The worm has been s-l-o-w-l-y turning with rebuke after rebuke of the poster boy for Populism petulance, Comrade Donald. The Israelis seem to have gotten over their Netanyahu fixation and installed somebody who doesn't fall into line with Putin, President Small Hands and a host of other calamities for world peace. And we in Canada, who elected a village idiot to run our largest province, seem to be learning from the mistakes of others.
Why do I like Minorities?? Well, they have short-lived existences, six months to three years seems predictable. But a Minority government has no arrogance. It cannot. It must govern with a consensus of sometimes opposing points of view. That's not always true. Stephen Harper governed Canada as if he HAD a Majority, even when he didn't. To Canada's detriment. But that required particularly weak Liberal opposition and the acquiescence of the other parties. Mostly however, Minorities pass the laws the country needs, without the agendas that Majority governments employ when the arrogance of a Majority lets them. Those laws tend to be ideologues. And bad laws.
Generally speaking, the laissez-faire attitudes of Majority governments are diminished when there are true consequences to things like patronage appointments. We don't have utterly unprepared national diplomats representing Minority governments as adverse the kind of dipsticks that have represented the US on the international stage the last three years. We don't make TV hosts and hoteliers with big checkbooks posts as our representative to the UN or Europe, for example. Trudeau COULD have done that with a Majority. He didn't. And won't with a Minority.
There's one last advantage of this particular Minority. No upheaval of the government. It'll operate largely as it has last week. No learning curve for new incoming (in one big Tidal Wave) as there is when the colour of the team changes. The country's still Red. (and Orange with a little bit of Green thrown in. Heck, the teal of the Bloc might also come into play). But not Blue.
Canada remains stable. Trudeau has been chastened. The next few months/years will show whether he and the Liberals have learned from the experience. And that should lead to a better-governed country. Won't be MANY laws passed (Gridlock tends to be the greatest negative about a Minority government), but the laws passed will be good for all.
And if that last paragraph is wrong, the country will be awash in Blue soon enough. Maybe I'll be dead by then.
Monday, September 30, 2019
Trust and How Metro.ca Misplaced Mine
Trust.
Big topic. Everybody wants services and goods around them to be trustworthy. To not have to look at the invoice, because you've trusted somebody or somebodies that they have done right by you.
I NEED people around me to be trustworthy. I'm house-bound, leaving every couple of months to see doctors or a series of doctors. So, I have my prescriptions delivered (shoutout to the BramQueen PharmaSave and their phenomenal staff who I discovered after 50 years of trusting Shopper's DrugMart ... which was maybe 10 years too long). I have my friend Marilyn, with help from my friends James and Mark, help out with food and transportation. When there's a blank spot in their calendars, I've been able to mostly trust GroceryGateway for, well, groceries.
But not all groceries. There were some products Marilyn found hard to find and that GG just didn't have. Marilyn reported that Metro.ca was now competing with GG. And there was a deal that meant free delivery for three orders over a three-week span AND a bag of random goodies on the first order. So, I gleefully filled my Metro.ca shopping cart with all the items I had had problems getting (Cavendish played a big part here, with their Onion Rings and Restaurant-Style French Fries, and Metro.ca also carried the Selection brand of products, including the nectar of the gods, the indispensable Mandarin Orange soda). So, I ordered the goods to be delivered the following afternoon.
I was downstairs waiting for delivery when the delivery person called to inform me that they were outside my front door. I plodded my way over to the door, opened it, and peered out at an empty drive way. I called back, using the call return feature of my phone, and informed the driver that he was at the wrong address. I gave him my address. At the time, I didn't know who's driveway he was parked in.
Leaning out the door, I peered up and down my road, waiting to see the truck as it came into view. I watched as the driver (who I now knew to be ... as directionally-impaired as I was, and I get lost as soon as I get outside my front door. I'm LEGENDARILY bad with directions), as he pulled his truck into the driveway ... of my next door neighbour. Sigh. God save us from ... directionally-impaired people. I am SO proud of my calm and patience writing this. It'll end soon. But I've got this far without any nasty jibes. Stay tuned.
I yelled out the door at the cretin (see, my limit for not going ballistic lasted six paragraphs), "NO, over here!" shouting at him my address. Again. So, once again, said idiot, pulled out of the wrong address and finally got it right on the third try. I'd refrained from any name-calling, but I was thinking them, and adding adjectives to more accurately describe the level of stupidity I was witnessing. (As Mom will say, "beware name-calling, you might deserve some yelling at too." Too true).
The driver said a quick, "Sorry, sorry," and then went about the business of delivering the goods. I proffered the required identification the website had warned me of, but he just waived me off and started hauling the groceries into the house. No good sturdy boxes like GG (who, admittedly, had started using lots of green plastic bags and only a few boxes, of late). No, the whole delivery was in bright red bags, a contrast that I'm sure is nowhere close to coincidence. Some of the bags were dropped at the front closet (where do YOU store your soda??) and the rest in the kitchen. I signed the electronic device he thrust at me and they departed. Without much furtherance of the apologies, other than saying it was HQ's fault. I was okay with that. Recently, I've gotten into an apology war, fit for Alphonse and Gaston. It's awfully tiring. I think both sides of a discussion should be allowed a maximum of one sorry per week.
The food ran the gamut from good to great for the items I ordered. Except the small case of Coca-Cola with orange. This was a mistake on my part and I vow NEVER EVER to order flavoured Coca-Cola ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever again. May Marilyn hit me about the head. The freebies almost completely ended up with Marilyn, who seemed to derive some enjoyment from them. I split the very, very green bananas with here and kept a wonderful loaf of artisanal bread. I burbled with happiness when Marilyn came over to get her share of the haul.
I wasn't forgetting the delivery snafu. I did the on-line survey as requested by email and let them know the delivery to the wrong house was a mistake that needed correcting. I also had a LOT of issues with the shopping interface on the web-site. 'Course, I have major grievances against GG's site too. And given I write POS (Point of Sale) software, my opinion is not exactly uninformed.
I had three orders with free delivery coming up. On Thursday night, I decided to take advantage of the first of them. I put in an order that would have been bigger, but a limit on ordering the Mandarin soda showed up without warning. The interface didn't allow me to merely type in 36 and be done. No, I had to hit the Plus button and wait for the interface to update with each click. Horrible, time-consuming and unlike better shopper carts, no expectation of a limit until I tried to add a 13th bottle. Arrrrggghhh!!!!! I don't drink alcohol. Don't (mostly) do sugared soda either. This is sugar-free, calory-free stuff that doesn't taste like Engine Cleaner (not that I know what that actually tastes like). When trying to self-motivate, I hold a bottle of the stuff in the fridge out as a reward. And here, they were limiting me without warning. Fill in your guess at what string of epithets I used. You're short a word or three.
Okay, let's get this delivered between six and eight tomorrow, which by this time, was actually today, I think.
Come the supper hour, I hauled butt downstairs and sat in my TV chair waiting. I watched an hour of CNN and the ever-present Friday Foul-up of the Week (Trademark pending). The Obstructionist Orange Oleaginous Oaf of the Oval Office doing his best to create a new lower limit for rating humanity. Not a good mood inducer. Then an hour of the Toronto Blue Jay game. It made things worse. Five minutes past eight, I went to my tablet to get the phone number for Metro.ca customer support.
And there it was, an email, asking me to fill out a new survey. The groceries had been delivered a half-hour ago. Immediately, I assumed the village idiot had done a Comrade Donald-like quadrupling down of something stupid and failed to ring the VERY LOUD doorbell and had merely piled the groceries on my front step and did a runner. I stumbled my way to the front door, opened it, expecting a sea of red, and found ... nothing. Nada. Zilch. President Small Hand's most recent score for mental acuity.
Back to the chair to call Metro.ca. After a moderately long wait, I got somebody named Donna. At least I think it was Donna. Obviously, future events were to question my hearing. Donna, regrettably, was soon to be subjected to my wrath. I think I apologized three times in all for yelling at her. Still feel bad about doing that to a lady. I know it's sexist, but I would have rather been yelling at Brad. Or Raj. Or Juan. Or Orlando. Or Herschel (my Aunt Dorothy's life-long nickname for me). Or Ian. But it was Donna. I think.
I explained the situation and heard her furiously typing in notes. Her silence after the first apology when I was being polite spoke loudly. Even she was shocked by what had went on. She asked for time to talk to a superior over remedies. I graciously, truly, I was gracious, thanked her for looking into this. She put me on hold and I examined the emails I hadn't bothered reading (indeed, commercial stuff that's 95 percent sales come-ons, gets automatically shunted to my "Ignore unless needed" folder). There, right on the two emails announcing my order and then the warning it was coming, was the wrong address. Yep. The wrong address.
This could have been a major oopsie on my part and a tail-between-the-legs moment on the phone. But no, I was still on morally upper ground. The driver obviously knew of the address mistake. One would have assumed he would have complained to management. I'd told the survey LEAVING MY PHONE NUMBER. Which nobody called. But I had made a second order with the auto wrong-address being used without looking at it. And truth be told, the differences between the two numbers was maybe two small pixels. And I'm at an age where it might be good to get my eyesight checked. I've been ducking the Drs. Thompson because I don't want new glasses. I'd prefer a new computer.
So, when Donna returned, I copped to being complicit in this idiocy. But, as I informed her again, I had told the driver, who I would have assumed told his management, and the survey. Further, the thieves at the other address had signed as GARY MUGFORD (I assumed) for the delivery of groceries they'd never ordered. That's fraud from where I stand and I hope a detective from the local constabulary visits. I want a pound of flesh from those thieving souls. A broken kneecap might suffice. I wish a plague of horrors upon all the inhabitants of the house.
Now, at some point SOMEBODY had to have said to the driver, "I/We didn't order anything." Said driver had to have asked himself, let me verify this. And whatever happened next, the driver and the thieves conspired to take the groceries I HAD PAID FOR! All of this was shouted into the phone.
I apologized for the second time to Donna. Not to Metro.ca. But to Donna. Then she informed me NOTHING could be done tonight to fix things. Tomorrow morning. Which was going to be better than replacing the order with an order with GroceryGateway. The soonest I could get stuff from them would be Sunday. I told Donna that morning would be fine, as long as it was 11 AM or later. Preferably 1 PM. Oh, and I wanted an apology from Metro.ca. I'd lost it again. So, a third apology was in the offing.
And that ended the phone call. Right now, as I write this, before the inevitable edits, it's closer to 3 PM. The deadline for resolution of this mess is daylight's end today. I don't want a delivery in the dark. Too easy for this merry band of fools to get it wrong. I am sanguine of getting the food (and soda, sadly for the last time). The apology?? Of that, I figure my odds are roughly equivalent with winning the lottery. These clowns are going to replace my food, knowing my cancellation of our association is almost automatic.
And the story continues...
Not long after writing the first three-quarters of this long-winded rant for this blog, I called the comically-misnamed Customer Support again. Patrick answered. In a half-hour of talking to him, nothing. Nothing was accomplished. I wasn't allowed to talk to a supervisor (His supervisor was new, having replaced PATRICK in the job a week ago ... yep, I was talking to The Demoted) and, miraculously, nobody 'there' had ever heard of Donna. Yet, just as miraculously, my address info had miraculously been corrected. But no magic, however powerful, could compel him to have my groceries delivered that day (or any day). A waste of time. I did apologize to him twice, once after SCREAMING into his ear after he told me to, in effect, hurry up and finish my story. I have that problem. I like all the details when I am faced with trying to resolve a problem. I foolishly think others, who work in the support sector, have the same detail-oriented approach. So, I treated Patrick the same as Donna. Somebody not deserving of being yelled at. I was wrong. Wrong as in, he deserved not to be yelled at.
Sunday? Shawn/Sean or something in-between. This lowest-level on the evolutionary support scale categorically refused to let me talk to a supervisor. He, like the other two, put me on hold to talk to somebody with higher authority than him ... I believe the word you're thinking is, Supervisor, then came back on the phone and told me, and this shocked me, "No, you can't talk to a supervisor. Somebody will call you in the next 24-48 hours." Head, palm, smack. Epithet. I'm proud I never let a curse pass through my lips in three separate half-hour phone calls. Didn't even engage in any name-calling. Which was INCREDIBLY stressful. Which my doctors REALLY, REALLY, REALLY hate. This carbuncle on the back-side of customer support wouldn't last a day at any company I worked with. It'd be him or me and I write the systems software. Bye-bye. The company's better off without you. This blithering idiot said, seven times, cuz I counted, "I understand your frustration." No, he didn't. No, he didn't at all.
So, I called the cops. After talking to a retired detective friend who told me it was likely the case was a civil one. But a winning one. On the other hand, if the criminals at the other address had signed my name ...
The officers who came to talk to me were polite, empathetic and almost ready to get involved. But I was not the aggrieved party. The crooks five doors down had stolen from Metro.ca, not me. And with lawyer bills being what they are, the likelihood was that Metro.ca would not swear out a complaint, just absorb the cost of doing business. But if they did, the officers would be back to talk to me as a (WILLING) witness. I tried to get them to call Metro.ca, if only to say that. They smiled, an shook their head. I think they respected me for trying to get them to engage Metro.ca, but stuck to non-involvement in what to them was a civil matter. A nice interaction with the local constabulary. And despite not getting the wrath of the law on my side, I can't complain.
Hmmm, it's now Monday. Late afternoon. That idiot Shawn's prediction of a response coming on Tuesday seems pretty solid.
Then the phone rang. A gentlemen introduced himself as being from Metro. I didn't catch the name. Didn't want to. I knew where the conversation was going, so why add one more name to the list of people I hope to haunt from the dead as soon as I get interred or crisped up beyond all redemption. I'll still be busy with the Shawn's of the world.
The call came in about 5 PM. I asked him at one point in the conversation whether if I'd agreed to it, whether I would have had groceries Monday evening. "No." So, the supervisorly response from Metro.ca was not to deliver my paid-for groceries on the Friday, the Saturday, the Sunday, the Monday but maybe by the Tuesday. Please pause for an epithet break. He started, I believe, to tell me the groceries would be delivered eventually and that any charges would be withdrawn. Maybe offer me some inducement. Free delivery on my next order? Ten free deliveries? A million deliveries. Free for life? Don't know. I cut him off. I despise people who complain in order to get something free in exchange for silencing their opinion. Too much of an ego. My honor is worth more than most companies would even dream of offering. I admit, there's been times where I've taken inducements. I then hate myself for a decade before my failing memory lets me do it again.
Marilyn and I had discussed it. She'd suggested I ask for two cases of my beloved Mandarin soda every month, delivered for free, for a year. Which would have been good. After all, I was dealing with Metro.ca in large part so that I wasn't asking her every week to break her back lugging soda from the store to my house. She's an angel. Time I repaid that kindness in small part when and where I can.
Nope. I went for the cut my nose off to spite my face response. "Gimme my money back and I never want to deal with Metro.ca or Metro ever again." And when he used the lawyerly, "Let me get this clear..." I cut him off again, "I know you are taping this phone call. For the lawyers who are listening, I want my money returned and then I never want to hear from Metro again." Which ended my fourth and final interaction with 'Customer Support' at Metro.ca. And I will never order from them, allow Marilyn to buy product there on my behalf or ever drink another bottle of Mandarin soda again. Well, after I empty the closet. I wasn't going to accept any freebies from this empathy-deprived organization that had caused me no end of stress for four days and thought bribery might appease me. They were wrong.
Because in the end, you can't trust Metro.ca.
NOTE: I have used the real names, albeit with guessed-at spelling here. To the best of my hearing. I will point out some ironies. My best friend's name is Patrick. His wife's name is Dawna. Shawn is my more-than-helpful neighbour from the other side from James. NONE of those three were the Donna, Patrick or Shawn I talked to.
Big topic. Everybody wants services and goods around them to be trustworthy. To not have to look at the invoice, because you've trusted somebody or somebodies that they have done right by you.
I NEED people around me to be trustworthy. I'm house-bound, leaving every couple of months to see doctors or a series of doctors. So, I have my prescriptions delivered (shoutout to the BramQueen PharmaSave and their phenomenal staff who I discovered after 50 years of trusting Shopper's DrugMart ... which was maybe 10 years too long). I have my friend Marilyn, with help from my friends James and Mark, help out with food and transportation. When there's a blank spot in their calendars, I've been able to mostly trust GroceryGateway for, well, groceries.
But not all groceries. There were some products Marilyn found hard to find and that GG just didn't have. Marilyn reported that Metro.ca was now competing with GG. And there was a deal that meant free delivery for three orders over a three-week span AND a bag of random goodies on the first order. So, I gleefully filled my Metro.ca shopping cart with all the items I had had problems getting (Cavendish played a big part here, with their Onion Rings and Restaurant-Style French Fries, and Metro.ca also carried the Selection brand of products, including the nectar of the gods, the indispensable Mandarin Orange soda). So, I ordered the goods to be delivered the following afternoon.
I was downstairs waiting for delivery when the delivery person called to inform me that they were outside my front door. I plodded my way over to the door, opened it, and peered out at an empty drive way. I called back, using the call return feature of my phone, and informed the driver that he was at the wrong address. I gave him my address. At the time, I didn't know who's driveway he was parked in.
Leaning out the door, I peered up and down my road, waiting to see the truck as it came into view. I watched as the driver (who I now knew to be ... as directionally-impaired as I was, and I get lost as soon as I get outside my front door. I'm LEGENDARILY bad with directions), as he pulled his truck into the driveway ... of my next door neighbour. Sigh. God save us from ... directionally-impaired people. I am SO proud of my calm and patience writing this. It'll end soon. But I've got this far without any nasty jibes. Stay tuned.
I yelled out the door at the cretin (see, my limit for not going ballistic lasted six paragraphs), "NO, over here!" shouting at him my address. Again. So, once again, said idiot, pulled out of the wrong address and finally got it right on the third try. I'd refrained from any name-calling, but I was thinking them, and adding adjectives to more accurately describe the level of stupidity I was witnessing. (As Mom will say, "beware name-calling, you might deserve some yelling at too." Too true).
The driver said a quick, "Sorry, sorry," and then went about the business of delivering the goods. I proffered the required identification the website had warned me of, but he just waived me off and started hauling the groceries into the house. No good sturdy boxes like GG (who, admittedly, had started using lots of green plastic bags and only a few boxes, of late). No, the whole delivery was in bright red bags, a contrast that I'm sure is nowhere close to coincidence. Some of the bags were dropped at the front closet (where do YOU store your soda??) and the rest in the kitchen. I signed the electronic device he thrust at me and they departed. Without much furtherance of the apologies, other than saying it was HQ's fault. I was okay with that. Recently, I've gotten into an apology war, fit for Alphonse and Gaston. It's awfully tiring. I think both sides of a discussion should be allowed a maximum of one sorry per week.
The food ran the gamut from good to great for the items I ordered. Except the small case of Coca-Cola with orange. This was a mistake on my part and I vow NEVER EVER to order flavoured Coca-Cola ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever again. May Marilyn hit me about the head. The freebies almost completely ended up with Marilyn, who seemed to derive some enjoyment from them. I split the very, very green bananas with here and kept a wonderful loaf of artisanal bread. I burbled with happiness when Marilyn came over to get her share of the haul.
I wasn't forgetting the delivery snafu. I did the on-line survey as requested by email and let them know the delivery to the wrong house was a mistake that needed correcting. I also had a LOT of issues with the shopping interface on the web-site. 'Course, I have major grievances against GG's site too. And given I write POS (Point of Sale) software, my opinion is not exactly uninformed.
I had three orders with free delivery coming up. On Thursday night, I decided to take advantage of the first of them. I put in an order that would have been bigger, but a limit on ordering the Mandarin soda showed up without warning. The interface didn't allow me to merely type in 36 and be done. No, I had to hit the Plus button and wait for the interface to update with each click. Horrible, time-consuming and unlike better shopper carts, no expectation of a limit until I tried to add a 13th bottle. Arrrrggghhh!!!!! I don't drink alcohol. Don't (mostly) do sugared soda either. This is sugar-free, calory-free stuff that doesn't taste like Engine Cleaner (not that I know what that actually tastes like). When trying to self-motivate, I hold a bottle of the stuff in the fridge out as a reward. And here, they were limiting me without warning. Fill in your guess at what string of epithets I used. You're short a word or three.
Okay, let's get this delivered between six and eight tomorrow, which by this time, was actually today, I think.
Come the supper hour, I hauled butt downstairs and sat in my TV chair waiting. I watched an hour of CNN and the ever-present Friday Foul-up of the Week (Trademark pending). The Obstructionist Orange Oleaginous Oaf of the Oval Office doing his best to create a new lower limit for rating humanity. Not a good mood inducer. Then an hour of the Toronto Blue Jay game. It made things worse. Five minutes past eight, I went to my tablet to get the phone number for Metro.ca customer support.
And there it was, an email, asking me to fill out a new survey. The groceries had been delivered a half-hour ago. Immediately, I assumed the village idiot had done a Comrade Donald-like quadrupling down of something stupid and failed to ring the VERY LOUD doorbell and had merely piled the groceries on my front step and did a runner. I stumbled my way to the front door, opened it, expecting a sea of red, and found ... nothing. Nada. Zilch. President Small Hand's most recent score for mental acuity.
Back to the chair to call Metro.ca. After a moderately long wait, I got somebody named Donna. At least I think it was Donna. Obviously, future events were to question my hearing. Donna, regrettably, was soon to be subjected to my wrath. I think I apologized three times in all for yelling at her. Still feel bad about doing that to a lady. I know it's sexist, but I would have rather been yelling at Brad. Or Raj. Or Juan. Or Orlando. Or Herschel (my Aunt Dorothy's life-long nickname for me). Or Ian. But it was Donna. I think.
I explained the situation and heard her furiously typing in notes. Her silence after the first apology when I was being polite spoke loudly. Even she was shocked by what had went on. She asked for time to talk to a superior over remedies. I graciously, truly, I was gracious, thanked her for looking into this. She put me on hold and I examined the emails I hadn't bothered reading (indeed, commercial stuff that's 95 percent sales come-ons, gets automatically shunted to my "Ignore unless needed" folder). There, right on the two emails announcing my order and then the warning it was coming, was the wrong address. Yep. The wrong address.
This could have been a major oopsie on my part and a tail-between-the-legs moment on the phone. But no, I was still on morally upper ground. The driver obviously knew of the address mistake. One would have assumed he would have complained to management. I'd told the survey LEAVING MY PHONE NUMBER. Which nobody called. But I had made a second order with the auto wrong-address being used without looking at it. And truth be told, the differences between the two numbers was maybe two small pixels. And I'm at an age where it might be good to get my eyesight checked. I've been ducking the Drs. Thompson because I don't want new glasses. I'd prefer a new computer.
So, when Donna returned, I copped to being complicit in this idiocy. But, as I informed her again, I had told the driver, who I would have assumed told his management, and the survey. Further, the thieves at the other address had signed as GARY MUGFORD (I assumed) for the delivery of groceries they'd never ordered. That's fraud from where I stand and I hope a detective from the local constabulary visits. I want a pound of flesh from those thieving souls. A broken kneecap might suffice. I wish a plague of horrors upon all the inhabitants of the house.
Now, at some point SOMEBODY had to have said to the driver, "I/We didn't order anything." Said driver had to have asked himself, let me verify this. And whatever happened next, the driver and the thieves conspired to take the groceries I HAD PAID FOR! All of this was shouted into the phone.
I apologized for the second time to Donna. Not to Metro.ca. But to Donna. Then she informed me NOTHING could be done tonight to fix things. Tomorrow morning. Which was going to be better than replacing the order with an order with GroceryGateway. The soonest I could get stuff from them would be Sunday. I told Donna that morning would be fine, as long as it was 11 AM or later. Preferably 1 PM. Oh, and I wanted an apology from Metro.ca. I'd lost it again. So, a third apology was in the offing.
And that ended the phone call. Right now, as I write this, before the inevitable edits, it's closer to 3 PM. The deadline for resolution of this mess is daylight's end today. I don't want a delivery in the dark. Too easy for this merry band of fools to get it wrong. I am sanguine of getting the food (and soda, sadly for the last time). The apology?? Of that, I figure my odds are roughly equivalent with winning the lottery. These clowns are going to replace my food, knowing my cancellation of our association is almost automatic.
And the story continues...
Not long after writing the first three-quarters of this long-winded rant for this blog, I called the comically-misnamed Customer Support again. Patrick answered. In a half-hour of talking to him, nothing. Nothing was accomplished. I wasn't allowed to talk to a supervisor (His supervisor was new, having replaced PATRICK in the job a week ago ... yep, I was talking to The Demoted) and, miraculously, nobody 'there' had ever heard of Donna. Yet, just as miraculously, my address info had miraculously been corrected. But no magic, however powerful, could compel him to have my groceries delivered that day (or any day). A waste of time. I did apologize to him twice, once after SCREAMING into his ear after he told me to, in effect, hurry up and finish my story. I have that problem. I like all the details when I am faced with trying to resolve a problem. I foolishly think others, who work in the support sector, have the same detail-oriented approach. So, I treated Patrick the same as Donna. Somebody not deserving of being yelled at. I was wrong. Wrong as in, he deserved not to be yelled at.
Sunday? Shawn/Sean or something in-between. This lowest-level on the evolutionary support scale categorically refused to let me talk to a supervisor. He, like the other two, put me on hold to talk to somebody with higher authority than him ... I believe the word you're thinking is, Supervisor, then came back on the phone and told me, and this shocked me, "No, you can't talk to a supervisor. Somebody will call you in the next 24-48 hours." Head, palm, smack. Epithet. I'm proud I never let a curse pass through my lips in three separate half-hour phone calls. Didn't even engage in any name-calling. Which was INCREDIBLY stressful. Which my doctors REALLY, REALLY, REALLY hate. This carbuncle on the back-side of customer support wouldn't last a day at any company I worked with. It'd be him or me and I write the systems software. Bye-bye. The company's better off without you. This blithering idiot said, seven times, cuz I counted, "I understand your frustration." No, he didn't. No, he didn't at all.
So, I called the cops. After talking to a retired detective friend who told me it was likely the case was a civil one. But a winning one. On the other hand, if the criminals at the other address had signed my name ...
The officers who came to talk to me were polite, empathetic and almost ready to get involved. But I was not the aggrieved party. The crooks five doors down had stolen from Metro.ca, not me. And with lawyer bills being what they are, the likelihood was that Metro.ca would not swear out a complaint, just absorb the cost of doing business. But if they did, the officers would be back to talk to me as a (WILLING) witness. I tried to get them to call Metro.ca, if only to say that. They smiled, an shook their head. I think they respected me for trying to get them to engage Metro.ca, but stuck to non-involvement in what to them was a civil matter. A nice interaction with the local constabulary. And despite not getting the wrath of the law on my side, I can't complain.
Hmmm, it's now Monday. Late afternoon. That idiot Shawn's prediction of a response coming on Tuesday seems pretty solid.
Then the phone rang. A gentlemen introduced himself as being from Metro. I didn't catch the name. Didn't want to. I knew where the conversation was going, so why add one more name to the list of people I hope to haunt from the dead as soon as I get interred or crisped up beyond all redemption. I'll still be busy with the Shawn's of the world.
The call came in about 5 PM. I asked him at one point in the conversation whether if I'd agreed to it, whether I would have had groceries Monday evening. "No." So, the supervisorly response from Metro.ca was not to deliver my paid-for groceries on the Friday, the Saturday, the Sunday, the Monday but maybe by the Tuesday. Please pause for an epithet break. He started, I believe, to tell me the groceries would be delivered eventually and that any charges would be withdrawn. Maybe offer me some inducement. Free delivery on my next order? Ten free deliveries? A million deliveries. Free for life? Don't know. I cut him off. I despise people who complain in order to get something free in exchange for silencing their opinion. Too much of an ego. My honor is worth more than most companies would even dream of offering. I admit, there's been times where I've taken inducements. I then hate myself for a decade before my failing memory lets me do it again.
Marilyn and I had discussed it. She'd suggested I ask for two cases of my beloved Mandarin soda every month, delivered for free, for a year. Which would have been good. After all, I was dealing with Metro.ca in large part so that I wasn't asking her every week to break her back lugging soda from the store to my house. She's an angel. Time I repaid that kindness in small part when and where I can.
Nope. I went for the cut my nose off to spite my face response. "Gimme my money back and I never want to deal with Metro.ca or Metro ever again." And when he used the lawyerly, "Let me get this clear..." I cut him off again, "I know you are taping this phone call. For the lawyers who are listening, I want my money returned and then I never want to hear from Metro again." Which ended my fourth and final interaction with 'Customer Support' at Metro.ca. And I will never order from them, allow Marilyn to buy product there on my behalf or ever drink another bottle of Mandarin soda again. Well, after I empty the closet. I wasn't going to accept any freebies from this empathy-deprived organization that had caused me no end of stress for four days and thought bribery might appease me. They were wrong.
Because in the end, you can't trust Metro.ca.
NOTE: I have used the real names, albeit with guessed-at spelling here. To the best of my hearing. I will point out some ironies. My best friend's name is Patrick. His wife's name is Dawna. Shawn is my more-than-helpful neighbour from the other side from James. NONE of those three were the Donna, Patrick or Shawn I talked to.
Wednesday, July 24, 2019
Al Franken Revisited
Today, at Mark Evanier's blog, I got the head's up to read Jane Mayer's clinical dissection of the American tragedy known as Al Franken's resignation from the Senate for The New Yorker magazine. And a less clinical, more impassioned critique of Mayer's article by Christina Cauterucci at Slate.com.
I'm guessing you know where I fall in this debate from my opening statement. I want to warn you: I will not follow my usual practice of using a derisive nickname for the current holder of the office of President of the United States in my public (and private) writings. He's named because humour doesn't always seem to do what it is intended to do. Provoke laughs and maybe a thought or two. So, nothing oblique today.
Oh, and I did try to make this comment at Slate, but the permissions I had to give ran to some FOURTY sites to ALMOST be able to post my comment. At the point of a fifth failure for it to work, I said enough is enough, Mug Shots will get the post. (A mini-rant I hope doesn't get in the way of a reasoned discussion to follow here).
⚤
Having read this article and the New Yorker one by Jane Mayer I am struck by the confluence of two things: American politics and #MeToo coming together to create a disaster for the American people. I say this as a Canadian.
I'm trying to understand this article. The fact that it's author thinks Franken's resignation saved the Democratic Party's reputation while any unbiased look at the Trumpian political scene of the last four years would suggest that Franken was the best weapon the Democrats had in a running series of political and policy miscues by the President, before and after election. Losing him was not good for the Republic. The critical balance of Justice's Scales tipped badly for society.
Is Franken a cement-headed, privileged white Male? On occasions, the facts are fairly conclusive. Yes. But I think back over my three score and some, and I am guilty enough that a determined person could paint me as a predator too. And that's despite the fact that I am well known amongst my peers as a notoriously NON touchy-feely person. No grabs, no kisses. Clean record.
But I'm sure there's a woman or two who felt badly in my presence. I once asked a receptionist at the company I worked for on a date. And she told me, after the meal, that this would be the last time. She didn't like me, but wanted to say it in public because, "You're management and I'm the lowest-paid person in the place." Ouch! At least I didn't ask her to split the bill. When I was a callow youth, starting out in the newspaper business, I thought it hilarious to buy a G-String for a young co-worker as her Secret Santa at our Christmas Party. I thought wrong. I'm sure there are other instances where I made women uneasy. Those are the two that come instantly to mind when I get too full of myself.
#MeToo is important. And trying to draw a fine line between the Frankens of the world and the behaviour of the Trumps and Moores of the world (and probably the Clintons) is madness in the attempt. Erring on the side of tarring Franken was facile, and apparently necessary by Franken's peers, the politicians. Which proves what a terrible thing a politician is and always has been. I've always used the term derisively. The two pieces leave me absolutely sure of my stance in that regard. Al Franken is better than being a politician. Mayer's portrayal of Senator Kirsten Gillibrand as an opportunist with too much ego after the falseness of many of the claims against Franken have been revealed, makes me no less hesitant to use politician as the slur it has always been.
As for the rest? The ones that failed Franken and due process? Some I still think can contribute to bettering American society. Too many of them, not so much. The anonymity of the charges, the lack of substance of what was claimed, the edging into a the thinnest of fine lines. Nobody, Franken included, covered themselves in Ol' Glory. #MeToo should have asked for the facts before wasting bullets on a sometimes silly white man with delusions of the grandeur of making a difference. Franken failed. But so too did #MeToo.
And if you interested, public advocates are the elected officials interested in bettering society. There are a few, although fewer then they think. The rest are playing politics, with only the future of the world at stake. Ugh!
Opinions aren't facts. It's why simply making claims and refuting those claims doesn't suffice for justice to be served. Facts are needed. The rush to judgment almost never results in actual justice. Some times, even with facts, feelings are used in place of justice. Just because facts are difficult to uncover. And some times, facts never rise to the surface, leaving us in a they said, they said situation. That put a judge on the Supreme Court. In that case, the feelings weren't sufficient. No matter how much you and I believed the professor. At the same time, the same system allows Al Franken to spend time with a clinical psychologist while a self-admitted predator rules by fiat. Those are the facts.
Just one man's opinion from a foreign country.
Thursday, June 27, 2019
A Secret Kept Until Now
This week's announcement that Big Ned, Vlaclav Nedomansky, had been named to the Hockey Hall of Fame stirred up some memories and I guess it won't harm anybody that I'm going to break my vow of secrecy now that some 45 years have passed.
I think, although I am not positive, that I was the third person in North America who knew Nedomansky had successfully defected from the then Czechoslovakia. But I was sworn to secrecy about that, that night, and stuffed it away in the back of my mind as an interesting oddity. Here's what happened.
The memory is that it was a Sunday night. I was an established cub reporter for the Bramalea/Brampton Guardian weekly newspaper at that time, although I was approaching the end of my high school years. By that time, I was three years into my reporting career. That's why it's a little fuzzy. I had been used to going in Sunday nights to write up minor hockey league results for my tenure there. I started off making FIFTEEN DOLLARS A WEEK, going in Sundays for the duty my boss Ken Giles felt was mind numbing. Collect the weekly report sheets shoved through the door at the Guardian offices, located comfortably at the bottom of my street, and turn them into pages of newscopy with little Johnnies and Jills and their goals and assists for various House League teams, like Matti's Opticians.
As an aside, I developed a nervous typing tick for a spell in that stretch, spelling Opticians "Optitions" for about a three-week period before it was brought to my attention. Oops. Easily fixed, but that SHOULD explain spelling errors seen here. Oh, and I have worn glasses since I was five years old.
Okay, I'd passed through that glorified typist phase and was now actually doing reporting for my 40 bucks weekly, frequently covering the Bramalea Blues junior hockey team, who played at the also-conveniently located Victoria Park Arena, across the ball fields from the Guardian offices. So that's why I question whether it was a Sunday night. It might have very well been a night of covering hockey and then back to the office to write it up some time between 10 and midnight.
I do know that publisher Bob Maxwell was in his office, sharing a drink with the man who co-owned the company that owned the Guardian. That man's name was Johnny F. Bassett. It was not a common thing to have somebody there with me while I clattered away at the keys of my beloved sixty-year old Remington typewriter at the end of the building in the reporter wing. In fact, the back office there consisted of my boss' desk and my own. Bob's office was a well-appointed one, just to this side of the Editor's office and across the hallway from the regular writer's bullpen. Prior to the night in question, I had been in Bob's office exactly once ... when I got hired on the recommendation of my Grade 10 Math teacher (and basketball coach) Freddy Chalk. I recall that Bob knew my father, but my father didn't remember him.
For no reason in particular, I decided to get some water from the fountain at the front of the building and was seen walking back to my desk by Bob, who motioned me into the room. That's where I met Bassett. Now, as history would then play out, I had my issues with the Bassets other than Johnny F. I got along famously with the Eatons, who were the other big-name co-owners. But Bassetts and I were slated not to get along. That would have changed in a major way if Johnny F. hadn't died so early in life. He was a good guy, a man of the people in many ways. He loved being in the pro sports business. He'd bought the Ottawa Nationals and had moved them to Toronto to anchor the World Hockey Association as the Toros. Of course, he took great pleasure in the move, his dad being at one point a co-owner of the NHL Toronto Maple Leafs. But there's nothing like being a co-owner when Harold Ballard was also one. The long time in coming exit of John Sr. from the Maple Leafs was not ... let's call it pleasant. And Ballard, being the small man he was, stuck it to Johnny Jr. when he came a-calling to have his Toros play in the fabled Maple Leaf Gardens.
The Toros needed a jolt and Johnny Jr. came up with the plan to import some otherwise unattainable talent to his team in an effort to be the best pro Toronto hockey team. The idea? Raid the Soviet-controlled Eastern Bloc for one of their greatest players, Vaclav Nedomansky of Czechoslovakia. They sent a scout with connections in Europe to sound out Nedomansky. I have tried valiantly to remember the scout's name. I think it was Martin something or other. It might have been Martin Madden, but honestly, I can't say for sure. I can picture the guy, who I later saw in the business of my work, but that picture keeps coming back as Gilles Leger. At any rate, after a little dickering on money and the process for defection, the decision to move forward was made. George Gross of the Toronto Sun was the only other media person in the know and that because Gross was born over there and had connections to help things along.
Late that night (even later over in Czechoslovakia), the defection had been accomplished. In the wee hours of the morning locally, Nedomansky made it to Switzerland. The call for success was made to our offices because that was where Johnny F. Basset was ... stationed. I can't say it was hiding out. But it feels like that all these years later. Remember, there were no cell phones in those days. If you were going to receive a call, the other side better have the number you were at. No call forwarding either. So, the call came in and Bob snatched up the phone (I assume that, I wasn't in the office that second). And soon enough, the phone was handed over to Johnny F. Seconds later, I was passing the door to the office and Bob snapped his fingers and indicated I should come in.
An impromptu party was the response to the short phone call. Except I don't drink. Never have. The other two men in the office were otherwise inclined and were happy to toast each other over the good news. I was happy too. I was well aware of Nedomansky and the fact that he was coming to Toronto made me anxious to go see him play. (I later did when the Toros played the Calgary Cowboys, two teams that moved/folded before I finished high school).
I was sworn to secrecy of course. And, of course I kept my promise until now. It's possible George got a heads up before the call was made to Johnny F. Bassett. So I can't claim for sure that I was the third person in North America to know that the defection had become a reality. But if I wasn't third, I was probably fourth.
Bob didn't live much longer. He was a gruff kind of guy who never had a harsh word for me. That wasn't true of everybody, but he liked me. Johnny F. Bassett was one of the great entrepreneurs in the world of professionals sports. He died of brain cancer too early in life at age 47, on the day the USFL started it's suit against the NFL over it's monopolistic practices. Had the other owners of the USFL listened to Bassett, who owned the Tampa Bay franchise, the league might have had a long run before an accommodation with the NFL. Instead the league listened to the idiotic rantings of the owner of the New Jersey Generals, a blowhard real estate mogul named Donald J. Trump. He goaded his league into the suit and, to his credit, the league won the suit and got treble damages. An episode of ESPN's 30 for 30 show, had a reporter show the buffoon the cheque for the damages. Three dollars and 76 cents, the pennies being for interest. Trump had led the league into non-existence. It also helps explain his insane hatred for the NFL from his bully pulpit. But enough of that blight on humanity.
This entry is in celebration of Big Ned being named what he was for most of the last 45 years. A Hall of Famer. No longer just in fact, now in name too. Congratulations go to him back in Slovakia where he now resides.
NOW, the Hall of Fame must do one more thing. Induct Fran Rider in the Builder's category. She had as much effect on Women's hockey as Nedomansky did by piercing the Iron Curtain.
I think, although I am not positive, that I was the third person in North America who knew Nedomansky had successfully defected from the then Czechoslovakia. But I was sworn to secrecy about that, that night, and stuffed it away in the back of my mind as an interesting oddity. Here's what happened.
The memory is that it was a Sunday night. I was an established cub reporter for the Bramalea/Brampton Guardian weekly newspaper at that time, although I was approaching the end of my high school years. By that time, I was three years into my reporting career. That's why it's a little fuzzy. I had been used to going in Sunday nights to write up minor hockey league results for my tenure there. I started off making FIFTEEN DOLLARS A WEEK, going in Sundays for the duty my boss Ken Giles felt was mind numbing. Collect the weekly report sheets shoved through the door at the Guardian offices, located comfortably at the bottom of my street, and turn them into pages of newscopy with little Johnnies and Jills and their goals and assists for various House League teams, like Matti's Opticians.
As an aside, I developed a nervous typing tick for a spell in that stretch, spelling Opticians "Optitions" for about a three-week period before it was brought to my attention. Oops. Easily fixed, but that SHOULD explain spelling errors seen here. Oh, and I have worn glasses since I was five years old.
Okay, I'd passed through that glorified typist phase and was now actually doing reporting for my 40 bucks weekly, frequently covering the Bramalea Blues junior hockey team, who played at the also-conveniently located Victoria Park Arena, across the ball fields from the Guardian offices. So that's why I question whether it was a Sunday night. It might have very well been a night of covering hockey and then back to the office to write it up some time between 10 and midnight.
I do know that publisher Bob Maxwell was in his office, sharing a drink with the man who co-owned the company that owned the Guardian. That man's name was Johnny F. Bassett. It was not a common thing to have somebody there with me while I clattered away at the keys of my beloved sixty-year old Remington typewriter at the end of the building in the reporter wing. In fact, the back office there consisted of my boss' desk and my own. Bob's office was a well-appointed one, just to this side of the Editor's office and across the hallway from the regular writer's bullpen. Prior to the night in question, I had been in Bob's office exactly once ... when I got hired on the recommendation of my Grade 10 Math teacher (and basketball coach) Freddy Chalk. I recall that Bob knew my father, but my father didn't remember him.
For no reason in particular, I decided to get some water from the fountain at the front of the building and was seen walking back to my desk by Bob, who motioned me into the room. That's where I met Bassett. Now, as history would then play out, I had my issues with the Bassets other than Johnny F. I got along famously with the Eatons, who were the other big-name co-owners. But Bassetts and I were slated not to get along. That would have changed in a major way if Johnny F. hadn't died so early in life. He was a good guy, a man of the people in many ways. He loved being in the pro sports business. He'd bought the Ottawa Nationals and had moved them to Toronto to anchor the World Hockey Association as the Toros. Of course, he took great pleasure in the move, his dad being at one point a co-owner of the NHL Toronto Maple Leafs. But there's nothing like being a co-owner when Harold Ballard was also one. The long time in coming exit of John Sr. from the Maple Leafs was not ... let's call it pleasant. And Ballard, being the small man he was, stuck it to Johnny Jr. when he came a-calling to have his Toros play in the fabled Maple Leaf Gardens.
The Toros needed a jolt and Johnny Jr. came up with the plan to import some otherwise unattainable talent to his team in an effort to be the best pro Toronto hockey team. The idea? Raid the Soviet-controlled Eastern Bloc for one of their greatest players, Vaclav Nedomansky of Czechoslovakia. They sent a scout with connections in Europe to sound out Nedomansky. I have tried valiantly to remember the scout's name. I think it was Martin something or other. It might have been Martin Madden, but honestly, I can't say for sure. I can picture the guy, who I later saw in the business of my work, but that picture keeps coming back as Gilles Leger. At any rate, after a little dickering on money and the process for defection, the decision to move forward was made. George Gross of the Toronto Sun was the only other media person in the know and that because Gross was born over there and had connections to help things along.
Late that night (even later over in Czechoslovakia), the defection had been accomplished. In the wee hours of the morning locally, Nedomansky made it to Switzerland. The call for success was made to our offices because that was where Johnny F. Basset was ... stationed. I can't say it was hiding out. But it feels like that all these years later. Remember, there were no cell phones in those days. If you were going to receive a call, the other side better have the number you were at. No call forwarding either. So, the call came in and Bob snatched up the phone (I assume that, I wasn't in the office that second). And soon enough, the phone was handed over to Johnny F. Seconds later, I was passing the door to the office and Bob snapped his fingers and indicated I should come in.
An impromptu party was the response to the short phone call. Except I don't drink. Never have. The other two men in the office were otherwise inclined and were happy to toast each other over the good news. I was happy too. I was well aware of Nedomansky and the fact that he was coming to Toronto made me anxious to go see him play. (I later did when the Toros played the Calgary Cowboys, two teams that moved/folded before I finished high school).
I was sworn to secrecy of course. And, of course I kept my promise until now. It's possible George got a heads up before the call was made to Johnny F. Bassett. So I can't claim for sure that I was the third person in North America to know that the defection had become a reality. But if I wasn't third, I was probably fourth.
Bob didn't live much longer. He was a gruff kind of guy who never had a harsh word for me. That wasn't true of everybody, but he liked me. Johnny F. Bassett was one of the great entrepreneurs in the world of professionals sports. He died of brain cancer too early in life at age 47, on the day the USFL started it's suit against the NFL over it's monopolistic practices. Had the other owners of the USFL listened to Bassett, who owned the Tampa Bay franchise, the league might have had a long run before an accommodation with the NFL. Instead the league listened to the idiotic rantings of the owner of the New Jersey Generals, a blowhard real estate mogul named Donald J. Trump. He goaded his league into the suit and, to his credit, the league won the suit and got treble damages. An episode of ESPN's 30 for 30 show, had a reporter show the buffoon the cheque for the damages. Three dollars and 76 cents, the pennies being for interest. Trump had led the league into non-existence. It also helps explain his insane hatred for the NFL from his bully pulpit. But enough of that blight on humanity.
This entry is in celebration of Big Ned being named what he was for most of the last 45 years. A Hall of Famer. No longer just in fact, now in name too. Congratulations go to him back in Slovakia where he now resides.
NOW, the Hall of Fame must do one more thing. Induct Fran Rider in the Builder's category. She had as much effect on Women's hockey as Nedomansky did by piercing the Iron Curtain.
Saturday, April 27, 2019
This Week's Amazon Delivery - A Failure Rant - AGAIN!
On Tuesday night, I ordered stuff I needed. I've been a little out of it lately and it was time to re-enter the land of the living. So I ordered seven items. I could have had Thursday delivery for half of them, but since one package could only arrive on Friday, I accepted Friday for both. By that time, I would need what I ordered and it gave me a couple more days to get sorted out health-wise.
Two of the products, chiefly a new bath mat for the one I tore up in the aftermath of my bathtub misadventure, were not Amazon.ca products. The others were. Including another product I needed (and had needed for about ten days). But those two-non Amazon products were in different packages.
Why couldn't Amazon put everything in one box? Ask them. I dunno. This is a company that routinely fires warehouse and driver personnel for not working at the pace of robots. But putting everything in one box was asking too much. Oh by the way, I'm still a Prime customer against my will (see other posts) AND I live less than three miles from an Amazon distribution centre AND I requested everything arrive the same day.
You can see where this is going.
I got a box on Friday. Delivered before noon and with a smile and some patience by THE AMAZON DRIVER!!! Yeah!!!!
The other box? With the needed stuff?
Not so much. (insert whatever 13-word curse-laden phrase you think I said out loud. You're probably right. And if not so, then it's milder than the language I used)
The ... let's call them zombies, again, I use stronger words, but Mom might read this ... delivered my package to the post office in the next town over. Not to the post office a block from the end of my street. The NEXT BLINKETY-BLANK TOWN AWAY. Not the post office Amazon and I share. THE NEXT TOWN OVER!
And we don't have Saturday delivery in our area from the Post Office.
So, NOW, the track parcel page for my order from Amazon now PROUDLY PROCLAIMS, "Your parcel can still arrive 27 April-30 April." And oh ya, "Was expected Friday 26 April."
Further curse words, blah, blah, blah.
THIS is what having Prime gets you. The same Prime Amazon has recently said will change to One-Day delivery for all Prime customers, down from the Two-Day GUARANTEE.
More curse words, more blah, more blah, and I almost typed the big one to finish it off.
Amazon. Another word for ... well ... cursing. Amazoning. Just try it. Use Amazon in place of every naughty word you know. It'll make you feel good and nobody who might be offended will even notice.
'Cept Jeff Bezos. But I'm the last thing THAT adulterer is thinking about.
By the way, why did I order IMPORTANT stuff from Amazon? I needed it and I needed it quickly, which being house-bound makes difficult. I also thought it was such a small order (although 130-plus dollars after taxes and shipping) that they could simply NOT Amazon it up.
I was wrong.
Two of the products, chiefly a new bath mat for the one I tore up in the aftermath of my bathtub misadventure, were not Amazon.ca products. The others were. Including another product I needed (and had needed for about ten days). But those two-non Amazon products were in different packages.
Why couldn't Amazon put everything in one box? Ask them. I dunno. This is a company that routinely fires warehouse and driver personnel for not working at the pace of robots. But putting everything in one box was asking too much. Oh by the way, I'm still a Prime customer against my will (see other posts) AND I live less than three miles from an Amazon distribution centre AND I requested everything arrive the same day.
You can see where this is going.
I got a box on Friday. Delivered before noon and with a smile and some patience by THE AMAZON DRIVER!!! Yeah!!!!
The other box? With the needed stuff?
Not so much. (insert whatever 13-word curse-laden phrase you think I said out loud. You're probably right. And if not so, then it's milder than the language I used)
The ... let's call them zombies, again, I use stronger words, but Mom might read this ... delivered my package to the post office in the next town over. Not to the post office a block from the end of my street. The NEXT BLINKETY-BLANK TOWN AWAY. Not the post office Amazon and I share. THE NEXT TOWN OVER!
And we don't have Saturday delivery in our area from the Post Office.
So, NOW, the track parcel page for my order from Amazon now PROUDLY PROCLAIMS, "Your parcel can still arrive 27 April-30 April." And oh ya, "Was expected Friday 26 April."
Further curse words, blah, blah, blah.
THIS is what having Prime gets you. The same Prime Amazon has recently said will change to One-Day delivery for all Prime customers, down from the Two-Day GUARANTEE.
More curse words, more blah, more blah, and I almost typed the big one to finish it off.
Amazon. Another word for ... well ... cursing. Amazoning. Just try it. Use Amazon in place of every naughty word you know. It'll make you feel good and nobody who might be offended will even notice.
'Cept Jeff Bezos. But I'm the last thing THAT adulterer is thinking about.
By the way, why did I order IMPORTANT stuff from Amazon? I needed it and I needed it quickly, which being house-bound makes difficult. I also thought it was such a small order (although 130-plus dollars after taxes and shipping) that they could simply NOT Amazon it up.
I was wrong.
Saturday, April 20, 2019
The End
I took a bath a little less than three hours ago. It will be my last.
No, I'm not dying.
At least in the next few minutes, hours, days or hopefully even months. Dying is a constant. But nobody, including me, is hurrying that along any faster than yesterday. But I've had my last bath and will now only be able to take showers from this point forward. Well, unassisted. And I haven't seen hide nor hair of a nurse in almost three years at this point. And I'd like to extend that streak some. Eventually, a nurse and sponge baths will not be within my purview to decline. But I can now, and I do.
No, the reason the bathtub, my prison of the last almost three hours, is finally never to be used for it's designed purpose is that I faced my mortality tonight and it was ugly.
I needed a bath. Not a shower. I needed to work out some muscle kinks and the best way for that to happen traditionally was to fire up the bathtub, get it as hot as allowed and dump in two fingers of Radox Muscle Relaxant Bath Soak. Grab my reading glasses and Kindle and luxuriate away those things that have contrived to tense me up. I have loved hot baths for all of the life that I can remember. No cold baths, not even in the hottest of summers. No, I liked it hot. 110 degrees Fahrenheit. 112 if I could get away with it.
But then Doc V doused me with cold water. My medical problems ... COMPLETELY self-created, were not conducive to hot baths. First I was downgraded to 108 but managed to scald myself Easter of seven years ago. Because I have Diabetes Type 2 (Darwin's proof of Natural Selection) and the resulting Diabetic Neuropathy. I didn't realize I was scalding myself. My nerve endings below the shin are dead, shut down in permanently on mode ... as in permanently indicating pain. You learn to ignore it as best you can. Man is not meant to do that. Pain is nature's way of saying STOP DOING THAT!
And of course, the dying nerve ends just didn't get to the shin and declare the campaign of war on my body finished. No, the campaign continues. I haven't been able to crawl on my hands and knees for more than a body length in two decades. For the last decade, the pain of merely kneeling is indescribably painful. If a baby spotted me two body lengths and I was more than ten feet away from the child's mother, the race wouldn't be close. The kid would leave me in the dust.
I'll throw in one more gotcha. My left shoulder, the one nearest escape from the bathtub, is shot. I fractured it a couple of decades ago, surfing down the stairs (involuntarily). Drove the forearm up into my shoulder socket and made a mess of it. Developed bursitis, which the odd horse-sized needle of cortisone would alleviate. Finally managed to fray my rotator cuff enough to give me several options, NONE of which was cortisone, the boogey man of diabetics. Does something awful to your blood sugar levels. I could pay (and yes, even here in Canada, non-essential surgery is not free) and have various things done to my shoulder. I could even get the Diabetic's Version of Cortisone, again at a price I couldn't afford (and eat ... for a year). Or I could suffer. You can guess which I chose. So, a bum shoulder for the big fat guy sitting in the drained bathtub wondering how he was going to get out of the damned thing.
It was only last Hallowe'en that I'd found myself stuck in the reclined chair I spend most evenings in. I was tipped back 30 degrees and bounded on both sides by tables stacked with unhelpful things. And the power was off. In the dark. For more than a half-hour, I was calm and considering ways to doze off again. Then nature's call arrived and I was faced with a need to escape the chair. I thought that fifteen minutes was as bad as it could get. I was wrong. Although I did protect myself against its re-occurrence with an uninterruptible power supply the next day.
You have to learn to make concessions to your own frailties. They are not going away. It's stupid to be stupidly optimistic.
Which leads me to my decision to get into the bathtub. I knew it was wrong. A shower was indicated. In fact, as Doc V left me with cooler and cooler baths ... and the reminder that five minutes after a soak starts, you are sitting in dirty water ... I could take refuge in the hot shower. I had no way to know what temperature the shower spray was. Not like with a bath where my little yellow ducky ... what, you thought you could take the boy out of the old boy??? ... couldn't tattle on me with the tell-tale colour-coded temperature indicator. But I WANTED a soak. I imagine some junkies felt the same way about THEIR last (too potent) fix.
My bath wasn't long. I think I read three short chapters in the book I was reading, Becky Chambers I think. Third book in the Wayfarers' series. Too lazy to look up the title. A decent book, not as good as her first, on a par with the second. I finished the chapter and turned off the Kindle. Tossed the glasses over on top of it. And then I sat.
And sat.
I was already aware of how much trouble I was in. The tub was too narrow, my bulk too enormous, to haul butt and get out. I couldn't turn without exerting pressure on my blistered feet (forgot to mention the other delightful side effect of Diabetes, blisters where you put pressure). Or more importantly, my knees. And the shoulder weakness made my left arm utterly useless.
So, I sat some more.
The tub slowly dried around me. Faster than I remembered, but this was the first winter I had not run the humidifier on central heating. I used a small manual one where I slept. The whole house was as dry as a wasp nest that had been abandoned. Parts of my anatomy were still soggy. All parts of me were ready to vacate the prison. But I couldn't figure a way out to do it.
So, I sat some more.
Some dirty clothes were within reach and I kept grabbing them to stick under my keister. I was thinking of building an off-ramp of sorts, one crumpled up piece of clothing at a time. Turns out, if you weigh closer to 240 pounds than you would like, you can pile a lot of clothes beneath you and not appreciable rise up very much. I didn't have enough dirty clothes handy, that a couple of fluffy towels helped enough. I was still below the lip of the bathtub.
So, I sat some more.
I tried to turn on my side, thinking, I might sleep a bit, stuck in the fetal position. Nope. I could twist a bit at the hips and climb the far wall with my feet. But the position wasn't comfortable for longer than about five seconds. I went back to my semi-sitting position, feet planted firmly against the far side of the tub, my backside on top of the clothes pyramid and no hope for immediate succor. Despair was starting to really set in. The bathroom phone was over on the far side of the bathroom. I couldn't even call for help. Not next door to my friends, the McDonalds. Not to 911. Not even to Mom, just to do some whimpering. It was the middle of the night for them ... and the reason I hadn't placed the phone within easy reach when I got into the tub.
So, I sat some more.
And finally, the disgust I was feeling for myself gave me enough strength to flip over onto my hands and knees. Slowly, I stood up. Slower still, I placed my right foot outside the tub and then lugged over the left (my weaker side). I was out. I brushed off pebbles of the old rubber mat from my knees. The mat inhabited the floor of the tub and most of it now lay bunched down towards the drain. I was trembling and it wasn't from the cold. The house is kept at 72 all year round. But I trembled because of what might have been.
I plopped down on the cushioned toilet seat and thought about the last 150 minutes of my life and realized a time had passed. The bathtub was now just a shower stall. The shower seat I had bought weeks ago and left in the box it came in downstairs, was now going to have to be setup and used. I thought many other things, none of them printable here. But I didn't think much about moving.
So, I sat some more.
I could feel the tenseness in my shoulders that I'd sought to eradicate had come back. Bile raised in my gorge, anger at coming full circle. But only long enough to realize that whatever had happened, I had survived it. That I had learned a new truth to my existence. That I wouldn't ever place myself in this position again.
So, I stopped sitting, left the bathroom and came here to mourn the passing of something I loved. A reminder to all who read this: a bathtub can be a dangerous place.
No, I'm not dying.
At least in the next few minutes, hours, days or hopefully even months. Dying is a constant. But nobody, including me, is hurrying that along any faster than yesterday. But I've had my last bath and will now only be able to take showers from this point forward. Well, unassisted. And I haven't seen hide nor hair of a nurse in almost three years at this point. And I'd like to extend that streak some. Eventually, a nurse and sponge baths will not be within my purview to decline. But I can now, and I do.
No, the reason the bathtub, my prison of the last almost three hours, is finally never to be used for it's designed purpose is that I faced my mortality tonight and it was ugly.
I needed a bath. Not a shower. I needed to work out some muscle kinks and the best way for that to happen traditionally was to fire up the bathtub, get it as hot as allowed and dump in two fingers of Radox Muscle Relaxant Bath Soak. Grab my reading glasses and Kindle and luxuriate away those things that have contrived to tense me up. I have loved hot baths for all of the life that I can remember. No cold baths, not even in the hottest of summers. No, I liked it hot. 110 degrees Fahrenheit. 112 if I could get away with it.
But then Doc V doused me with cold water. My medical problems ... COMPLETELY self-created, were not conducive to hot baths. First I was downgraded to 108 but managed to scald myself Easter of seven years ago. Because I have Diabetes Type 2 (Darwin's proof of Natural Selection) and the resulting Diabetic Neuropathy. I didn't realize I was scalding myself. My nerve endings below the shin are dead, shut down in permanently on mode ... as in permanently indicating pain. You learn to ignore it as best you can. Man is not meant to do that. Pain is nature's way of saying STOP DOING THAT!
And of course, the dying nerve ends just didn't get to the shin and declare the campaign of war on my body finished. No, the campaign continues. I haven't been able to crawl on my hands and knees for more than a body length in two decades. For the last decade, the pain of merely kneeling is indescribably painful. If a baby spotted me two body lengths and I was more than ten feet away from the child's mother, the race wouldn't be close. The kid would leave me in the dust.
I'll throw in one more gotcha. My left shoulder, the one nearest escape from the bathtub, is shot. I fractured it a couple of decades ago, surfing down the stairs (involuntarily). Drove the forearm up into my shoulder socket and made a mess of it. Developed bursitis, which the odd horse-sized needle of cortisone would alleviate. Finally managed to fray my rotator cuff enough to give me several options, NONE of which was cortisone, the boogey man of diabetics. Does something awful to your blood sugar levels. I could pay (and yes, even here in Canada, non-essential surgery is not free) and have various things done to my shoulder. I could even get the Diabetic's Version of Cortisone, again at a price I couldn't afford (and eat ... for a year). Or I could suffer. You can guess which I chose. So, a bum shoulder for the big fat guy sitting in the drained bathtub wondering how he was going to get out of the damned thing.
It was only last Hallowe'en that I'd found myself stuck in the reclined chair I spend most evenings in. I was tipped back 30 degrees and bounded on both sides by tables stacked with unhelpful things. And the power was off. In the dark. For more than a half-hour, I was calm and considering ways to doze off again. Then nature's call arrived and I was faced with a need to escape the chair. I thought that fifteen minutes was as bad as it could get. I was wrong. Although I did protect myself against its re-occurrence with an uninterruptible power supply the next day.
You have to learn to make concessions to your own frailties. They are not going away. It's stupid to be stupidly optimistic.
Which leads me to my decision to get into the bathtub. I knew it was wrong. A shower was indicated. In fact, as Doc V left me with cooler and cooler baths ... and the reminder that five minutes after a soak starts, you are sitting in dirty water ... I could take refuge in the hot shower. I had no way to know what temperature the shower spray was. Not like with a bath where my little yellow ducky ... what, you thought you could take the boy out of the old boy??? ... couldn't tattle on me with the tell-tale colour-coded temperature indicator. But I WANTED a soak. I imagine some junkies felt the same way about THEIR last (too potent) fix.
My bath wasn't long. I think I read three short chapters in the book I was reading, Becky Chambers I think. Third book in the Wayfarers' series. Too lazy to look up the title. A decent book, not as good as her first, on a par with the second. I finished the chapter and turned off the Kindle. Tossed the glasses over on top of it. And then I sat.
And sat.
I was already aware of how much trouble I was in. The tub was too narrow, my bulk too enormous, to haul butt and get out. I couldn't turn without exerting pressure on my blistered feet (forgot to mention the other delightful side effect of Diabetes, blisters where you put pressure). Or more importantly, my knees. And the shoulder weakness made my left arm utterly useless.
So, I sat some more.
The tub slowly dried around me. Faster than I remembered, but this was the first winter I had not run the humidifier on central heating. I used a small manual one where I slept. The whole house was as dry as a wasp nest that had been abandoned. Parts of my anatomy were still soggy. All parts of me were ready to vacate the prison. But I couldn't figure a way out to do it.
So, I sat some more.
Some dirty clothes were within reach and I kept grabbing them to stick under my keister. I was thinking of building an off-ramp of sorts, one crumpled up piece of clothing at a time. Turns out, if you weigh closer to 240 pounds than you would like, you can pile a lot of clothes beneath you and not appreciable rise up very much. I didn't have enough dirty clothes handy, that a couple of fluffy towels helped enough. I was still below the lip of the bathtub.
So, I sat some more.
I tried to turn on my side, thinking, I might sleep a bit, stuck in the fetal position. Nope. I could twist a bit at the hips and climb the far wall with my feet. But the position wasn't comfortable for longer than about five seconds. I went back to my semi-sitting position, feet planted firmly against the far side of the tub, my backside on top of the clothes pyramid and no hope for immediate succor. Despair was starting to really set in. The bathroom phone was over on the far side of the bathroom. I couldn't even call for help. Not next door to my friends, the McDonalds. Not to 911. Not even to Mom, just to do some whimpering. It was the middle of the night for them ... and the reason I hadn't placed the phone within easy reach when I got into the tub.
So, I sat some more.
And finally, the disgust I was feeling for myself gave me enough strength to flip over onto my hands and knees. Slowly, I stood up. Slower still, I placed my right foot outside the tub and then lugged over the left (my weaker side). I was out. I brushed off pebbles of the old rubber mat from my knees. The mat inhabited the floor of the tub and most of it now lay bunched down towards the drain. I was trembling and it wasn't from the cold. The house is kept at 72 all year round. But I trembled because of what might have been.
I plopped down on the cushioned toilet seat and thought about the last 150 minutes of my life and realized a time had passed. The bathtub was now just a shower stall. The shower seat I had bought weeks ago and left in the box it came in downstairs, was now going to have to be setup and used. I thought many other things, none of them printable here. But I didn't think much about moving.
So, I sat some more.
I could feel the tenseness in my shoulders that I'd sought to eradicate had come back. Bile raised in my gorge, anger at coming full circle. But only long enough to realize that whatever had happened, I had survived it. That I had learned a new truth to my existence. That I wouldn't ever place myself in this position again.
So, I stopped sitting, left the bathroom and came here to mourn the passing of something I loved. A reminder to all who read this: a bathtub can be a dangerous place.
Tuesday, March 19, 2019
It's March, So Here's the Expected
It's that time of the year again. Once again, I have to peer into the Crystal Ball, seek out Solomon, and find a wise choise to win the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament. However, even before I turned on the hidden light below the con man's table to light up the cheap plastic 'crystal ball,' a ghostly voice shouted, "Duke, you fool. Duke!'
Who am I to argue the obvious. So, that's the name you want. Go forth and bracket yourself to your heart's limit.
The Tournament Committee did a LOT of great work this year, making for some interesting matchups. Cheers for including Belmont when Alabama or TCU would have been a politically expedient choice. The final four in were reasonable and, other than a plea for UNC Greensboro, nobody should have been too despondent that they didn't get in. But imagine if the Committee had decided Greensboro and Lipscomb were deserving of an upset chance and Arizona State and Syracuse could enjoy a good run in the N.I.T.? Honestly, wouldn't a rule that you couldn't be eligible to play in the NCAA tournament without a winning league record or a quarter-final victory in your league championship be a good rule?
We've had teams win the NCAA tournament after starting their league tournament with a .500 record. And teams with losing records (but with interesting stories) make the tourney with good league tournament runs. So, there are always going to be good seventh, eighth, dare I say ninth-place teams to make March Madness fun. That said, there are another few steps before we can declare the Committee 'woke.' Shouldn't the nation deserve seeing some of these small school stars, rather than yet one more loss by a tenth seed from a major conference, who've been on TV all year long? But getting Belmont in this year and increasing the number of at-large bids for non-Power Six leagues for the second straight year is something to nod approval over.
For all that, the ... choice to ditch Michigan State in Duke's regional is beyond comprehension. The Spartans are better today than they were last week as Nick Ward health improves. The Spartans have, arguably, the best game coach in the biz in Tom Izzo. The Spartans proved tourney tough, taking out Michigan ... no small task that ... for the THIRD TIME this year, in the Big Ten finale. And yet, rather than write a fantastic fantasy for this year (Stick State in with either Virginia or North Carolina, have them beat their region-mates in the elite eight, the other one in the semi-finals and then see Duke in the final ... with Ward to physically contend with Zion Williamson ...) but chose to hose the Spartans for WINNING the Big Ten. Apparently the two Michiganders were slotted into the tourney depending on who won. Yeah, Izzo's going to reconsider this coaching to win thing in the future.
So, it's Duke over Gonzaga in the Final four and then taking out North Carolina in Tobacco Road Brawl IV in the final. I love the way Virginia plays, but it's really apparent that if you are properly prepared for them, and any ONE of the disparate parts that make Virginia great doesn't show up ... the Cavaliers are beatable. Granted, Duke and Florida State have sole rights to say they're beatable. But school is all about lessons learned. And I can't see Roy Williams not learning what Florida State taught him.
Let's see, hmmmm, four number one seeds in the final four. How very ... adventurous of me. Hmmmm, actually it is. The odds are significantly against the four ones making the Minny road trip to finish the year. So, I'm ALLLLL about the upsets ... 'cept in the Regional finals.
Now, March Madness requires upsets. And the Committee has certainly raised expectations for some floor-storming contingents from the lesser schools. In fact, I saw one prominent Bracketologist pick all four 12 seeds to beat the respective 5 seeds and spent zero time speculating that he might be wrong. It was like he pre-determined all five seeds (theoretically, each are top 20 teams!!) were dead on arrival.
Upsets in the NCAA occur when the lower seeded team manages to control the tempo of the game. Usually by playing tough belly to belly defence with perimeter protecting ballhawks being assisted by some tough paint play by the big men. And they have to have three-point bombers since SOMEBODY has to provide offence. Occasionally, a run-and-gun upset-minded school gets the coach from their intended victim to play along. And we have some opportunity to see that this year. But the upset darlings are going to be the tough defensive teams that can hang in there until the final minute, either making the requisite free throws to protect a lead, or hitting a buzzer-beater to eliminate whatever hero play came from the better seeded team second(s) before.
Let's take a look at where I think upsets are there for the taking. The defensive battles PROBABLY won't include Syracuse and Syracuse West (aka Washington). I used to think their zones were so tough to play for, that no team could do it on short notice in a weekend game. But familiarity has bred content over the years. Ohhh, the zone works. It keeps teams as talented as Syracuse and Washington IN games their talent might not otherwise have them competitive. But eventually, attacking the free throw line with better talent prevails. So, despite my pre-Championship Week thinking that Washington might be a dark horse, I'm not going down that track. Championship Week DID change my opinions ... about six times over the five days leading up to Selection Sunday. The opinions are still changing ... based on injury reports for the likes of Markus Howard of Marquette or Dean Wade of Kansas State or the coaching availability of Will Wade for LSU, for instance (Mark Benford's coaching job in LSU's loss in the SEC quarter-finals was among the worst I have ever seen. Without Wade at the helm for LSU, I don't see much chance the Bayou Bengals see the second week).
Let's talk upsets in the non-upset 8/9 games first. Oddly enough, who pops up here? Why both Syracuse AND Washington!!! Let's stop the hysteria and declare Syracuse off-limits for upset by Baylor, in a battle of zone teams. First, Baylor's Big 12 and that's NOT a good thing this year. (Oh, the Pac 12 was worse, but the Big 12 had BIG dreams to start the year and from Kansas on down, tripped over those dreams). Second, both Tyus Battle and Frank Howard were missing in action for several Syracuse defeats. The Orange went from bubble to 8 when Buddy Boeheim went career game crazy in the ACC Tournament and he'll go back to a little used sub this week. So, Syracuse is through. With a chance to beat Gonzaga? No. Not with the Orange front line trying to deal with Rui Hachimura and one of the unsung Canucks in the tournament, Brandon Clarke. Shutout to 'cuse's Oshae Brissett, also a proud Canadian.
Whither Washington? Yeah, I'm going to buck some general perception and say that Utah State, bruited to have SOME chance against North Carolina, will be thinking about the Tarheels and overlook Washington, owner of the saddest of the regular-season crowns and a series of poor, poorer and poorest performances in the Pac 12 Tournament. Still, this is a team who's leader Matisse Thybulle is a spiritual successor to Gary Payton as a ballhawk. And even in wins and defeats, Washington tended to slow down teams. So, take Washington for the upset, ONE upset mind you, in the Mid West. The other two 8/9 games almost bore me. Oklahoma is Big 12, so, despite some enthusiasm for the Sooners from some Bracketologists, I'll take Ole Miss from the SEC. And VCU SHOULD take out Central Florida to hold the line ... BUT watching the Rams contend with the Knights' Tacko Fall, who's a FOOT taller than any VCU player he will go up against (or close enough), that I'm interested in SEEING the game. Problem is, VCU plays tough D and Central Florida just doesn't have the long-range howitzers to unpack the Ram defence. But it'll be interesting.
Moving on ... the 7/10 games start with the most interesting kick off to a tournament in some time. And it has nothing to do with the teams. Richard Pitino's Minnesota Gophers will tangle with the Louisville Cardinals, the home of his father for many, many years ... before he was fired last year in the ripples of the FBI College Recruiting Scandal. Rick, the Senior, eventually went off to Europe to coach (and win back some acclaim). But he'll be sure to be there in Gopher colours in spirit when the tourney tips off. I'd have taken Minnesota against many teams JUST LIKE Louisville, but the extra energy 'winning one for Coach' will bring to THIS matchup has me thinking Louisville is the better pick. They've already been through the Pitino tumult. I expect them to be calmer and more concentrated. Plus, on paper, they are a better team. (And by the way, I agree with the boos for the Committee in setting up this distraction)
Having dissed the Committee for that one, let me tell ya, the other three are going to be fun. The Committee heard all the Little Guy talk and gave Swofford some real props with a 7 seed. Then turned Seton Hall loose on them. Sorry, but the Pirates are playing REAL good basketball against REAL good teams of late. Swofford can only say the first half of that. So, Seton Hall for the upset. I almost wanted to repeat the same thing with Iowa against Cincinnati, but the Bearcats are not a big bad bullfrog in with guppies. So, I will take Cincy to hold chalk. Which leaves me with the most really delicious of the head to heads in this seeding, Nevada vs Florida in the West (where all the action is). Granted, Florida is part of my personal Kryptonite (along with Kansas and Michigan State). It just seems like I ALWAYS pick them, and outside of the championship years, it's been a mistake every time. And add the fact that Canuck Andrew Nembhard is the reason why Florida is IN the tournament and I have bias written all over my face as I type Florida WILL upset Nevada. The Gators are a team of pluggers while Nevada has the Martin boys, Caleb and Cody, plus another backcourt ace in Jordan Caroline, but the Wolfpack are going to get in trouble from the perimeter. The memories of last year's tourney run might have Nevada stuck between reliving glory and expecting respect that a single year doesn't get them ... yet. On the other hand neither team's beating John Beilein's mad as hell Michigan team featuring the burbling personality of Canuck Izzy Bradeikis on the weekend anyway. So, much ado about an upset.
The 6/11 games are ALMOST yawn-inducing with the exception of everybody's favourite upset pick, Belmont, to sidle past Temple tonight and then dispatch the overly-youthful Maryland Terrapins in the round of 64. The Bruins are aged in leadership, athletic in youth and will be able to off-set the one Maryland strength, rebounding. Belmont is a disciplined team and when that crunch moment arrives, the Bruins will be able to prevail. And with nobody fearing LSU or Yale in the weekend matchup, it might be smart of Belmont's fans and players to bring some extra luggage.
Buffalo is going to beat in-state opponent St. John's. Sure, it would be interesting if the Red Storm failed to beat the Arizona State Sun Devils merely because the State coach is Bobby Hurley, but St. John's SEEMS like a probable winner of the First Four play-in. The Bulls are sneaky good and have been for awhile after having Hurley revive the program. But he left the program in good hands as Nate Oats seems to be ready for some national recognition, as is star C.J. Massinburg. The real fun for Buffalo won't end until Michigan does them in next week. Iowa State (with some primo Canadian talent in Mariel Shayock and Lindell Wigginton) is going to be happy and sad all within a three-day period. Happy to beat Ohio State in a battle of midwest State schools. Sad that Houston looms on the weekend. Well, it will be the end of a good whirlwind year for the Cyclones. Which brings us to the OTHER 6/11 game that has fans all atwitter. Like Belmont, the winner of this Villanova-Saint Mary's game has a fair chance of playing next week. Nobody thinks Purdue's a three-seed. So, do you pick the guys that keep winning at this time of the year, Villanova, winners of two of the last three national crowns, or Saint Mary's, who dispatched the number one team in the country a week ago, BY THIRTEEN points, in it's tournament final? On one level, it doesn't matter. This is going to be a great game. On the other hand, 'Nova has Jay Wright coaching them. And in the end, thumbs down on an upset ... but it'll be fun to watch.
Now, the dreaded and anticipated 5/12 seeds get their examination. First off, NO SWEEP by the 12's. Ain't gonna happen. The fact that 12's are ALMOST a 50-50 proposition this century is mind-boggling. That all of that boggling is in the past needs being reminded of. Still...
Never saw Liberty play this year. Saw Ole Miss play. If Liberty is as good as some say, then Liberty to chalk one up for the non-chalk crowd. Murray State vs Marquette (in one of the MUST see games this year). Ja Morant, the likely second pick in the coming NBA draft, vs. Markus Howard. The still team-oriented Murray State Racers vs the Marquette One-Man Band. And Howard's hand injury is certainly going to be a topic of consideration. So, on the narrowest of margins, note a nose, but a sore hand, it's Murray State to add to the rotten state of Chalk. Wisconsin and the monster year Ethan Happ is having vs Oregon, the pre-season national contenders, turned pretenders when Bol Bol's college career ended before it really began, turned red-hot Pac 12 Tournament champions on the weekend. Remember my bell-to-belly admonishment? It applies here. Oregon makes it three 12's to break Chalk. Wait, didn't I say no sweep by the 12's. Yep, I did.
Auburn will run the Aggies of New Mexico State back to the plains with the kind of furious attack that harkens back to the Marymount Lions heydays. No, NOT the 140+ heyday, but this might be the highest-scoring game of the tournament. And isn't Bruce Pearl doing a great coaching job. He's got his Tigers believing. And I can't believe the 5 seeds will go oh-fer. Auburn will hold the line. But it IS amazing how unhappy the Committee makes teams by giving them the 5 seed, isn't it. Oh, and Auburn just won't defend the honour of 5's everywhere, they are booked to play next week, too.
Only 4/13 game worth talking about is Kansas State and UC Irvine. And sad to say, the Anteaters will trample The Wildcats if Dean Wade isn't back. Might anyways. But his likely unavailability takes a regular-season team that had something to be proud of and turned them into an overseed. Still, it takes a lot for a 13 seed to win. Except the odds are that one does most years this century. And since none of the other ones make any sense as an upset pick, I'll play the math and call for UC Irvine to hold the honour of the 13's and send K-State packing.
Going from boring to not boring at all, at all, we now look at the 3/14 matchups and wonder just what the Committee saw that I don't. Starting with LSU. A VERY GOOD team with woeful coaching and a penchant to blow up ... which explains why the presence or the lack thereof of Will Wade thanks to that FBI thing, makes a world of difference. I have NO faith in LSU beating a disciplined (is their any OTHER kind out of the Ivy League) Yale team. Oh, they can still do it on sheer talent. But even if they do talent themselves past Yale, Belmont awaits. Nope, I'll take the easy route and call for Yale to knock off the Tigers. I'm not suggesting Texas Tech will have any issues with Northern Kentucky out West. But I AM saying Buffalo beats them on the weekend. The BEST of the 3's, Houston, might be playing in the Final Four, so forget upsets chances with the Cougars vs Georgia State, although it's nice to see Ron Hunter back in the tournament without the danger of son R.J. inflicting any physical harm upon him. Which brings me to Purdue, overseeded, against Old Dominion. I've got my one first round upset in this seed. I don't HAVE to pick Old Dominion. I WANT to pick the Monarchs. But I think Carsen Edwards has one more great college game in him. So, chalk to Purdue, doom against Oregon on the weekend.
NO, just NO! No 15's and especially NO 16's brought their bathing suits to the first round. They'll towel off at home. I'd love to see Abilene Christian upend Kentucky because, well, it's Kentucky. And my favourite three coaches to rag on are John Calipari, John Calipari and John Calipari. He's a lousy in-game coach, but off-sets that by being a great recruiter. How much of that great is Kentucky's home court advantage and how much is Jocular John is anybody's guess. But he recruits successfully. Now, eventually, I expect Kentucky's program, like those of UMass and Memphis, to rue the day he was hired. But he's on a long, long run of ruining my enjoyment of college basketball. I'm hoping Houston can do him in, but if they don't, then I expect North Carolina to win the Battle of Blue in the regional final. Still, wouldn't it be GREATTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!! if Abilene Christian did us all a favour?!?!
I think that's eleven total first week upsets. Out of 48 games. Close enough to one in four. And THAT is why March Madness is, or should be, a National Holiday in North America. Fans, and people who KNOW fans, should be at home or down at the local purveyor of beverages to watch this miracle of entertaining TV.
As most of you know, I stay with chalk most of the rest of the way in the tournament. Trying to suss out upsets in the second week can be a fool's errand. Prior unforeseen upsets, injuries, horrible officiating ... it makes a mug out of anyone, let alone somebody with the last name Mugford, to pretend he KNOWS destiny's outcome. Still, by staying with chalk you won't be far wrong.
Who do I think might step into the Final Four I have seeded to the 1's? Michigan State still has to be feared. Izzo is the game's best game coach (although Florida's Mike White is a comer). Ward and Xavier Tillman provide the heft and height to make Zion Williamson at least think a BIT about charging to the hoop. And Cassius Winston sure makes Izzo look prophetic when he predicted great things three years ago for his then frosh guard. But no, I just don't think Duke's ready to be beat by the Spartans. If they get Marques Bolden back next week, it will be a full-strength Duke squad. Lights out. The fun regional is the West, but all the fun will evaporate next week. Chalk all the way with Michigan not the type of team I expect Gonzaga to fear.
Virgina will waltz into the Final Four after dancing with Tennessee in the regional final. Virgina is the most upset-available of the 1's because their offence needs everybody clicking when they play good teams. Problem is, nobody in the region other than the Volunteers qualifies as a good enough team. UNC has plenty of people to trip over in the Region of Death, the Midwest. The Tarheels COULD lose to Utah State (NOT BLOODY LIKELY), Auburn (the game will be closer than Roy Williams would like) and then either Houston (unlikely) or Kentucky (the Evil Empire looms as a SERIOUS threat depending on how PJ Washington gets out of bed that day). Still, to have a Tobacco Road Brawl IV, me must have a North Carolina-Duke finals.
Can Gonzaga, the sole team in the country to beat a full-strength Duke squad, pose a semi-final threat? Of course they can. But at the time of the loss, Duke was R.J. Barrett's team. It's Zion's team now (much as I would like Barrett, a credit to my country and a spectacularly good kid be THE star). And that's a difference with a distinction. Barrett's still there, having largely held up his end of the dynamic duo, while Zion was away getting new shoes. And what about Virgina and their regular season superiority over North Carolina? Why not an intra-state ACC final? Sure, it could happen and anybody who likes basketball likes Virginia's team play, but I want that BRAWL in the final. So, logic dictates Virgina falling on its sword to do so.
There you have it. The million-dollar bracket.
Who am I to argue the obvious. So, that's the name you want. Go forth and bracket yourself to your heart's limit.
The Tournament Committee did a LOT of great work this year, making for some interesting matchups. Cheers for including Belmont when Alabama or TCU would have been a politically expedient choice. The final four in were reasonable and, other than a plea for UNC Greensboro, nobody should have been too despondent that they didn't get in. But imagine if the Committee had decided Greensboro and Lipscomb were deserving of an upset chance and Arizona State and Syracuse could enjoy a good run in the N.I.T.? Honestly, wouldn't a rule that you couldn't be eligible to play in the NCAA tournament without a winning league record or a quarter-final victory in your league championship be a good rule?
We've had teams win the NCAA tournament after starting their league tournament with a .500 record. And teams with losing records (but with interesting stories) make the tourney with good league tournament runs. So, there are always going to be good seventh, eighth, dare I say ninth-place teams to make March Madness fun. That said, there are another few steps before we can declare the Committee 'woke.' Shouldn't the nation deserve seeing some of these small school stars, rather than yet one more loss by a tenth seed from a major conference, who've been on TV all year long? But getting Belmont in this year and increasing the number of at-large bids for non-Power Six leagues for the second straight year is something to nod approval over.
For all that, the ... choice to ditch Michigan State in Duke's regional is beyond comprehension. The Spartans are better today than they were last week as Nick Ward health improves. The Spartans have, arguably, the best game coach in the biz in Tom Izzo. The Spartans proved tourney tough, taking out Michigan ... no small task that ... for the THIRD TIME this year, in the Big Ten finale. And yet, rather than write a fantastic fantasy for this year (Stick State in with either Virginia or North Carolina, have them beat their region-mates in the elite eight, the other one in the semi-finals and then see Duke in the final ... with Ward to physically contend with Zion Williamson ...) but chose to hose the Spartans for WINNING the Big Ten. Apparently the two Michiganders were slotted into the tourney depending on who won. Yeah, Izzo's going to reconsider this coaching to win thing in the future.
So, it's Duke over Gonzaga in the Final four and then taking out North Carolina in Tobacco Road Brawl IV in the final. I love the way Virginia plays, but it's really apparent that if you are properly prepared for them, and any ONE of the disparate parts that make Virginia great doesn't show up ... the Cavaliers are beatable. Granted, Duke and Florida State have sole rights to say they're beatable. But school is all about lessons learned. And I can't see Roy Williams not learning what Florida State taught him.
Let's see, hmmmm, four number one seeds in the final four. How very ... adventurous of me. Hmmmm, actually it is. The odds are significantly against the four ones making the Minny road trip to finish the year. So, I'm ALLLLL about the upsets ... 'cept in the Regional finals.
Now, March Madness requires upsets. And the Committee has certainly raised expectations for some floor-storming contingents from the lesser schools. In fact, I saw one prominent Bracketologist pick all four 12 seeds to beat the respective 5 seeds and spent zero time speculating that he might be wrong. It was like he pre-determined all five seeds (theoretically, each are top 20 teams!!) were dead on arrival.
Upsets in the NCAA occur when the lower seeded team manages to control the tempo of the game. Usually by playing tough belly to belly defence with perimeter protecting ballhawks being assisted by some tough paint play by the big men. And they have to have three-point bombers since SOMEBODY has to provide offence. Occasionally, a run-and-gun upset-minded school gets the coach from their intended victim to play along. And we have some opportunity to see that this year. But the upset darlings are going to be the tough defensive teams that can hang in there until the final minute, either making the requisite free throws to protect a lead, or hitting a buzzer-beater to eliminate whatever hero play came from the better seeded team second(s) before.
Let's take a look at where I think upsets are there for the taking. The defensive battles PROBABLY won't include Syracuse and Syracuse West (aka Washington). I used to think their zones were so tough to play for, that no team could do it on short notice in a weekend game. But familiarity has bred content over the years. Ohhh, the zone works. It keeps teams as talented as Syracuse and Washington IN games their talent might not otherwise have them competitive. But eventually, attacking the free throw line with better talent prevails. So, despite my pre-Championship Week thinking that Washington might be a dark horse, I'm not going down that track. Championship Week DID change my opinions ... about six times over the five days leading up to Selection Sunday. The opinions are still changing ... based on injury reports for the likes of Markus Howard of Marquette or Dean Wade of Kansas State or the coaching availability of Will Wade for LSU, for instance (Mark Benford's coaching job in LSU's loss in the SEC quarter-finals was among the worst I have ever seen. Without Wade at the helm for LSU, I don't see much chance the Bayou Bengals see the second week).
Let's talk upsets in the non-upset 8/9 games first. Oddly enough, who pops up here? Why both Syracuse AND Washington!!! Let's stop the hysteria and declare Syracuse off-limits for upset by Baylor, in a battle of zone teams. First, Baylor's Big 12 and that's NOT a good thing this year. (Oh, the Pac 12 was worse, but the Big 12 had BIG dreams to start the year and from Kansas on down, tripped over those dreams). Second, both Tyus Battle and Frank Howard were missing in action for several Syracuse defeats. The Orange went from bubble to 8 when Buddy Boeheim went career game crazy in the ACC Tournament and he'll go back to a little used sub this week. So, Syracuse is through. With a chance to beat Gonzaga? No. Not with the Orange front line trying to deal with Rui Hachimura and one of the unsung Canucks in the tournament, Brandon Clarke. Shutout to 'cuse's Oshae Brissett, also a proud Canadian.
Whither Washington? Yeah, I'm going to buck some general perception and say that Utah State, bruited to have SOME chance against North Carolina, will be thinking about the Tarheels and overlook Washington, owner of the saddest of the regular-season crowns and a series of poor, poorer and poorest performances in the Pac 12 Tournament. Still, this is a team who's leader Matisse Thybulle is a spiritual successor to Gary Payton as a ballhawk. And even in wins and defeats, Washington tended to slow down teams. So, take Washington for the upset, ONE upset mind you, in the Mid West. The other two 8/9 games almost bore me. Oklahoma is Big 12, so, despite some enthusiasm for the Sooners from some Bracketologists, I'll take Ole Miss from the SEC. And VCU SHOULD take out Central Florida to hold the line ... BUT watching the Rams contend with the Knights' Tacko Fall, who's a FOOT taller than any VCU player he will go up against (or close enough), that I'm interested in SEEING the game. Problem is, VCU plays tough D and Central Florida just doesn't have the long-range howitzers to unpack the Ram defence. But it'll be interesting.
Moving on ... the 7/10 games start with the most interesting kick off to a tournament in some time. And it has nothing to do with the teams. Richard Pitino's Minnesota Gophers will tangle with the Louisville Cardinals, the home of his father for many, many years ... before he was fired last year in the ripples of the FBI College Recruiting Scandal. Rick, the Senior, eventually went off to Europe to coach (and win back some acclaim). But he'll be sure to be there in Gopher colours in spirit when the tourney tips off. I'd have taken Minnesota against many teams JUST LIKE Louisville, but the extra energy 'winning one for Coach' will bring to THIS matchup has me thinking Louisville is the better pick. They've already been through the Pitino tumult. I expect them to be calmer and more concentrated. Plus, on paper, they are a better team. (And by the way, I agree with the boos for the Committee in setting up this distraction)
Having dissed the Committee for that one, let me tell ya, the other three are going to be fun. The Committee heard all the Little Guy talk and gave Swofford some real props with a 7 seed. Then turned Seton Hall loose on them. Sorry, but the Pirates are playing REAL good basketball against REAL good teams of late. Swofford can only say the first half of that. So, Seton Hall for the upset. I almost wanted to repeat the same thing with Iowa against Cincinnati, but the Bearcats are not a big bad bullfrog in with guppies. So, I will take Cincy to hold chalk. Which leaves me with the most really delicious of the head to heads in this seeding, Nevada vs Florida in the West (where all the action is). Granted, Florida is part of my personal Kryptonite (along with Kansas and Michigan State). It just seems like I ALWAYS pick them, and outside of the championship years, it's been a mistake every time. And add the fact that Canuck Andrew Nembhard is the reason why Florida is IN the tournament and I have bias written all over my face as I type Florida WILL upset Nevada. The Gators are a team of pluggers while Nevada has the Martin boys, Caleb and Cody, plus another backcourt ace in Jordan Caroline, but the Wolfpack are going to get in trouble from the perimeter. The memories of last year's tourney run might have Nevada stuck between reliving glory and expecting respect that a single year doesn't get them ... yet. On the other hand neither team's beating John Beilein's mad as hell Michigan team featuring the burbling personality of Canuck Izzy Bradeikis on the weekend anyway. So, much ado about an upset.
The 6/11 games are ALMOST yawn-inducing with the exception of everybody's favourite upset pick, Belmont, to sidle past Temple tonight and then dispatch the overly-youthful Maryland Terrapins in the round of 64. The Bruins are aged in leadership, athletic in youth and will be able to off-set the one Maryland strength, rebounding. Belmont is a disciplined team and when that crunch moment arrives, the Bruins will be able to prevail. And with nobody fearing LSU or Yale in the weekend matchup, it might be smart of Belmont's fans and players to bring some extra luggage.
Buffalo is going to beat in-state opponent St. John's. Sure, it would be interesting if the Red Storm failed to beat the Arizona State Sun Devils merely because the State coach is Bobby Hurley, but St. John's SEEMS like a probable winner of the First Four play-in. The Bulls are sneaky good and have been for awhile after having Hurley revive the program. But he left the program in good hands as Nate Oats seems to be ready for some national recognition, as is star C.J. Massinburg. The real fun for Buffalo won't end until Michigan does them in next week. Iowa State (with some primo Canadian talent in Mariel Shayock and Lindell Wigginton) is going to be happy and sad all within a three-day period. Happy to beat Ohio State in a battle of midwest State schools. Sad that Houston looms on the weekend. Well, it will be the end of a good whirlwind year for the Cyclones. Which brings us to the OTHER 6/11 game that has fans all atwitter. Like Belmont, the winner of this Villanova-Saint Mary's game has a fair chance of playing next week. Nobody thinks Purdue's a three-seed. So, do you pick the guys that keep winning at this time of the year, Villanova, winners of two of the last three national crowns, or Saint Mary's, who dispatched the number one team in the country a week ago, BY THIRTEEN points, in it's tournament final? On one level, it doesn't matter. This is going to be a great game. On the other hand, 'Nova has Jay Wright coaching them. And in the end, thumbs down on an upset ... but it'll be fun to watch.
Now, the dreaded and anticipated 5/12 seeds get their examination. First off, NO SWEEP by the 12's. Ain't gonna happen. The fact that 12's are ALMOST a 50-50 proposition this century is mind-boggling. That all of that boggling is in the past needs being reminded of. Still...
Never saw Liberty play this year. Saw Ole Miss play. If Liberty is as good as some say, then Liberty to chalk one up for the non-chalk crowd. Murray State vs Marquette (in one of the MUST see games this year). Ja Morant, the likely second pick in the coming NBA draft, vs. Markus Howard. The still team-oriented Murray State Racers vs the Marquette One-Man Band. And Howard's hand injury is certainly going to be a topic of consideration. So, on the narrowest of margins, note a nose, but a sore hand, it's Murray State to add to the rotten state of Chalk. Wisconsin and the monster year Ethan Happ is having vs Oregon, the pre-season national contenders, turned pretenders when Bol Bol's college career ended before it really began, turned red-hot Pac 12 Tournament champions on the weekend. Remember my bell-to-belly admonishment? It applies here. Oregon makes it three 12's to break Chalk. Wait, didn't I say no sweep by the 12's. Yep, I did.
Auburn will run the Aggies of New Mexico State back to the plains with the kind of furious attack that harkens back to the Marymount Lions heydays. No, NOT the 140+ heyday, but this might be the highest-scoring game of the tournament. And isn't Bruce Pearl doing a great coaching job. He's got his Tigers believing. And I can't believe the 5 seeds will go oh-fer. Auburn will hold the line. But it IS amazing how unhappy the Committee makes teams by giving them the 5 seed, isn't it. Oh, and Auburn just won't defend the honour of 5's everywhere, they are booked to play next week, too.
Only 4/13 game worth talking about is Kansas State and UC Irvine. And sad to say, the Anteaters will trample The Wildcats if Dean Wade isn't back. Might anyways. But his likely unavailability takes a regular-season team that had something to be proud of and turned them into an overseed. Still, it takes a lot for a 13 seed to win. Except the odds are that one does most years this century. And since none of the other ones make any sense as an upset pick, I'll play the math and call for UC Irvine to hold the honour of the 13's and send K-State packing.
Going from boring to not boring at all, at all, we now look at the 3/14 matchups and wonder just what the Committee saw that I don't. Starting with LSU. A VERY GOOD team with woeful coaching and a penchant to blow up ... which explains why the presence or the lack thereof of Will Wade thanks to that FBI thing, makes a world of difference. I have NO faith in LSU beating a disciplined (is their any OTHER kind out of the Ivy League) Yale team. Oh, they can still do it on sheer talent. But even if they do talent themselves past Yale, Belmont awaits. Nope, I'll take the easy route and call for Yale to knock off the Tigers. I'm not suggesting Texas Tech will have any issues with Northern Kentucky out West. But I AM saying Buffalo beats them on the weekend. The BEST of the 3's, Houston, might be playing in the Final Four, so forget upsets chances with the Cougars vs Georgia State, although it's nice to see Ron Hunter back in the tournament without the danger of son R.J. inflicting any physical harm upon him. Which brings me to Purdue, overseeded, against Old Dominion. I've got my one first round upset in this seed. I don't HAVE to pick Old Dominion. I WANT to pick the Monarchs. But I think Carsen Edwards has one more great college game in him. So, chalk to Purdue, doom against Oregon on the weekend.
NO, just NO! No 15's and especially NO 16's brought their bathing suits to the first round. They'll towel off at home. I'd love to see Abilene Christian upend Kentucky because, well, it's Kentucky. And my favourite three coaches to rag on are John Calipari, John Calipari and John Calipari. He's a lousy in-game coach, but off-sets that by being a great recruiter. How much of that great is Kentucky's home court advantage and how much is Jocular John is anybody's guess. But he recruits successfully. Now, eventually, I expect Kentucky's program, like those of UMass and Memphis, to rue the day he was hired. But he's on a long, long run of ruining my enjoyment of college basketball. I'm hoping Houston can do him in, but if they don't, then I expect North Carolina to win the Battle of Blue in the regional final. Still, wouldn't it be GREATTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!! if Abilene Christian did us all a favour?!?!
I think that's eleven total first week upsets. Out of 48 games. Close enough to one in four. And THAT is why March Madness is, or should be, a National Holiday in North America. Fans, and people who KNOW fans, should be at home or down at the local purveyor of beverages to watch this miracle of entertaining TV.
As most of you know, I stay with chalk most of the rest of the way in the tournament. Trying to suss out upsets in the second week can be a fool's errand. Prior unforeseen upsets, injuries, horrible officiating ... it makes a mug out of anyone, let alone somebody with the last name Mugford, to pretend he KNOWS destiny's outcome. Still, by staying with chalk you won't be far wrong.
Who do I think might step into the Final Four I have seeded to the 1's? Michigan State still has to be feared. Izzo is the game's best game coach (although Florida's Mike White is a comer). Ward and Xavier Tillman provide the heft and height to make Zion Williamson at least think a BIT about charging to the hoop. And Cassius Winston sure makes Izzo look prophetic when he predicted great things three years ago for his then frosh guard. But no, I just don't think Duke's ready to be beat by the Spartans. If they get Marques Bolden back next week, it will be a full-strength Duke squad. Lights out. The fun regional is the West, but all the fun will evaporate next week. Chalk all the way with Michigan not the type of team I expect Gonzaga to fear.
Virgina will waltz into the Final Four after dancing with Tennessee in the regional final. Virgina is the most upset-available of the 1's because their offence needs everybody clicking when they play good teams. Problem is, nobody in the region other than the Volunteers qualifies as a good enough team. UNC has plenty of people to trip over in the Region of Death, the Midwest. The Tarheels COULD lose to Utah State (NOT BLOODY LIKELY), Auburn (the game will be closer than Roy Williams would like) and then either Houston (unlikely) or Kentucky (the Evil Empire looms as a SERIOUS threat depending on how PJ Washington gets out of bed that day). Still, to have a Tobacco Road Brawl IV, me must have a North Carolina-Duke finals.
Can Gonzaga, the sole team in the country to beat a full-strength Duke squad, pose a semi-final threat? Of course they can. But at the time of the loss, Duke was R.J. Barrett's team. It's Zion's team now (much as I would like Barrett, a credit to my country and a spectacularly good kid be THE star). And that's a difference with a distinction. Barrett's still there, having largely held up his end of the dynamic duo, while Zion was away getting new shoes. And what about Virgina and their regular season superiority over North Carolina? Why not an intra-state ACC final? Sure, it could happen and anybody who likes basketball likes Virginia's team play, but I want that BRAWL in the final. So, logic dictates Virgina falling on its sword to do so.
There you have it. The million-dollar bracket.
Saturday, February 02, 2019
Give Him the Money for the Wall
And by HIM, I mean the Orange Buffoon who will become the first ex-President to eventually get to wear orange jumpsuits at the pleasure of the government he once misled.
I've become convinced that the Democrats should only commit to impeachment if they get evidence of treason that is strong enough that even blinkered Republicans can't deny it. And that requires IMMEDIATE ACTION. Otherwise, leave him in place as the punching dummy he is in actual life. NOTE: #FakeNews will be replaced by #PelosiPummelsPresident as the most popular political hashtag of the year.
Now to the wall. Here's the deal I offer. You commit to a half billion or so for feasibility studies that will be intended to schedule building of the 'wall'/metal barrier in one-mile lengths and in what order the actual construction should be built. Say, build a hundred mile stretch in Texas, then 125 in Arizona, etc. Plus, the Democrats throw in EXACTLY the money he's asking for, for enhanced security along sea walls, ports of entry and tunnel-making. Plus money for agents and judges, etc. Make it 5.700000001 dollars so that it is a buck MORE than what Comrade Donald is asking for.
Now the catnip for the grabber. Add 50 BILLION in actual construction costs, held in escrow, with actual construction released to start the day after Inauguration Day in January 2021. Throw in a position that the President HAS to ratify any spending (Extension) bill that garners FIFTY-FIVE percent of each chamber of Congress, down from sixty, And you have a deal. And he can't shut down government ever again this way and he gets his wall money and it'll never happen. Cuz the first thing the new President does on Inauguration Day is to cancel the wall, pending investigation as to where extending barriers, repairing barriers and replacing barriers is indicated as wise policy. There WILL be spots where that will be true.
President Small Hands gets painted into a corner of betting on himself, just as he did before the many bankruptcies and the idea that he could get away discriminating against minority renters back in the day (twice, resulting in huge fines to avoid a criminal record ... a case of fighting off inevitability if there ever was a better case!). He claims the majority of Americans are with him on the wall. He makes the election a one-issue contest and he'll lose by spectacular amounts. S.P.E.C.T.A.C.U.L.A.R. He'll be lucky to get fourty percent nationally. He won't get Reagan'd by Harris or Booker or whoever comes at him from the right side of history. But he'll only carry the states with the dumbest white nationalists and the spectacularly uniformed Southerners. Let's call the over/under eight and a half. And I'll take the under.
The Democrat slogan ... NO! to the Monument to Stupidity and NO! to four more years with no leadership!!! And point out the wall will cost EACH AMERICAN, children included, $150 bucks a head. And I'm guessing that the wall won't cost any where NEAR that little of money. I've seen guesstimations of near 75 Billion and real life should make that a small hole in the large hole he wants built as a place to hang his name again.
Look, populism led we Ontarians to the unwise decision to elect our own fool of a premier. Hatred for staid policies from entrenched Liberals (plus stupidity and/or criminality) prompted the electorate of the province to forego the smart move of minority government (aka, no king-making rule by fiat) and put a city bumpkin of Pumpkin's proportions in power for five long years. It'll get corrected as the teeter-totter of Canadian politics rights itself. So, I feel for my friends in America. You get to fix the "What have you got to lose?" mistake sooner than we do.
Just promise the pig-eyed Prince of the SpaceForce the moon for 2021. He ego will force him to accept and call it a HUUUUUUGE win for him. Fool that he is.
He won't be President two years from today. The question is, will he be wearing that clashing shade of orange by then? The over/under on that is less than four years from today.
Take the under.
I've become convinced that the Democrats should only commit to impeachment if they get evidence of treason that is strong enough that even blinkered Republicans can't deny it. And that requires IMMEDIATE ACTION. Otherwise, leave him in place as the punching dummy he is in actual life. NOTE: #FakeNews will be replaced by #PelosiPummelsPresident as the most popular political hashtag of the year.
Now to the wall. Here's the deal I offer. You commit to a half billion or so for feasibility studies that will be intended to schedule building of the 'wall'/metal barrier in one-mile lengths and in what order the actual construction should be built. Say, build a hundred mile stretch in Texas, then 125 in Arizona, etc. Plus, the Democrats throw in EXACTLY the money he's asking for, for enhanced security along sea walls, ports of entry and tunnel-making. Plus money for agents and judges, etc. Make it 5.700000001 dollars so that it is a buck MORE than what Comrade Donald is asking for.
Now the catnip for the grabber. Add 50 BILLION in actual construction costs, held in escrow, with actual construction released to start the day after Inauguration Day in January 2021. Throw in a position that the President HAS to ratify any spending (Extension) bill that garners FIFTY-FIVE percent of each chamber of Congress, down from sixty, And you have a deal. And he can't shut down government ever again this way and he gets his wall money and it'll never happen. Cuz the first thing the new President does on Inauguration Day is to cancel the wall, pending investigation as to where extending barriers, repairing barriers and replacing barriers is indicated as wise policy. There WILL be spots where that will be true.
President Small Hands gets painted into a corner of betting on himself, just as he did before the many bankruptcies and the idea that he could get away discriminating against minority renters back in the day (twice, resulting in huge fines to avoid a criminal record ... a case of fighting off inevitability if there ever was a better case!). He claims the majority of Americans are with him on the wall. He makes the election a one-issue contest and he'll lose by spectacular amounts. S.P.E.C.T.A.C.U.L.A.R. He'll be lucky to get fourty percent nationally. He won't get Reagan'd by Harris or Booker or whoever comes at him from the right side of history. But he'll only carry the states with the dumbest white nationalists and the spectacularly uniformed Southerners. Let's call the over/under eight and a half. And I'll take the under.
The Democrat slogan ... NO! to the Monument to Stupidity and NO! to four more years with no leadership!!! And point out the wall will cost EACH AMERICAN, children included, $150 bucks a head. And I'm guessing that the wall won't cost any where NEAR that little of money. I've seen guesstimations of near 75 Billion and real life should make that a small hole in the large hole he wants built as a place to hang his name again.
Look, populism led we Ontarians to the unwise decision to elect our own fool of a premier. Hatred for staid policies from entrenched Liberals (plus stupidity and/or criminality) prompted the electorate of the province to forego the smart move of minority government (aka, no king-making rule by fiat) and put a city bumpkin of Pumpkin's proportions in power for five long years. It'll get corrected as the teeter-totter of Canadian politics rights itself. So, I feel for my friends in America. You get to fix the "What have you got to lose?" mistake sooner than we do.
Just promise the pig-eyed Prince of the SpaceForce the moon for 2021. He ego will force him to accept and call it a HUUUUUUGE win for him. Fool that he is.
He won't be President two years from today. The question is, will he be wearing that clashing shade of orange by then? The over/under on that is less than four years from today.
Take the under.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)