Mr. Cole

          A pivotal game this evening in the NHL, and yes I’m watching Hockey Night in Canada on the CBC broadcast. It’s the Montreal Canadians vs the Ottawa Senators, in Ottawa tonight. A pivotal game because of the fact that Montreal is ahead of Ottawa by one point for first place in the Eastern Division. Ottawa also has one game in hand. Very exciting situation, and rather important game tonight. If by some chance you don’t understand what I mean, ask a friend who watches hockey. It really doesn’t matter what part of the world you are in, the analogy will translate. No, I’m not kidding.

          So, I zone into the game, set up my Budweiser Red Light (Google it. Pretty cool device. Every hockey fan should have one), find a good live stream (I don’t do cable anymore. I have a dedicated PC tower for my 50 inch Samsung with a wireless mouse and keyboard), select my adult beverage(s) for the evening, then strategically arrange my snacks according to food group (I use all 4 food groups, Box-Bottle-Can-Carton), and then hunker down for an evening of sports titillation thanks to professional hockey. Let the game begin.

          My elation is rapidly and overwhelmingly deflated by the sound of that one and only, very distinct voice, that some executive, in upper broadcasting management, has allowed him to remain on the air, regardless of his level of senility or eccentricity. I’m talking about the only voice that can suck the life out of a hockey game like a sportscaster vampire.

Mr. Bob Cole.

For him to stay on the air this long, Bob must have photos of somebody in the executive office of the CBC fucking a goat or something. Or worse. That’s the only way to explain it. Really.

Don’t get me wrong here. It wasn’t always like that. Back in the day, when I was growing up, Bob was “THE” voice of Hockey Night in Canada. Every Saturday night he was there for the Toronto Maple Leaf games. Not just with the play by play, but with knowledgeable and jocular incites to the player’s profiles and to the game in general. He knew the game fluently and intimately. And for decades, literally.

Just to clarify. I am not a Maple Leaf fan, at all. Never have been, never will be. Even with a gun to my head. Nope. Maple Leaf fans have their own dedicated ward at the loonie bin in Toronto. Or so I’ve been told. I am a dedicated fan. I have two favorite teams in the NHL. That’s right, two. The Ottawa Senators, and whoever is playing the Maple Leafs. Like I said, dedicated. Hoooraaaaw!

Back to Bob.

I really do feel sorry for the man because he has been in the game for so long. But that day has unfortunately dissolved into the now. I have often watched games, listening to Bob call the play by play, and wondered if we were both watching the same game. His pace has slowed, he forgets players names, and loses track of the play by play, and generally makes stuff up. Or at least that’s how it seems.

I really don’t want to rip Bob a new arsehole about this but, it might be time to hang it up there Bob. We know you love the game. We respect and adore you for your dedication and knowledge. I know that I do, and want to say thank you for being there for me, for all of us, for the game we love, for the game you love, and for your devotion and dedication to it. You are, and will always be a true icon in the history of not just Hockey Night in Canada, but hockey itself.

If given the honour, and opportunity, I would proudly shake your hand.

Thank you Mr. Cole.

Delivering the Goods

          In an attempt to get back to the positive side of things, I thought I would refrain from the typical rant, and complaint of norm, and reiterate something a little more enlightening. Who knows? It may inspire a miniscule spark in some of us. And sometimes a small spark is all we need to change the world. Feel free to discuss amongst yourselves.

          Back to the topic at hand. I was in a discount store. Anyone in Ontario, Canada knows of this chain of stores. In short, it is a used item, discount store that has items donated to by local residents with a percentage of the profits going to charities. The store nearest me is affiliated with the Canadian Diabetes Association. A good cause in my book as I am type 2 anyway. Some pretty good deals to be had on an array of interesting items, and I do mean interesting. As they say, “one man’s garbage is another man’s gold”. There is a ton of gold at Value Village daily.

          So anywhoo. I was browsing through the items that fateful day, and was finding rather little to my interest when I spotted this young, college student couple conversing about a particular sofa that they liked. The “I love it, it’s perfect”, “would it fit in our space?” and “how do we get it home?” questions were flying. So being the soft hearted individual that I am (I am so, at times, depending on the people, lol), I asked, to where they needed to transport their perfect for them couch. Having a full size Chevrolet Silverado 2500HD pick-up truck with a full 8 foot box (no gratuitous plug here at all eh?) I offered to help them get their perfect couch to their new apartment.

          To make a long story short, I pulled around to the back of the store, loaded the couch, and drove it to the destination that was not that far away at all. Ten minutes at best. And yes, they drove a Honda “Something” that the couch would not even fit if you strapped it to the roof.

I helped bring it up the two flights of stair to their apartment. The couch barely fit around the stairwell corner and through the narrow door to the dwelling. To the relief of everyone involved, including me, it was, as they had said, a perfect fit to their new décor. Yes, new décor. This couple were furnishing their new apartment with hand-picked items from various outlets. A job well done I must say. They had pretty good taste indeed.

          To say that they were extremely grateful for my help would be an understatement. They thanked me endlessly. I did forget to mention their shock and surprise at my offer to deliver the couch in the first place. They were shocked, and surprised. Believe me.

After the couch was placed, I was offered some money for my troubles. I respectfully declined and explained that I recognized their dilemma in the store and had been in that position before myself. I declined the monetary gratuity and wished them well with their new purchase. They insisted that they give me something for me troubles, and I reiterated that It was not necessary.

The young woman then said, “A gift. Wait a moment”, as she raced into the back room, which took me by surprise. She re-entered the living room with a small cellophane wrapped box and explained in her natural accent, “I’m from Russia and this candy is a delicacy in my country”. How could I say no? I accepted graciously, thanked her, wished them the best of luck, and went on my way.

          The elated look on their faces, as well as their renewed faith in humanity was really my gift. I truly mean that. I don’t post stories like this for personal recognition. I really don’t. I don’t want it, I don’t need it.

I do it in hope that you people reading this may experience someone in a situation of need, and reach out however you are able to, and assist them selflessly. The world needs more of that.

          The candy was delicious by the way.

A Load of Crap

I’m going to talk shit in this entry. I know, I know. Some of you are saying to yourself “He does that every entry”. Well, I only have two things to say about that. One, you are entitled to your opinion even if you’re wrong. Two, you’re wrong (lol).

I’m going to talk about dog shit. Or more to the point, the abundance of it these days. There is actually a section of the street that I live on nicknamed “Dog Shit Alley” because of the overwhelming amount of crap on the sidewalk that people neglect to pick up. You cannot walk on the sidewalk anymore without stepping on a “land mine”. I shit you not. There is a blatant neglect to collect.

Are people becoming that lazy these days? The strange twist on this is that I see discarded dog poop bags that have been flung off to the side, or on someone’s lawn, randomly. The only situation that can I see here is that you picked up after your dog because there was a person, or people, watching. You then later flung the bag in a random direction when there was nobody watching. You poor excuse for a dog owner. This seems to be the only reason for the pick-n-fling. I bet that your dog looks at you with questioning eyes asking “why did you even bother to pick it up in the first place you pathetic example of a human? I think I’m going to run away the next time I get off of this leash”. And it’s becoming all too common, and not just in the city.

I run my dog on the trails that are a bit outside of town. We’re fortunate enough that there is a rather varied selection of trails within a close proximity, and we utilize them regularly. And yes, I pick up after my dog. Unless he goes into the woods where only he can fit. Then it becomes a nature issue along with the other critter crap.

Why is there a poop prejudice anyway? That’s right, a prejudice. Not quite a racism thing, but discriminatory all the same. Let me clarify.

You are walking along and happen upon a deposit of dog droppings. Your first thoughts are, “Eeeww, dog shit. Don’t step in it whatever you do”. You would even take it further as to comment on the lazy dog owner not picking up after his animal and the like. “I can just picture them, in their pajama pants, looking around to see if anyone is watching”. Don’t even try to deny it. You do so. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make here.

This shitty, lopsided, discrimination portion of the program is this.

You see Dog shit = disgusting (Yucky dog shit in the tread of my shoe. I need to find a stick to scrape this off.)

You see Horse shit = Interesting (Wow, look, horse shit! Don’t see that every day)

You see Rabbit shit = Cute (Oooh look. Fluffy little bunny poo.)

Splain it to me Ralph. Because, when it’s all said and done, it’s still just a complete load of shit.