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.