Hockey, All that's Great about Canada

Someone has defined a hockey game as an event where thousands of people, who need the exercise, sit on their duffs watching forty who don't. That's actually a modified football joke, but hockey is king (and queen) these days, so no other sport joke works here.

There is nothing so Canadianesque (my word) as ice hockey, at any level. It is a metaphor for everything that is vital about our nation, in at least six ways: 1. action; 2. camaraderie; 3. suspense; 4. multiculturalism; 5. history; and 6. romance.

1. Action. I don't know if there is more action on the ice or in the stands. On the ice, it is obviously a brutal game, what with elbows in the face, slashes in the shin, and the odd dust-up in the crease, also known as the not-OK Corral. And the chants in the crowd, the 50-50 draw, and the free pizzas add to the action in the stands. Did I mention the wave and the balloon-batting contest?

2. Camaraderie. Again, I struggle to distinguish between the good times on the ice and those throughout the arena. The teamwork and the playmaking are only part of the show. How about the athleticism of the the goalie? Wow! And when I lived in Kamloops, I spent more time connecting with friends at Riverside Coliseum than I did probably anywhere else in that fair city. It was a veritable "who's-who" between periods. (In my case, it was usually a simple "who's you?")

3. Suspense. I say 'suspense' and you think overtime, penalty kill, and shootout. I agree, but what I am actually thinking about is the quickest way to the restroom, not spilling my coffee on the head of the guy in front of me, and making sure I don't get hit by an errant puck. I am too suspensed (my word) about all the beer-guzzling doorknobs to worry about someone else's power play. And line change means one thing to a player, but another thing to a guy waiting in line to order fries

4. Multiculturalism. Isn't multiculturalism great? Okay, "adequate" might be a better word. Check out the names on the backs of any jersey at the major junior level. Gone are the days when it was just "Tom," "Dick," and "Harry." At a recent game the other day, I saw all sorts of nations represented by a wide variety of surnames. I bet there's even the odd Irish name among them.

5. History. I am sick and tired of people, mostly students, whining about Canada's lame history. Some bad instruction (teachers) and some bad attitudes (students) possibly contribute to that misconception. Now, with the watered-down history books that are flooding (no pun intended) the classroom – and thus re-working and revising Canada's wonderful past - I can partly agree.

But over the years, with real textbooks and real writers (eg., Pierre Berton), nothing could be further from the truth. The hockey connection? You can follow Canada's very colourful past, through every hamlet across our country, by investigating its hockey history.

6. Romance. Well, maybe I'm stretching this point, but everyone seems so affectionate after a goal is scored. That's just the Canadian way, isn't it? Hugs for the guys on the ice, finger taps for those on the bench, and a restrained touch for the goalie. Next thing you know, they'll be holding gloves. In football, they do goofy, mindless dances in the end zone, and in soccer, they take off their shirts, while sliding on their knees. At least here in our country there is still some vestige of British restraint. A good old-fashioned hug and head knock seems to be very nicely affectionate.

What else is so Canadian about ice hockey, especially at the major junior level? Again, let me count the ways: Freedom of speech: "That was a goal!"; "Cream him!"; and "Are you blind, ref?". Strangers talking to strangers: There are people in a mall or a store that I would likely pass by, but at a hockey game I can talk up a blue streak because of our common interest in (or against) a particular player or team.

I have never played much ice hockey much in my life. My experience in the rink could be summed up with the words of one main penalty: delay of the game. It takes me so long to go from one end to the other, that by the time I would make it to the other team's blueline, it would be halfway through the first period.

Nevertheless, the game means much to me. And every time I see anything to do with hockey I swell up with red-and-white, maple-leaf-forever, moose-and-beaver Canadian pride. I cannot think of anything that represents who we are as a culture more than ice hockey.

Unless it is dancing to "Y-M-C-A" in the stands. And that would be with my shirt on.

It's Olympic Time

I believe there is something called the Olympics in Vancouver going on these days. You name the media, they have bombarded our eyes and ears on a regular, hourly basis with the latest results from the Coast. Unfortunately, those results are usually about no snow, little law, and few medals - or better stated, bad weather, bad people, and bad luck.

Since I derive all my news from my faithful laptop or car radio, I can honestly say I haven't seen a thing about the Olympics. Perhaps you haven't either. So where have you been – stuck in an airport in Washington, DC? Well, whatever, let me me fill you in with what I call an abridged version of "Olympics for Dummies" - only an expression, people (nothing personal).

And I'll write this very slowly, so you can catch it all in the first heat, uh, run.

1. Historically, there have been two parts to the Olympics, winter and summer. At one one point, they were combined in the same year, so we got them every four years. They were split up a number of Olympics ago, so now we get bombarded every other year with one form or the other. The summer Olympics, for example, were held two years ago in China, and will return in another two years (there's your four years, Horace), in London, England.

These, then, are the winter Olympics – the time of year where snow reigns supreme. Or maybe it just simply rains. And rains and rains. It is so mild in Vancouver, at this point, that they had to truck in snow from various part of British Columbia. I offered to donate a little something from my driveway, but VANOC didn't seem interested. Ah, yes, there's no business like snow business.

2. Winter Olympics involve both snow and ice, unless it's Vancouver, then it includes rain and fog. But under normal conditions, the snow is outdoors on the mountains and the ice is indoors on the rinks. If things go according to Hoyle, most outdoor sports involved skis, poles, and the occasional rifle. You're clear on the ski and poles, but the rifle? Well, you are supposed to use it in the biathlon. What does one get if one wins, lead?

I should add that there are a couple of events that involve lying down on your back and flying furiously downhill on a saucer. That, I believe, would make it a flying saucer event. Actually, I think it is called a luge: If I am correct, it is one person on a luge and a team on a bobsled. Either way, going downhill that fast without real brakes and no turn signal could get someone arrested - or maybe even killed - if they were in a car.

And you can't forget about figure skating. Trouble is, you need the right figure to impress the judges.

3. It takes years of blood, sweat, and tears to prepare for this grand event - and that includes everyone from anarchists (blood) to athletes (sweat) to executives (tears). And maybe a little money, too. The years of effort are then stuffed into two weeks or so of the actual games. There are legacies, to be sure, in the form of various venues that are left after the last dope test is done. Calgary, host of the 1988 winter Olympics, can attest to that.

The questions begs: Is it worth the work? I say a hearty 'Yes.' And I say that despite not watching the Vancouver Canucks maintain their first-place lead in the Northwest Division, despite not having the regular news of the world at my fingertips each night, despite not even being that interested personally.

Seriously, folks, I don't know how these sorts of events can be actually assessed as to their success or not. There is nothing they could have done about the weather, nothing they could have done about the death of the luger from Georgia, but perhaps there could have been something done about those moronic rogues who vandalized businesses in downtown Vancouver.

Just an idea, but I personally would have put them on the top of Whistler's highest peak, strapped them to a luge each, then sent them downhill with a good swift kick. Anyone of them that survived would get a free pass to a Latvia-Belarus hockey game. In Belarus. Permanently.

I'll Eat to That

There are fewer joys in life than eating a great meal. By a great meal I mean about six specific dishes that involve chicken or beef or pork. I cannot say which fare I enjoy more, but cordon bleu anything (no, Horace, not a spelling error – just the culture of the cuisine, literally meaning "blue ribbon") is right up there with mozzarella sticks. And a good cheese and bacon and onion hamburger, I believe, could very easily be the fare of heaven – or would that be angel food cake?

We're not talking health foods here, people. I would rather eat fun and die young, than eat gloomy and die old. Okay, okay, a little over-simplification, I admit, but eating should be a pleasure. When it comes to good food, I've always wondered if the grass and beans and raw veggies are really worth the nutrition value they are purported to be.

And I've also often wondered just how the experts know exactly what's good for the gizzard.

That old truism - "the fastest way to man's heart is through his stomach" - still holds fast today. I will admire almost anyone who is able to come up with a simple ham and pineapple pizza, topped off with a pumpkin pie and whipping cream. Or at least until the next ham and cheese croissant.

So, when you have the generous urge to take me out for a meal some day, you will notice that I will scan the menu, giving the impression that I am looking at the overall selection, when in fact I am trying to see which is cheaper – the beef dip or the Denver sandwich. Cheaper is not better, but somehow it seems to taste better if it is less expensive. Or least is does if I'm paying.

However, if you're paying, it's filet mignon all the way.

One rule of thumb when ordering is this: if I can't pronounce it, I don't eat it. Another rule of thumb is to eat meat from an animal I am familiar with. I make exceptions, of course, with dogs and cats. But I am familiar with chicken, beef, pork, and turkey – and I should throw in buffalo for good measure (have eaten it, and it is very good). Over the years, through my various travels, I have been obliged to eat rabbit, seal, shark, and other things I swear were winking at me.

On the home front, I am very pleased to say that I eat very well, and all the thanks goes to my wife. In the main, everything we grow we eat - both inanimate things (eg., potatoes) as well as animate ones (eg., chickens). We also have a salad every night, and after 29 years years of marriage, I am very familiar with the nutritional virtues of romaine lettuce and cole slaw.

As I was recently perusing my second favourite source of information - next to the Good Book, of course (the ultimate source on everything) – I saw a number of witty eateries (and "drinkeries"[?]). If I wanted to open an coffee bar, I would have loved to have had the name "Latte Da," but someone else beat me to the punch (though I don't think they serve punch); or "Pita Pan," (does that mean the food is fairy good?); and "ThaiTanic," though I have no idea what they would serve – iceberg lettuce, maybe?

And if I were to open an eating place somewhere in our beloved county, I would likely start with a pizza joint. It takes up less space and the toppings are varied enough, yet with just singular base. What would I call it? Glad you asked: Pizza Mine. Or perhaps The Leaning Tower of Pizza.

Once that became a roaring success, I would naturally target the dessert crowd. Same thing: Start with something really, really, basic, as in serving only pie. There could be lots of different fillings, but again, like the pizzeria, just one simple base – the crust itself.

I know you're waiting for yet another El Fungo quip here. I'm leaning toward Pie Face, or perhaps even Just Desserts. Ultimately, I would add an ice cream bar on the side, with the name, Li'l Deuce Scoop. (That's for my fellow-Beach Boys aficionados.)

Anyways, just a little food for thought for you.