Dennis Kane’s Excellent Montreal Canadiens Blog

I thought on day two of our tour of Powell River, I’d show you one of my palm trees in my yard, and a few other things to give you more of an idea about this place. For me, coming from Orillia, Toronto, Sudbury, Ottawa, and Calgary, this place is definitely a different change in lifestyle. The only downside I feel is that people in Powell River are kind of stuck because you can only drive 30 kilometers either north or south. After that, it’s an hour ferry ride, then a second one, which is a 40 minute one down by Vancouver. So it’s not easy to go for a Sunday drive.

But it’s a beautiful little west coast town, although I’m still waiting for summer to arrive.

If you really don’t want to drive and take ferries to get to Vancouver, you can fly in a small 12 seater that takes 25 minutes and costs about a hundred bucks. I’ve done it a few times and it’s excellent. This photo shows the view of Powell River fron the air. Gaston never has to pay because he just hides in a suitcase.

  Gaston and his ‘56 Chevy sitting by the monkey tree with a palm tree in the background. Monkey trees are named monkey trees because they say it’s the only tree a monkey can’t climb. The limbs also look like a monkey’s tail.

 Gaston and shot of the ferry docked over in the distance, with the paper mill further back. Way up that way about 30 kilometers is a little fishing village called Lund, and people in town still talk about the celebrities that stopped there for gas and supplies for their yachts. People like Elvis Presley, John Wayne, Walt Disney, Kevin Costner. And I just heard that up in Toba Inlet, Michelle Pfeiffer has a place. And Colin James has a place over on Savary Island, just off Lund.

 In part three, Gaston and I go for beer and natchos at a local pub and discuss the draft.

It’s draft day in the NHL, in about three hours from now, and this post will carry on right through the day. I feel there’s no sense trying to predict who will go where because it’s always just a big guess. Lots of first rounders over the years have proved mediocre at best, and others, like Henrik Zetterberg, end up getting picked up in the hundreds.

So I’m just going to wait and see how it plays out. Gary Lupul told me once when he was scouting for the Canucks that this is the one day of the year when scouts get a chance to be stars.

The best thing about the draft is the general managers come relaxed, the stress on most of their faces is gone, and it’s always possible a really good swap could occur. I’m a bit mystified at this rumour of Pittsburgh moving Evgeny Malkin. Because unless the guy’s a major prick in the dressing room, why would the Penguins do this?

He turned it up last season when Sidney Crosby was out for a lengthy time injured. The team and the media have been raving about him all season. He just signed, or is about to sign, a contract worth more than Crosby’s.

It’s a mystery to me. All I can think of is that Malkin stunk in the playoffs. Or that it’s a completely false rumour.

It would be great if the Habs grabbed some kind of major star, even Marion Hossa. It showed in the playoffs that Montreal was missing a couple of final pieces of the puzzle, and maybe Bob Gainey can pull something off. If they would’ve made it to the Stanley Cup finals, there wasn’t a chance in hell that they would’ve beat Detroit. A top-notch power forward would be nice.

JUST ANNOUNCED

Montreal has been given permission by the Toronto Maple Leafs to speak to Mats Sundin. I don’t mind this at all. Sundin’s a tad old but he’d help the Habs.

This is something else that we’ll wait and see about.

ALSO ANNOUNCED:

Ottawa goalie Ray Emery cut loose. It’s going to be tough for him to land a job elsewhere, so he might want to think about applying at Scott Paper across the river in Gatineau. It pays a little over 20 bucks an hour.

ALSO ANNOUNCED:

A Russian team in the Continental League may or may not have offered Evgeny Malkin 12.5 million a year tax free to come and play. You see how oil can make some people over there very rich and can afford to make offers like this? If only these tycoons would throw some money to the old pensioners in Russia who are making about $50 a month and often sleeping in the streets, many of them old widows whose husbands died in the war. And over here, we’re paying a buck and a half a litre to help make people very rich.

That’s twice the money Malkin would make here. What will he do? 

AN HOUR TO DRAFT TIME:

DRAFT TIME!

Sarnia’s Steven Stamkos goes first to the Tampa Bay Lightening.

AND!   Montreal trades their 25th pick and a 2009 second round pick to Calgary for 28 year old Quebec boy Alex Tanguay. Tanguay’s a left winger, is 6′1, and also spent five years with the Colorado Avalanche before his two years in Calgary.

He’s a good, solid big leaguer (177 goals, 362 assists), and should be a big plus for the Habs. This is exciting. And Sundin’s a possibility too but may take a few days before we know.

Tanguay coming to Montreal has been a rumour for awhile now, long before the playoffs started, and now it’s happened.

The top ten picks went like this:

1. Tampa Bay - Steven Stamkos - forward

2. LA - Drew Daughty - Defence

3. Atlanta - Zach Bogosian - Defence

4. St. Louis - Alex Pieterangelo - Defence

5. Toronto - Luke Schenn - Defence

6. Columbus - Nikita Filatov - Forward

7. Nashville - Colin Wilson - Forward

8. Phoenix - Mikkel Boedker - Forward

9. Islanders - Josh Bailey - Forward

10. Vancouver - Cody Hodgson - Forward

And Chicago, with the eleventh pick, chose forward Kyle Beach who may or may not be a great pick. This guy has the potential to be an impact player, but has a history of being a major pain in the ass, especially off the ice. Will he be the next Sean Avery?

SIDENOTE:

Wayne Gretzky got a nice standing ovasion from the Ottawa crowd when he got up to announce the Coyotes’ pick. (Mikkel Boedker)

Now it’s time to wait out the Mats Sundin, Montreal rumour. I’m hoping this happens.

I first came to Powell River in 1970 when I was a young, restless vagabond, and I stayed for about a year. It was a crazy time, a great time, and I never forgot the place. I came back in 1995 after my first marriage fell apart in Calgary, and I’ve been here ever since.

Powell River is located on Canada’s west coast, 80 miles north of Vancouver, and right on the edge of the Pacific Ocean. It’s a really creative place, full of writers, musicians, and poets, with old-time American Vietnam War draft dodgers who came here, planted roots, and contributed to Canadian society, plus a lot of loggers and fishermen who add to this magical west coast flavour.

Palm trees grow here, housing prices are reasonable, and deer come into my yard and eat the flowers. There’s 20,000 people, a paper mill that continues to downsize, and a little bit too much rain in the winter, although there’s hardly any snow, and the temperature rarely dips below freezing. (That’s why there’s palm trees!). Cruise ships cruise by, and whales aren’t far away. And in the evening as I sit on my deck, I can hear sea lions barking as I watch the ships and tug boats out on the water.

And if it sounds like I’m rich, think again. I simply paid 85 grand five years ago for my house with an ocean view.

If you’re coming from Vancouver, it takes two ferries to get here, one in West Vancouver, then an hour and a half drive by car, then another ferry, then a 30 minute drive after that. About five hours in total. The highway on the west coast stops north of Powell River, and that’s it, you can’t drive any further up the coast. But going the other way, you can drive all the way to Chile on this one road.

There’s no hustle bustle. You can get all your stuff done round town in about 20 minutes, and the pace is nice. Several big-time athletes have come from here, including several NHL’ers, a Super Bowl Champ, an Olympian, a world-class soccer pro, and a senior hockey team that has been been one of the best in the country for the last ten years and has won two Allan Cups. I’ll mention these people in the upcoming days.

Anyway, I’ve decided to take you on a little tour and I’ve enlisted my good friend Gaston to help. This’ll be done over a few days, so I hope you enjoy, and maybe I’ll see you out here someday.

Gaston sits at the ferry terminal in downtown Powell River. This particular ferry brings folks to and from Vancouver Island.

This is how you would see Powell River from the ferry. Gaston loves being in pictures and I don’t mind. He’s helping me.

It’s great that western Canada’s Ed Chynoweth will be inducted into the Hockey Hall of Fame as builder in November’s ceremony. He deserves it.

But Bill Hunter deserves it too. When is this going to happen, for goodness sakes?

In fact, Hunter, who passed away on December 16, 2002 at the age of 82, should have been enshrined years ago.

To say that Bill Hunter shouldn’t be in the hallowed hall is like saying Lord Stanley, Conn Smythe, or Frank Selke shouldn’t be either. The man practically instilled the right to skate, shoot, and score in Western Canada.

Here’s a rundown of some his astonishing accomplishments. Then you decide whether he belongs.

He was either coach, general manager, president, chairman of the board, owner, or any combination of the above of the Regina Capitals Senior Club, Saskatoon Quakers, Medicine Hat Tigers, Moose Jaw Hockey Club, Yorkton Terriers, Edmonton Oil Kings Junior Club, San Diego Gulls, Alberta Oilers and Edmonton Oilers of the newly formed World Hockey Association (WHA). He was also general manager of Team Canada 1974. And he almost single-handedly created the Western Hockey Junior League and was the mastermind behind the modern-day Memorial Cup format.

In 1982 he launched Saskatoon’s bid to acquire a franchise in the National Hockey League (NHL) by purchasing the St. Louis Blues with the intent to move the club to Saskatoon, only to be turned down by the league. But from this, a world-class multipurpose sports and entertainment complex known as Saskatchewan Place was built.

He was awarded the Canadian Tourism Award, inducted into the Alberta Sports Hall of Fame, Notre Dame (Saskatchewan) College Hall of Fame, City of Edmonton Hall of Fame, was an Honorary Life Member of Notre Dame, is in the Saskatoon Hall of Fame and was given the Order of Canada. It just goes on and on.

So why isn’t he already? Because Wild Bill rubbed some the wrong way. The NHL was never pleased that Hunter helped form the renegade WHA, which enticed players from the old-guard NHL, which led to a rise in salaries.

The Hockey Hall of Fame has made some questionable choices in the past. Team Canada 1972 hero Paul Henderson isn’t there, but Russian goalie Vladislav Tretiak, who slammed Canada’s game and its system in his book Tretiak, the Legend, is. So is Harold Ballard, who almost single-handedly ruined a storied Toronto Maple Leaf franchise.

But forget about questionable decisions. Bill Hunter is clear cut. He should be in there, plain and simple.

Smarten up, whoever you are who votes.

My sister Wanda smoked a joint with country singer Willie Nelson. Two joints, in fact. She also drank a lot of alcohol during this time, and when the room started spinning, she staggered out. I know this because she told me. She is what you would call a “reliable source,” mainly because she’s my sister.

Certain things I find shocking. I had no idea that big stars, especially Willie Nelson, would resort to smoking drugs. The next thing you know, I’ll find out that Keith Richards smokes pot too, and probably drinks too much sometimes. I’m just hoping that that rumour about politicians telling big whopping fibs and not even feeling bad about it isn’t true.

I don’t get shocked much when it comes to Wanda. This is a girl who hitchhiked to Calgary from Ontario, who bombed around Calgary in a slick, maroon-coloured 1979 Harley Sportster when the weather was good, or reasonably decent. In the driving rain and wretched winter, her ride was a ‘76 Chevy short box with a 454 under the hood. This is a lady who went back to Ontario for a wedding, and on her way back on the train, was kicked off in northern Ontario by the conductor when they didn’t see eye-to-eye.

Willie Nelson had no idea he was in the presence of greatness. He could have gathered Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, and Johnny Cash together for a night of partying, and Wanda would have drank and smoked them all under the table.

But Wanda’s not just another crazy partier. She’s also creative and smart. A radio station in Calgary held a contest to see which local company could think up the best beach-themed idea, even though it was the middle of winter, to win a 24-hour trip to Los Angeles for the whole staff. Her idea was for her and her co-workers at her office to wear bathing suits and bikinis and sit outside on lawn chairs and sunbathe and barbeque in below-zero temperatures. Naturally they won. How could they not have?

Meeting Willie Nelson was only a fluke. She and her girlfriend were in Reno a few years back and they somehow got talking to a guy who had been singing in a bar and was friends with Willie. The guy obviously took a shine to the girls and invited them to come along to meet this long-haired country gentleman who I think sometimes sings like he has a clamp on his groin.

After a brief visit, Wanda and her girlfriend got dizzy and said they had to go, and as a parting gift, Willie invited them to his show, with front row seats beside his wife, and gave them back-stage passes. When I asked her about this recently, her main recollection was that the man looked tired but was incredibly friendly and courteous, and oh yeah, his pot was primo.

I didn’t bother to ask if Willie kept a stash of Oreo cookies handy for the munchies. And I knew I didn’t have to ask if he had tried any funny stuff with my sister. Because even though she’s only 5′2″ and 120 pounds soaking wet, this feisty little fireball would have kicked the great man’s ass.

Oldest Montreal Canadiens player dies at 94
The Gazette

Ray Getliffe, who was the oldest living former Montreal Canadiens player and the second-oldest NHL alumnus, died Sunday in London, Ont. He was 94.
Elmer Lach, 90, is now the oldest living Canadien, while former New York Ranger and Chicago Blackhawk Clint Smith, born Dec. 12, 1913, is reported to be the oldest living NHL alumnus.
Getliffe played with the Boston Bruins and the Canadiens during a 10-year NHL career that began in 1935-36, winning a Stanley Cup with each team.

But his claim to fame might be as the man behind Maurice Richard’s nickname.
Getliffe, in a Where Are They Now? feature written by Ian MacDonald, that appeared in The Gazette in April 2004, recalled the first time he saw the rookie Richard on the ice in 1942.
“Reporters stood behind the bench at practice,” Getliffe recalled.
“Elmer Lach threw a puck over to this new kid who flew in from the blue line. I said: ‘Look at that, he’s like a rocket.’ Dink Carroll (a Montreal sports columnist at the time) heard me and the next day it was in The Gazette. That’s how Richard became Rocket.”
Getliffe, a left-winger, played in 393 regular-season games during his career, scoring 136 goals and adding 137 assists to go along with 250 penalty minutes. He won the Stanley Cup with the Bruins in 1939 and with the Canadiens in 1944.
Born in Galt, Ont., he was brought up in London, where he moved through the minor ranks before being signed as a free agent by the New York Rangers, who traded him to Boston for cash.
He was with the Bruins for three years before being traded to the Canadiens, along with Charlie Sands, for Herb Cain.
Getliffe was married to Lorna, 95, for 74 years, a union that produced two children, seven grandchildren and 10 great-grandchildren.
Visitation is Wednesday, 2-4 p.m. and 7-9 p.m. at Westview Funeral Chapel in London, Ont, with a memorial service Thursday at 3 p.m.

Here’s Toronto broadcaster and writer Brian McFarlane’s predictions for hockey in the year 2000 in his old 1970’s book, Hockey Annual.

“Let’s begin with the player. He’ll wear a lightweight, super plastic climate-control helmet equipped with two-way radio which receives messages from the coach. His uniform will be thermo-controlled and made from a material that gives absolute protection even though it weighs a mere five pounds. It is equipped with contact plates to register pulse, blood pressure, and, most important, fatigue rating. The skates will have impervium boots propelled by forward and retro rockets that increase the player’s natural speed about 50 per cent. In other words, they’ll move at about 50 miles an hour.

“Hockey sticks of the future will be rather unusual. The blade has a trapper pocket for puck control and a trigger on the handle propels the puck at around 200 miles per hour. This eliminates the need for goaltenders so the players shoot at a small target or goal area, and opposing players try to deflect the puck’s flight by means of an electro-magnetic repulsion force generated from their stick.

“The coach, by the way, never associates with his players because personality factors might interfere with his judgment from the coach’s bubble. The coach in this league probably never laced on a pair of rocket skates in his life.

“The referee will ride around in a hover gondola over the ice surface. Because of the terrific speed of play, offsides are recorded electronically and the play-by-play announcer is in direct radio contact with rival coaches, the benches, and the players at all times.

“The arenas will be fantastic! They’ll be geodesic dome-shaped affairs seating 100,000 fans. There’ll be no ice to play on. The players will skate on a Mylar surface, silicone treated, scratch-proof and shrink-resistant, if you like.

“There’ll be no boards. Instead, an invisible field of force will keep the puck in play. And if a player slams into this same field of force, he’ll be cuddled like a baby.

“Any fan who throws an object on the playing surface will be in for a shock because the rink is electronically geared to reject that object and deposit it right back in the thrower’s lap. So no more tomatoes. And what about the hockey fan in his moon home? He’ll see all the action on a super video screen covering one full wall in his living room, colour of course, in 3D too. Smellevision is optional at the press of a button.

“The three stars will appear in the flesh, right in your living room. They’ll be transported there by radiotonic waves after each game. That will be done by breaking down the molecular structure of the body and shooting the cells out on radiotonic waves into your living room. They’ll be duplicated and multiplied as they go along so everybody will get a two-minute chat with the three stars after every hockey game, right in the living room.

“It might take a while to perfect molecular form of transportation and a few players might be lost along the way, but then that’s progress. And that’s hockey as it might look in the first few years of the 21st century.”

School’s winding down for kids who are mostly about 100 years younger than me, and when I thought about that, I thought about the teachers I had those many years ago. And it kind of pisses me off.

There were those nuns, of course, who helped guide and direct by giving me several good strappings on the hand after I got sassy or said a bad word or snapped a girl’s bra strap when she least expected it. So I guess I deserved it, and if you must know, there’s nothing like a nice piece of quarter-inch black leather whipped across the palms of the hands to help someone settle down and learn more.

Most of all, I remember Mr. Canning from grade six. I suppose Mr. Canning was probably in his mid-20s, although I never thought about it at the time. He had greased-back Elvis hair and was probably a kind, gentle soul on parent-teacher night. I seem to recall, although it’s fuzzy, that he sometimes had his good days. But I can clearly recall his bad days.

You see, Mr. Canning got mad at us when we were sassy or said a bad word or snapped a girl’s bra strap, but I can’t ever remember him using the strap. Nope, he never used the strap. Mr. Canning made his point a different way.

You’d first get the hint you were in trouble because his face turned beet red. Then he’d slowly walk down the aisle toward you, and the room grew quiet. His hands would then gently touch the top of your head, and you could feel the fingers wrapping themselves around your hair. After that, it wasn’t a great feeling as he lifted you up, right out of your seat, almost with feet leaving the ground, by the hair. Then he shook and shook and shook, and finally would slam you back down into your desk.

Geez, did that hurt. You wondered if he’d pulled your hair right out of your skull. Your head hurt for hours. So did your pride. Mr. Canning did this to most of the boys.

However, the guy wasn’t a one-trick pony. I guess sometimes he got tired of pulling boys out of their seats by the hair. Sometimes, when he got mad, he would simply stay at the front of the class and throw blackboard erasers, the ones made of wood, as hard as he could at our faces. Mr. Canning was probably a pretty good baseball player, because more times than not, he connected with a fastball eraser square between our eyes. I mean, that must have taken talent.

Mr. Canning taught in the days when teachers could pretty well pummel and torture students and get away with it. Sure, he was a quick-tempered madman, and I suppose he was unusual, even for those times.

He’d be in big trouble nowadays. First, he’d be removed from his teaching position very quickly. A police investigation would begin. Parents would be up in arms. Mr. Canning would retain a lawyer and his defence would be that children have great imaginations and naturally tell stories that the parents would interpret in an adult way, making it sound worse than it was. The lawyer might argue that the parents had other issues with Mr. Canning and they used their kids as a way to get him fired. He could win or lose, depending on his defence.

Two things are for sure. Mr. Canning’s lucky he taught when he did, because I’m assuming he got away with what he did. He’s also lucky he taught only grade-sixers. If he had taught high school kids, he just might have got his ass kicked.

Chuck Nevitt, North Carolina State basketball player, explaining to coach Jim Valvano why he appeared nervous at practice: “My sister’s expecting a baby, and I don’t know if I’m going to be an uncle or an aunt.”

Boxing promoter Dan Duva on Mike Tyson hooking up again with promoter Don King: “Why would anyone expect him to come out smarter? He went to prison for three years, not Princeton.”

Stu Grimson, Chicago Blackhawks left winger, explaining why he keeps a color photo of himself above his locker: “That’s so when I forget how to spell my name, I can still find my clothes.”

Lou Duva, veteran boxing trainer, on the Spartan training regime of heavyweight Andrew Golota: “He’s a guy who gets up at six o’clock in the morning regardless of what time it is.”

Shelby Metcalf, basketball coach at Texas A&M, recounting what he told a player who received four F’s and one D: “Son, looks to me like you’re spending too much time on one subject.”

It’s late afternoon, and I’m home after a long, hot day at work. I’ve been up since 3 am, and all I want to do is drink some beer and watch television. So I’m pulling out this paper I found in a stack of papers, and I’m going to use it today and maybe even some more tomorrow. I know it’s cheating.
But you might like it!

The original title was “Why Athletes Can’t Have Real Jobs.”

Chicago Cubs outfielder Andre Dawson on being a role model. “I wan’ all dem kids to do what I do, to look up to me. I wan’ all the kids to copulate me.” (Dennis’ note: Andre got crossed up on a mix between ‘copy’ and ‘emulate’ for those of you who didn’t get it.)

New Orleans Saint RB George Rogers when asked about the upcoming season. “I want to rush for 1,000 or 1,500 yards, whichever comes first.”

And, upon hearing Joe Jacobi of the ‘Skins say, “I’d run over my own mother to win the Super Bowl,” Matt Millen of the Raiders said: “To win, I’d run over Joe’s mom too.”

Torrin Polk, University of Houston receiver, on his coach, John Jenkins: “He treats us like men. He lets us wear earrings.”

Football commentator and former player Joe Theisman, 1996. “Nobody in football should be called a genius. A genius is a guy like Norman Einstein.”

Senior basketball player at the University of Pittsburgh: “I’m going to graduate on time, no matter how long it takes.”

Bill Peterson, a Florida State football coach: “You guys line up alphabetically by height.” And, “You guys pair up in groups of three, then line up in a circle.”