Tag Archives: JFK

Here’s To You, Historic Habs


I saw the Beatles at Maple Leaf Gardens in 1966, and Janis and Zappa in Atlantic City in ’69.

I saw Led Zeppelin in Vancouver in ’73, and Evel Knievel sail over 13 Mack trucks on his motorcycle at the CNE in ’74.

NOn my TV in Orillia I saw the Kennedy assassination in ’63, and Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon in ’69.

And from my couch in Powell River in 2016, I saw the Montreal Canadiens have their lousiest season in 75 years.

The historic Habs.

Something to tell my grandchildren.

And their fifth loss in a row (forget the overall loss tally) was against the Boston Bruins, with good old Brad Marchand scoring one of four Bruins goals as his team rolled over the hometown Habs 4-1.

It’s the Twilight Zone, baby.

It was last year when Marc Bergevin gave Michel Therrien a four year contract extension that kicked in this season, at $2 million per, and which takes him to 2019.

This was the report at the time;

Montreal re-signed Michel Therrien to a four-year contract extension Saturday, two weeks after the Canadiens were eliminated from the Stanley Cup playoffs.

“It really shows the stability that [general manager] Marc Bergevin and [owner] Geoff Molson want to establish with the Canadiens,” said Therrien on a conference call. “We’ve progressed a lot over the past two years and we want to continue to progress. It’s a sign of confidence.”

Continue to progress. Yes indeed.

Oh, you like Michel Therrien and argue that it’s not his fault this team is on the fast track into the depths of hell? Do you think getting Jonathan Drouin is the answer instead?

I don’t want my historic times tampered with. So lose boys. And then charge fans for your autograph on your days off.

Random Notes:

Canadiens outshot the Bruins 39-24, with their lone goal coming from d-man Mark Barberio. The sharpshooters are still on their extended lunch break.

Next up – Habs in Toronto on Saturday. Imagine.

Holdin’ On In Washington

As mentioned previously, I wasn’t exactly in front of the TV last night when the Habs faced off against the Caps, but from time to time I’d check how things were, and I managed to see the final three heart-stopping minutes.

Apparently there were a lot of heart-stopping minutes. Two thirds of the game in fact.

The gang jumped out to a 3-0 lead in the first, but Alex Ovechkin scored with seconds to go in that first frame and whatever that did to the Canadiens, like put the brakes to their momentum maybe, they didn’t score again, Ovechkin would, and Canadiens would hold on for dear life after that.

But they won the game 3-2. A huge one to win, and three guys on the hotseat found the back of the net – Travis Moen, David Desharnais, and Daniel Briere, which is a fine thing to have happen.

I saw Michael Bournival helped off the ice after taking a puck to the foot or ankle (I think), and I heard that P.K. was in a scrap, which I would’ve loved to have seen.

Two huge points, on the road, against a decent team. And Peter Budaj earns his keep.

Tonight – Sidney and the flightless birds wobble into the Bell.

On a personal note, Luci and I are at my brother’s house in Ottawa, another brother came from Orillia, and when you put the three of us together, it’s uncanny how we look like Brad Pitt, George Clooney, and Cary Grant side by side.

I look like Cary Grant, who’s been dead for some time now, so it’s not a good thing.

Also, it was grade seven when my teacher was called out of our classroom by the principal, and a few minutes later she came back in crying. “Class dismissed” I remember her saying. “President Kennedy has just been shot.”

November 22 (from a few years later) also marked the day my friend and I hopped on a ship bound for England after I had assembled toilet doors in a factory in Orillia for six months. I had just turned 18, and we were in England for a good part of the winter. The Beatles played on the rooftop of their Apple offices on Saville Row when we were in London, but we had no idea and only found out about it after coming home. I still curse about this.



Morenz And Joliat Probably Weren’t Invited. (But Maybe They Were)

We’re in Santa Maria, population 90,000 and home of Robin Williams and Kathy Bates, because we didn’t make it to Santa Barbara, another hour down the road.

And the reason we didn’t make it to Santa Barbara is because we spent hours at the Hearst Castle north of here at San Simeon.

Did you know that some people just have way too much money? William Randolph Hearst certainly did, because he built this big honkin’ castle that took 26 years to almost complete, with 60 bedrooms and pools indoor and out that I’m sure rival any pools Julius Caesar dipped his toes in.

This guy makes Scott Gomez look like a homeless pauper.

Hearst was the founder and publisher of the San Francisco Examiner, and also dabbled in the movie business. Friends who came to stay at this place included Winston Churchill, Charlie Chaplin, Hedda Hopper, Joe Kennedy (father of JFK), and anyone else who had any clout and pockets full of dough in the roaring twenties and dirty thirties.

President Calvin Coolidge’s wife got stuck in the private elevator for hours when they visited.

Hearst also asked married couples staying at his place not to have sex, although he had bedrooms for his wife and also for his mistress, Hollywood starlet Marion Davies.

I thought about asking the tour guide if Hearst was a Habs fan and did Howie Morenz and Aurele Joliat ever come over for martinis but I decided against it. I’m sure Howie and Aurele were much too busy scoring on the ice to have time to score in the pool.

One more note; On the grounds outside the castle, workers were setting up gazebos and music equipment for a party this evening. A party which would include tycoons and Hollywood stars, and it was only costing each person $10,000. I asked Luciena if she thought we should go and she said yes, of course, are you kidding? But we opted for Santa Maria instead.

Tomorrow will be a big day. Hollywood, baby. But I’m worried that if I’m discovered by a movie producer or director for a leading role opposite Catherine Zeta-Jones or Julia Roberts, who’s going to feed my cat back home? (Forget about the Frankenstein and hideous monster remarks. And no, that’s not me in the photo at the top. Very funny.)