These posters are on poles lining my street. Bears love garbage, so please people, no early morning food scraps, Boston Bruin and Toronto Maple Leaf sweaters, and Justin Bieber CDs. Thanks.
The big game, the 100th Grey Cup, is now in the books as the Toronto Argonauts outshone the Calgary Stampeders 35-22, and it wasn’t nearly as close as the scoreboard showed. Calgary’s offence, with Kevin Glenn at the helm, couldn’t put together any kind of attack, passes fell short, there was no pressure and too many turnovers. They reminded me completely of the Habs power play.
Half time was almost interesting, with good old Orillia boy Gordon Lightfoot warbling his Canadian Railroad Trilogy, followed soon after by Justin Bieber doing whatever it is he does. Gordon looks old, his voice is weaker now but it’s still there, and he needs a haircut. Justin of course is a couple years younger than Gordon, his voice is downright mediocre, and he doesn’t need a haircut.
Maybe I’m wrong but I feel Mr. Bieber won’t be having a brilliant 50-year career like Gordon has. If I am wrong, you can remind me in 50 years and I’ll apologize and buy you a beer.
An unfortunate offshoot to the game? Thanks to it, the hole in the ozone is going to get bigger once again. You think cows give off emissions? You blame the cows for affecting the ozone? They’re not the only culprits. There’s also the Grey Cup partiers who ate chili and drank beer and are now polluting the atmosphere with hideous gases. Chili and beer, lots of it, consumed by way too many football fans, turning the air into a horrific, smelly, ozone hole-creating mess. And sometimes they light lighters under their bums to show they don’t care.
Of course cows are a problem too. It’s disgusting how they spend their days. Maybe if we could get a billion people or so to eat nothing but cheeseburgers and meatloaf for a decade or two, the cattle population would decrease and the hole in the ozone would have time to heal.
Next year, the Grey Cup is in Regina, where the world’s greatest football fans live. Crazy, loveable, hard workin’, hard livin’ prairie football fans.
The ozone’s in big trouble next year.
Trevor Linden is coming to Powell River on Oct. 19 to give a speech at the theatre, then head on down to the rink to meet the local junior team, the Kings, and drop the puck before their clash with Cowichan Valley.
His timing can’t be worse. The day before he comes, the Habs are in Boston and I know I’ll be busy talking about that and how PK smashed Brad Marchand’s nose with an elbow and Alexei Emelin sent Andrew Ference flying, with head going north and body south. The day after Linden’s visit, the Caps pay a visit to the Bell and I’ll be getting ready for that and how they need to grab a couple more points in the standings while stopping Ovechkin with no problem whatsoever. Both games should provide thrills and spills and …………..
What? There’s no hockey?
Oops. Is my face red.
I think it’s great that Linden will be in town, coincidentally, on the birthday of former Italian hockey star Lucio Topatigh, and also of Jacques E. Brandenberger, the inventor of cellophane. Not to mention Disco Sally, the now-deceased New York dancing grandma. The 19th is quite a day all round, as you can see.
Linden had two mediocre seasons as a Montreal Canadien back in 1999-2000 and 2000-2001, missed a whack of games in both years, and only netted 25 goals over the two seasons. It wasn’t a memorable stint in Montreal, but he was always a Vancouver Canuck in his heart throughout his career anyway, even though he played for the Habs, Caps, and Islanders along the way. There’s no denying his sixteen seasons on the West Coast is what he’s remembered for. That and his charity work. And I suppose I should mention that he was President of the NHLPA during the last lockout in 2005-05, even though I don’t want to.
His heart was with the Canucks, which is fine. If I played for the Canucks my heart would be with the Habs. Regardless, welcome Trevor Linden. Enjoy Powell River.
And regarding Powell River, how about this! Justin Bieber to meet Powell River boy