Winnipeg sports personalities get their heads examined

Twin sisters Dr. Patti van Puck and Dr. Patti van Pigskin are internationally renowned sports psychologists who specialize in what makes athletes/coaches/managers/owners/sports scribes/broadcasters tick.

Jocks the world over flock to their clinic, the River City Shrink Wrap, and Drs. Patti and Patti have a waiting list longer than a politician’s nose at election time. They don’t always have the right answer, but if loving the Winnipeg Jets, Blue Bombers and Goldeyes is wrong, they don’t want to be right.

Today’s group session includes Mike O’Shea, head coach of the Blue Bombers, Glenn January, offensive lineman with the Bombers, Evander Kane, left winger with the Jets, Kevin Cheveldayoff, general manager of the Jets, and Gary (La La) Lawless, sports columnist with the Winnipeg Free Press. Gentlemen, start your therapy…

DR. PUCK: “Welcome everyone. Who would like to start?”

COACH O’SHEA: “I’ll start, Doc Puck. I’m puzzled. I’m as baffled as a teenage kid trying to unhook his girlfriend’s bra for the first time. Here I am, a rookie head coach who’s taken over a team that really sucked lemons last year. I mean, they were bad and…”

DR. PIGSKIN: “Sorry to interrupt, Coach O’Shea, but exactly how bad were they?”

COACH O’SHEA: “Plugged-toilet-first-thing-in-the-morning bad. They won just three games. Out of 18! Now this year, my team has already won four games. FOUR! Out of five! But do you think we get any respect? Not so much as a sliver of respect. The fans still won’t fill the building and this bonehead sitting beside me—Lawless—writes that I need to learn how to lose. That was more than a month ago. Now he says the team’s a mirage. A mirage!”

JANUARY: “Not only that. He also wrote that the O-line sucks lemons and that I should be traded. That’s right! He says I’m the only guy on the O-line who doesn’t suck lemons, but then he says the GM oughta peddle my O-line-sized ass outta town. What’s up with that, Doc? Where’s the respect?”

DR. PIGSKIN: “Is all this true, Mr. Lawless?”

GARY LA LA: “Ya, I wrote that the Bombers are a mirage. But then they go and beat the Lions in B.C. to make me look like a complete jackass (as if I need help with that). So the next day I tweeted they might be real. Then two days later I wrote they’re gonna be champions. If they lose in Hamilton, they’ll be a mirage again. It all depends on what day it is, I guess. I just wet my finger, hold it up and see what way the wind’s blowing. Then I spend the next 15 minutes writing my column before lumbering off to my radio gig.”

DR. PIGSKIN: “And is it true that you wrote they should trade Glenn January?”

GARY LA LA: “Guilty as charged. I know he’s the best they’ve got. Without him, the O-line would really suck lemons. So maybe they shouldn’t trade him. Oh, I can’t make up my mind. I flip-flop more than a catfish someone caught at Lockport then tossed on the shore. I need help, Doc. That’s why I’m here.”

DR. PUCK: “My but there’s a lot of lemon sucking going on today? Do you have the same difficulty when you write about the Jets?”

GARY LA LA: “No way. Ask Chevy. He’ll tell you that I never lose my bearings when writing about the Jets. When they came to town in 2011, Chevy and Chipper bought me lunch. That really made me feel like I was part of the team. I wrote a column about it. Trust me, Doc, that lunch told me which side my bread is buttered on. I’ve known it right from the get-go. Right Chevy?”

CHEVELDAYOFF: “Damn straight, La La. My boots have never been so well shined. I can always count on Gary to pump my tires, Doc, whether I do something or not.”

KANE: “What do you mean if you do something? You haven’t done anything for 3 1/2 years. All you do is play with the waiver wire and draft kids who are five-foot-six and weigh 165 pounds. You never make trades to improve the team. Why do you think that blogger chick calls you Kevin the Possum? There’s no winning with you. Why do you think I want out of this two-bit town where everybody hates me?”

CHEVELDAYOFF: “I don’t make trades because I’m afraid to make trades. If I trade you, Evander, you’ll score 40 goals a season for the next 10 years and the guys I get in return won’t score 40 goals total in those 10 years. That’s what I’m afraid of.”

KANE: “So, as long as I’m in Winnipeg, we’re never going to make the playoffs, is that’s what I’m hearing you say?”

CHEVELDAYOFF: “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that as long as I’m in Winnipeg we’re never going to make the playoffs. That’s why I came here today to see the two docs. I’m hoping that they can give me the courage to make a trade for actual players, not draft choices.”

KANE: “Who the hell do you think Dr. Puck is? She ain’t the Wizard of Oz, man! Get a grip!”

GARY LA LA: “Hey, don’t talk to Chevy that way!”

KANE: “You talking to me, Lardo?”

GARY LA LA: “That’s right. I’m talking to you, punk. You should have the initials KCGGM shaved into your hair as a show of respect for your boss, the greatest GM in National Hockey League history. Everybody in this room sucks lemons except Chevy. And the two Docs, of course.”

DR. PUCK: “Gentlemen, please. Let’s keep this civil. Now, our session time is almost up, so let’s summarize. You’ve all come here for a reason—respect. That’s what you all seek. So, my twin sister and I are prepared to offer you some advice. Just remember, if loving you is wrong, we don’t want to be right.”

DR. PIGSKIN: “Coach O’Shea, you seek respect for your team. Mr. January, you seek respect for the O-line and as an individual. Well, it’s obvious what you must do in order to get the respect you desire and deserve: Do exactly what Chevy and Mark Chipman did with Gary La La—buy him lunch. There’s a McDonald’s close by. Take him there when you leave and you’ll never have to shine your shoes again.”

DR. PUCK: “As for you, Chevy, the great baseball manager Tubby Tommy Lasorda once said: There are three kinds of people—those who make things happen, those who let things happen, and those who wonder what happened. Well, young Mr. Kane is absolutely correct—I am not the Wizard of Oz. I can’t give you courage. Remember this: Oz didn’t give nothing to the cowardly lion that he didn’t already have. So make things happen. And, Evander, you wish to move to a city where the fans will admire and respect you and to a team that can win. I can’t say that I blame you.”

DR. PIGSKIN: “And, finally, we come to you, Gary La La. You seek respect as a writer. The trouble is, many readers can’t see past your Jets pom-poms. We know you don’t want to be seen as a True North Toady. So, again, it’s obvious what you must do—buy your own damn lunch.”

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for more than 40 years, longer than any living being. Do not, however, assume that to mean she harbors a wealth of sports knowledge or that she’s a jock journalist of award-winning loft. It simply means she is old, comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she doesn’t know when to quit.
She is most proud of her Q Award, presented to her in 2012 for her scribblings about the LGBT community in Victoria, B.C.

Winnipeg sports: These two Jacks were both aces

Media musings and some other stuff…

Nice touch to name the press box at Football Follies Field in Fort Garry in honor of the two Jacks—Matheson and Wells.

Both Jack Matheson, my first sports editor, and Cactus Jack Wells, the lots-of-yuks broadcaster who never met a multi-syllabic name he couldn’t mangle or a day that didn’t turn out nice, were giants of jock journalism, not just in Winnipeg but on a national scale. I wonder, though: Do the names Matty and Cactus Jack carry any weight with the stable of young sports scribes and talking heads who will occupy Two Jacks Press Box going forward?

I hope so, because there are lessons to be learned from both men.

Matty, left, and Cactus Jack.

Matty, sports columnist at the Winnipeg Tribune, was a supreme wordsmith who never, ever mailed it in. His copy was pristine and it sang. He was a writer’s writer who worked at his craft. Hard. Matty didn’t write every day (his bride Peggy, aka the LGIW, insisted he take vacation once a year), but few wrote as often and as well. Most important, Matty loved his job, because it wasn’t a job to him.

As for Cactus, he went through life with a wink and a nod. He was fun and he had fun. I think that’s what jock journalists can learn most from this broadcasting legend: Take your job seriously, but not yourself.

ODDS ‘N’ SODS: Since the Winnipeg Blue Bombers are 4-1 and joint leaders in the western precinct of the Canadian Football League, I guess I should show some respect and stop calling their digs Football Follies Field in Fort Garry. It seems that the Football Follies boarded the same plane out of town as Joe Mack, Gary Crowton and a cast of quarterbacks who now appear to be in witness protection programs…Interesting how things work out. If the Bombers were still in the East Division, they’d already have a playoff spot locked up…This from Gary (La La) Lawless of the Winnipeg Free Press on July 25: “Don’t be fooled by the (Bombers) 3-1 record. It’s a mirage.” And this tweet from Gary La La exactly one day later: “So I don’t know if the #bombers are for real on the field.” I assume a loss to the Hamilton Tiger-Cats on Thursday will reduce the Bombers to “mirage” status again. Last time I saw flip-flops like this, they were on Jeff Reinebold’s feet…How much fun would Cactus Jack be having with the name Lirim Hajrullahu? I think he could handle Lirim without tripping over either syllable, but I’m pretty sure the Bomber kicker’s last name would be Hallelujah or Hoolahoopa or Highroller…Ed Tait continues to do boffo work for the Freep. His piece on former Bombers linebacker and National Football League wannabe Henoc Muamba is first rate…Read Steve Simmons‘ three-dot column in the Winnipeg Sun this morning, and I must say that Little Stevie Blunder sounds like a bitter and angry old man in his rant against fancy stats in hockey. You don’t like fancy stats, Stevie? Well, here’s an unfancy stat for you: The next time you make a statement, put a period at the end of it, not a question mark…Again, I don’t understand why the Sun runs a column by a Toronto-based scribe who basically tells us everything he dislikes in the world. Here’s today’s scoreboard on the Simmons column: Toronto issues 17, Winnipeg issues 0…Is there any rhyme or reason to when sports columnists Paul Friesen (Winnipeg Sun) and Gary Lawless appear in print? The columnist is the most important read in a sports section. Why do we have to guess when they write?…Steven Stamkos says he wants to play hockey where he has a chance to win the Stanley Cup. Guess that rules out Canada…If I told you I know someone who’s never smoked pot, never had a tattoo and never taken a selfie, what would you say? I agree. I need to get a life.

WORTH REPEATING: When asked by Sean Fitz-Gerald of the National Post if Winnipeg deserved a second chance with a National Hockey League franchise, Bobby Hull said…

“I don’t think they could afford it. It’s not that they don’t deserve one, but I don’t think they have enough fans, enough corporate businesses, to fund a professional franchise of that magnitude.”

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for more than 40 years, longer than any living being. Do not, however, assume that to mean she harbors a wealth of sports knowledge or that she’s a jock journalist of award-winning loft. It simply means she is old, comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she doesn’t know when to quit.
She is most proud of her Q Award, presented to her in 2012 for her scribblings about the LGBT community in Victoria, B.C.

Winnipeg Jets: Here’s what they’re saying out on the street

Ever wonder what others think about our hockey heroes? I do.

That’s why I went on a scouting mission this morning. I wanted to get the word on the street. You know, find out if pundits hither and yon are as gobsmacked as myself by the hypnotic, management-by-paralysis work of Winnipeg Jets general manager Kevin the Possum, who, if his thumb-twiddling achieves the desired result, has positioned the Winnipeg Jets to win the Connor McDavid sweeps.

This hunt, it should be pointed out, was inspired by a Ken Wiebe piece that appeared last week in the Winnipeg Sun.

The young sports scribe went about the business of analyzing and assessing the off-season tinkering, overhauling and blow-’em-up-real-good manoeuvring of the seven outfits in the Central Division of the National Hockey League.

Wiebe rated Kevin the Possum’s work as C-, which, if I remember my grade school grading system correctly, is a passing mark. Anything above a D is a pass. Oh, woe is Ken.

A mark of C- for Kevin the Possum is clearly a hometown score. I’m not accusing Wiebe of being a True North Toady, but his credibility certainly has taken a bit of a hit because giving GM Kevin Cheveldayoff a passing grade is like giving Tiger Woods a gold star for fidelity.

Wiebe submits that the Jets “have improved slightly.” Sorry, but I don’t see it. Which is why I sought outside input. Here’s what they’re saying about the Jets out on the street, kids. (Caution: Offensive opinion if you’re a hard-core fanboy or fangirl.)

Harrison Mooney, Puck Daddy: “The more I look at the Winnipeg Jets, the more I’m left to wonder what Kevin Cheveldayoff actually does all day. It’s as though Cheveldayoff doesn’t know trading is an option. He’s been an NHL GM since June 8, 2011. He’s never made a player-for-player trade, ever. ”

The Tennessean: “With the exception of the Winnipeg Jets, every Central team made major improvements in hopes of unseating Pacific Division power Los Angeles, the Stanley Cup champion.”

David M. Wilson, Defending Big D (a Dallas Stars blog): “So after finishing seventh in the Central Division, seven points back of a playoff spot, what do the Winnipeg Jets need to step into the sphere of being legitimate contenders? Well. Whatever it is, it’s unlikely they got it over this offseason. No, they didn’t exactly do nothing, but their summer moves are more of the yawn-inducing variety than anything else.”

Allan Muir, SI.com: “Meanwhile in Winnipeg, Cheveldayoff numbly soldiers on with a core that has no idea how to win, a tent-pole star who doesn’t want to be there and arguably the worst starting goalie in the entire league. What does Chevy do this summer? He picks up Mathieu Perreault to replace Olli Jokinen, waffles on the continuing Evander Kane situation and does nothing to support or replace Ondrej Pavelec, despite the availability of an abundance of keepers with starter potential in free agency. But what else to expect from a man whose boldest move in the last three years was swapping Johnny Oduya for a pair of draft picks?”

Scott Burnside, ESPN: “Mathieu Perreault? That’s the answer? Hmmm. If the question was, ‘How do we keep our streak of never winning a single playoff game alive?’ then the Jets seem right on track. While every other team in the Central Division has made a step forward, the Jets seem content to maintain the status quo in the hopes that somehow, someway their young players—and there are some good ones like Jacob Trouba, Mark Scheifele and Blake Wheeler—will miraculously take this team by the throat and guide it into the playoffs. Last season they finished 14 points back of fourth-place Minnesota and seven back of Dallas, which snared the second wild-card spot in the West. No way are they that close now.”

Dan Bradley, On the Forecheck: “The Jets are becoming masters at being just good enough to not get a top-3 pick, but not being good enough become relevant. It’s a cycle that’s pretty cruel to the city and its fans (who are some of the best in the league). The fans and media aren’t too fond of Evander Kane. They’re paying Ondrej Pavelec wayyyy too much money when he’s statistically one of the worst in the league. There’s some decent talent here, but unless a trade to bring in some legit scoring happens OR the team is bad enough to tank towards a top-3 pick, the Jets will continue to be a haven for young players looking to join a contender. If players and media think that Nashville hasn’t grown up as a team, I really want to know how they view the Jets. If Nashville just moved out of their parents’ house, the Jets took down their cartoon bird wallpaper and put up vintage airplanes stickers in their bedroom.”

Josh Clark, Blackout Dallas:  “Better or worse? There’s absolutely no way around it: the Jets will decline this season. Winnipeg finished last year at 15th in the goals-for department and 21st in the goals-against department. With the rebuild phase imminent and draft picks galore filling their future, they just won’t be able to compete in the tough Central Division full of six playoff caliber teams now. With the current players on the roster, they will be able to straggle along, but will not find a way to punch their ticket to the postseason.”

Hockey Blog in Canada: “The first guy I have to ask about is Winnipeg Jets GM Kevin Cheveldayoff. The Jets have yet to make the playoffs since arriving in Winnipeg, and look like they are going to miss the playoffs again this season. Yes, I can boldly make that prediction in July because I’m not sure what Cheveldayoff is being paid to do on a daily basis.”

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for more than 40 years, longer than any living being. Do not, however, assume that to mean she harbors a wealth of sports knowledge or that she’s a jock journalist of award-winning loft. It simply means she is old, comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she doesn’t know when to quit.
She is most proud of her Q Award, presented to her in 2012 for her scribblings about the LGBT community in Victoria, B.C.

Oh, woe is Canada. We just don’t try hard enough, eh.

Okay, grasshopper, I believe we need to take a Zen timeout. A mindful moment, if you will. Breathing in, say, “Jason Whitlock is an ass clown.” Breathing out, say, “Don Cherry is an ass clown.”

Breathing in, Jason Whitlock is an ass-clown. Breathing out, Don Cherry is an ass-clown.

There now, grasshopper. Don’t you feel better accepting the reality that there are ass-clowns on both sides of the vast North American divide?

We’ve long known about Cherry, of course, because the Lord of Loud has been sitting in his Hockey Night in Canada bully pulpit for 30-plus years, repeatedly reminding “you kids out there” that there is only one proper way to play shinny, and that’s the chip, chase and toothless “CANADIAN WAY!”

We have heart. We have soul. And they don’t.

Who are “they?” Everybody else. Especially Russians, who, according to a classic Cherry rant, “suck and they always HAVE SUCKED” and they have “ZERO” heart. So there.

As for those other “they” countries, which apparently includes the province of Quebec, their players wear face shields and have all their teeth. You cannot possibly have heart and soul if you’ve arrived at the National Hockey League level with a full set of tusks. So there.

There are, of course, mobs of hosers who sip Grapes’ Kool-Aid (Cherry-flavored, naturally). The Baron of Bombast has them convinced we win hockey matches because we want to win. Players from the “they” countries don’t want to win.

But whoa, Nellie.

Now we have Jason Whitlock telling us it isn’t so. At least not with our basketball players. Our hosers of the hardwood play hoops like the “they” hockey countries play hockey. Without heart. Without soul. With all their teeth.

“Andrew Wiggins is from Canada,” Whitlock, an ESPN columnist of substantial rank, says of the Canadian kid chosen first by the Cleveland Cavliers in the recent National Basketball Association draft. “Canadian athletes…perhaps don’t want it as much as some of the Europeans and certainly the American players.

“This is what a lot of NBA people believe, that American-born and even some of the European players that come (over to play in the NBA). They have more intensity, more of a hunger for the game. They’re not as laid back. Look, Canada’s a laid-back place, which is probably a positive thing. There’s positive-ness to not taking basketball and being so intense or being so bottom-line driven as we are here in America where it’s work, work, work, work, work and just go-get-go-get and that’s all we respect. But I’m just telling you, this is the conversation with basketball people: Does he have that ‘dog’ in him? Does he want to be the greatest all the time? Does he know how to give that consistent effort all the time? And they think that’s a question that a lot of players from north of the border have to answer.”

I’d say them’s fighting words, except the last time we fought the Americans it was a rout and we really don’t want or need to burn down the White House again, do we?

I mean, what’s to be gained in going off on Jason Whitlock and his sprawling generalization of the Great White North as a nation of slackers? I suppose I could paint all Americans with a brush that colors them loud, rude and obnoxious, but that would make Donald S. Cherry a closet American. Besides, I know an American who is not loud, rude and obnoxious. With any luck, I’ll meet another one before I’m ashes in an urn, eh.

I must confess I’m not offended by the utterances of Jason Whitlock. There might even be a thimble of truth in what he’s saying. We are a laid-back lot, are we not? We don’t rev our engines over any silly, little thing. It has to be an important issue. Like who owns the rights to the Hockey Night in Canada theme. Or why we have scratch-and-sniff $100 bills that smell like maple syrup.

How can our NBA players be expected to concentrate and want to win with such weighty matters preying on their minds?

Little wonder our Steve Nash only won two NBA most valuable player awards. Surely slacker Steve would have brought home more than two measly MVP trinkets had he not been a laid-back Canadian. Mind you, that’s still one more MVP award than either Kobe Bryant or Shaq ever won. But, hey, who’s counting when you’re slagging an entire nation?

Look, Jason Whitlock is a very good writer but also a blowhard. He has described himself as “fat black man” and he often works race into his print rantings. He once tweeted an extremely crude comment about the size of NBA player Jeremy Lin’s penis, then, in a forced, faux mea culpa, claimed his “immature, sophomore comedic nature” was the product of listening to too many Richard Pryor albums when he was a fat black kid.

Oh, isn’t that so American. Blame the black guy. Perhaps Don Cherry can blame the McKenzie Brothers the next time he says something stupid on HNIC. Coo, roo, coo, coo, coo, coo, coo, coo.

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for more than 40 years, longer than any living being. Do not, however, assume that to mean she harbors a wealth of sports knowledge or that she’s a jock journalist of award-winning loft. It simply means she is old, comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she doesn’t know when to quit.
She is most proud of her Q Award, presented to her in 2012 for her scribblings about the LGBT community in Victoria, B.C.

Winnipeg Jets: Dale Hawerchuk is revered, Evander Kane is reviled and Kevin Cheveldayoff is The Possum

Okay, it’s agreed that Evander Kane is Public Enemy No. 1 in River City.

The guy is about as welcome as mosquitos at a picnic table. He probably couldn’t get himself a free lunch at a soup kitchen. Heck, Kane likely couldn’t score a pint on the house if he bellied up to the bar with Mike O’Shea and Drew Willy as his wing mates on a Friday night at the Palomino Club.

Ya. I’m told it’s that bad.

So here’s what I would like to know: What is Kane’s crime?

There’s a school of thought, of course, that suggests he wants out of Winnipeg. That he feels as if playing hockey in River City is the equivalent of cleaning up after the circus elephants. We’ve been hearing that since he arrived with the National Hockey League club’s caravan from Atlanta in 2011. Well, to the best of my knowledge, we’ve never heard any such words fall from Kane’s tongue. When asked about it point blank, he acts like a ninny and skates around the issue without providing a yes or no answer.

Thus, it’s all gossip. Innuendo. Rumor. Kane, himself, has yet to approach general manager Kevin (The Possum) Cheveldayoff and request a trade. Not for public consumption, anyway.

Why, then, is the young Winnipeg Jets left winger so disliked?

I mean, Dale Hawerchuk demanded his ticket out of Dodge, yet he is revered in River City.

The difference, of course, is that Ducky had street cred as a hockey player and, perhaps just as important, as a citizen. His street cred was born of a 53-goal season. Six 40-plus goal seasons. Half a dozen 100-plus point seasons. A Calder Trophy. And he married a Manitoba farm girl, Crystal.

One other thing: There was no belief that Ducky considered his adopted hometown the crotch of the country.

Ducky wanted a new postal code for one reason: GM Mike Smith.

Some of you might not be old enough to remember comrade Mikhail, who generally (mis)managed the Jets in the late 1980s and early ’90s. He was, shall we say, a different head of lettuce. Rumpled in a slept-on-the-street sort of way and an egghead who viewed hockey not so much as sport but science, he had a degree in Russian studies and a fascination, if not a fetish, for players whose names ended with the letters ‘ov’. Under comrade Mikhail’s watch, the Jets had more Ivans and Igors and Sergeis and Vladimirs than the Kremlin. Or the Moscow phone book. Winnipeg was Red Square West. That’s why I called them the Central Red Jets back in the day.

Anyway, Hawerchuk was caught up in, and eventually swept away by, the undertow of comrade Mikhail’s diabolical plot to paint the town red.

As with the Kane scrutiny, gossip abounded about Ducky being dispatched hither and yon. Chicago Blackhawks coach Iron Mike Keenan and his Jets counterpart, Bob (Mud) Murdoch talked about a one-for-one swap: Denis Savard for Hawerchuk. Prior to the 1989 NHL trade deadline, there was discussion of a deal that would have sent Ducky to Philadelphia for Dave Poulin, Scott Mellanby and one of their the Flyers’ No. 1 picks.

“And three of Bobby Clarke’s kids,” was comrade Mikhail’s cheeky reaction to the reports. “And two of Jay Snider’s cars.”

To that point in time, Hawerchuk had made no trade request or demand. He was, however, wavering.

“I would accept a trade more easily now than I would have a year ago,” he said. “I’m tired about reading bull in the papers. I’m tired of coming to the rink with a negative-type attitude here. Maybe it’s best for the hockey club to get a few players for me. That’s not saying I want to be traded.”

Both Hawerchuk and comrade Mikhail were singing from the same sheet in the songbook by the end of that season.

“He basically would like a change,” the GM told reporters. “He’d like an opportunity to go to another team and play in another organization.”

Shortly thereafter, Ducky was shuffled off to Buffalo in barter for Phil Housley, Scott Arniel, Jeff Parker and an exchange of first-round draft picks (the Jets chose Keith Tkachuk). It was a favorable deal for the Jets, certainly the best return anyone could have expected.

Despite his defection, Hawerchuk is revered and considered hockey deity in River City. And rightly so.

Kane, meanwhile, is reviled.

I still don’t know what crime Kane has committed, other than he enjoys yanking everyone’s chain. I do know this, however: Dale Hawerchuk earned the right to request a trade because he earned his street cred through his deeds. To this point in time, Evander Kane has done and earned squat.

You know, just like The Possum, whose management by paralysis has paralyzed the Jets.

(FOOTNOTE: I invite your comments. I do not, however, welcome some of your comments. If you believe what I’ve written is the natterings of a nincompoop and belongs at the bottom of a bird cage, let ‘er rip. Tell me why. I enjoy healthy debate. That can be fun. If, on the other hand, your idea of a critique is to attack/insult me about my gender or sexual orientation, then we aren’t going to get along. Let’s put it this way: It is permissible to question the size of my IQ, but not the size of my boobs. Bottom line: I don’t get paid to write this crap, so play nice, kids.)

Red Cards and Yellow Cards to you, you, you and my own self

The World Cup is in the rear view mirror, but that doesn’t mean we have to put away the red and yellow cards. Matter of fact, I’m going to my pocket because there are some people who need to be carded…

RED CARD: To Steve Simmons of the Toronto Sun/Sun Media.

I have often red-carded Little Stevie Blunder because he is, perhaps, the most red-cardable jock journalist in the land. To err is human, but this Sun scribe is never wrong. Just ask him.

I did that very thing once upon a time. Little Stevie had written that the Minnesota Vikings never were champions of the National Football League. I sent him an email, suggesting he might be mistaken.

“The Vikings have never won the Super Bowl, but did they not win the final NFL title prior to the merger with the American Football League?” I inquired. “I’m looking at the official NFL record book as I write, and it lists Minnesota as the 1969 NFL champion. Is the official NFL record book wrong, or are you wrong?”

Well, didn’t that just ruffle his not-so-pretty plummage?

Little Stevie’s response was quite snotty. Basically, he told me I was a ditz who didn’t know pigskin from porcelain and I shouldn’t let the facts get in the way of his high-and-mighty huffing and puffing. Without saying the NFL record book was wrong, he said it was wrong.

So now we have Little Stevie playing loose with history once again, this time in Major League Baseball.

Sitting to the host’s right on TSN The Reporters with Dave Hodge this past Sabbath, Little Stevie went into full bluster and told us this about Clayton Kershaw, the Los Angeles Dodgers sensational southpaw: “His last eight starts, two no-hitters, five earned runs.”

Kershaw has one no-hitter in his entire career, not two in eight starts.

Normally, a foul of this nature would warrant only a yellow card, but Simmons gets a red card because he’s so arrogant.

RED CARD: To the Winnipeg Sun.

Why does PegSun run Little Stevie Blunder’s three-dot columns on Sundays? Too much of it is Toronto-centric. In his most-recent piece, Simmons offered 14 opinions on Tranna athletes/issues compared to just one about Winnipeg. Does anyone in River City actually care about the Raptors and the naming of a Scarborough street after Peter Zezel?

Why doesn’t PegSun have one of its own people do the column? Like Paul Friesen. Or a freelancer who’d make the thing more Peg-centric.

RED CARD: To Kevin Klein, grand poobah of MyToba.ca.

I’m sure Klein has some boffo ideas, because the MyToba.ca website is quite good. But his campaign to have Dancing Gabe Langlois inducted into the Manitoba Sports Hall of Fame is not among his boffo notions. It is, in fact, a really, really dumb idea.

Klein made his plea in a May column on MyToba.ca, and asked folks to sign a petition in support. Two months later, he has 157 of his targeted 10,000 signatures.

Take the hint, Kevin: Take the story down from your website.

YELLOW CARD: To Gary (La La) Lawless of the Winnipeg Free Press.

Gary La La engaged Dave Reid in one of those staged, to-and-fro chin-wags in which both voices talk loud and, often, at the same time on TSN’s That’s Hockey. Their debate focused on the merits of having either Jacob Trouba of the Winnipeg Jets or Seth Jones of the Nashville Predators as the centrepiece of your National Hockey League franchise.

“Leadership?” Gary La La said in summation. “You could slap the C on Jacob Trouba in Winnipeg right now and no one would blink.”

Yo! La La! I’m pretty certain Andrew Ladd would blink as they ripped the C off his sweater.

Jets GM Kevin Takethedayoff

YELLOW CARD: To Jets left winger Evander Kane and general manager Kevin (Takethedayoff) Cheveldayoff.

These two need to spend some time on Planet Pinocchio. Here’s why: When Kane arrives at training camp (on time but probably not soon enough for the naysayers), the news scavengers will be circling, They will be hungry. They will be prepared to pick at his bones. This will be their first volley:

“Do you want to be here in Winnipeg, Evander?”

This will be the central theme throughout training exercises—and into the NHL season—unless the polarizing player and the pulseless GM stop talking in circles about Kane’s life expectancy with the Jets.

Kane and Cheveldayoff need to do what most hockey people do—lie. The next time Kane is asked if he’s happy in Pegtown, he must say, “Yes.” When Cheveldayoff is asked if he is attempting to peddle his sometimes petulant player’s posterior to the highest bidder, he must say, “No.”

You and I will know both their noses are growing and their pants are on fire, but their big, fat fibs ought to curb the controversy. We then can move on to more pressing training camp issues. Like the size of Dustin Byfuglien’s girth.

YELLOW CARD: To local newsies for sticking their microphones and notepads under Dale Hawerchuk’s nose to get his take on the Kane situation.

Exactly what did the scavengers expect Ducky to say? That Winnipeg is a cesspool? That Kane should run for the hills?

There’s no suggestion that the Jets legend was anything less than sincere when he endorsed good, ol’ Hometown as a swell place to spend an NHL career, but come on, people. That’s not a fresh slant on a touchy issue. It’s not news. It’s True North propaganda.

YELLOW CARD: To my very own self because of what I scribbled about the Winnipeg Blue Bombers for The Huddle Magazine last September.

“Be afraid, kids. Be very afraid. Here’s why. What transpired at Football Follies Field in Fort Garry on Friday night might have been a preview of the 2014 Canadian Football League season.

Keep in mind that your Winnipeg Blue Bombers will be keeping company with B.C., Calgary, Edmonton and Saskatchewan next year, so the 53-17 paddy whacking the B.C. Lions laid on the locals could become the rule rather than the exception.

Scary thought, isn’t it?

I mean, if you’re the bottom feeder in the CFL East Division, what’s going to happen when you’re running with the big dogs in the West Division? Well, here’s a hint: The Bombers are 1-6 vs. West outfits in 2013 and they’ve been outscored 238-145 for a per game average of 34-20. So batten the hatches and hide all the women and children.

Oh, I suppose a lot will change between now and next July. Maybe the Bombers will find a general manager. Maybe they’ll find a head coach who knows where the Xs and Os belong on the offensive side of the football. Maybe they’ll find a quarterback who doesn’t give the ball away like candy on Halloween. Maybe they’ll find some large lads who can pass block. Maybe they’ll find some receivers who don’t have alligator arms in traffic. Maybe they’ll find someone who can kick a field goal.

And maybe I’ll be Miss Grey Cup 2013.”

Well, our football heroes are 3-and-oh and atop the Canadian Football League West Division standings.

D’oh!

(FOOTNOTE: I invite your comments. I do not, however, welcome some of your comments. If you believe what I’ve written is the natterings of a nincompoop and belongs at the bottom of a bird cage, let ‘er rip. Tell me why. I enjoy healthy debate. That can be fun. If, on the other hand, your idea of a critique is to attack/insult me about my gender or sexual orientation, then we aren’t going to get along. Let’s put it this way: It is permissible to question the size of my IQ, but not the size of my boobs. Bottom line: I don’t get paid to write this crap, so play nice, kids.)

Young Eddie Tait: My ‘pizza boy’ is a slice above the rest of the River City sports scribes

Not always, but often when I read a quality piece of scribbling by Ed Tait, like his work in today’s Winnipeg Free Press, I think of pizza. A $10 pizza.

It was during the 1990s, you see, when I carried the burden and misfortune of being sports editor at the Winnipeg Sun. Actually, upon reflection, I suppose it wasn’t all that bad, because I had young Eddie and a couple of other good foot soldiers on my staff, but it was a burden, nonetheless.

Anyway, I had dispatched Young Eddie to North Dakota (the specific assignment escapes me, but I believe it was either high school or college hockey). It was a weekend gig, and his first road trip. Ever. He was geeked up, understandly so because this is a significant and signature moment in the life of a greenhorn sports scribe. I don’t recall giving him extravagant or detailed directives, other than to get the story, enjoy himself and come home safely.

“And keep your receipts,” I emphasized. “You’ll need them for your expense report.”

So I’m sitting at the desk in the closet-sized cubbyhole that passed for my office on the second floor of the Sun building when Young Eddie returned from the fray.

“How did it go?” I asked.

“Great,” he answered with the enthusiasm and innocence of freshly scrubbed youth and his boyish charm. “Had loads of fun.”

“Nice. Very nice. You did a great job. We’ll have to get you on the road again. When you’ve got time, fill out your expense form and make sure you include your receipts.”

He left and, scant seconds later, Young Eddie was back in my bunker.

“Here,” he said, handing me the lid from a pizza box.

“What’s this?” I said as I stared at a rumpled piece of cardboard with tomato sauce stains.

“That’s what I ate.”

“That’s it? That’s all you ate for the entire weekend? One pizza?”

“No, but…”

“How much did it cost?”

“Ten bucks.”

“You spent $10 for the entire weekend? Just $10?”

“No, but…”

To this day, I have no notion what else Young Eddie shoved down his throat that weekend, but I have my suspicions that a few bags of chips and Big Gulps were on the menu. He probably splurged on two or three packs of bubblegum, too.

“I remember,” he told me in an email exhange this morning. “My expense reports have changed since then. Steve (Freep sports editor Lyons) has told me I don’t need to put in the receipts from 7-11 for all the Doritos, Gobstoppers, etc.”

Too funny.

I don’t tell this story to bring any level of embarrassment to Young Eddie. I loved working with him. He made my two tours of duty as sports editor palatable and, on those occasions when we collaborated on out-of-town assignments, he was an absolute joy and a boffo traveling companion. We had a great many guffaws.

If there’s a more respected sports scribe in Winnipeg than Young Eddie, I don’t know who it might be. He’s the best of the best, whether he’s writing about the Winnipeg Jets, the Blue Bombers or something on the periphery. No one in Pegtown does it better than Young Eddie. And I’ll tell you something else about him: As good a sports scribe as he is, he’s even a better person. I’m sure his bride, Kathi, and their lads, Wyatt and Finn, would agree.

So you want to read his terrific piece in today’s Freep about Matt Dunigan’s 713-yard passing game with the Blue Bombers 20 years ago. Like Dunigan in that match vs. the Edmonton Eskimos, Young Eddie is at the top of his game.

Dunigan, of course, is the centrepiece of the article, but Eddie tracked down some of the QB’s accomplices and he includes a delightful anecdote from Chris Walby, who was honored for participating in his 200^th Canadian Football League game in Bombers linen that night at the ol’ ballyard on Maroons Road.

It’s the sort of feature stuff I’d like to see more often in both the Freep and the Winnipeg Sun.

(FOOTNOTE: I invite your comments. I do not, however, welcome some of your comments. If you believe what I’ve written is the natterings of a nincompoop and belongs at the bottom of a bird cage, let ‘er rip. Tell me why. I enjoy healthy debate. That can be fun. If, on the other hand, your idea of a critique is to attack/insult me about my gender or sexual orientation, then we aren’t going to get along. Let’s put it this way: It is permissible to question the size of my IQ, but not the size of my boobs. Bottom line: I don’t get paid to write this crap, so play nice, kids.)

Corsi and Fenwick: What the *%&$#* are QoC eTOI% and QoT TOI% F rel supposed to mean?

I have a confession to make: I’m old school.

I’m so old school that I sometimes think I was on the work crew that helped Don Cherry build the old school.

I mean, I still call a chalk board a black board. To me, the word “hip” means something other than one of my many body parts that requires replacing. I don’t listen to music unless it includes a turntable, a needle and a thin slab of round vinyl. I’m still having difficulty with the notion that the Cubs play night games, that the 1970s are over and that Hedberg and Nilsson left Winnipeg for Gotham.

That doesn’t mean I live in the past. Nor does the past live in me. It isn’t that I’m anti-progress or anti-change (lord knows I fully embrace change). It’s just that I’m a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to new-fangled thingamajigs.

So you’ll have to excuse me if I’m having difficulty with these Corsi and Fenwick dudes.

For the longest time, I was quite curious about Corsi and Fenwick. It was a curiosity that bordered on fascination. I’d never seen them. I just kept reading and hearing about them. All…the…time.

I figured Corsi and Fenwick were finalists for the Hart Trophy and every other significant National Hockey League award. After all, they’d been mentioned in every shinny story written in the past half dozen years. I kept waiting for them to arrive on the red carpet at the NHL awards gala last month in Vegas, but they were no-shows. I was quite disappointed because I wanted to see what their dates were wearing.

That was quite presumptuous of me, though. Why would I assume that they had dates? Female dates. For all I knew, Corsi and Fenwick were a couple of gay dudes. Perhaps partners.

Naw. Couldn’t be that. We all know there aren’t any gay dudes in hockey (even though we all know there are gay dudes in hockey).

So, who were Corsi and Fenwick? Did they have first names? Or were they like Brazilian soccer players and Madonna and Shakira?

Hockey people and media types have long been in constant debate about Corsi and Fenwick. Take Steve Simmons of Sun Media (please, take him). He scoffs at, and heaps scorn upon, anyone who suggests Corsi and Fenwick are what hockey is all about today. My friends at Arctic Ice Hockey, on the other hand, are convinced that Corsi and Fenwick are the be-all, end all. Corsi and Fenwick do it all.

I figure if Corsi and Fenwick are that bloody good, the Winnipeg Jets should make a play for them. Give me Corsi, Fenwick and a first-round draft pick and I’ll give you Evander Kane. I’ll even toss in a player to be named later, as long as that player’s name is Ondrej Pavelec.

Well, we can’t make that trade because it turns out that Corsi and Fenwick aren’t hockey players. They don’t even have a pulse. (You know, much like Jets general manager Kevin Cheveldayoff.)

Corsi and Fenwick are fancy numbers. They are advanced stats. They are analytics. I’m supposed to look at Corsi and Fenwick and they’ll tell me everything from how often Jacob Trouba has the puck to how often and when Dustin Byfuglien takes a lunch break.

When I look at Corsi and Fenwick, though, it’s all Greek to me. It looks like something out of the Wall Street Journal, not The Hockey News.

Seriously. QoC eTOI% and QoT TOI% F rel are supposed to mean something to me? An old school girl who was weaned on plus/minus numbers?

I suppose QoC ETOI% and QoT TOI%F rel would make sense if I followed the stock markets.

“QoC eTOI% shares were up .25 at closing, but QoT TOI% F rel dipped .50 and is in free fall. Meanwhile, NZShr, DZS% and TMSh% made significant gains on both the TSE and on Wall Street.”

Quite frankly, I liked it a whole lot better when I thought Corsi and Fenwick were hockey players.

But that doesn’t mean I pooh-pooh fancy stats and the people who endorse and use them. I salute the numbers nerds who devised the stats, and I’m quite certain they have merit.

Let’s put it this way: All I need to know about fancy stats is that Steve Simmons thinks they’re stupid. That convinces me they’re brilliant.

(FOOTNOTE: I invite your comments. I do not, however, welcome some of your comments. If you believe what I’ve written is the natterings of a nincompoop and belongs at the bottom of a bird cage, let ‘er rip. Tell me why. I enjoy healthy debate. That can be fun. If, on the other hand, your idea of a critique is to attack/insult me about my gender or sexual orientation, then we aren’t going to get along. Let’s put it this way: It is permissible to question the size of my IQ, but not the size of my boobs. Bottom line: I don’t get paid to write this crap, so play nice, kids.)

Winnipeg Jets: Almost two years later, nothing has changed for Evander Kane

(Editor’s Note: While sifting through my archives during a bout of research, I came across this piece I penned in December 2012 for Arctic Ice Hockey. It underscores how little life in Winnipeg has changed for Evander Kane in the past 19 months.)

I’m afraid the Kane scrutiny will never end. Not as long as Evander Kane wears Winnipeg Jets linen, it won’t.

That’s why at some point Kane will walk into general manager Kevin Cheveldayoff’s office and say, “You have to get me out of this hell. I can’t take it anymore.”

He might already be there emotionally. Kane and Winnipeg, you see, are not a happy marriage.

A large portion of the fan base have not warmed to Kane. I doubt they ever will. It matters not how productive he is on the ice. Judging by the fierce, intense reaction to his posting of playful pics from Vegas and previous perceptions of the 21-year-old left winger, it’s painfully apparent that Kane is going to get crapped on from high heights if he so much as picks his nose in public.

In the most simplistic terms, fans just don’t like him.

Local news scavengers, meanwhile, never avoid an opportunity to slice and dice Kane.

Gary Lawless of the Winnipeg Free Press is the leader of the Poison Pen Posse. He describes Kane as “a distraction the Jets will eventually determine is tiresome,” and the day will arrive when the Jets “will want to run.”

Well, you don’t have to be Nostradamus to predict that Kane no longer will be wearing a Jets jersey one day. That’s like saying there’ll be snow in Winnipeg in January. The fact is, the vast majority of players do not go wire-to-wire with their original outfits. Of the top 30 scorers in NHL history, only four started and finished with his original club—Steve Yzerman, Mario Lemieux, Joe Sakic and Stan Mikita.

So, yes, Kane will be moved. It might be the day after Gary Bettman and Donald Fehr kiss and make up. It might be a day before the next NHL lockout. But I say Kane wants out of Dodge before the Jets/fans/media run him out.

Who could blame him?

I mean, not since former Blue Bombers quarterback Dieter Brock made a flippant, harmless comment about the Assiniboine Park zoo has a River City jock been subjected to such scorn for doing or saying something so inoffensive away from the playing surface. Something that doesn’t impact on anyone else’s life. Fans and media rag on Kane for supposedly dining and dashing, for silly Twitter tweets, for supposedly getting into barroom brawls and now for posting goof-off pics from Vegas.

If there’s been one constant since this National Hockey League franchise moved to River City from Atlanta, it has been Kane-bashing.

So, what is Kane supposed to think? Try this: “I’m 21, the fans hate me, the media hates me…is this what my life’s going to be like for the next 15 years? Well, no thanks, I’ll pass.”

I’ll tell you what and who this reminds me of: The Toronto Maple Leafs, Humpty Harold Ballard and Laurie Boschman.

You might recall that Boschman was a highly regarded talent when he graduated from the Brandon Wheat Kings. So impressed were the Leafs, they plucked him ninth overall in the 1979 Entry Draft. His first two seasons were unremarkable, and he struggled mightily in 1981-82. That’s when Ballard, the Leafs’ bankroll, began to blow hard, threatening to dispatch Boschman to the minors.

Humpty Harold, of course, was always harrumphing about something. One day it would be “commies” and the next it would be women being good for just one thing: “Lying on their backs.”

In Boschman’s case, it was the Bible. Yes, being a born-again Christian was a sin in Ballard’s little mind. Boschman had “too much religion” and it made him “soft.” Big buffoon Ballard conveniently ignored the fact that Boschman had been battling mononucleosis and blood poisoning. Humpty Harold had the kid was a Bible-thumper, period. Many fans bought into Ballard’s bluster and, eventually, Boschman had it up to his chin whiskers with the taunting and torment. He asked for a trade and was accomodated. He went to the Edmonton Oilers, then the Jets, where he had a most productive career.

No one in Winnipeg remembers Boschman as a “soft” player. Soft-spoken and sincere away from the freeze, he was a right nasty bit of business once they dropped the puck.

But it was never going to work for him in Toronto.

Same thing with Kane in Winnipeg.

And that’s a shame, because Kane is going to be a very good player for a very long time.

(Editor’s Footnote: Do I still think Kane will be traded? Absolutely. As I stated, precious few NHL players spend their entire career with one franchise. I don’t think Kane will be one of them.)

(FOOTNOTE: I invite your comments. I do not, however, welcome some of your comments. If you believe what I’ve written is the natterings of a nincompoop and belongs at the bottom of a bird cage, let ‘er rip. Tell me why. I enjoy healthy debate. That can be fun. If, on the other hand, your idea of a critique is to attack/insult me about my gender or sexual orientation, then we aren’t going to get along. Let’s put it this way: It is permissible to question the size of my IQ, but not the size of my boobs. Bottom line: I don’t get paid to write this crap, so play nice, kids.)

Winnipeg Jets: Headlines and scandal ‘R’ Evander

Oh, woe is Evander Kane. The poor guy opens his mouth and another 72-point newspaper headline pops out.

Doesn’t matter if he’s in Vancouver, Las Vegas, Toronto, River City or at the barber shop, the Winnipeg Jets left winger attracts attention like Ondrej Pavelec gives up goals. Has it been fair? Has the mainstream media in Winnipeg given Kane a fair shake? Of course not! I mean, a haircut is news? Unpaid parking tickets is news? A selfie is news? Not reporting to training camp three days early is news?

And it’s about to get worse, folks!

My spies in the Winnipeg Free Press newsroom tell me the paper is working on the following scandalous stories about Kane and, as you shall see, the headlines have already been written…

• Winnipeg drinking water still brown—Kane refuses to turn it into white wine!

• Kane defies city bylaw…sings and dances on bus!

• Hawerchuk praises Winnipeg; Kane still refuses to buy home in North End!

• Kane visits Journey to Churchill display at zoo; complains because polar bears aren’t black!

• Manitoba still Slurpee Capital of Canada; Kane’s never had one!

• Chintzy Kane makes $6 million; only gives $4 million to charity!

• Southern Manitoba on flood alert; Kane won’t help sand bagging efforts!

• Mosquitos infest Winnipeg; why is Kane in Vancouver?

• New evidence discovered: Kane responsible for Wagon Wheel and Kelekis restaurant closures (didn’t eat enough)!

• Kane stops at Into the Music—tells clerk “the Guess Who and Neil Young suck!”

• Kane scores 50th goal, still hasn’t found cure for cancer!

• Kane has lunch at the Sals—says cheese nip is “worst burger ever!”

Meanwhile, at the tabloid Winnipeg Sun, shinny scribes are digging up dirt on Kane’s antics inside the Jets’ sanctuary at the Little Hockey House on the Prairie. My sources tell me they are about to blow the lid off a Kane coverup, whereby team officials are hiding the fact that Kane has been in serious and continual violation of certain club rules. The Sun will reveal these are his team-related infractions:

• Kane wouldn’t stop when head coach Paul Maurice told him to quit making farting sounds with his arm pit during a team meeting.

• Kane rolled his eyes and groaned, “Oh, no, not him again!” when Ondrej Pavelec was announced as the starting goaltender.

• Kane refused to give an exclusive interview to the Official Newsletter of True North Sports & Entertainment, also known as the Winnipeg Free Press.

• Kane parked in the spot reserved for Mark Chipman.

• Kane insulted Dancing Gabe…said he dances like a white guy.

• Kane replaced a picture of Claude Noel with one of Paul Maurice on the team dart board.

• Kane stole Dustin Byfuglien’s lunch money.

• Kane refused to shout “True North!” during the singing of O Canada.

(FOOTNOTE: I invite your comments. I do not, however, welcome some of your comments. If you believe what I’ve written is the natterings of a nincompoop and belongs at the bottom of a bird cage, let ‘er rip. Tell me why. I enjoy healthy debate. That can be fun. If, on the other hand, your idea of a critique is to attack/insult me about my gender or sexual orientation, then we aren’t going to get along. Let’s put it this way: It is permissible to question the size of my IQ, but not the size of my boobs. Bottom line: I don’t get paid to write this crap, so play nice, kids.)