About Winnipeg Blue Bombers brass being jerks…Mike O’Shea and the cow jumping over the moon…Sam Katz still has no class…and Kate Upton’s beau gets screwed

I cannot survive in a 140-character world, so here are more tweets that grew up to be too big for Twitter…

My main takeaway from Kyle Walters’ gab session with news snoops on Friday:

Given a choice between being forced to watch a 24-hour Ashton Kutcher film marathon or being forced to spend 20 minutes with the media, the Winnipeg Blue Bombers general manager would order an XXXXL tub of buttered popcorn, hunker down in a convenient man cave and run the risk of going blind while watching Demi Moore’s ex make an ass of himself.

kyle-walters-pc
Why does this man dislike the media so much?

I mean, I can’t decide whose distaste for chin-wags with the media is stronger, Walters’ or head coach Mike O’Shea’s.

Each man is equally guarded and neither is forthcoming, but it isn’t just what they say or (more significantly) don’t say. Their facial expressions and mannerism speak volumes. They both look like they haven’t had a bowel movement in a month and their laxative still hasn’t kicked in. Why they send off the vibe that media are pond scum, I am uncertain. It’s not as if the assembled news snoops are there to pick a fight. They’re asking fair questions and deserve fair, honest replies. Instead, they often get gobbledygook framed with disdain and contempt.

For example:

Judy Owen of The Canadian Press referenced O’Shea’s late-game decision to attempt the most improbable field goal in Canadian Football League history rather than gamble on third down in the Bombers’ 32-31 playoff loss to the B.C. Lions last Sunday.

“What did you think about that last call against B.C., sending (placekicker Justin) Medlock out?” Owen asked.

“The head coach is in a difficult position throughout the game,” responded Walters, his forehead furrowed. “He makes tough decisions. That’s what he’s paid to do. I’ll support…luckily for me I don’t have to go into the realm of those type of decisions, but, you know, throughout the game I support our head coach or coaching staff and all the decisions.

“Certainly after every game Mike and I will sit down and talk about the decisions and the logic behind things and why he did what he did. There’s sound logic to everything Mike does and the coaching staff does, so my job is to support our coaching staff and certainly question why they do things and I don’t go into the realm of on-field decisions.”

Kirk Penton of the Winnipeg Sun then asked, “Would you tell us if you disagreed with (the decision)?”

“No.”

Next question.

Look, I understand Walters not wanting to toss his head coach under the bus. But I also understand the rabble has the right to know what the football boss thinks about his head coach’s choice. This poor man’s Bill Belichick routine from Walters and O’Shea wore thin quite some time ago. You want to act like Belichick, boys? Try winning something first. Then you can act like jerks.

Until then, answer the damn questions like professionals and we can all move on.

Advised that O’Shea twice refused to deliver a “yes” or “no” answer when asked if he wanted to return to coach the Bombers next year, Walters laid bare his disdain for the media. “Mike, he probably doesn’t speak…he doesn’t tell you guys anything probably. I don’t blame him,” Walters said with a slight smirk. Terrific. The Winnipeg Football Club is supposed to be for the people and of the people, but the head coach refuses to tell the people if he wants to stay and the GM thinks it’s a joke. Sigh.

Try this scenario, kids: The Toronto Argonauts release Scott Milanovich before the Bombers and O’Shea agree on a new contract. What then? Does Walters pursue Milanovich, a guy who has won the Grey Cup as a head coach and offensive coordinator, or does he re-sign O’Shea, a guy who believes a cow really can jump over the moon?

Is it true that former River City mayor Sam Katz actually took a cheap shot at the Bombers and Winnipeg Jets during the unveiling of his official portrait at City Hall last week? Apparently so. Sammy presented Mayor Brian Bowman with a Winnipeg Goldeyes shirt and said, “It’s the only pro team that’s won.” Atta boy, Sammy. Way to keep it classy. (Yes, kids, that’s sarcasm.) Never mind that Sammy’s Goldeyes have won three baseball titles since the last Grey Cup parade in Winnipeg and the Jets haven’t accomplished squat since 1979, when they claimed their third and final World Hockey Association championship. There’s winning, then there’s winning with class. I’ve always been told that the Goldeyes are a class organization, but I find that hard to believe when the man at the top has none.

Justin Verlander got screwed and Kate Upton wants to know why.
Justin Verlander got screwed and Kate Upton wants to know why.

Kate Upton, voice of reason. Who knew? Dear Kate’s language is salty and suggestive, but she gives a good argument on behalf of her beau, Justin Verlander, who got screwed in balloting for the American League Cy Young Award, finishing second to Rick Porcello because two baseball writers from Tampa Bay left him off their ballots. In a series of not-so-sweet tweets, Kate made it clear that she—and only she—gets to “f—” Justin Verlander. Cover girl Kate and Verlander got over the snub, though. They consoled themselves with a trip to Italy and the Vatican, where it’s believed the Pope gave her penance of 10 Hail Marys, five Our Fathers and she is to wash out her potty mouth with soap and holy water.

Got a kick out of Mark Feinsand’s take on the Kate Upton tweets. “With all due respect to Kate Upton, it’s time for her and everybody else to pipe down,” he wrote in the New York Daily News. Fine. But then Feinsand concluded his piece by writing, “Personally, I love that these debates get people as fired up as they do. It shows that people still care about the game, which is good for all of us.” I see. He loves the debate, but Kate Upton and everyone else who disagrees with him should “pipe down.”

How is that Milan Lucic thing working out for the Edmonton Oilers? One goal and one assist in the month of November. I’m sure the Oilers will be pleased to pay him $42 million over the next seven winters for that kind of production.

Amid all the fear mongering, I just want to go on record as saying that Donald Trump’s election as 45th president of the United States hasn’t changed my life. That doesn’t mean I like him (I don’t), but so far I’m sleeping just fine at night.

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for 46 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 and comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she apparently doesn’t know when to quit. Or she can’t quit.
She is most proud of her Q Award, presented in 2012 for her scribblings about the LGBT community in Victoria, B.C., and her induction into the Manitoba Sportswriters & Sportscasters Association Media Roll of Honour in 2015.

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Winnipeg Blue Bombers: It must really suck to be Lirim Hajrull-oops

I cannot survive in a 140-character world, so here are more tweets that grew up to be too big for Twitter…

How bad a day did Lirim Hajrull-oops have on Saturday afternoon at Football Follies Field in Fort Garry? Well, after coughing up a hair ball on four field goal attempts and a convert in the Winnipeg Blue Bombers’ one-point loss to the Edmonton Eskimos, he was so angry when he got home that he wanted to kick a dog.

Naturally, he missed. Fido is just fine.

It’s no surprise, really, that Lirim Hajrull-oops’s teammates stood by their man and resisted the urge to hurl the much-maligned place-kicker under the team bus. They put on the proper public face. In private, though, we all know what they had to be thinking—he cost them two points in the West Division table and, possibly, admission to the Canadian Football League post-season party. It was the worst kicking performance since Jay Leno gave Conan O’Brien the boot, and he ought to be fired. That’s the reality.

I see where TSN has been doing the promo thing for a feature on the Toronto Blue Jays’ 1993 World Series championship, and Joe Carter, the batsman who struck the decisive blow in the home half of the ninth inning of Game 6, tells us that “everyone knows where they were” when he swatted his three-run homer, and the Jays’ success “changed how we view baseball.” I can assure Mr. Carter that I, for one, do not have a clue where I was or what I was doing when he clouted a Mitch Williams pitch over the fence in left field, nor did that development alter the way I watch rounders. I mean, get a grip, man. It was a baseball game, not the JFK assassination.

Exactly how many people does Raffi Torres have to send to the hospital before the National Hockey League does the right thing and tell him to go away and never come back? Suspended for a fifth time, his most recent trespass being a predatory-type assault on Jacob Silfverberg of the Disney Ducks, it truly is time to toss the book at the San Jose Sharks’ repeat felon.

So, three female reporters were denied access—temporarily—to the Jacksonville Jaguars’ changing room post-game in Indianapolis on Sunday afternoon. Not good. Blatant gender discrimination. Should never happen in 2015. A male usher made a serious faux pas. But wait. One of the women, Graham Watson, described the usher as an “old, out-of-touch geezer” and another, Joey Chandler, was only slightly more charitable, referring to him as an “old man.” Way to keep it classy, ladies. Makes it rather difficult to sympathize with you when you’re so insulting.

Okay, let’s put the corks back in the champagne bottles, boys. That is to say, there are far too many champagne celebrations in baseball for my liking. You win a division title, fine. Break out the bubbly. Ditto for an American League or National League pennant and World Series victory. But for earning a wild-card spot? Or a second wild-card spot? Again, get a grip, boys. You haven’t won a thing. What next? A champagne bath for finishing first in the Grapefruit or Cactus Leagues in spring?

 

rooftop riting biz card back sidePatti 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 and comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she apparently doesn’t know when to quit. Or she can’t 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., and her induction into the Manitoba Sportswriters & Sportscasters Association Media Roll of Honour.