The River City Renegade


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About a “hockey play”…NHL conspiracy theories…good Canadian boys aren’t fakers…hosing the hosers…and long pee breaks for the ladies in Edmonton

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

The National Hockey League doesn’t need a Player Safety Committee. It needs a parole board.

Let’s face it, playoff hockey is street crime moved indoors. Muggings are as commonplace in springtime shinny as unruly chin whiskers. If there’s a rule book, it has all the bite of a butterfly. I mean, using Sidney Crosby’s head for a butcher’s block is a “hockey play” like a home invasion is a pajama party.

Barry Trotz knows that. Ditto Brian Burke.

Paul Bunyan

But because Crosby wasn’t their ox being gored when Alexander Ovechkin and Matt Niskanen went all Paul Bunyan on the Pittsburgh Penguins captain last Monday night, both Trotz and Burke quoted chapter and verse from every good, ol’ boy’s favorite reading material—the Conn Smythe Beat ‘Em In The Alley Hockey Bible.

I thought it was really a hockey play,” observed Trotz, head coach of the Washington Capitals.

I think it was a hockey play. This is what happens in our game,” echoed Burke, president in charge of truculence for the Calgary Flames.

Burke is correct. Stick happens. Ovechkin and Niskanen aren’t the first players in NHL history to use their shillelaghs to deliver violent blows to the head of a foe, nor will they be the last. It’s just that you’re supposed to be punished for such distasteful trespasses.

In this case, Ovechkin didn’t receive so much as a tsk-tsking for his Bunyanesque-like assault on Crosby in Game 3 of the Washington-Pitt playoff series. A two-hander to the arm, followed by a not-so-gentle whack to the back of the head? Nothing to see here, folks. Stick happens. Let’s move along. Except Ovechkin’s lumberjacking led directly to his accomplice moving in for sloppy seconds and cross-checking Crosby to the face.

Yes, I realize Niskanen was flagged and banished from the fray, but were additional punitive measures applied? Like a suspension? Hell no. This is the NHL postseason, don’t you know. Once the Stanley Cup tournament commences, the safety police hand out Get Out of Jail Free cards like condoms at a safe-sex convention. And it doesn’t matter if the unlawful battering renders a player like Crosby concussed and sends him to the repair shop. It’s a “hockey play.”

Well it isn’t. It’s a mugging. And the real crime is the NHL ignoring it.

I didn’t realize so many neurologists followed hockey. I mean, Crosby is concussed and suddenly everybody is an expert on brain trauma. Crosby should retire. No he shouldn’t. Yes he should. No he shouldn’t. Oh, just zip it. It’s his head, his career, his life. And for those who are astonished that he returned to the fray just four days after his mugging, be advised that concussions are like snowflakes—no two are the same. I ought to know: I’ve had my bell rung more often than Quasimodo.

Ryan Kesler

As a rule, I don’t subscribe to conspiracy theories, the exceptions being the JFK assassination and anything involving Ryan Kesler, who is the NHL’s version of a human rights violation. But after witnessing the unraveling of the Edmonton McDavids against Kesler and the Disney Ducks on Friday night, I’m thinking there might be something to this ‘Gary Bettman/anti-Canada’ notion. Maybe it’s true what the conspiracists say about the NHL’s pointy-nosed, bobble-headed commissioner: He’ll go to extreme lengths to prevent the Stanley Cup from returning to the True North. Seriously. If what Kesler did to Edmonton’s Cam Talbot wasn’t goaltender interference, then I’m Patsy Cline and Bettman is Johnny Cash. Sure, the Ducks’ resident villain was shoved, rudely, onto the blue ice, but he wasn’t obliged to stay there and make like an octopus, wrapping his left tentacle around Talbot’s right pad. Not surprisingly, officials ignored damning video evidence that supported Kesler’s guilt and they allowed a Rickard Rakell goal to stand, thus sending Game 5 into extra time. If the Ducks’ 4-3 OT victory wasn’t part of a grand, anti-hoser conspiracy, it was enough to make me go “hmmmmmmm.”

For the record, I don’t have a dog in the Edmonton-Anaheim fight. I like Ducks coach Randy Carlyle because he’s one of the old Winnipeg Jets, and Connor McDavid is a joy to watch. Basically, I’m Switzerland on this one. Having said that, I think the McDavids have been hosed by the officials in the past two games.

I’ve been watching hockey since the 1950s and, until this particular version of springtime shinny, I thought I had a good handle on things like icing and offside and goaltender interference and stick infractions. Now, all bets are off. I confess that I don’t know a foul from a fool. Well, okay, Don Cherry still plays the fool, but all the phantom fouls, faux fouls and no fouls leave me scratching my noggin. The officiating is tragically poor.

Don Cherry: We’re Canadian and this is how we dress.

Speaking of Grapes (sour or otherwise), Cherry was in ripe form after Nick Bonino of the Penguins hoodwinked a visually challenged referee into believing he had been clipped in the face by a careless T.J. Oshie, whose stick had actually glanced off Bonino’s left shoulder. “Kids, never, ever…we’re Canadians…we don’t do that, we don’t fake injuries,” the Lord of Loud barked from his Bully Pit on Coachless Corner. “We’re Canadians, we don’t do it. We wear shirts and ties.” So let that be your lesson, kids: Don’t be a Bonino, but if you have to fake an injury make sure you’re wearing a shirt and tie. Clean underwear is optional.

Bob Cole still has the great pipes, but, my goodness, the man has lost it when it comes to identifying players. His play-by-play on Hockey Night in Canada is now done in general terms, and it’s kind of sad. His work reminds me of the great Willie Mays stumbling around the outfield in his final days with the New York Mets.

Well, hello Dolly Parton.

Big beef about biffies at Rogers Place in Edmonton, where the gender bending of the loo is a common practice and a ladies’ lament at Oilers matches. It seems that the ladies have been forced to surrender two of their washrooms to men during the Edmonton-Anaheim series, an inconvenience that has resulted in 30-minute waits for the girls. Geez, Louise, there are 320 public toilets and/or urinals on the main and upper concourses at Rogers Place. And the men need two of the women’s washrooms? How much beer are those boys drinking? Just remember to put the seats back down, boys. The girls will need them when Dolly Parton and the Dixie Chicks come to town.

Dumb headline of the week was delivered by the Globe and Mail: “The Toronto Raptors are losing and we’re all sad.” We are? Interesting. Where I live, I’m not sure anyone actually knows the Raptors exist.

Patti Dawn Swansson has been scribbling about Winnipeg sports for 46 years, which means she is old and probably should think about getting a life.

 


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About hockey ‘experts’…Team Tease…a positive message for Captain Surly…putting the right woman in goal…and Mitch the curmudgeon

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

Do the “experts” actually know what they’re talking about or is their know-how no better than a row of lumps on a row of stools in any bar in Canada? Well, some do, others don’t.

Paul Wiecek

Take Paul Wiecek, for an e.g. The Winnipeg Free Press columnist forecast this for the Winnipeg Jets in their 2016-17 National Hockey League crusade: “What you’re going to get this season is a lot of defensive lapses and odd-man rushes that are precisely the kinds of situations where you need great goaltending to keep you in the game. Is (Connor) Hellebuyck that guy? (Kevin) Cheveldayoff obviously seems to think so.”

I’d say that Wiecek was spot on.

Over at nhl.com, meanwhile, 15 of 20 geniuses predicted an unfavorable ending to the Jets’ season, with Kevin Weekes, Rob Vollman, Shawn Roarke, Adam Kimelman and Brian Lawton the only “experts” to forecast a spot in the Stanley Cup derby for the Jets. They had them earning a wild-card berth. And four of 16 “experts” at Sportsnet—Ryan Dixon, Chris Johnston, Eric Francis and Mark Spector—had the Jets leading all Canadian outfits in total points. D’oh!

Here’s what some of the other shinny swamis had to say before the puck was dropped in October…

Pierre LeBrun, ESPN: “The Nashville Predators, Dallas Stars, Chicago Blackhawks and St. Louis Blues are the class of the Central, leaving the Minnesota Wild and Jets to battle it out for fifth place in the division and potentially the last wild-card spot in the Western Conference. I’m giving the nod to the Jets. Fifth in the Central.

Jen Neale, Yahoo! Sports: “The Jets have another year of pain ahead of them before getting back to the playoffs. The younger players need a little more experience before this group can come together and ice a consistently competitive team. Unfortunately for Paul Maurice, these growing pains could cost him his job.”

Jeremy Fuchs, si.com: Breakthrough team—It’s tough to say this because they don’t have a goalie, but the Winnipeg Jets’ offence could be dangerous. A first line of (Patrik) Laine-(Mark) Scheifele-(Blake) Wheeler might be one of the best. And a powerplay of that line alongside (Nikolaj) Ehlers and Dustin Byfuglien. Oh boy. Get ready for a lot of goals in the Peg.”

As for moi, well, I wrote: “They have as much chance of advancing to the Stanley Cup tournament as I have of filling in for Frida or Agnetha at an ABBA reunion concert.” Since my phone still ain’t ringing, I assume it still isn’t Benny or Bjorn calling. I also mentioned something about defence being the Jets’ Waterloo, but, hey, I’m just a once-a-week little lump on a bar stool. What do I know?

Paul Maurice

Just call them Team Tease. For all of you in Jets Nation getting giddy because the locals have strung together four successive Ws, you are reminded that they did the same thing a year ago in garbage time—they won their final four skirmishes, including a California sweep over the playoff-bound Disney Ducks, San Jose Sharks and Los Angeles Kings. Here’s what head coach Paul Maurice said following the W in San Jose: “I’m not going to get excited about winning three in a row. These games don’t tell you anything about how we’re doing.” So relax. The Jets outfit that has won four straight assignments won’t be the Jets outfit you watch next October. Or will it, Kevin Cheveldayoff?

At least one member of Team News Snoop has surely earned considerable brownie points from Captain Surly, Blake Wheeler. If you missed it, Wheeler had himself a proper hissy fit on Thursday night, whereby he demanded that any message dispatched about the Jets must “be positive” because, gosh darn it, he and the boys are trying really, really hard in their annual two-plus weeks of garbage time. As if on cue, it’s been mostly rah, rah, rah and siss, boom, bah from Ken Wiebe, who’s positively aglow in his praise of the local hockey heroes, most notably Captain Surly, Rink Rat Scheifele and Twig Ehlers. And, lest there be any doubt, the Winnipeg Sun scribe assures us that our also-ran hockey heroes are so gosh, darned determined to go out raising hell that they would never—ever, ever—think of “tanking.” There is, of course, nothing wrong in acknowledging praiseworthy work, but correct me if I’m wrong here…the Jets did miss the playoffs, did they not? Someone messed up along the way.

While bearing witness to the 2-0 paddywhacking the U.S. laid on Canada in their opener of the women’s world hockey championship in Plymouth, Mich., I couldn’t help but wonder if it was too late for the Americans to reconsider their boycott threat. Come to think of it, maybe the Finns could boycott as well.

Shannon Szabados

I don’t know about you, but if I’m Laura Schuler, head coach of Team Canada, my starter in the blue ice is Shannon Szabados. Every game. The Americans easily could have rung up a six-pack against our girls if not for Szabados, and the goaltending against Finland was suspect.

I was disappointed to learn that Mitch Kasprick had shut down his Winnipeg Hockey Talk website in late January. No word on whether or not Mitch plans to crank it up again, but I miss his curmudgeonly take on all things Jets. WHT, by the way, is where Scott Campbell got his start as a scribe before being poached by the Drab Slab otherwise known as the Winnipeg Free Press.

Patti Dawn Swansson has been scribbling about Winnipeg sports for 47 years, which means she is old and probably should think about getting a life.

 

 


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Ridding the NHL of anti-gay slurs isn’t about political correctness, it’s about common decency

Now that the dust has settled (it has settled, hasn’t it?) and Andrew Shaw no longer is suffering from amnesia, what have we learned?

Try this:

a) The National Hockey League has officially crawled into bed with the You Can Play Project.

b) Mainstream jock journalists are afraid of the word “faggot.”

In the matter of point a), the NHL really had no choice but to deliver Shaw a stinging slap on his wrist, which we can be certain is not a “limp wrist” because, as we all know, there are no “limp wrists” among the practitioners of the manly art of hockey, otherwise the players’ vocabulary, on and off the ice, would not include anti-gay slurs like “faggot.”

Then, again, perhaps it would.

Were there an openly gay performer in the NHL, little doubt foes would draw attention to his “limp wrists” and use sexual orientation in an adolescent gambit to wrestle him off his game.

Whatever, there was little, if any, allowance for wiggle room in the Shaw situation. During a Stanley Cup skirmish featuring his Chicago Blackhawks and the St. Louis Blues this week, Shaw called a game official a “fucking faggot” and it wasn’t meant as a compliment and it no longer will pass muster. Not when the NHL likes to trumpet the fact that it is in bed with the You Can Play Project, a group advocating the inclusion of gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender individuals in sports at all levels.

Trouble is, until this incident, the NHL and You Can Play weren’t actually in bed together, all their warm-and-fuzzy, co-op public service announcements notwithstanding. The same bedroom, yes, but they were more like a couple in a 1950s or ’60s TV sitcom—sleeping in separate beds.

So now, the NHL has actually walked the walk.

It’s not for me to say if the punishment fits the crime. I’m guessing, however, that reality bites: Address one’s foe or a game official as a “faggot” and it earns you a day off (one assumes said hiatus would be sans salary during the regular season), you’re $5,000 out of pocket, and you also are mandated to spend some quality time with those who specialize in the counsel of the less-sensitive among us. One would think that penance ought to attract the workers’ attention, but who knows for certain?

What I do know is this: Contrary to one school of thought, this is not about political correctness. It isn’t about democrats, republicans, liberals, conservatives, socialists, communists, Christians, atheists, bleeding hearts or whatever venom Donald Trump is spewing these days. It’s about common decency. Nothing more, nothing less.

You simply do not target and slay a specific segment of society with hate language, and the standard, all-too-convenient “heat of the moment” defence doesn’t wash. Decent folks don’t talk that way.

I have no idea if the word “faggot” is part of Andrew Shaw’s every-day vocabulary, but I choose to think not and that he is genuinely contrite, and I believed him when he said he would “never use that word again, that’s for sure.”

Again, it speaks to decency.

Meanwhile, it’s about point b) and the media. If I read one article/opinion piece about the anti-gay slur Shaw delivered, I read three dozen. Probably more, actually. And in all but three, the word “faggot” was not included. I read that Shaw called one or more on-ice officials a “f—–g f—-t” and I read more than one piece that repeatedly referred to “that word” without advising readers what “that word” was.

But I ask, why leave it for readers to fill in the blanks or guess? Spell it out: F-a-g-g-o-t. Why shy away from it? That’s what Shaw called an official, that’s what should be reported. Writing the word doesn’t make it worse. It makes it real.

Also real is the weight the word carries and the damage it can inflict. Just so we’re clear—and this is for the edification of those who still don’t get it—it is a degrading, demeaning, hurtful and insulting term that leads to serious bouts of self-doubt, with gusts up to depression and suicidal ideation. I have heard it used by men in the LGBT collective as a playful term of endearment, but rarely so outside the gay community. It is an indignity saturated in contempt.

Perhaps now that the NHL has actually gotten into bed with the You Can Play Project, there will be a reshaping of a long-held, anti-gay culture. We can hope, can’t we?

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for 45 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 Jets: It’s the Tao of Freddy that makes Paul Maurice do the things he does

I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all.

I mean, Paul Maurice is telling us that Nick Petan cannot play against a big, strong, heavy team like the St. Louis Blues because the game might be too big, strong and heavy for him.

Seriously. When asked to explain the rationale behind making slick Nic a healthy scratch for Sunday’s matinee at the Little Hockey House on the Prairie, that’s exactly what the Winnipeg Jets head coach advised news scavengers scant seconds after his troupe, which included a pair of knuckle-draggers dragging down the fourth line, were found wanting in a 4-2 loss.

“Figured it’d be a style of game like this,” was coach PoMo’s abrupt reply.

He then pursed his lips, jutted out his jaw and scanned the room with cold, blue eyes, very much playing the tough-guy role and daring anyone to pursue this line of questioning.

No one did. There was a lengthy, pregnant pause…then a query about lessons learned.

The Petan predicament, however, must be pursued.

There are, to be certain, much larger lads plying their trade in the National Hockey League. Many of them work for the aforementioned big, strong and heavy Blues, who enjoy leaning on little people. Petan is little by today’s shinny standards, standing just 5-feet-9 and tipping the scales at 179 pounds after a big meal. He is not a physical force on the frozen ponds of the NHL. Unlike the man who skated in his stead as a fourth-line forward on Sunday, Anthony Peluso, he uses his hands for things other than bouncing them off the skulls of foes.

In short, Petan is a skill player. He is everything that Peluso is not.

Yet, Maurice opted for the latter over the former on Sunday afternoon. There was Peluso, mainly leashed to the end of the pine, his skates touching the ice for all of four minutes and 59 seconds. He contributed zero shots, zero points, took the obligatory roughing penalty, and only once did he summon his brawn to bump into someone wearing St. Louis linen. In other words, he did nothing in what amounted to hockey’s version of a street fight. Supposedly his kind of game. Supposedly the kind of game that Petan cannot play.

But wait. Aren’t most outfits in the Central Division configured similar to the Blues? Big, strong and heavy? Nasty? In your face? Push always comes to shove?

“We’re going to get that in our division from every team all year,” defenceman Jacob Trouba confirmed post-match.

So where does Petan fit in? Will coach PoMo lean toward sacrificing skill and inserting sturdier sinew into his lineup whenever he sees the whites of a Central Division foe’s eyes? If so, can he be successful with a starting 12 up front that includes both of his guard dogs, Peluso and Chris Thorburn?

To me, this is not a Ginger-or-Mary Ann debate. One guy, Petan, can play hockey. The other guy, Peluso, cannot. Unless this is 1975 and the Philadelphia Flyers are running amok on a scorched-earth crusade, there is absolutely no circumstance under which Anthony Peluso gives the Jets a better chance to win a hockey game. None. Only a closet Freddy Shero would believe othewise.

Truth be known, I’ve long suspected Maurice of being an adherent of the Tao of Freddy, an outdated coaching philosophy that values brash, abrasive bullies as much as, if not more than, a collection of fancy-Dans who give thought to a soft, saucer pass rather than a slew-foot. It’s a notion I have tried mightily to reject, even in the perpetual presence of the aforementioned Thorburn, but there is no logical explanation for a ruffian like Peluso to play ahead of Petan other than the Tao of Freddy is at work.

Sigh.

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.


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There’s something special about these Bombers…McDavid was McOrdinary…a tweet from a twit…and other things

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

Mike O'Shea

Mike O’Shea

Gadzooks! Bombers win! With some dashing and daring!

It’s a good thing head coach Mike O’Shea didn’t listen to me and fire special teams coach Mike O’Shea last month after the Winnipegs soiled the sheets in Montreal, because he didn’t just dial up one fake punt in the Winnipeg Blue Bombers’ 29-26 defeat of the B.C. Lions on Saturday night in Vancouver. He did it twice. Just to confirm the first one wasn’t an accident, I suppose.

Winnipeg’s special teamsters also blocked a punt, which resulted in an Ian Wild touchdown. And they blocked an extra point attempt. And they forced a fumble.

Then there was Sergio Castillo, whose right leg replaced that of defrocked place-kicker Lirim Hajrulla-oops. All Castillo did was hoof two PATs and five field goals in five attempts, the last of which sealed the deal and was his first game-deciding three-pointer since high school.

Special teams always has been O’Shea’s specialty. It’s finally paid off for the Bombers.

If I’m Wally Buono, general manager of the B.C. Lions, I’m having a fireside chat with Andrew Harris. Not due to anything Harris has or hasn’t done on the field, understand. It’s about the B.C. running back running off at the mouth. Although still drawing a paycheque from the Leos, Harris is already openly discussing a new area code once his current contract expires at the conclusion of this Canadian Football League season. And, given that his daughter, Hazel, and other family reside in his hometown Winnipeg, Harris makes no secret that area code 204 would be favorable. I admire his frankness. It’s refreshing. But if I’m Buono, I don’t want to be signing cheques for an employee who’s already talking like the door has already hit him in the butt.

Chris Thorburn

Chris Thorburn

A Friday morning headline should have read: Blind Squirrel Finds Acorn. The squirrel in this instance would be Chris Thorburn, who actually scored a goal the other night when the Winnipeg Jets beat the Bruins, 3-1, in Beantown. Well, he sort of scored. Upon further review, which is to say evidence provided by super slow-mo replay, David Krejci of the Bruins, not the much-maligned Thorbs, flipped the puck past Boston goaler Tuukka Rask. Doesn’t matter. A goal is a goal is a goal. Atta boy, Thorbs.

In his National Hockey League baptism against the St. Louis Blues, Connor McDavid was McOrdinary, yet there were four pics of the Edmonton Oilers rookie on the Sportsnet website front page the following morning, while this was a headline on the TSN website: McDavid shows flashes of brilliance in debut. How many pics will we see and what will the headlines say when he actually does something other than skate fast? Make no mistake, McDavid is going to be a dynamic player, but I believe we need to turn down the volume on the McHype and McRhetoric. Just let the kid play.

So, now that TSN talking head Aaron Ward is spending the weekend behind bars on domestic misdemenour charges, will the media eat their own, meaning will they skewer the former NHL defenceman the way they did Ray Rice, Slava Voynov, Greg Hardy and other sports figures who’ve roughed up women? Just asking.

Pariah Pete Rose

Pariah Pete Rose

Baseball pariah Pete Rose thinks Josh Donaldson is a wuss. A real wimp. The way Pariah Pete sees it, the Toronto Blue Jays third sacker displayed extremely bad manners when he let a silly little thing like a rattled brain remove him from Game 1 of the Jays American League Division Series vs. the Texas Rangers. “I just don’t understand,” Rose harrumphed in his miscast role as analyst on Fox Sports. “I got a little light-headed how many times in my career? I still went out there and played.” What’s the problem, Pete? Lose your over/under wager with Donaldson out? Take a nap, man.

It’s agreed. Officiating in Game 2 of the Rangers-Jays joust was atrocious. Home plate umpire Vic Carapazza, for example, had a strike zone that was, at times, larger than Pete Rose’s ego, and, at other times, smaller than Pete Rose’s credibility. But Carapazza and the other boys in blue didn’t silence Blue Jays’ bats. Texas pitching did that. Blaming the umps for a loss in a baseball game is a copout 99 times out of 100.

Anyone for some genuine sour Grapes? Well, look no further than Donald S. Cherry’s bully pulpit on Hockey Night In Canada. There’s no surprise, of course, that the conspiracy theorists are in full-throated voice these days, what with the Blue Jays trailing the Rangers 0-2 in their best-of-five engagement. But I didn’t expect to see and hear Cherry use his Curmudgeon’s Corner platform to suggest there’s a sinister figure lurking behind the grassy knoll. “We’re getting stiffed,” the Lord of Loud laments. “You know why we’re getting stiffed? Because they do not want a Canadian team in the final.” I, for one, refuse to believe that. At least until I see them fly the Canadian flag upside down.

bow wow bungalowTwit of the week is Steve Simmons, Toronto Sun columnist who tweeted: “Under the department of dumb: Booing PK Subban. Great player. Local guy. Charitable. You should all applaud.” Hoo boy. Tsk-tsking Maple Leafs loyalists for giving P.K. Subban the Bronx cheer when he and the hated Montreal Canadiens were in the Republic of Tranna last week is some special kind of stupid. Even dumber is Little Stevie Blunder telling Leafs Nation to shower Subban with hossanas. For sure, Stevie. That’s what they should do. And while they’re at it, they can also root, root, root for an autumn snow storm and the second coming of Rob Ford. I’m not certain if Simmons writes this sort of stuff to get a rise out of the rabble of if he truly believes it, but for his twit tweet he earns a stay in the Bow Wow Bungalow.

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.


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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.


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Winnipeg Jets: Kevin Cheveldayoff is the life of this post-season party

Let’s make something abundantly clear: This is down to Kevin Cheveldayoff.

Yes, the much maligned man who generally managed the Winnipeg Jets from the fetal position for the first 3 1/2 years of his stewardship is the main reason there shall be meaningful matches played post-April 11 at the Little Hockey House on the Prairie.

If not for Cheveldayoff’s sleight-of-hand prior to the National Hockey League trade deadline, you see, fans would not have flocked to the intersection of Portage and Main on Thursday night for an impromptu whoop-it-up in celebration of the Jets securing the Western Conference second wild-card position and a ticket to the Stanley Cup tournament. They would have been drowning their sorrows. Again.

Other explanations will, of course, be advanced in any analysis of the Jets transformation from perennial Sad Sack to playoff participant. You will find, for example, head coach Paul Maurice’s finger prints all over the product. Ondrej Pavelec, the oft-scorned, ridiculed and overpaid goaltender who spent much of the season serving as upstart Michael Hutchinson’s caddy, magically morphed into an all-world puck-stopper in the past two weeks and is earning his handsome stipend. Dustin Byfuglien emerged as a hybrid force. Evander Kane had the bad manners to wear a track suit to work one day in Vancouver.

All valid points.

But no. As I said, this one is down to Cheveldayoff, who, until two months ago, gave little indication that he actually had a pulse. The Jets GM has had more critics than Phil Kessel. He has been tsk-tsked for being reclusive. For being gun shy. For saying a whole lot of nothing whenever he actually pulled his head out of the sand. For doing diddley, other than stockpiling draft choices and preaching patience. He’s taken more of a beating than a rented mule.

Then along came the Kane Mutiny and we discovered exactly how daring and decisive Cheveldayoff can be.

We still don’t know all the gory details of L’Affaire Kane. Perhaps we never will. It’s one of those “what happens in the room, stays in the room” things. Suffice to say, Evander Kane screwed up at a team gathering in Vancouver, his mates were unamused, one or more of them thought it would be a swell idea to administer a dose of frontier justice, and the flamboyant, mercurial winger never wore Jets linen again.

In an era when the salary cap makes it difficult to trade bubble gum cards, never mind live bodies, Cheveldayoff managed to take his damaged goods (Kane) and shuffle him off to Buffalo, along with Zach Bogosian, in barter for Tyler Myers, Drew Stafford and an assortment of intriguing add-ons that include one of the Sabres’ first-round selections in this summer’s NHL entry draft.

To say Myers and Stafford have been useful is to say Jets team co-bankroll David Thomson has a few bucks in the bank. Both ex-Sabres have been impactful, gobbling up considerable minutes each night and delivering timely offence.

The deal with Buffalo was a master stroke. And Cheveldayoff didn’t stop there. He later added Jiri Tlusty. Then Lee Stempniak.

Subtract Stafford, Stempniak, Tlusty and Myers from the lineup and ask yourself if the Jets would be positioned to face off vs. either the St. Louis Blues or Disney Ducks in the opening skirmish of the NHL’s second season next week. Would we be talking about celebrations at Portage and Main and whiteouts and turning the Little Hockey House on the Prairie into the Den of Din on Donald?

The answer is an emphatic “No, no, no. A thousand times no.”

Yet here we are, discussing those very topics.

Here’s something else for you to chew on: Given a favorable set of circumstances, the Jets, although the eighth seed in the western portion of the tournament, could be in for a deep run in their first post-season crusade since the Atlanta caravan rolled into River City in 2011. If, for example, the locals were to meet the very beatable Ducks in the first round and survive, they would then hook up with the winner of the Vancouver Canucks-Calgary Flames series.

Can you say conference final, kids? I knew you could.

So, it’s hats and bonnets off to Kevin Cheveldayoff, master manipulator. Who knew?

 

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.