Ferguson's Trial by Fire

That last post got my Leaf juices flowing big time.

So who is John Ferguson Jr. and what the hell is he doing with our beloved Leafs? After last season's fiasco, many are already calling for JFJ's head, and rumours abound that he is thoroughly disliked already by players and agents. The way he handled the Roberts-Nieuwendyk debacle was indeed ludicrous, since all he had to do was simply not offer either a contract, knowing full well neither would be part of the future. Why he handled it the way he did, I'll never know, but Roberts and Niuewendyk are gone, period.

I've also heard people say that he should have landed Joe Thornton via free agency. Ludicrous. Thornton was never going to sign with anyone but Boston. Just because someone is a free agent does not necessarily mean that any team can sign him. To say the Leafs had a better chance of signing Thornton than the Columbus Blue Jackets is simply wishful thinking. There was certainly no way in hell the Leafs could have traded for him as the Sharks did, Pat Quinn had already traded away the bulk of our farm system over the preceding 5+ years.

Look, Leaf fans are intelligent, passionate fans, anyone in hockey will tell you that. But we're used to winning, and we don't take kindly to excuses. So when Ferguson was unable not only to win a Cup but even make the playoffs, we freaked out. We freaked out. But what are we actually freaking out about? That we missed the playoffs by 3 points? Ferguson wasn't on the ice when the Leafs mailed it in against the Habs in those two late season games. Quite frankly, that we only missed the playoffs by 3 points is astonishing, given the new economics of the game and a whole new set of rules. Of course the argument will be "If Ferguson had made the right player moves and acquisitions, the Leafs WOULD have won those games". That's patently ridiculous and we know it. What, having Darren McCarty instead of Tie Domi would have made the difference? Please. The Leafs were hamstrung from the get go by several large and impossible to move contracts that made a total roster overhaul impossible. You can't waive or buy out every single player except for Sundin, Kaberle and McCabe. You just can't. You have to be patient. You have to evaluate your farm system by having them actually play at the NHL level. You have to evaluate the new economic system and determine what players are worth what amount of money. You have to evaluate the new rule changes to determine which players are effective and which are not. That process is not pleasant, but let's be honest, in the Leafs' first year of that process, we missed the playoffs by ONLY 3 POINTS. We win those 2 games in Montreal, and we're in, and we aren't talking about this right now. But we lost those games, so here we are.

Is Raycroft the answer? I don't know. Can Paul Maurice effectively install a culture of accountability and start to get more from less? I also don't know that. Will Ferguson be able to put together a competitve roster for the upcoming season? Surely yes, as we've already seen last year's ramshackle squad end the season with a 13-6-3 record. The only question is how competitive it will be. But until I can definiteively say that Ferguson is not making progress of any kind, I simply will not cave in and call for his head.

Deal with THAT, or don't.

Ferguson on the Hot Seat

Well, here we are then fellow Leafers. Andrew Raycroft is our new starting goaltender. To be honest, I'm still not sure if that's good or not. We all know that Belfour was done. His wonky back alone spelled his doom, although his flagging interest in a season going down the tubes was evident by the beginning of February. Luongo was always going to be a difficult acquisition because the Leafs had so little to offer in terms of a trade. That left us with a collection of once-proud cast-off goalies such as Evgeni Nabokov and J.S. Giguere. Well, Nabokov is 31, Giguere is 29. Certainly neither is over the hill, but Raycroft just turned 26. It should come as no surprise that the Leafs are making a concerted effort to get younger, and well they should.

The question remains, however, is Raycroft the answer? Trading Tukka Rask, in my mind, is no big deal. I think Justin Pogge will be a better goalie down the line anyways. So the trade is OK. There can be no denying that Raycroft was spectacular for the Bruins in '03-'04, and he was justly rewarded with the Calder Trophy as Rookie of the Year. That year the Bruins were 2nd in the East (tied for 2nd overall in the NHL) with 104 points. They had a very good team. Last year, well, last year the Bruins were awful. They struggled to adjust to the new rules, struggled to create chemistry with a patchwork roster, and then they traded Joe Thorton for three slightly-better-than-average players. So Raycroft now is suddenly faced with a whole slew of power plays, not to mention fairly sloppy defensive work in front of him. And it's his 2nd full season. He's 25. And he stunk. Just like the rest of the team, he stunk. Then Tim Thomas steps in, a 31 year old journeyman with, until last season, 220 minutes of NHL experience. He plays very well, Bergeron and Boyes are starting to click, Sturm is scoring, the team realizes it has nothing to lose and they play well. And Thomas was only 12-13-11, with a 2.77 GAA and a .917 SV%. That's good. Nothing to pin the hopes of a city on, but good. Thomas has now started 38 career NHL games, and is now 32. How much longer before Hanu Toivonen replaces him anyways? At this point, it matters not.

So back to Raycroft and the Maple Leafs. Its clear that Raycroft has ability. The Bruins were hardly a defensive juggernaut in his rookie year. He has started 100 games at the NHL level. I would concede that 23 of his 28 starts last year were terrible (he had 5 starts allowing 2 or fewer goals). He only lost 18 games all year in '03-'04, so let's even say that of the 55 starts he made that season, 20 were bad (sometimes you play poorly and win, sometimes you play great and lose). The 5 starts he made in '02-'03 were good. So 41 of his 100 career starts we can say were bad. Basic math tells us then that approximately 59% of his total career starts are at average or better. I'd say that's encouraging, considering he's only 25, and has now had a taste of what its like to be on top, and what its like to be on the bottom. He's played for a storied franchise with rabid fans, and knows what its like to be celebrated and skewered by the media. There aren't too many young goalies who have that type of career experience at that age.

Enter the Maple Leafs. With Raycroft now part of the stable, they have 3 young goalies in various tages of their development: Raycroft, the early success story trying to justify his ROY award; Mikael Tellqvist, the patient back-up who faltered when given the starting spot; and Justin Pogge, by all accounts an exceptional goaltender at every level he has played so far. Pogge surely is still a year or two away from competing even for a back-up role, but stranger things have happened. Tellqvist is a very capable back-up, and maybe that's all he'll ever be. Raycroft has shown the ability to be a No. 1 goalie in a strong hockey market.

So what does all this mean?

Well, there are no guarantees. Not in life, and certainly not in pro sports. There is no guarantee that Raycroft can get back to his winning ways, just as there is no guarantee that Tukka Rask will ever be any better than Raycroft thimself, or Tellqvist for that matter. There's no guarantee that Giguere or Nabokov will be great on whatever team they end up playing for. The only thing we know for sure is that Raycroft is young and talented, already has a wide range of playing experience, and is surely ready to prove himself once again.

At the end of the day, the Leafs' biggest worry is not goaltending, but overall defensive play. Forwards need to be far more responsible in their own end, and the defence corps has to be upgraded. These things are not in question. They are cold, hard facts.

I'm willing to give Ferguson the benefit of the doubt on this one, to see how it plays out.

And sweet jesus on toast, I hope it works.

Chris Bosh

I'd still take him at #4. Even after watching Wade destroy the Mavs, I'd still take Bosh.

Why? Nobody can cover Chris Bosh. Nobody. He can hit a 17-18 footer, or take you off the dribble. He has a soft touch around the rim, but realizes that a dunk is a higher percentage shot and routinely crams with authority. Ben Wallace can't cover him away from the basket, and Bruce Bowen can't cover him in the post. Those are the two best defensive players in the game. And they can't cover him. He hits his free throws. He crashes the boards at both ends of the floor. He is becoming a solid shot blocker. He has virtually no ego. He wants to learn and he wants to win. He's 22 years old, and in his 3rd season just averaged 22.5 points per game and 9.2 rebounds per game, shooting 50.5% from the field and 81.6% from the FT line. Garnett averaged 18.5 PPG and 9.6 RPG, shooting 49% from the field and 73.8% from the line in his 3rd year.

I also strongly believe that the power forward/centre position is much harder to fill than the shooting guard or small forward position. Bosh creates match-up nightmares the same way Garnett does. Who do throw at him? He'd better be at least 6'-10" if he wants to have a chance in hell of defending him in the post, but he'd better be as quick as a 6'-5" guard to defend him off the dribble. Aren't many guys like that in the league. And that's the thing. I could name almost 20 guys that could conceivably defend Wade... Kobe, LeBron, Bowen, Artest, MoPete, Doug Christie, Rip Hamilton, Josh Howard, Larry Hughes, Andre Iguodala, Richard Jefferson, Rahsard Lewis, T-Mac, Corey Maggette, James Posey (I know, they were on the same team last year), Paul Pierce, Tayshaun Prince, Quentin Ross, Gerald Wallace... and that's just off the top of my head. And I'm not saying all those guys could shut him down, that's not the point, but at least they would have a chance. Not sure if I could name 5 guys who would really have a consistent chance defending Bosh. Garnett (who Bosh has torched several times in the past), Jermaine O'Neal, Kirilenko, Nowitzki... maybe Tayshaun Prince... maybe Ron Artest, although he's only 6'-7", like Bowen.

And Bosh is only getting better.

I'm sure many will accuse me of home-town bias. I'm Toronto born-and-raised, after all. But home-town bias doesn't haunt opposing defenders like a giant coke deal gone wrong, or even like an ill-advised tongue slip at a dingy strip club. Chris Bosh does that. Home-town bias just likes watching him do it.

Dwyane Wade

After a phenomenal performance in the NBA finals, everyone is suddenly asking "Is Dwyane Wade the best player in the NBA?" He was certainly the best player in the NBA finals. But in the whole league? I'm not ready to agree with that quite yet. For three reasons.

1) Defense. His athleticism and determination allow him to be defensively competitive, but he's ultimately an offensive player, who generally focuses his energies to that end. And it certainly doesn't hurt having Shaq and Zo patrolling the paint when his man gets by him. Don't get me wrong, the kid is still young, and will surely improve this facet of his game, but right now he's about average. Kobe is a far better defender, LeBron too (when he wants to be)... hell, so is Morris Peterson.

2) Shooting Range: Wade obviously prefers to get to the rim, something he does as well or better than anyone else in the game. And his mid-range jump shot continues to improve. What Wade currently lacks is 3-point range. He started to add it to his repertoire this past season, but it is not yet a facet that concerns his defenders. Kobe and LeBron both have tremendous range.

3) Reliance on the Refs: Well, this is the main thing stopping me from anointing Wade as the best in the league. More than any other player, including Allen Iverson, Wade relies on getting the call and getting to the line. The more fouls he draws, the more defenders lay off him, the more he hits open jumpers. There's no question that Wade's ability to get to the rim is excellent, and he does get fouled regularly. But I have never seen another player get the benefit of the doubt so often so early in their career as Wade. The refs in the NBA finals were disgraceful in that regard. Absolutely disgraceful. I mean, there's star treatment (Jordan, Kobe, LeBron, etc.), and then there's Wade treatment (Wade).

At the end of the day, Dwyane Wade is surely one of the top players at any position in the game right now. But in terms of what he can do on the court, I believe that Kobe (as much as I hate him off the court) and LeBron are both better players.

Deal with that.

Tips for Hosting a Great Halloween Party

We here at the Christie Mansion know a little about Halloween parties, so I thought I would impart some wisdom to those who feel their parties need a jolt, a kick in the pants, or crotch, whichever you feel is more effective.

Try this next one first, it should set the mood beautifully.

Get all the party guests together and deliver the following speech. That's it. That's all you need to do. Make sure everyone can hear it loud and clear. You won't be disappointed.

Ode to Halloween

The fires of the demon God Mammon burn brightly for those who can see truth, but are far more ominous for those who stumble through their petty, pristine existence unawares. Mammon understands only sinful excess, nothing else. Six beers is not sinful excess. 12 beers is more appropriate, but only liver-rotting, gut-bursting amounts truly appease the Arch-Duke of Hell. For those unlucky enough to be caught in Mammon’s cruel game of one-upsmanship, a most horrible and dismal dose of pain and misery shall be their reward. For you see, Mammon is the greatest drinker of them all, greater even than myself, and to challenge him is to commit oneself to eternal damnation. Many a bombastic braggart has met his end in the gnashing teeth of frightful Mammon.

As for myself, I do not need approval, for I am beyond the watchful eye of Mammon, subject only to the true Lord of Darkness, the King of the underworld; I speak of course of Satan, my one true father. Being the Prince of Hell, I have several responsibilities, none to be taken lightly.

For one, I must preside over parties such as these, where evil and mischief abound. I must say, that with all the virgin sacrifices and burning of pious Christians, overseeing such a celebration of drunken despair is a refreshing break form the daily grind. However, I should be clear that this is not all fun and games. My presence here is not ceremonial but utilitarian; should any of you neglect your duties to intoxication on this eve, be it via alcohol, narcotics, or sweet sweet lovin’, I shall be left with no option but to banish you to the stinking depths of Mammon’s darkest dungeons, where a rippling sea of thirsty grubs awaits your tantalizing flesh. Let us all hope that it does not come to that.

Well, now that the formalities are out of the way, I am reminded of a funny story. This story tells of an insipid maggot by the name of Barty Mainguy. He was a fool, of that there was no doubt, and a pompous, loudmouth ass. I was presiding over a similar Halloween ritual of drunken carnality, when our good friend Mr. Mainguy decided he was going to test the limits of his own mortality. I was sitting in a room much like this one, drinking a beer much like this one, when Mainguy approached me, swaying slightly from drink, and reeking of some form of cheap bourbon. I was tempted to crush his face like an over-ripe grape right then and there, but I restrained myself, suddenly curious as to why such an insignificant bug would tempt fate in such a manner. I would soon rejoice in my decision to allow him his last hurrah, as it were.

Mainguy spoke, slowly at first, whether out of fear or drunkeness I could not say, although I assumed it was a healthy mix of both. His words, while inoffensive in their essence, brought a dead silence to the room, and a smile flitting across my lips. “You dont look so tough, pal," he said," I could drink you under the table any day.” Bold words indeed, I thought, but he had made his bed, and now I would ensure that he would lie in it... Forever.

“Is that so?” I replied calmly, not wanting to scare him off, “In that case, let us begin, Mainguy, if that is your real name. Starting now." He seemed at that point slightly shocked that I had so readily accepted his impudent challenge. At this point, a sober man would have realized his folly, and begged my forgiveness, but Mainguy was not sober, and I would not have forgiven him anyways. He was fat and disgusting, and I did not like his smell.

I continued to drink my beer, just as before, but increased my pace, just enough to send him spiralling into immobilizing sickness. 15 minutes after the challenge had been uttered, I had completed 24 beers, and began working on number 25, while Mainguy was struggling vainly to down his 5th shot of Old Kentucky Tavern bourbon. Everyone in the room could see that Mainguy was finished. After his 10th shot, Mainguy went down. His head hit the plush carpeting with a satisfying thud, initiating one of the more violent and debilitating spells of frantic vomiting I had ever witnessed. Men, women and children fled screaming at the barbarous inhumanity of what they saw, as Mainguy appeared to release everything he had ever eaten in his entire life in the span of about 38 seconds. When Mainguy’s eruption finally subsided, I laughed at him. He was a fool, and had paid the ultimate price for his bourbon-instilled bravery.

As Mainguy shuddered helplessly on the floor in a growing pool of his own sick, I approached him slowly, motioning for all the remaining onlookers to run while they still could, for what was about to happen might scar them for life. With the room clear, I proceeded to butcher Barty Mainguy like a greased hog, and used his skin to patch the holes on the hull of my boat when I set sail for Aruba the next day.

So, let us see Mainguy as an example that none should follow, as his untimely demise ended up ruining the party, and forever staining what had once been a nice carpet.

Sports Theorem: Installment 1: JYD

I was sifting through some old writings of mine, and came across the following treatise on former Toronto Raptors forward and universal fan favorite, Jerome Williams, a.k.a. Junk Yard Dog, or JYD for short (It should be noted that he gave himself this moniker). This masterwork was written several years ago, but I feel it still holds true today. Enjoy. Or don't.

Getting back to JYD, I think that at this point it would be productive to go a little deeper into the mystery and wonderment that is his horrifying mouth. One must not overlook JYD's ability to swallow items whole, without causing further damage to his already devastated teeth. It is a little known fact that his other nickname is 'Aqualung', and he has been known to swallow an alternator without difficulty. He is much like a shark in that respect, as he nears his prey, his giant eyes roll back into his head, and quite literally anything that comes into contact with his face is consumed immediately; his stomach must contain a litany of mundane objects, like license plates, rubber boots, street signs, bouys, tire irons, keyboards, encyclopedias, VCRs, staplers, briefcases, office chairs, grandfather clocks, topographical maps, windows, bottles/cans, Asians, sodden refuse, the Rancor Beast from 'Return of the Jedi', decorative marble flooring, fiberglass insulation, the 'Hardy Boys' complete library, and other various items, such as home theatre systems, the wreck of the Bismarck, roller coasters, soiled linens, propellers, sharks, Jesus, and Halloween.

Jerome William's has what one might call, and appropriately so, a "dog's breakfast" of teeth. I, along with several other experts, are convinced that JYD eats a combination of rocks (usually igneous), concrete, and various types of sand and soil for meals, and occasionally substitutes scrap metal, like mufflers, carborators, and spark plugs, with iron rebars and pieces of steel girders thrown into the mix. Instead of salads JYD eats broken wooden skids from local area factories. It seems that he does not mind also eating his own shattered teeth.

What does this all mean in the grand scheme of things? I have no idea.

Leaf Town

After watching the Leafs somehow beat the Penguins 1-0 (on the strength of Chad Kilger’s 3^rd period penalty shot? Damn straight) on March 19^th, and then win a tough game two nights later against the ridiculously surprising Hurricanes, I recall thinking to myself, ‘What if this is the beginning of one of those legendary playoff runs, when 5 years from now you can remember where you were with each monumental win, stringing improbable victories together and riding a wave of lung-bursting hope into the playoffs with millions of other Toronto fans?’. It was cool to think about that. Then we played Montreal. And in what should have been the two biggest games of the year for the Leafs, they performed about as poorly as can be described without deleting whole paragraphs due to foul language. So much for the magical run.

And yet after watching the Leafs proceed to amass a 5-0-2 record against the Devils, Flyers, Sabres, Bruins and Islanders, I recalled the immortal words of the Nuclear Safety Board guy in Part 1 of the “Who Killed Mr. Burns?” episode of the Simpsons, when he enters Moe’s bar and sees the thick cloud of toxic oil fumes, and then sees the local rabble still drinking at the bar, and says: “Man alive! There are… men alive in here!” The Leafs were those drunks, teetering on the brink of a sooty demise, only to somehow make it out without ever realizing how close they came to death.

Over the last 20 or so games (13-6-3), the Leafs easily played their best hockey of the season. That’s good news right? Playing the best hockey of the season as you approach the playoffs? Well, it should be. Only problem was the Leafs were too far out of it to make the playoffs barring a total collapse by at least 2 teams. That’s not good news. So what now? Can we take anything positive from this late-season charge? Surely we must, if we are to continue to call ourselves Leaf fans.

As such, here are several things that I know about the Leafs and what must be done for next year:

1. For the love of God, and all things Holy, remove Wade Belak from the roster immediately. I simply cannot bear to watch him take ludicrous penalties at the very worst possible time, pinch in from the blue line with no hope of actually taking possession of the puck while up by a goal late in the third period, and forcibly involve himself in meaningless fights at meaningless times. Belak might crack the Penguins roster to protect Sid. Might. This guy averages about 11 minutes a game, has managed 16 shots on goal in 55 games (deliciously insane!), while amassing 109 PIM’s worth of terrible decisions and generally shoddy play. What the hell did Quinn see in him? He’s got to go.
2. Let Brian McCabe walk. I know, I know, I can already hear the pitying laughter as the gallows pole is built out of blocks of wood, one on top of another, like some mad game of death Jenga, but I’m serious about this one. Furthermore, it would appear that a contract is already done, although nothing has yet been signed. Hopefully his wife will convince him to reneg on his word to Ferguson and go back to Long Island. Look, Brian McCabe is a very good offensive defenceman, and a very good powerplay quarterback. That much cannot be denied. But defensively he is average at best (that he got Norris consideration a few years back is nuts to me). This year he was totally lost in terms of what he can and cannot do to play defense. How many times have I seen him standing without purpose in front of the net while an opponent shovels in a rebound, only to shrug his shoulders in confusion, as if to ask the referees “what can I do to stop him if I can’t manhandle him Derian Hatcher style?” And once the opposition began to take away his shot on the powerplay by getting right up on him as soon as humanly possible, his effectiveness was reduced almost overnight. When his ‘can-opener’ defense was finally exposed for the penalty that it had always been, McCabe failed to adjust his style enough to become consistently responsible. Didn’t it seem strange that McCabe, who at the time was not only leading the league in defenceman scoring, but leading his team in scoring as well, was not chosen for the Olympic Team, even after the injury to Niedermayer? Lots of guys can score points in this league, but not lots of guys can play solid defence night in and night out. To pay McCabe $4.5 or $5 million a year seems insane to me, and the Leafs would be better served taking that money and spending it on a defenceman who better fits the new style of play in the NHL.
3. Remove the “Don’t shoot the puck” clause from Kaberle’s contract. Do I even need to say anything about this? Would you tell Vernon Wells to swing the bat only once every 3 games? Sweet merciful Gods.

3.b) Interesting factoid here, Tomas’ bro Frantisek is a free-agent… wouldn’t it be cool to have both Kaberle’s not shooting the puck? It would be great! You could even give them a TV show called “The Flying Kaberle’s”, and they would drive around Toronto in an old Chrysler K-car solving crimes by not shooting the puck. Deal with that.

4. Give the kids a chance. For too long now the Leafs have been a team that relies far too heavily on veterans to do everything. Obviously you need a strong veteran presence to balance the inevitable penalties and mistakes of youth, but gone are the days when a team of 35 year olds can be expected to win a Stanley Cup. Ponikarovsky, Stajan, Steen, Wellwood, and even Ben Ondrus, have shown that they belong, that they want to play and they want to win. Ian White has been a revelation on the blue-line, and I only hope that Colaiacovo can return to form after his concussion problems. Kronwall and Bell have also shown promise. It’s time for the Leafs to fill roster spots only when they cannot equally or effectively fill those spots from within.
5. Officially make Mats Sundin a God. Surely the most under-appreciated player in the NHL. This guy has led by example since he first put on the blue-and-white. Granted he’s not the galvanizing locker room presence that Messier was, but not everyone can be Messier. In fact, only Messier can be Messier. Nor does he have the pure, game-breaking skill of Jaromir Jagr (once again, there is only one Jagr). Instead, Sundin has only led the league in game-winning-goals since the 1999-2000 season, with a ridiculous 40! (although that may no longer be the case after this season, with only 2). Game-winning-goals. Goals that win games. Games won by goals scored by Sundin. And all this with stiffs like Jonas Hoglund, Mikael Renberg, and the impossibly infuriating Nik Antropov vainly skating through slush to keep up with him. Sundin never complains about ice-time, about his linemates, about the coaching, the management, his salary, nothing. He never quits. He may endure a slump every now and then, but who doesn’t? The City of Toronto should name a civic holiday after him. I don’t care what anybody says, Mats Sundin IS the Toronto Maple Leafs, and I’m damn proud to say that. Now for chrissakes give him someone to play with! Patrik Elias perhaps…
6. Celebrate Paul Maurice. Don’t get me wrong, Quinn has been, and still is, a great coach. But the Leafs could no longer play his style of hockey and remain truly competitive. He seemed to have trouble adjusting to the new rules, which he publicly stated he is not particularly fond of, and the team clearly suffered because of it. I can’t say for sure that certain players have tuned him out, but something is not right when the team cannot get itself together for the two biggest games of the season against Montreal. And I’m a major proponent of the concept of player accountability, that Quinn can’t score goals, that Quinn isn’t taking yet another interference penalty in the offensive zone (I’m looking at you Antropov), but there must be some correlation. If only to give the team a breath of fresh air, a new start, it must be done.
7. Let Ferguson do his freaking job. Anyone who expects a new GM, who takes over a team wholly constructed by his old-school predecessor, after the first time in pro sports history that an entire season has been lost to a labour dispute, resulting in a totally new economic system and coinciding with the implementation of a whole slew of new rules that effectively change the way the game is played, to win a Stanley Cup within his first two years is out of their mind. I would further argue that for a team like the Leafs, making the playoffs is not even the most important goal. We’re not talking about a small-market team trying to convince its fans that hockey is worth it. No matter how hard we Torontonians shriek and moan about the Leafs’ crummy season, we ain’t goin’ anywhere. We’ll be right back in line next year, paying insane ticket prices to drink insanely priced giant beers and go insane for our beloved team. I’m not even saying that Ferguson Jr. is necessarily a great GM, he may turn out to be a total disaster. But until he has had a chance to prove himself, a chance to build a team that is actually his team, I cannot, as a fan, call for his head. But I will if he blows it.
8. Break up the corporate monopoly on the platinum seats. Although I suppose this is merely a pipe dream. But man, when the third period starts in an intense play-off style game, and virtually the entire lower bowl is still huddled over their $20, 4-piece sushi meal in the lounge, it makes me want to vomit blazing naphtha. What the hell are you people doing?! It’s a goddam hockey game!!! You don’t want your seats, I’ll take them! Seriously, give them to me… it’s the only way Wade Belak will hear me screaming at him to get his worthless ass off the ice (trust me, its true… after years of experimenting, I have finally come to the conclusion that the players and coaches CANNOT hear me through the TV… although experimentation continues unabated). When did sitting in the lower bowl become a status thing and not a hockey thing?
9. Heavily promote the AHL Toronto Marlies, who play in the RICOH coliseum on the Lakeshore. Get people interested in the players who will one day be the heart and soul of Toronto’s sporting spirit. Do some cross-promotion stuff, sell blocks of tickets that include games to Leafs AND Marlies games, try to create interest in hockey per se, as opposed to just Maple Leaf hockey. Do people even know the Marlies play right here in the city?
10. Get rid of Wade Belak. Oh wait... already said that. But seriously, get rid of him.

10.b Good lord, did you see the last game of the season against the Pens, where Belak is 2:00-for-roughing some guy behind the Leafs net, then the guy slips him easily, gets to the front of the net, Belak follows and immediately 2:00-for-cross-checks him as the puck goes into the net off his (Belak’s) skate, then Belak 2:00-for-instigated him and then 5:00-for-fighted him and then 10:00-game-misconducted. Shockingly, he was only credited for the instigator, the fighting, and the misconduct. Immortal!

In the meantime, let’s all just try to accept that even before the season started, we knew… we KNEW… that the Leafs might not make the playoffs. We didn’t want to think about it, but we knew it, deep down inside us, inside the part of us that is rational and logical, the part that is usually silenced by the other part of us that, hoarse and wild-eyed, screams things like “GET TO THE CHOPPAH!!!” in a Schwarzenegger voice as Mats barrels in on a breakaway.

I love that part of us.

Raptors Ruminations

Well, it didn't take long for Bryan Colangelo to prove his worth.

Somehow he managed to trade Aruajo to the Jazz for a couple of other former first-round stiffs, Robert Whaley and Kris Humphries. The best part is, it won't matter if either ever sees a single minute of playing time in a Raps uni. Aruajo will go down as one of the worst draft picks of all time, in any sport, mainly because Andre Igoudala was picked after him. My buddy Sandros is pretty confident that Aruajo would have been picked somewhere in the first round, so I wonder what the consnesus would have been if the Raps had taken Aruajo with say, the #24 pick. Would that late round spot justify Aruajo's selection? I say no, certainly not based on his progress to date. He simply would have been a bad player selected at #24 instead of a bad player selected at #8. He's like the Raps answer to Nik Antropov; plenty of size and strength that just screams immediate impact at the big-league level, but turns out that size and strength are wasted on a player who is apparently incapable of learning from his mistakes.

In any case, regardless of whether Humphries ever plays for the Raps (and Whaley was waived the other day), removing Aruajo from the roster was a huge step in the right direction. In fact, even if 'Hoffa' can put it together in Utah (right... under Jerry Sloan... a guy who doesn't learn... good luck), and become a serviceable big man, he had to go. He was a glaring remnant from the near-disasterous Babcock era, and his departure truly signals the beginning of the Colangelo era, which I will henceforth refer to as, the Colangelo Era.

So, in keeping with the Colangelo Era, let us discuss the trading of Matt Bonner and Eric Williams to the Spurs for Rasho Nesterovic (with a 2nd round pick and cash also exchanging hands).
Well, first off, I hate to see Bonner go. He quickly became a fan favorite, and not just because he took the TTC to work, but because of the way he played. Great hustle for a white dude, and he could shoot very well for a 6'-10" guy. Didn't rebound enough for a guy that size, but he was essentially a perimeter player intended to stretch the defence, so rebounds weren't really his to be had.
Eric Williams was simply an extra part. Always liked his game, but he never fit into the Raps plans, even from the beginning. Too bad, but nobody will lament his departure.

So what do we get in return? Is Nesterovic really the answer at centre? Maybe, maybe not. But he's a legit starting centre, and that's probably enough. Aruajo was abysmal, we've already covered that. Loren Woods... well, Loren Woods has the ability to play about 5 very good games over the course of an 82 game season. In the other games, if he plays at all, he is invisible or terrible. Neither Bosh nor Villanueva are true centres, although their length and athleticism would probably allow them to play the position on the offensive end at least.
Nesterovic is no Tim Duncan, that much is clear. He's a solid defender and rebounder, and perhaps most importantly, he has experience. He played 5 years in Minnesota with Kevin Garnett, so he'll understand how to play alongside Bosh, who has a very similar game to Garnett (by the way, nobody can cover Bosh, not even Garnett), and has also played a couple of years in San Antonio, where the focus is on fundamentals and winning. Rasho should have no problem dealing with Sammy "The Mitch" Mitchell after enduring any number of withering Gregg Popovich tirades. Furthermore, this will mark Rasho's debut in the Eastern conference, where he will not have to face a litany of versatile big men and stout centres such as Dirk Nowitzki, Yao Ming, Pau Gasol, Tim Duncan, Elton Brand, Amare Stoudemire, Kevin Garnett, Marcus Camby... the list goes on. Instead, he will get to face Ben Wallace (maybe, depends on if he re-signs with Detroit), possibly Dwight Howard, Zydrunas Ilgauskas, Jamal Magloire (unless Jamal becomes a Rapter too), Michael Olowakandi, Tyson Chandler, Brendan Haywood, ummmm... Nenad Kristic... ummmmm... oh, Samuel Dalembert... uhhh, Scot Pollard? Some solid guys there, but nothing like the West. With Bosh and Villanueva guarding some of the more athletic bigs like Jermaine O'Neal, Nesterovic can just do his job against Andrew Bogut and Primoz Brezec. He knows how to play alongside a dominant forward, won't worry about getting his shots, and will have a chance to prove himself in a key role for an emerging team.

Quite frankly, I think its a great trade. Basically its Bonner and a 2nd round pick for Nesterovich and cash. A depth forward for a starting centre. I'll take that shit any day.

Next on the list, finding out a way to get Bryan Colangelo to marry me, or at least draft me with the 1st overall pick.

Deal with that. Or don't.

More Sports Ruminations

There have been several signs of the apocalypse in the last 2 weeks. Firstly, Bryan Colangelo was somehow able to find a team that was willing to ACQUIRE Rafael Aruajo, and secondly, Larry Brown was officially fired by the Knicks and replaced by Isaiah Thomas. Not sure which is more shocking. The Aruajo deal is shocking because I never thought it could happen, whereas the appointing of Thomas as head coach simply never should have happened.

Either way, these signs surely spell doom for mankind, harkening the arrival of an age of hellfire and brimstone, where the denizens of Hades rise up from their subterranean prison and scourge the earth with molten lava and screeching hatred. You may want to buy a generator or something... and lots of canned food.

Sports Ruminations

It's wierd, I felt worse after the Miami Heat beat Dallas for the NBA Championship than I did about Carolina beating the Oilers for the Cup. I know why. At least the Carolina roster is filled with good Canadian boys, like Rod "Beaked-Fish" Brind'amour, whereas I hate virtually every player on the Heat roster. I love Wade and Haslem, and enjoyed seeing them win. But only gut-churning misery can describe my feelings towards the likes of:

Jason Williams: a.k.a. White Chocolate... guess what, there's a reason everybody hates white chocolate... it sucks, and so do you Williams. His penchant for deep threes early in the shot clock matches only my next example...

Antoine Walker: does anyone like this guy? Why don't you shoot another deep three with 20 seconds to go on the shot clock... shit-eater. If I have to see that ridiculous 'shimmy' down the court ever again I may be forced to pull an Event Horizon, and cut out my eyes with a filthy rusted grapefruit spoon, then go around the neighbourhood with my ragged eyeballs in my hand chanting "Do you see?! DO YOU SEE?!!!!!!!!!!!!!".

Alonzo Mourning: What a great story of triumph and perseverance, coming back to the NBA after kidney transplant surgery. Too bad you are a serious prick. Nothing like screwing two teams without a second thought and then riding Wade and Shaq to a title. Good work 'Zo. Congrats.

Gary Payton: The consummate whiner. Has never committed a foul in his entire career. Was responsible for one of the most egregious turnovers in the history of basketball in game 6 and it should have cost the Heat the game. Unreal. Dishes off the ball and then literally turns away from the play and heads towards the ref to continue chewing him out, then watches the return pass bounce off his feet into Dallas' hands!!! This is in the playoffs, in a potentially Championship-clinching game, with time winding down in the 4th quarter, in a close game ON THE ROAD, and yet it somehow occurs to Payton that bitching at the ref is more important than actually paying attention to ongoing action. Shocking.

Shaq: Tough one here. As a life-long basketball player and fan, I simply cannot deny that he is one of the most dominant forces to ever play. But good Christ, hit a goddam free-throw! A mortal lock for greatest player ever if he could hit 75% of his FT's. I dunno, just something about him I don't like. Sorry, no love for Shaq.

I could go on... but, meh. Stupid Miami Heat.

Parked Cars: The Immobile Assassins

There are millions of cars in the world, ranging from the crappiest Lada to the most beautiful Aston Martin. They live in a wide variety of climates and environments, and are perfectly suited for most cities. We have lived alongside them for over a hundred years now, and while we have had our minor disputes, together we haved lived in relative harmony. Until now.

A new breed of automobile has arisen in our midst: curb-side killers with no regrets. They sit unmoving, parked along the curb, their tempermental drivers at home or at work. Seemingly inert, other cars pass them by without a care, sometimes within a few feet. This is when they strike, lightning quick, like some giant steel scarab beetle, sinking massive chrome fangs deep into the unsuspecting car that came too close.

Or at least, that's my impression. I have never actually seen this occur, despite many hours of intense research and first hand observation. Allow me to explain. I set up camp along Heath Street, between Yonge St. and Spadina. Rumours swirled that this area was rife with cruel, heartless murder-cars. I admit I was frightened at first, who wouldn't be? A car accident is one thing, but when a car actively attacks? No sir, I want no part of that. Still, I was determined to root out the problem, bring it to light, stop the insanity once and for all. So I set up camp and waited.

As it turns out, I did not have to wait very long. While I never actually saw parked cars coming to life and preying on random, careless passing vehicles, what I did see spoke volumes. The passing cars in this area were clearly aware of the potential danger, as they routinely carved a wide berth around any and all parked cars they came upon, many times coming closer to the opposite curb then to the motionless parked cars that virtually screeched death from every headlight. So there I was, observing not the bone-jarring, steel-twisting, glass-shattering surprise attacks that I had come to believe were commonplace; instead I observed what was ostensibly prey, evolving, learning to simply avoid potential encounters altogether. Passing vehicles no longer tempted fate by driving within two or three feet. In fact, regardless of oncoming traffic, these passing vehicles would still sweep wide around any and all parked cars to ensure safety, oftentimes forcing the oncoming traffic to come to a complete stop, lest a head-on-collision occur.

When my 'safari' was finally at an end, I had more than enough data to prove without a shadow of a doubt that these curb-side killers are indeed a growing problem, truly the bane of all moving traffic. How else can one explain the baffling behaviour of the drivers along Heath St.? What other possible reason could there be for these drivers to nearly scrape the opposite curb rather than come within even three feet of a parked car? There is no other reason. Parked cars can and do come to life and attack passing vehicles. I defy any and all to provide a more rational explanation.

An Open Letter to Electronics

Dear Electronics,

Its time you and I had it out. Quite frankly, I don't appreciate the way you have treated me over the last 20 years or so. I can't recall anything specific that I may have done to you, nor can I attempt to make amends if there was something, since you won't actually speak to me. I have tried to extend the olive branch in the past, but you just sit there, mute, immobile, staring back at me with your lifeless LCD eyes. I am just a man... if you refuse to play a CD, do I not punch a brick wall and bleed? When you take over a minute to open a Word document, do my profanity-laced explosions not frighten small children? When you simply refuse to operate at all, does the already tenuous grasp on my sanity not slip even further? When I am forced to return you several times for unending diagnostic checks, do I not slip on the ice and break my leg in two places? I am just a man.

Look, let's just let bygones be bygones, and try to move forward. I don't want to fight anymore. The random curse-word generating software implanted into my brain at birth can only generate so many random curse-words.

This is my last attempt at peace. Give me some sign that you have heard me and acknowledge that steps must be taken. If not, then I must destroy you.

Or die trying.

Sincerely,
Final

New Beginnings

I'm not an expert on anything. I'm not a jounalist. I'm not a professional writer of any kind. Many would say I'm barely passable as a friend or family member. That notwithstanding, I apparently can't shut up. As such, I have decided to harangue the masses via the internets. It seems only fair that after I have taken so much from so many, that I should give back in some small, meaningless way.

Here you will find my absurdist take on any number of things that affect my existence, such as Heath Street between Yonge and Spadina, hockey in general and all things Toronto Maple Leafs, '24' starring Keifer Sutherland, eating, swearing at people, faulty electronics, unheralded fantasy-fiction author and fellow Canadian R. Scott Bakker, sweat pants, the Crusades, sports, The Christie Mansion, general surliness, the Canyonero (I remain firm that unexplained fires are a matter for the courts), why Vince Carter probably eats poo and Chris Bosh probably eats diamonds (or at least sapphires), sharks, the TTC, Commander Riker, beers, stupid stuff, things that are neat, Pearl Jam, sleeping, 45-peice stainless steel flatware sets, the woeful state of long-term care in Ontario, the Fazer, glass cases of emotion, fantasy sports pools, NEVER FOLDING ACE-QUEEN BEFORE THE FLOP, yappy dogs, horror violence, Mats Sundin, chicken souvlaki on a bun, regretting nothing, poppycock and horsefeathers, Caruso, and so on and so forth.

Deal with it or don't.

The Final Word

Well, here it is, the first official post at The Final Word. No doubt you have all been waiting for this, most of you surely unable to sleep or eat, perhaps plagued by crippling migraines or intense gas pains, possibly haunted by a recurring nightmare in which you are falling, falling, always falling. Others may have found themselves beseiged by ravenous packs of zombie dogs sent by an evil necormancer, who claw and tear at your flesh, their slavering jaws ever closer to your jugular, promising sweet release from a cruel, uncaring world. Worse still are the marauding bands of massive sinkholes, claiming lives at every turn, dragging humanity down into their earthen depths. Or are you one of the few who has seen the Devil in the mirror, one taloned hand on your shoulder, the other intangibly coiled about your black heart? Regardless of your symptoms, you may now rest easy.

The Final Word has begun.

So please join me on a new journey... a journey of learning, self-discovery, coarse language, vitriolic rantings, and palpable hatred. It should be a blast.