How John Kordic and Jaroslav Halak nearly killed Phil Wood

In the late 1980s, my Dad drove a blue Chrysler sedan; I think it was a "Le Baron". Yes, a blue Chrysler LeBaron! Manual windows and doors, carpeted seating, a pop-up antenna that I whacked with a hockey stick to see how many times it would bounce back and forth, and less interior features than anyone knew what to do with. Dad loved his Le Baron, and nothing put a smile on his face quite like a trip to Knob Hills Farms on a Saturday afternoon. A kid growing up in the suburbs of Mississauga, before the urban sprawl of the 2000s, had millions of things to do during his summer vacation. However, if your name started with "Phil", ended with "Wood", and lived on Autumn Leaf Crescent, then you were going with him. "Phil, get in the car; we're going to Knob Hill Farms."

I cried, pleaded, made excuses, and begged, but nothing I could do or say would prevent my Dad from taking me back to the "most boring place in the world". My Dad threw me into the backseat of the Le Baron, got in the car, and drove off to parts unknown (i.e. North York).

It was during one road trip to the depths of...vegetables that Dad tuned in his special AM/FM Stereo radio to CFRB 1010 to hear good old Wally Kreuter talk sports. I remember that cloudy day as if it was yesterday. Wally said...

"...Maple Leafs General Manager Gord Stellick announced today that the team traded forward Russ Courtnall to the Montreal Canadiens for defenceman John Kordic..."

Suddenly, the rear wheel drive gave way, Dad lost control of the steering wheel, and I could feel my body being thrust from one side of the car to another! Could this be the end? Has the apocalypse begun? Will the specter of the four horsemen signalled the beginning of at least twenty years of Ballard wrought futility? What will become of me? Will I survive, or have I fallen under the icy grip of death?

"Phil, we're here."

I woke up in the backseat of the LeBaron in the Knob Hill Farms parking lot; we arrived safe and sound (albeit safe is not the right word given the circumstance). I passed out before hearing Gord Stellick trying to explain his actions in his squeaky, lilting voice. Nevertheless, the dream was true: The Leafs traded their best player in Russ Courtnall to the dreaded Montreal Canadiens for...John Kordic?! We traded the future star and goal scoring phenom in the "Hound Line" with him, Gary Leeman, and Wendel Clark for a do nothing goon?
(While Russ Courtnall's addition to the Habs' lineup did not produce Cups, his trade to the Minnesota North Stars before the '93 season for Brian Bellows contributed to the team's eventual Cup triumph. John Kordic's story does not have the happy ending; he died in 1992 after an alcohol-related altercation with police)


Fast forward to 2010. Driving on Highway 403 in a Discount rent-a-van to the office in Brampton, I turn on the FAN 590 and hear the announcer proclaim "...Canadiens General Manager Pierre Gauthier announced today that the team traded goaltender Jaroslav Halak to the St.Louis Blues for prospect Lars Eller and..." I forgot the rest of what he said as I was trying to keep the van from tumbling off the overpass!

It happened again! I never thought something like "The Kordic Trade" would ever happen again, but it did this afternoon! Halak, who carried Slovakia to semi-finals of the 2010 Olympics ahead of three of the world's six hockey superpowers and the 'saving grace' of the Canadiens' in last year's postseason run and comeback hero against all things Ovechkin and Backstrom and Crosby and Malkin, is gone to the Blues for...Danish '07 draft pick Lars Eller and Ian Schultz (one of these two does not have a wiki on Wikipedia; guess which one!)



As they say in Slovakia, "Buckle up, this will be a bumpy ride!"

V-U-V-U-Z-E-L-A...they didn't qualify for the 2010 World Cup

Before the game begins, you can hear them buzzing. They are not insects, although many part-time soccer viewers consider the plastic bugles to be annoying pests. They are the latest craze in South Africa, adopted by its countrymen, and scorned by the world audience. It is called a "vuvuzela".

I have no trouble listening to them, keep in mind players have no choice but to listen to the monotone reverberation echo throughout the stadium for at least two hours on game day. I can adjust the volume setting on my television, and I can solve the 'problem'. On the other hand, the longest anyone will hear the vuvuzela is one month, and then never again.

There are other camps in the 2010 FIFA World Cup who do not have a problem with the musical instrument (as of June 16th, 2010): Germany, Brazil, South Korea, Argentina, Holland and Ghana to name a few. As for those countries in the World, who are not so fond of the vuvuzela, their tale is ridden with excuses and moments a Monday morning Quarterback would love to have back. It wasn't because of stifling defense, team execution, displicine, well-researched gameplan, or the spin of the ball...it was the vuvuzela.

Forgiveness

Remember your greatest mistake, your most embarrassing moment, or a moment in time you wish to erase or redo. Picture it happening in your mind again, and then again. Now, picture your family, friends, indifferent strangers, enemies, and millions of other people all over the world watching that same mistake you made.

Now picture this...

At the moment, there is anger because Armando Galarraga did not get what he "earned" through 8 2/3 innings of solid pitching. He "deserved" or "earned" the rewards that come from hard work, second effort, and loyalty to a cause. However, as is in life, most people on this planet do not get those things as rewards for their hard work or loyalty. Should baseball be the exception?

There are facebook groups dedicated to the ridicule of the man, who accidentally and apologetically, took the rewards away from Galarraga. The insults and the photos are an unfair smearing of a man that devoted his life and his energy to the game; some, if not all of what is said on Facebook and other websites by 'bloggers' and 'pundits', is too embarrassing and shameful for words.

I remember when my Dad umpired games here in Canada; he umpired a host of baseball and softball games in his community throughout the 80s and 90s, and he still has the gear and rulebooks in the garage of his house in Mississauga. He told me of a textbook tag at second base he ruled safe, when the world and everyone in it knew the runner was out. He lost his passion to umpire afterward, because the memory of that one moment took the fun away from umpiring. When I remember that story, I think of how I would act in that position. How would I react? What would I do?

Galarraga reacted like any of us would at that moment, but unlike any of us he accepted it with the grace and calm that only he could. After all, name another pitcher on the verge of perfection who had the rug snatched from underneath his feet? Neither could I. Perhaps there is a lesson all of us could learn from this experience. Not about instant replay, coach's challenges, base sensors, or electronic strike zones, because those regulate, not terminate, our frustrations with life.

Baseball hinges on the foul lines of fairness and controversy, the wrong call, the irate managers, and the umpteen million dollar a year third baseman from the Yankees my friend Ana hates so much. However, we still love the game, and we go for the unfairness, controversy, irate managers, and overpaid all-stars on THAT team. What is more, life is about unfairness, too, and yet we still wake up everyday and live each day for different reasons. Do we "deserve" perfection, the right call, sneakers, public transportation, and televisions preloaded with five hundred channels? Do we "deserve" a roof over our heads, food, water, or life? If so, for whom, over whom, or by whose authority?
Now picture this...

What Armando Galarraga and umpire Jim Joyce taught us is even when our intentions were good, we will fail. If each of us lives with the desire to see the best for everyone, then what would our planet, our cities, our neighbourhoods, and our lives resemble? What if we spent less time thinking about what we "deserve" and more time figuring out how to "bless" each other with what we have? If we had the capacity to forgive or be forgiven, what would our lives look like?

Probably, we would all be safe at home.