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Not quite The Gretzky Trade, but just as sad

After careful consideration, a thorough analysis of the market fan base of readers of this blog, and weighing my options as a young writer, I decided that the remarkable run of THE FRANCHISE must come to an end.

I never imagined fifty-two blog posts ago I would be writing to you, who are the many dozens of faithful followers all over the world, about the termination of this blog. Then again, I never imagined there would be many dozens of faithful followers interested with what I had to say. However, therein lies the conundrum: Shifting from sport to sport without a set schedule of writings left THE FRANCHISE as a random sports blog without an agenda. I would drift from one topic to the next, and thus never establish a base camp for blog readers to visit on a weekly basis. Only twice did THE FRANCHISE drift from the sports genre to speak on subjects outside the entertainment field, but you remained patient throughout all this and I thank you.

My favourite blog to date is my piece about Robert Green; I still believe it is wrong for us to throw him under the bus for the US debacle, but including Elton John at the end was a comic masterpiece :) I titled my best blog "Forgiveness" because it is a subject each person needs to read. In speaking about Armando Gallaraga, Jim Joyce, and baseball, I realize the topic goes outside the playing field and into our homes and businesses. Finally, my worst blog is this one because it brings about an end to a worthwhile chapter of my life, nevertheless it brings about the beginning of another.

I learned about more about writing and talking about subjects people want to read about, what works and what doesn't, where I should stand and why I should never acquiesce. I thank God for the ability to write everyday, but I thank Him all the more for the ability to write to you. Thank you to Momzo and Dad for their support, and my sisters for reading in secret so I don't get a big head about it. THE FRANCHISE will still be up, if you would like to read some classics one more time, but there will be no one home. I might come back to read some things, too, once I get settled in my new digs.

Thank you again for all your support, perhaps I will hear from you again soon.
Phil Wood

SPECIAL ANNOUNCEMENT COMING SOON

Like the title says, a special announcement is forthcoming on this very page! Stay tuned o_O

Airborne: Remembering Lindsay

Isn't it rich? Aren't we a pair? Me here at last on the ground, and you in mid-air.

I last saw Lindsay Tamminga in person seven years ago. Our church youth group went to AIRBORNE trampoline place to the west of Erin Mills, and when it was her turn to bounce on the trampoline she jumped really high. She leapt so high that she almost touched the ceiling! This was incredible when you consider she was a few feet shorter than me, and I couldn't reach that high.

If you ever saw her smile, then you know how much you felt like smiling, too. If you were standing in the corner of the room, she would make you a part of the group discussion; if it was me though, she would order me to contribute, and most of time I would.

Before she quit Facebook because it was "time-consuming", we would chat a little bit about our life and times. From her pictures, she seemed very happy with her family and her friends. I remember getting a notice of uploaded pictures of her trip with friends up to Wasaga beach, and looking at a girl enjoying a small paper plate of french fries and wondering how happy she must seem. Just like that girl at Airborne so many years before. I remembered another picture of her with her family at the LAC in Mississauga. Family was always important to her, and she did not mind showing off her cool parents. Her dad rode into the church parking lot one night on his motorcycle, and I remember being very, VERY afraid of him. She was low-key about the motorcycle, and she said there was nothing to be afraid of. I took her advice and before the night was through I was able to talk to Mr. Tamminga about motorcycle stuff. She even had a red motorcycle jacket; I thought it was neat.

If there is something I learned from her is that independence is nothing without family. Friends are good, too, but the best friends should be part of your family as well. It is important to remember how precious each moment must be, and why we never forget where we come from as we move forward. I doubt I will ever meet someone like her again, but I hope I will someday, and she will still be wearing that patented smile.

To the family and friends of Lindsay Tamminga, who knew her best, I send my heartfelt condolences. Words cannot adequately express how sorrowful I am about the news of Lindsay's departure. My family and I continue to have you in our thoughts and prayers during this difficult time.

I Miss Him. Every Game.

I never expected to lose with him on the court. In any game and in every game; I expected victory and nothing less. This was a virgin feeling I had about one player in a team game. Of course, baseball would the exception to the rule. In 1992 and 1993, if we were leading late in the game, then defeat was close to impossible because or relief pitching was so dominant. However, if we trailed in the last few innings, one of our players would get that clutch hit. After all, the memory which supersedes all others was "The Clutch Hit" for everyone who witnessed it.

However, this was different; this was basketball. Never did we have a superstar to take over games, and we never thought of missing the playoffs with such a superstar. What did we call this feeling; Confidence, arrogance, pride? No, we called it Vinsanity.

I miss feeling that way. I miss having legitimate reasons to watch ESPN Classic to relive those great moments when he would make that game-winning shot. I miss having confidence in my basketball team. I miss having a reason to watch the game. I miss having no worries about the opponent my team would play against (unless it was Jordan's Bulls)...no, wait, that's not it at all. There is one thing I miss more than all of those put together:

I miss Vince Carter.

Things to Do

1. Scour the densest jungles and deserts of the world.
2. Find some guy who thinks he is always right, even when he is wrong.
3. Make him wear FIFA referee shirt.
4. Put him in charge of an important match in the 2010 World Cup.
5. Watch him blow an important, game-changing call.
6. Watch him refuse to explain his actions afterward.
7. Shove him on plane for anywhere he would like to go. One-way, of course.
8. Read papers later on how said person was known to take bribes in past games, and maybe even for this game.
9. Bury head in sand when confronted by media when asked why we allowed him to referee in the first place.
10. Repeat 1-9
11. Send "Things to do" list to UEFA, CONCACAF, CONMEBOL, etc.

Czar Blatter: The man behind the curtain?

Why am I the only one willing to question the divine origin of all words spoken by Czar Blatter I? When the Czar speaks we all tremble, but no longer shall I be fooled by him who speaks from his ivory tower deep in the European countryside.

What is he talking about?

The man behind the curtain refuses to address the real issues plaguing the game of soccer because he can afford to. FIFA is the chair of "The Beautiful Business": They are in charge of the world's most popular sport, its rules, and directs sovereign countries on how they should play the game. Meanwhile, FIFA buries its head in the sand when faced with the everyday issues surrounding the game, such as corruption on the field such as biased referees, and corruption off the field involving refusal to get tough on crimes based on race, religion, or creed directly impacting the game. The "Old Firm" rivalry of Scotland, the treatment of black players in Spanish or Italian league matches, or the collapse of the South African infrastructure as a result of the 2010 World Cup are issues FIFA ignores, for example. "What to do about gameplay" is a minor issue in light of these blights on the game of soccer.

If he must tweak gameplay, however, keep the rules the same and introduce goal-line technology. The technology is there, but for reasons unknown or outdated the Czar maintains the status quo on bringing soccer into the twenty-first century.

"Soccer in the lower levels does not have video review; why should we?"

This is a paraphrased rebuttal Czar Blatter uses whenever goal-line technology or "video review" comes up. Other sports use this technology because it makes the game better, helps the referees get it right, and brings legitimacy to the game. However, like the microphones wired to the heads of some World Cup referees, FIFA does not use them. This is the benefit of being the monopoly or lone shareholder of soccer. No timetable, no business rivals, and every person on this planet, even soccer haters, must ultimately go to FIFA for the final word.

Well, I'm not going to play the fool anymore. I don't need Toto to pull back the curtain to reveal who is really at fault for soccer's current malade (is that a word?). Czar Blatter: Abdicate.

This blog post is dedicated to the memory of my cousin Carl Headley in England, who passed away from a sudden illness. We miss you, Carl.

LLWS: I've seen less crying in a Dick Vermeil Special!

They call it "The Little League World Series of Baseball", but I call it trying to get me to cry. Teams of ten year old boys from all over the world, and just as many teams from the United States play in Williamsport, Pennsylvania for the right to be crowned the world's best little league team...

(Insert Facepalm here)

I'm glad people are taking an interest in kids, promoting fitness, teamwork, sportsmanship, and the love of the game. However, I get more than a little upset about the annual questions coming out of this nationally televised event.

1) Why is there an American team in the final EVERY year? The LLWS has two "leagues" or conferences: American and International. While the best teams in the world face off against other young talents to see who is the best in their pool, all the American teams play in their league to see which the best/luckiest to play in the final.

2) How old is that kid anyway? There is always one tall, stubble-bearded, fantastic player from the darkest jungles of the world that takes the baseball world by storm. However, controversy surrounds that kid wherever he/she goes (See thirteen year old Danny Almonte in action)

3) What's with the flagwaving? When the USA is in the final, you can guarantee biased reporting from broadcasters, "USA!" chanting up to high heaven, and the heavy burden of patriotism and national pride befallen on kids with more on their plate than the RAF during "the Blitz" combined.

4) World War 2 anyone? Nothing says "fate of the world at stake" quite like Americans playing and winning against a team from Japan.

5) Are you crying?! Two cameramen are responsible for locating, isolating, and zooming in on kids from the losing team crying their eyes out on the field after a big loss. Tsk tsk tsk, shame on you. Check out this replay from the 2005 LLWS between Ewa Beach, HI and Curacao if you don't believe me. Tom Hanks is losing his mind about what he is watching out there!

6) What do you mean there is no ice here? Count on two other things about this competition.

1. Canada is in the competition
2. Canada will find a way to lose the competition

According to the logic of the LLWS, I'm playing eight Canadian teams in the next Winter Olympic Games, because hockey is OUR game: Ontario, Quebec, Atlantic Provinces, British Columbia, Alberta, Central Provinces, Territories, and First Nations. Come on, we do it in curling!

I have many beefs, but this beef above all gets to me: Video Replay in the LLWS. Never mind the call, but do we need this in Little League? As if the fate of the world hangs in the balance when Little Leaguers, who can't even drive cars, get together for a game of baseball? Perish the thought of a child crying his eyes out at the end of a game because of a blown call; who knows, maybe he will never play baseball again? We can't have that! Give them instant replay! We must get things right for the kids, and while we are at it let's get rid of defeat and losing, because those things are wrong. Yes, let's make every game a tie game so that everyone wins, except for the winner.

It sounds like I'm harping on kids, but the fault is with us. We put too many high expectations on our kids, and when they fall short they crash and burn; in the case of LLWS, however, we get it on film. If the LLWS is a gimmick, then we don't need eight American teams, flagwaving exercises, intense close-ups of Mom and Dad in the stands when their boy goes to bat, and video replay for calls that matter less to a ten year old than bubble gum and bike rides in the park. However, if it is not a gimmick, and we NEED this REAL baseball to prove something, then it's time to turn off the cameras, sit down with our kids, and find out who we are and what is important in life. Otherwise, the LLWS is really for those who didn't make it, and now living out our hopes and dreams in those we raised to serve our purpose.

What would I do about the LLWS? Two things for starters really: Shut off the camera and let the kids play.

The Habs did what?

Montreal traded Jaro Halak to the St. Louis Blues...it has begun.

"Fabio versus The FA" OR "England: Whose Side Is It Anyway?"

Robert Green was Fabio's man; he made the decision I would make. On the eve of the opening 2010 World Cup match against the reborn and improved United States, England manager Fabio Capello chose Robert Green over David James to start in goal for jolly old England that night in South Africa. I will not regale you with my earlier musings on David James and his ineptitude in big games, but Robert Green did have a reputation for stealing games, and playing against impossible odds. Fabio knew that, too, and chose Green.

England led 1-0 after an early goal from Steven Gerrard to open the contest. Then, this happened...

Embarrassment to say the least. As in the Nike commercials of soccer lore, Green wrote the future. Watching the game in my living room, I made a correct yet insensitive remark, "No matter how well he plays, he will never play for his country in the World Cup again."

Insensitive because we all have moments like this, or at least worse (see Jim Marshall). Robert Green made a mistake, but he should never be under a bus. If you claim your team is a favourite, and if I have more fingers on my hand than you have "goals scored", you don't deserve to win. No one goalie blunder can erase that.

Second, I was correct because Robert Green was Fabio's man, and not the FA's man: David James. Since 1966, The Football Association (of England) undermines and overrules its managers at every turn. The shift from a "player's coach" like Sir Alf Ramsey and Sir Bobby Robson, to "company men" like Sven-Goran Eriksson and Ron Greenwood happens with clockwork regularity. You can read the full history of England's managers on Wikipedia, yet when strong-willed and popular managers get too close to their players (see Sir Alf, 1974 World Cup qualifying...be patient it's a long example), or when "company men" prove how their ineptness for the job (see Graeme Taylor, 1994 World Cup qualifying), these managers get the axe.

My favourite example comes from 1977 - The FA hold interviews for the manager vacancy after the resignation of Don Revie. Popular, outspoken, and uncontrollable manager Brian Clough is a front runner for the job, but he interviews before a preliminary panel. The FA already made their decision: Ron Greenwood. He lasts five years: Failing to qualify for the 1978 World Cup, group stage in the Euro 1980, and the second round in the 1982 World Cup. Meanwhile, Clough wins one league championship in 1978, and back-to-back European Club Championships in 1979 and 1980 with Nottingham Forest. Hmm...

What will it take to rid England of the snake-bitten label? Who is in charge of England for Euro 2012: Fabio or The FA? Will David James be in goal again?

As for Robert Green, he never did tend goal again for England in the 2010 World Cup. David James, who became Fabio's "reluctant" choice goaltender, guided England out of the group stage. As expected they faced stiff opposition in Germany in the second round; as expected, David James and England folded up like pup tents 4-1 to the Germans. What? No sound?!

For the record, Robert Green is still my man for the job.

Now, Elton John will sing Candle in the Wind.

Classic Post

From Monday, December 21, 2009, I decided to re-post a classic blog post I wrote up.

Step on a Stepbrother?

(But she's so pretty! I mean the other women look like they lost a fight with a 'two by four'... Oops!)

I haven't updated my blog in awhile. The last month at work was hectic, and I did not have lots of time and energy to spend on The Franchise. While I have a spare moment, I decided to talk about this month's current hot topic.

Since 1997, my stepbrother, whom my Mom claimed as her 'pride and joy' until recently, won every title imaginable. I believed Tiger Woods was the yardstick by which Mom measured my accomplishments, so it was easy to feel in second place. His greatest accomplishment on a golf course, which is his U.S. Open victory in 2007, remains the most remarkable individual sporting moment I ever saw; what is more incredible is that he played better golf on one leg than most if not all golfers in the world on two. Nevertheless, Tiger Woods was 'everything my Mom ever wanted in a son', until...

It would be easy to harp on Tiger after recent news of his infidelity drove the #1 golfer to playing his home golf course in the still of night. I am disappointed not just because a man cheated on his wife and kids, thus crippling the family unit, but another one of my heroes went out like a villain.

Keep in mind Tiger was once 'everything my Mom ever wanted in a son', so excuse me for not celebrating my return to the good graces of my Momzo. Tiger's story is similar to that of many young men in this world: How many young men with money, fame, power, ability, or intellect ever heard the world tell them 'No'? Nothing is impossible for us, and when we are successful the world is our biggest fan. There are examples of this everywhere: Asking for our autographs, shaking our hands, sliding a free drink down to us at the local, and as Frank Herzog of 'Skins radio fame said in an interview "giving us all the goodies - even the cocaine", or the women.

Whether we are athletes, analysts, prognosticators or die-hard fans, each of us have a duty to each other and to those we hold dear to keep things in perspective and not fall victim to the hype around our money, fame, power, ability, or intellect. After all, when those things go away, character is all you have to your name and that never goes out of style.

King George

Where would the rebellion be without Darth Vader?

Where would Sherlock Holmes be without Moriarty?

Where would we be without the New York Yankees?

If I asked any of my friends, who support either the Red Sox (Hi Ana), and Mets (Hi Andrew), they would say we would all be holding hands in a circle under the bright sunshine and rainbow celebrating world peace and comradery. As for me I would look at where baseball, or where I would be, without the late George Steinbrenner, who passed away this morning at the age of 80 years young.

I would write up a synopsis of his accomplishments, but many more talented writers did that already. I remember him for the role he did not play in numerous Seinfeld episodes...one scene in particular.

Steinbrenner was driven to make the Yankees successful on the field and off. From fielding clean-cut players, to hiring and firing twenty different managers in his first twenty-three seasons in charge as owner; "King George" believed more about being right at the moment than being consistent. Eventually, he did that, too.

His influence on the game made the memories of '92 and '93 sweeter, because those were the days when the Toronto Blue Jays got it together, and before the New York Yankees got into gear. Since then, the Yankees won in '96, '98, '99, 2000 and last year in 2009; always competitive and always winning. The Yankees are the team Ana, Andrew, and I love to hate, because the Yankees are the team we should want playing for us. Perhaps, this keeps us going to the ballpark, calling the phone-in sports radio shows, drafting all but Yankee players in the fantasy drafts at work, and watching the game on television. It also keeps a smile on the faces of two of my friends, who love the Yankees to no end (Hi Geoff and Jon).

I imagine "King George" is somewhere making another team out of some the game's greatest ever stars, making them get haircuts, trading some of them, and then hiring and firing the same manager fifteen thousand times (he almost came close to that number with former manager Billy Martin). His golden legacy will not go undiminished.

FIFA's Pyrrhic Victory

After watching the 2010 World Cup Final, I drove to Mary Brown's to pick up some dinner. As I turned off highway 401 and onto Erin Mills Parkway, I fell in rank behind a black coupe sporting a Spanish flag. With its plastic mast hooked between the window and the car frame, the small flag bent in the wind as the car sped down the street ahead of me. Spain won the World Cup hours before in Johannesburg, when they defeated the Netherlands 1-0 in extra time, to lift the World Cup trophy. Numerous images of Spanish victory included various Spanish players sporting scarves of their affiliation with their Spanish league clubs, and pictures of viewers in Madrid going bananas.

For now, however, I am watching this flag flap in the wind on top of the black car speed up the hill. Suddenly, the flag snaps and falls towards the wheels of my car! I drive over the flag so its colours pass under the frame instead of under my tires. There were no cars behind me, but all the same I remember not to stop otherwise I may cause an accident. Finally, with the crisis averted I check my rear view mirror, but the flag is gone much like the former owner of the Spanish car flag, who sped off into the distance.

Everyone here is a Canadian again, and while the party continues in pockets across our country, the feeling of belonging is a distant memory. In another four years, the media will remind us of this year's party and why the next party will be "the most important sporting event ever". People will purchase flags and jerseys, magazines and face paint, and even take up an interest in a sport my friend Kurtis regards as "watching grass grow". FIFA President Sepp Blatter called the World Cup "a meeting for all the world's countries to come together to celebrate and compete in soccer under the banner of peace". Much like car flags and World Cup magazines, this World Cup was also for sale.

South Africans paid for the ten stadiums dotting the southern African landscape. Multimillion dollar, metal eyesores that will each host a handful of soccer games over the next year. Shacks and rubble hid in the shadows of these white elephants, as FIFA leaves these structures with their wide profit margins, TV ratings, and millions of supporters. Continental rotation, which stamps Sepp Blatter's image on world soccer, will afford each continent an opportunity to host the World Cup at least once over the next 30 years. In other words, countries that don't have enough money to support their countrymen and their families must bid to host the World Cup (see South Africa 2010, and Brazil 2014). Unfortunately, no one will remember this either because the world's attention will be on the next World Cup.

I watched a CBC video on the history of the vuvuzela a couple weeks ago. I listened to the sound of wasps throughout the five minute documentary. I remembered one shot of kids playing on a trampoline someone brought into the neighbourhood as a couple of older gentlemen made that annoying sound. I did not remember that scene because of the men, the plastic horns, the kids, or the trampoline, I remembered that scene because of the ruined buildings and desolate housing behind them.

What I learned about this World Cup is not only can you put a price on a game, but you can put a price on national pride. FIFA bought the pride of South Africa, when they put the show ahead of its people, and all of us bought into the hype of another World Cup. Now that we turned off the cameras, took back the vuvuzelas, and folded up the trampoline, what will remain?

Congratulations FIFA on a job well done.

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.

Hey readers!

I got a new job last week, and while I'm getting settled to the new surroundings THE FRANCHISE will be on a hiatus. Don't worry; I hope to post new things very soon.

He's wearing Pink; they don't have a prayer

The FA Cup final was on last week; Chelsea played Portsmouth in the big match. David James, the beleaguered goalkeeper for Pompey, wore pink as did the rest of the team. Naturally, Chelsea won the game 1-0, but it would not be right to throw David James under the bus. Nevertheless, you would like a goalkeeper to steal a game from the heavy favourites in any match much less a cup final. It takes me back to 1973...



Reportedly, I was born in 1982, but I was around...even for the invention of water.

THE "RIGHT NOW" MOMENT: Based on a true story

Plante versus McNeil, Dryden versus whatshisname, Roy versus Penney: The list of classic goaltending decisions by one hockey franchise goes on and on. The heavyweight battle between Halak and Price, for the vaunted starting role of backstop for hockey's most prestigious franchise, swayed back and forth for at least three years, before being decided in Anaheim of all places.

After Game 4 of the 2010 Eastern Conference Semi-Final between Les Canadiens and the Pittsburgh Penguins, which ended with the Habs winning 3-2 and Halak showered with praise, I scoped out the NHL website to find the EXACT moment when everything changed for Jaroslav Halak, the Montreal Canadiens, and my friend and longtime Habs fan Michael Smith. My search began with Halak's profile page; clicking on Game Log, I scrolled down the list of regular season games featuring Halak. You almost miss it, but once you see it you know it is there (Data credit to NHL.com)!


I clicked on that particular night, read the box score, and then searched YouTube for the game.

It was after the Olympic break; Jaroslav Halak sown the first seeds of upstart greatness in the 2010 Winter Olympics carrying his home nation Slovakia to the semi-finals of the men's hockey tournament, and almost upsetting Team Canada. Back with his team, Halak was riding the bench as he often did as a competitor for the starting job as goaltender for Montreal. Other NHL teams had starting goaltenders: Pittsburgh has Fleury, New Jersey has Brodeur, Detroit has no one but Howard, and San Jose has Nabokov. Similar to the NFL and quarterbacks if you are on an NHL team with two goaltenders, then you don't have a starting goaltender!

On March 7, 2010, everything changed.

In today's culture, every person looks for, what Darrell Green calls, the "right now" moment. The fable of "rags to riches" usually begins in anonymity following a crisis. Wally Pipp had a headache, Drew Bledsoe had a collapsed lung, Lester Pearson retired as Prime Minister of Canada, and a bike went missing in Louisville, Kentucky. Whether it is known or not at that "right now" moment is unclear, however what a person does with that "right now" shapes the lives of everyone around and beyond. Ask Lou Gehrig, ask Tom Brady, ask Pierre Trudeau, and then ask Muhammad Ali. There were no excuses, no reasons to run and hide, and no avoiding the issue; for Jaroslav Halak the "right now" moment came, and he never looked back.

It remains to be seen if the Halak story reaches acclaimed status, but for "right now" he is doing alright ;)

(Special thanks to NHL.com, Wikipedia, and YouTube)

Liverpool 0, Chelsea 2

Liverpool 0, Chelsea 2

I didn't want to read the post-game report; it is immaterial to me what happened during the game, who scored, when they scored, how many saves the goalkeepers made or decided to make, or when the losers threw in the towel. According to Barclaycard Premiership Table, Chelsea sat a point above Manchester United in the race for first place before this match. Chelsea would play at Liverpool's "Anfield Road" stadium, which is the home of Manchester United's longest standing rival, Liverpool F.C. If Liverpool wins, then Manchester United would move to first place thanks to their victory in their league match over Sunderland, and the Chelsea loss. If Liverpool lost, Chelsea would remain in first place and the result of the Man United-Sunderland match would be immaterial because the Blues would be in control of their destiny.

Liverpool 0, Chelsea 2

Perhaps the worst thing anyone can say is that an opponent "gave up", "quit", or pulled a "Liston" on purpose. For the sake of what is right, for the sake of the game, you must win. Liverpool's season went down the tubes long before: Ousted from the Champions League, denied at home to Atletico Madrid in the Europa League Semi-Final, bounced from League title contention after many early defeats, bounced from both domestic cup competitions. However, when Liverpool saddled up against Manchester United, the Reds ALWAYS came to play and play hard.

Liverpool 0, Chelsea 2

I did not read the post-game report or see the highlights, yet what if Liverpool played their best against Chelsea? What if they gave 110% and were outdone by Chelsea? In a sport beset by betting scandals, rigged matches, crooked referees, and monitored by an ivory tower establishment willing to turn a blind eye and worship the "beautiful game" as it once was, who would notice? Who would care?

Liverpool 0, Chelsea 2

I did not watch the game because I knew how it would end. Somewhere in the history of sport pride, spite, money, fear, health, something else or a combination of all those got in the way of defining what sport is about. Sport became another form of entertainment to be watched or ignored on our television screens. There is no such thing as sport, because no one knows or remembers what sport really is. In the end, Liverpool still hates Manchester United, Chelsea hold their fate in their hands, Manchester United will finish in second, and all anyone will remember about this season is one thing:

Liverpool 0, Chelsea 2