Last Christmas, with my Toronto Maple Leafs clicking along about fourth or fifth in the NHL standings, Matthews netting goals in threes (it seemed) every other night, Ilya Samsonov looking like Johnny Bower between the pipes, and even Sheldon Keefe exuding confidence behind the bench, my daughter gave me a most appropriate gift. It was a Leafs blue T-shirt, complete with logo and an inscription.
“Just once before I die,” it reads. (more…)
I’m considering becoming an Arizona Coyotes fan. Not because I have an affinity for either the Arizona desert or the wily mammal in the team name. Since I’ve lived in or around Toronto most of my life, I’ve always considered myself a Leafs fan by default.
But I’m beginning to think – even in sports – I should support people with more admirable attitudes. And recently, Coyotes defenceman Travis Dermott did an admirable thing. He used Pride Tape on his hockey stick in a game Saturday night.
“I have some family involved in the LGBTQ community,” he told ESPN in 2021. “I’d like to step forward and take part in supporting them.” (more…)
For me, Saturday night was one of those “Where were you?” moments. I’d spent the day travelling to and from Brantford and made it home just in time to plunk myself down in front of the TV for part of game six of the Leafs-Lightning first-round Stanley Cup playoff.
I caught the end of regulation time with the score tied 1-1. Finally (because I sometimes watch games on CBC and listen to them on radio simultaneously), I heard Joe Bowen’s call as John Tavares’s shot trickled past Tampa netminder Andrei Vasilevskiy at 4:35 of overtime:
“They scored! They scored! Holy Mackinaw, they scored!” he shouted. “The Leafs are going to the second round!” (more…)
About a year ago, I was invited to speak to the Writers’ Community of York Region. As the date of the talk approached – last Sunday, Dec. 9 – I began to prepare my presentation. Normally, for these kinds of talks, I rely on my collection of personal anecdotes, remembrances and war stories – literally and figuratively – to get me through the event. Then, I remembered why I had been invited.
“This is a group of writers,” the speaking convenor had said. “So they’ll be interested in your research and writing… You might want to address the challenges of being a journalist and non-fiction writer.”
Sam Sniderman changed my Saturdays forever. Back in the 1960s, instead of sleeping in, savouring my coffee, wasting my morning, I high-tailed it downtown to Yonge and Dundas streets, to the store under the spinning-record sign to spend my money on vinyl. Yes, every Saturday morning I raced to take advantage of Sam’s door-crasher specials.
“The best music and the best prices,” Sam Sniderman used to say in his advertisements. But more than that, he also said, “Buy Canadian music because it’s the best.”