the 4th star

You know it’s a special day when strong, borderline fat guys get together to lube each other up in the afternoon. What could possibly be going on here, you ask? Well, these burly men are about to partake in the holiest of observances, a day where meat and some other meat meet in the middle. And we’re not talking Turkey, either. Anyway, today is that day so shower up, put on a fresh shirt, and try to make it happen for yourself. Before you ask, I have no idea what the tofu equivalent is for a hummer.

And ladies, no need to thank me for adding to your Man Sandwich with the above picture. In fact, pay me no mind. Judging from the looks of these hombres, you’ve got more pressing issues at hand.

Grease lightning!

Should I even bother to make a comment on this or should I just resign myself to the fact that I will not be going to Winnipeg Stadium for at least the next three years? Unless AC/DC or Rancid rolls through there, of course. (Which I hear is happening — not together) One thing is certain, I’m not going to pay for the pleasure of sitting in those awful stands questioning every fan wearing a #97 or #44 about thought processes regarding jersey purchases. Nope. Probably the only way I’ll go is under the influence of Jamaica, spending all of my game time either in line at the rum hut or sitting on the picnic tables next to the rum hut. Definitely more to watch there, if you know what I’m saying. You know what I’m saying?

No? You don’t know what I’m saying…?

Try saying ‘You know what I’m saying?‘ like Will Smith does in Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. You know what I’m saying? Like really get into it, like you’re talking to Uncle Phil about all the honeys you’re going to get into the honey-wagon riding with Jazz, right before you smack into a dapped-up Theo and a super-sweet Hillary. You know what I’m saying?

YOUKNOWHATIMSAYING?

At this point you’re probably wondering what the heck I’m talking about (or what I’m saying). What does the Fresh Prince have to do with the link at the top of the post? Like I said, I’m not going to comment. Or maybe I have no idea. Bah, doesn’t matter.

Terry Sawchuk was from Winnipeg. Travis Zajac is from Winnipeg.

So it only makes sense that they would be related, right? Fire and Ice had this post yesterday, explaining the Wiki-strangeness that was going on with Sawchuk’s page the other day. A quick check shows the “information” has been taken down already.

Zajac said he never heard anything about being related to Sawchuk until someone asked him about the Wikipedia entry a couple of days ago.

“No one in my family ever told me that I was related to him.” he said. “I think it would have come up. The only thing I know is there’s a Terry Sawchuk Arena in Winnipeg. I played there when I was young.”

Of course, all fingers point to someone with the Devils who is still under investigation regarding Wikipedia falsehoods. I seem to recall writing something about Aaron Ward and his “Wham!” ties back in the day, but I can’t find it on the old site. Nice work on the no search engine, idiot.

Oh, it would be easy  for me — no, EXPECTED of me — to throw up a Friday Wrap Jam consisting of the Eagles (in town tonight) or Coldplay (tickets on sale tomorrow morning) or even one of the billion bands playing at South By Southwest in glorious Austin, Texas next week. You’re telling me you aren’t dying to hear some Fuckshovel, Not in the Face, or Gaybomb right now?

Well, too bad.

This song has been in my head for a week. Maybe it always has been.

I’d love to feel your hand touching mine
And tell me why I must keep working on
Yes I’d give my life to lay my head tonight on a bed
Of California stars.

Remember when the Northern League, that good times indy ball loop the Winnipeg Goldeyes play in, decided to spread its wings and venture out into the great unknown that is the wild, wild, western Canadian landscape? If you recall, conditions for granting the potential ownership groups in Calgary and Edmonton were that they pony up some dough to help off-set the travel costs (pricey airplane tickets) of the existing teams — clubs which were a timezone away.

Who wouldn’t love a bus ride from Chicago to Edmonton? What’s that, like 33 hours? No problem.

Before the second year was up, the Alberta teams complained that they could not handle the subsidy as it was ($500,000 a season, if memory serves). They kept beating that drum right up until the end, when they were drummed out of the league after three miserable seasons.

It’s this scenario that popped into my head when I thought about the Calgary Flames plan today. That, and how awful AHL attendance has been in markets where there is already an NHL team close by. The Marlies have barely averaged three grand this season.

And this is in a rabid hockey market like Toronto. How many of you out there in web land think Vancouver Canucks fans are going to be coming out in droves to root for the Flames farm club?

What’s an eight-letter word for biting off more than you can chew, Mr. Ken King? The Flames president thinks the move can happen if the AHL governors see enough green for their liking at the proposal luncheon:

The move to Abbotsford requires approval of the AHL board of governors, and there could be resistance from teams opposed to the travel.

Abbotsford is a farming community of 130,000 about 75 kilometres east of Vancouver on the Trans-Canada Highway. The nearest AHL city is Winnipeg, a 24-hour bus ride away in good weather.

“I don’t know if I would term it resistance, but I think they’re going to need to be convinced because of the geography,” King said. “They’re going to need to be convinced things like travel subsidies are nailed down.”

The potential Abbotsford ownership group has agreed to pay travel subsidies to help alleviate the cost of cross-country flights for the opposition.

The eight-letter word? Disaster.

Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the stage…Mr. Jack Edwards.

(applause)

Jack, you’re the extremely objective and impartial Boston Bruins play-by-play announcer and correct me if I’m wrong, but you look like you have something to say. Here, let me turn that mic on. There you go…now don’t be nervous. Just say what’s on your mind…

(deep breath)

If you took Cam Neely down with your stick, believe me, you deserved the two minutes. If you took John Bucyk down with your stick, you probably reflected proudly about your just-proven strength while sitting in the sin bin.

Old-school lessons of the playground and beyond include a code for all puck carriers or ball possessors: It is your obligation to your teammates, your duty and honor to self and team, to stay on your feet no matter what and play until the end of the play. Finish it, then see if the referee (or your friends in a pickup game) agrees that you were fouled. But finish the play with all your might. Get knocked down and score anyway. Upholding or violating that code reveals character on the playground, in professional sports and life at large.

(rips mic off podium, menacingly paces around the stage, like he’s about to kill someone)

Kristian Huselius dove on Tuesday night. He did it to try to help his team win. The two points went to Columbus, and the Blue Jackets were happy in their room. The points will disappear into the account in the NHL standings, pad the stack and may put Columbus into the playoffs for the first time when all is said and done.

I have no idea what Huselius’ teammates said to him after the game, but I know this:  If you pulled that crap on the kids in my neighborhood, you wouldn’t even get picked the next game. Nobody would have wanted you on his team. You could sit and think about being such a dink.

(throws mic down, eerie silence)

Umm…ladies and gentlemen, Jack Edwards! Anything else to add, Jack?

GO BRUINS! Make Cam Neely proud or he’ll kick your ass!

(Kuklas Korner tipped us off to this beauty)

This time next week, you may notice very little activity over here at the 4th star. That’s because I will be up to my ears in music, beer, fish tacos, and bar-b-que everything at SXSW in wonderful Austin, Texas. Not sure how much time I’ll be spending on a computer, nor am I sure if I’ll even be sober enough to operate one, so don’t be alarmed if you notice I’ve been slacking off more than usual.

With many of the Austin-based Texas Longhorns cheerleaders fresh out of the dryer, I’m gonna have to head down the road to find some adequate Hump Day allure: The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders should do.

The Florida Panthers are doing some fine things of late, and I’m not talking about what’s happening on the ice. First, Puck Daddy brings this palm tree gem to the mainstream light of day. Then they decide to hold onto stud defenceman Jay Bouwmeester at the trade deadline, putting their fans into a playoff fever complete with rats and all. Then another package of pop culture comes out. Is it weird to say that I’m cheering for the Panthers to come out of the East this spring?

Yes, it is.

A few people fired emails to yours truly today, all with a link to the Winnipeg Free Press. Those of you who know where this is going, give yourself a pat on the back and take the rest of the post off. You HAVE been paying attention over the years.

Terrell Owens. He’s hilarious, you know, the way he does all those crazy things on the field with the popcorn and the pom poms and the Sharpies. Or when he ran out to the centre of Texas Stadium and threw his arms out, telling all who were watching “look at me and how great I am!” That was fantastic. What a team-first guy. Sensational, even.

Doug Brown, you know, the guy with the newspaper column and the radio show, pointing fingers at the media regarding T.O.’s troubles:

Could it be that T.O. isn’t nearly the villain he has been made out to be by segments of the sensationalistic press? That he has been the fall guy and scapegoat for a number of his teams’ misfortunes?

Sure, he is flamboyant and outspoken, excessively demonstrative, and publicly critical of many of his teammates. But at the same time, is he not a consistent, reliable, durable and productive receiver who is second only to Jerry Rice in touchdowns in NFL history?

Brown then goes on to list the public attacks on quarterbacks Jeff Garcia, Donovan McNabb, Tony Romo, and Dallas offensive coordinator Jason Garrett’s ability to offensively coordinate. Those dressing downs of teammates and coaches doesn’t seem to matter, though. He’s a heckava player, that T.O., and it shouldn’t matter what selfish thing he does or says off the field. The man can flat out play, people. Plus he’s in the NFL. You know who else was in the NFL? Doug Brown. Look it up. Ah readers, what do you know? You’re just football fans. You’ve never played the game. Yes, only people who have played the game are allowed to comment on it. You don’t understand it like he does. You go to Blue Bomber games with paper bags on your heads and boo a losing team.

But in my time in football, I would rather take a highly competitive athlete who believes unfailingly in his own abilities, shows up every year in pristine condition and demands the most out of his teammates, over a paycheck player that goes along only to get along and is most comfortable living in an environment of compliant mediocrity.

Maybe Terrell’s biggest problem — outside of the list of regrettable outbursts and tantrums — is that his expectations for his teammates and counterparts are simply too high for them to be comfortable with.

Yeah, that’s Terrell’s problem. But man, can the guy play or what? More catches than any other receiver the last three years. Guess that’s the result when you’re constantly in the quarterback’s ear about not getting the ball enough. I demand you throw me the ball, teammate!

And don’t even mention all the Super Bowls Owens has won. Because there are none. Zero. Nada. What a talent, though. What a competitor. So pristine!

To recap, Brown has no problem looking the other way on a player who is “outspoken, excessively demonstrative, and publicly critical of many of his teammates” as long as that guy can play and “believes unfailingly in his own abilities.” It’s those qualities that have proven to foster a harmonious locker room, respectful leadership and if everything comes together right, a championship or two throughout the history of sport.

Who are we talking about here, again?

Championships are over-rated, anyway. I’d much rather celebrate what the ‘outspoken’ player has to say than celebrate what he does on the playing field. That’s more important to me when I hand over my time and money to support a club.

No doubt Bomber fans feel the same way.

That was quick, eh?

I’ll get right to it here. You pretty much escorted yourself out of the manger’s chair when you decided to sit on Scott Richmond for a possible game with Venezuela Tuesday. You knew you had to beat Italy, right?

Didn’t think there would be an upset?

Let’s see, the first few days of the World Baseball Classic have featured nothing but upsets, showing the gap between the supposed diamond powers and the lessor lights has shrunk considerably, and you decide to overlook the Italians. Gee, how do you think that went over in the Italian locker room before the game?

You did a better job getting the opposition up for the game than your own team.

I know you’ve said you weren’t looking ahead to Tuesday. I know. Everyone heard you. You said that a few times. Actions speak louder than cliches.

We’re not looking past the Italians and we have to win this game to advance, but I’m saving our best pitcher for the NEXT game, once we cruise past Italy.

Good plan.

NOTE: Oh God. I just realized something. Stubby Clapp, that over-hyped scrub who’s been riding a good game at the ’99 Pan Am Games for a decade now, will probably be in the running for the Canadian manager’s job. What’s the emoticon for stabbing myself in the eye with the mechanical pencil beside the laptop?

Cheering for the national baseball program is like cheering for the national soccer team: Lots of hope, some promise, but very few laughs along the way.