About Winnipeg Jets coach Paul Maurice’s job status…No. 3 centre Mark Scheifele…too much ice for Big Buff…too much whinging about the schedule…and a Grey Cup for the Stampeders

I cannot survive in a 140-character world, so here are more tweets that grew up to be too big for Twitter…

What’s that chirping I hear? Crickets? Nope. It’s the natterbugs.

They’ve begun to make noise about Paul Maurice, who, should the Winnipeg Jets’ current funk stretch beyond five games, soon will be described as a much-maligned man. No surprise there, really. I mean, the Jets went 0-for-the road last week, so it must be the head coach’s fault. Surely, his best-before date is about to expire.

Paul Maurice

Well, you can put the pitch forks and torches away. Pa Ingalls isn’t going anywhere.

When Puck Pontiff Mark Chipman and his College of Yes Men headed by general manager Kevin Cheveldayoff chose to go all-in on the greening of the Jets at the commencement of this National Hockey League crusade, they were telling us that their expectations vis-a-vis the playoffs were low and, short of mutiny, nothing was going to move Maurice from behind the bench. Ownership/management were giving him a Mulligan before he took his driver out of the bag.

Think about it. They saddled the guy with a gaggle of greenhorns. By my count, there were half a dozen rookies at the start of business. More youth joined the fray due to various owies. What did you expect would happen?

This is the nature of the youth beast: All-world one night, all-woe the next five.

The same scenario is unfolding in the Republic of Tranna, where the Maple Leafs tease then torment the rabble, and in Buffalo, where the Sabres show promise then perform a faceplant, all the while wondering if the other shoe will drop on Evander Kane. And, of course, we watched it in Edmonton, where the Oilers were a decade-long, class-action joke and remain erratic, even with Connor McDavid on board.

So get used to it, Jets Nation. This season will have more ups and downs than the Trans-Canada Highway through the Rocky Mountains.

I don’t want to sound like an apologist for Maurice. I’m not. It’s just that I believe he’s been set up to fail this season. The Puck Pontiff and his College of Yes Men went younger by design, and I don’t think they expect the Jets to qualify for the Stanley Cup tournament. Is the goaltending Maurice’s fault? I doubt Cheveldayoff would recognize elite puckstopping if Patrick Roy and Martin Brodeur were playing pond hockey in his back yard. How, then, can ownership/management or anyone else lay the blame at the coach’s feet? They can’t. Thus, he stays.

None of this is to say Maurice is fault free. He juggles his forward lines like he’s a street busker. His unwavering faith in, and reliance on, Chris Thorburn remains as much a mystery as how they get the caramel inside a Caramilk chocolate bar. Mark Stuart belongs on an NHL roster like Don Cherry belongs on the cover of a Moscow tourism brochure. Then there’s coach Pa Ingalls’ adopted son, Alexander Burmistrov. Can we not send him back to the Russian orphanage?

Mark Scheifele

I don’t know about you, but I often detect a whiff of haughtiness in many of Maurice’s chin-wags with news snoops. There’s just something about his way with words that suggests a self-declared upper-crustacy. But can he really be the smartest man in the room when he spouts the kind of nonsense he delivered on the heels of a recent loss to the Carolina Hurricanes? “Bryan (Little) played four shifts for us this year, so our No. 1 centreman is out,” he said. “Matty Perreault’s been gone for a while, that’s our No. 2 guy.” Either Maurice thinks we’re stupid, or he’s actually the dumbest man in the room. If he truly believes that Mark Scheifele, the NHL’s leading point collector at the time, is his third-line centre and will be slotted as such once Little and the do-nothing Perreault return from the repair shop, he should be fired immediately.

If Dustin Byfuglien is this bad in the first go-round of his five-year contract, how bad will he be in the 2020-21 season, at which time he’ll be 36 years old and likely weigh about 300 lb.? It’s clear that Byfuglien is getting far too much ice time from Maurice, who, much like his predecessor Claude Noel, treats Big Buff with kid gloves. Sit him down, for cripes sake. He’s not Bobby Orr. Give the top-pairing minutes to Jacob Trouba.

I’ve heard enough whinging from Maurice and the rabble about the Jets horrible, unfair, cruel, hardship, blah, blah, blah schedule. Yes, it’s a grind, but no more so than what the Calgary Flames or Edmonton McDavids are dealing with this month. The Flames will play 16 games in November, 11 on the road and four back-to-backs. The McDavids play 15 games, 10 away from home. The Jets will be 16 and 10. The Dallas Stars play 16 games. So, don’t talk to me about the schedule. It’s a copout.

Does Sportsnet know that the 104^th Grey Cup game will be played this afternoon in the Republic of Tranna? There were exactly zero stories about the Canadian Football League title match on the front page of the Sportsnet website when I brought it up at 5 o’clock this morning. Zero. There were more than a dozen on the TSN front page.

I know it’s the easy pick, but I’ve got to go with the Calgary Stampeders in the large football match this afternoon. I’m thinking it’ll be a whupping, and only garbage points by the Ottawa RedBlacks in late-game skirmishing will make it seem closer than the reality of a rout. Calgary 32, Ottawa 19.

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for 46 years, longer than any living being. Do not, however, assume that to mean she harbors a wealth of sports knowledge or that she’s a jock journalist of award-winning loft. It simply means she is old and comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she apparently doesn’t know when to quit. Or she can’t quit. She is most proud of her Q Award, presented in 2012 for her scribblings about the LGBT community in Victoria, B.C., and her induction into the Manitoba Sportswriters & Sportscasters Association Media Roll of Honour in 2015.

 

About Winnipeg Blue Bombers brass being jerks…Mike O’Shea and the cow jumping over the moon…Sam Katz still has no class…and Kate Upton’s beau gets screwed

I cannot survive in a 140-character world, so here are more tweets that grew up to be too big for Twitter…

My main takeaway from Kyle Walters’ gab session with news snoops on Friday:

Given a choice between being forced to watch a 24-hour Ashton Kutcher film marathon or being forced to spend 20 minutes with the media, the Winnipeg Blue Bombers general manager would order an XXXXL tub of buttered popcorn, hunker down in a convenient man cave and run the risk of going blind while watching Demi Moore’s ex make an ass of himself.

Why does this man dislike the media so much?

I mean, I can’t decide whose distaste for chin-wags with the media is stronger, Walters’ or head coach Mike O’Shea’s.

Each man is equally guarded and neither is forthcoming, but it isn’t just what they say or (more significantly) don’t say. Their facial expressions and mannerism speak volumes. They both look like they haven’t had a bowel movement in a month and their laxative still hasn’t kicked in. Why they send off the vibe that media are pond scum, I am uncertain. It’s not as if the assembled news snoops are there to pick a fight. They’re asking fair questions and deserve fair, honest replies. Instead, they often get gobbledygook framed with disdain and contempt.

For example:

Judy Owen of The Canadian Press referenced O’Shea’s late-game decision to attempt the most improbable field goal in Canadian Football League history rather than gamble on third down in the Bombers’ 32-31 playoff loss to the B.C. Lions last Sunday.

“What did you think about that last call against B.C., sending (placekicker Justin) Medlock out?” Owen asked.

“The head coach is in a difficult position throughout the game,” responded Walters, his forehead furrowed. “He makes tough decisions. That’s what he’s paid to do. I’ll support…luckily for me I don’t have to go into the realm of those type of decisions, but, you know, throughout the game I support our head coach or coaching staff and all the decisions.

“Certainly after every game Mike and I will sit down and talk about the decisions and the logic behind things and why he did what he did. There’s sound logic to everything Mike does and the coaching staff does, so my job is to support our coaching staff and certainly question why they do things and I don’t go into the realm of on-field decisions.”

Kirk Penton of the Winnipeg Sun then asked, “Would you tell us if you disagreed with (the decision)?”

“No.”

Next question.

Look, I understand Walters not wanting to toss his head coach under the bus. But I also understand the rabble has the right to know what the football boss thinks about his head coach’s choice. This poor man’s Bill Belichick routine from Walters and O’Shea wore thin quite some time ago. You want to act like Belichick, boys? Try winning something first. Then you can act like jerks.

Until then, answer the damn questions like professionals and we can all move on.

Advised that O’Shea twice refused to deliver a “yes” or “no” answer when asked if he wanted to return to coach the Bombers next year, Walters laid bare his disdain for the media. “Mike, he probably doesn’t speak…he doesn’t tell you guys anything probably. I don’t blame him,” Walters said with a slight smirk. Terrific. The Winnipeg Football Club is supposed to be for the people and of the people, but the head coach refuses to tell the people if he wants to stay and the GM thinks it’s a joke. Sigh.

Try this scenario, kids: The Toronto Argonauts release Scott Milanovich before the Bombers and O’Shea agree on a new contract. What then? Does Walters pursue Milanovich, a guy who has won the Grey Cup as a head coach and offensive coordinator, or does he re-sign O’Shea, a guy who believes a cow really can jump over the moon?

Is it true that former River City mayor Sam Katz actually took a cheap shot at the Bombers and Winnipeg Jets during the unveiling of his official portrait at City Hall last week? Apparently so. Sammy presented Mayor Brian Bowman with a Winnipeg Goldeyes shirt and said, “It’s the only pro team that’s won.” Atta boy, Sammy. Way to keep it classy. (Yes, kids, that’s sarcasm.) Never mind that Sammy’s Goldeyes have won three baseball titles since the last Grey Cup parade in Winnipeg and the Jets haven’t accomplished squat since 1979, when they claimed their third and final World Hockey Association championship. There’s winning, then there’s winning with class. I’ve always been told that the Goldeyes are a class organization, but I find that hard to believe when the man at the top has none.

Justin Verlander got screwed and Kate Upton wants to know why.

Kate Upton, voice of reason. Who knew? Dear Kate’s language is salty and suggestive, but she gives a good argument on behalf of her beau, Justin Verlander, who got screwed in balloting for the American League Cy Young Award, finishing second to Rick Porcello because two baseball writers from Tampa Bay left him off their ballots. In a series of not-so-sweet tweets, Kate made it clear that she—and only she—gets to “f—” Justin Verlander. Cover girl Kate and Verlander got over the snub, though. They consoled themselves with a trip to Italy and the Vatican, where it’s believed the Pope gave her penance of 10 Hail Marys, five Our Fathers and she is to wash out her potty mouth with soap and holy water.

Got a kick out of Mark Feinsand’s take on the Kate Upton tweets. “With all due respect to Kate Upton, it’s time for her and everybody else to pipe down,” he wrote in the New York Daily News. Fine. But then Feinsand concluded his piece by writing, “Personally, I love that these debates get people as fired up as they do. It shows that people still care about the game, which is good for all of us.” I see. He loves the debate, but Kate Upton and everyone else who disagrees with him should “pipe down.”

How is that Milan Lucic thing working out for the Edmonton Oilers? One goal and one assist in the month of November. I’m sure the Oilers will be pleased to pay him $42 million over the next seven winters for that kind of production.

Amid all the fear mongering, I just want to go on record as saying that Donald Trump’s election as 45th president of the United States hasn’t changed my life. That doesn’t mean I like him (I don’t), but so far I’m sleeping just fine at night.

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for 46 years, longer than any living being. Do not, however, assume that to mean she harbors a wealth of sports knowledge or that she’s a jock journalist of award-winning loft. It simply means she is old and comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she apparently doesn’t know when to quit. Or she can’t quit.
She is most proud of her Q Award, presented in 2012 for her scribblings about the LGBT community in Victoria, B.C., and her induction into the Manitoba Sportswriters & Sportscasters Association Media Roll of Honour in 2015.

Winnipeg Blue Bombers: Yup, absolutely Mike O’Shea would make the same mistake again…and they’re going to give him a new contract?

I’ll say this for Mike O’Shea—he’s lost his mind but not his sense of humor.

The much-maligned man, whose moment of madness denied the Winnipeg Blue Bombers an opportunity to keep on trucking in this month’s Grey Cup tournament, took time out from player exit interviews on Wednesday to get up close but not personal with the very news snoops who had spent much of the preceding 48-hour period reminding the head coach that he is a complete bonehead.

That, mind you, is a reciprocal sentiment in the jock/media dynamic.

Mike O’Shea: A do-over? I don’t need no do-over.

Most, if not all, football coaches believe people with pens, notebooks and microphones to be complete boneheads who don’t know an X from an O or a corner route from a paper route. For evidence, look no further than Wally Buono’s chin-wag with the boys and girls on the beat after his B.C. Lions had taken their measure of the Bombers in their Sunday skirmish in Lotus Land. When old friend Ed Willes of the Vancouver Province apparently showed bad manners in suggesting that Leos quarterback Jonathon Jennings took a couple of missteps in the early going of their rousing, 32-31 victory, B.C. boss Buono bit back and launched into a good and proper rant.

“Why do you always wanna find fault? I’m tired of you guys always looking for the negatives,” he snapped, at the same time positing that Willes’s comment very much reminded him of what comes out of the south end of a male bovine.

“Bull shit,” Buono spat.

Fortunately, the to-and-fro between O’Shea and news snoops on Wednesday didn’t similarly slide off the rails. Although the coach made no attempt to disguise his distaste for the discussion, civility ruled the day and, indeed, there was a fleeting moment of jocularity during the 16-minute tete-a-tete.

When asked by Paul Friesen of the Winnipeg Sun to place a priority on the re-signing of starting quarterback Matt Nichols, O’Shea quipped “higher than mine,” to the accompaniment of much tittering.

Well, yes, the Bombers would do well to get Nichols’ signature on a new contract, preferably prior to the opening bell on the Canadian Football League’s free-agent blitz, which was both frenzied and fruit-bearing for the locals last February.

It’s my guess, however, that the Winnipeg Football Club’s chief bottle washer and cook, Smilin’ Wade Miller, will deal with off-field matters first, meaning job-well-done pats on the back and a contract extension for his general manager, Kyle Walters, and a fresh set of downs for his beleaguered head coach, whose original three-year deal expires at the close of business this CFL season.

Smilin’ Wade Miller

Oddly enough—but perhaps not at all surprising—the stubborn O’Shea actually presented a strong case against himself on Wednesday.

Those assembled wanted to know if the coach would welcome a do-over. That is, if placed in the same predicament as Sunday afternoon in the dead air of B.C. Place Stadium, whereby his Bombers trailed by one point with just 36 ticks remaining on the clock in the West Division semifinal, would he gamble on third-and-four or would he turn to Justin Medlock and ask him to kick the most improbable field goal in more than 100 years of Canadian football?

“You check your process to see how valid that was,” O’Shea said, as if reading from a prepared statement. “Is the process right, did I do the right things to arrive at that decision? As long as you’re doing that, hopefully you’re comfortable with the decision, which I am. Does that lead me to arrive at the same decision again. Yup, absolutely it does.”

So there you have it, kids. Mike O’Shea admits he will make the same mistake this time next year that he made this past weekend. He again would put his faith in Medlock’s inability to hoof a 61-yard field goal. Cripes, man, he might as well ask the guy to boot the ball clear across the Strait of Georgia, the body of water that separates Vancouver from Vancouver Island. The result would be the same.

And this is how O’Shea makes his case for a new contract? Smilin’ Wade might want a rethink on that.

“That decision is not based on hope,” O’Shea went on to explain. “It’s based on the history we have with Justin, which says he makes those kicks in practice every single week.”

Chris Walby used to catch patches with one hand in practice.

Yo! Mikey! I remember watching Chris Walby make a series of catches with just one of his gnarled hands in practice back in the day. That’s right. Chris Walby. Big-bellied O-lineman. Making one-handed catches. In practice. Somehow Cal Murphy always fought off the temptation to let Bluto play wide receiver, though.

Practice is like Las Vegas, Mikey…what happens in practice stays in practice. Tell us what a guy does in games.

I don’t know what’s become of O’Shea’s mind. Maybe it’s buried beneath that thatch of Papa Smurf chin whiskers he sprouted during the back half of the CFL season. Whatever and wherever, it’s on the lam.

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for 46 years, longer than any living being. Do not, however, assume that to mean she harbors a wealth of sports knowledge or that she’s a jock journalist of award-winning loft. It simply means she is old and comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she apparently doesn’t know when to quit. Or she can’t quit.
She is most proud of her Q Award, presented in 2012 for her scribblings about the LGBT community in Victoria, B.C., and her induction into the Manitoba Sportswriters & Sportscasters Association Media Roll of Honour in 2015.

 

The two Hens in the Hockey House deliver the goods on the 2019 Stanley Cup champion Winnipeg Jets, the Rink Rat, Puck Finn, Sideline Sara, the Lickety Split Line and much more

We’re slightly more than a month into the Winnipeg Jets 2016-17 crusade, which means it’s time to check in with my two Hens in the Hockey House.

Take it away, ladies…

Question Lady: The good times are rolling for our favorite team. The Jets really gave the Chicago Blackhawks a nasty wedgie on Tuesday night at the Little Hockey House on the Prairie. Four-zip. Bravo. And now they’re second in the Western Conference and Central Division. Did you see this coming? Is it sustainable?

Answer Lady: Well, if you recall when we last talked, I said there was as much chance of the Jets qualifying for the Stanley Cup tournament as there is of me filling in for Frida or Agnetha at an ABBA reunion concert. Maybe I didn’t read the tea leaves accurately. Maybe I should clear my throat, do some vocal cord exercises and go to a thrift store and buy some 1970s outfits and big hair. I might have a singing gig come springtime.

Question Lady: So what are you saying now? That they will make the playoffs?

Answer Lady: Whoa, Nellie. The National Hockey League season is a marathon. But I will say this: It appears that the Jets will be in or near a playoff position by American Thanksgiving weekend and that means they ought to be in the conversation deep into the season. I still believe they’ll fall short, though. But that’s okay. It’s about the big picture for the Jets.

Question Lady: Meaning what?

Answer Lady: Meaning the 2019 Stanley Cup champions are beginning to look like—wait for it—like the 2019 Stanley Cup champions. Just as Ken Campbell of The Hockey News predicted. I was reminded of Campbell’s forecast after the Jets gave the Blackhawks that 4-0 paddywhacking. It appears that the local lads most assuredly have two of the three essential ingredients for your basic Stanley Cup stew: A stud centre-ice man, Rink Rat Scheifele, and a stud defenceman, Jacob Trouba. And they’ve added a stud winger into the mix, Puck Finn.

Really, the only box left to check for the Jets is stud goaltender. That might be Connor Hellebuyck, whose blanking of the Blackhawks is the high-water mark of his ongoing audition. It might be Eric Comrie, who’s on the farm. It won’t be Michael Hutchinson in the blue paint and it never was going to be Ondrej Pavelec, who, if he catches a late-career break, could find himself playing out the string in Glitter Gulch.

Jacob Trouba

Question Lady: There’s just one thing wrong with that analysis…Trouba wants out of Winnipeg. Doesn’t that leave the Jets one stud short of a barn wall?

Answer Lady: Winning is a cure-all. Trouba isn’t going to bail if the Jets are knocking on hockey heaven’s door.

Question Lady: Don’t you think his plan to force a trade failed miserably? Do you think he’s learned his lesson?

Answer Lady: Jacob Trouba wanted a trade. He didn’t get it. In that sense, he failed. But because he signed for only two years rather than five or six—and for much less money than market value—doesn’t mean he failed. Maybe money isn’t as important to him as you think it should be. If he’s happy with $2.5 million and $3.5 million a season, who is anyone to criticize him and label him a failure? If he doesn’t want to commit to the Jets for more than two years, how does that make him a failure? Trouba’s negotiating tactic failed on one point and one point only—he didn’t get his trade.

Question Lady: So you’re saying he’ll still be around for a Stanley Cup parade in 2019?

Answer Lady: That’ll be up to the Puck Pontiff and his College of Yes Men, headed by general manager Kevin Cheveldayoff. They’ll have to convince Trouba that this is the place to be. And there’s only one way to do that—win.

Question Lady: There’s no chance of Scheifele leaving us is there?

Answer Lady: None. Nada. Zilch. There will be no Scheifele Shuffle out of Dodge. The Rink Rat is a lifer. And he’s the real deal. I wouldn’t have said that two, three years ago. Heck, I wouldn’t have said it a year ago. You remember what he was like. He got knocked down more often than a head pin in a bowling alley. He was on all fours more than the Best of Show winner at the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show. Some of us called him Bambi. Now he’s Rambi, a combination of Rambo and Bambi—solid as a brick outhouse but little, old ladies like me still want to pinch his cheeks.

Question Lady: Seriously? You’re telling me Scheifele is tough like Rambo?

Answer Lady: Naw. I’m saying opponents can’t knock him over anymore just by farting in his direction. The dude isn’t leading the NHL in scoring just because his skill set has improved. The dude’s a physical specimen, thanks to Gary Roberts and his boot camp.

Question Lady: I guess Patrik Laine is the real deal, too, right?

Sideline Sara doing her thing with Blake Wheeler.

Answer Lady: Does the Pope wear a pointy hat? Is Donald Trump orange? If Puck Finn isn’t the real deal, Hillary Clinton has never told a fib. Which reminds me, I’ve got a bone to pick with Sara Orlesky.

Question Lady: How so? Are her pants on fire?

Answer Lady: No, but Sideline Sara stood in front of a TSN camera last week and told her audience that “no one predicted this kind of start” for Puck Finn. I did. I said Patrik Laine would have 11 goals by the time Trouba came crawling back to the Jets. Well, Trouba returned on Nov. 8 and Puck Finn scored his ninth, 10^th and 11^th goals that very night. So, either Sideline Sara doesn’t read the crap I write or she’s a Blogger Snob.

Question Lady: What’s a Blogger Snob? It sounds like something you cough up or wipe away with a Kleenex when you have a nasty cold.

Answer Lady: A Blogger Snob is a member of mainstream sports media who looks down his or her nose at bloggers. I hate to say that about Sideline Sara, because she strikes me as a delightful, young lady, but I call ’em like I see ’em.

Question Lady: What did you expect her to do, tell her viewers that you’re the only person in this entire country who knew Laine would take the NHL by storm? Are you really that vain?

Answer Lady: Naw. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t read the crap I write.

Question Lady: Okay, get over yourself and let’s get back on topic. Let’s say the Jets had first shout rather than second choice in last June’s NHL entry draft. Who do you think GM Chevy would have taken, Patrik Laine or Auston Matthews?

The Lickety Split Line celebrates another goal.

Answer Lady: Puck Finn. No doubt. He already had his stud centre in Rink Rat Scheifele, so he’d have gone for Laine. I bet he felt like a kid at Christmas when the Toronto Maple Leafs passed on Puck Finn and took Matthews. And look how it’s worked out. The line of Rink Rat, Puck Finn and Nikolaj Ehlers is doing boffo business. I call it the Lickety Split Line.

Question Lady: What was your take on the ‘own’ goal that Ehlers scored in overtime in that loss to the Avalanche in Colorado the other night? His fault or Michael Hutchinson’s fault?

Answer Lady: Hutch wears the goat’s horns for that one. He dozed off. Coach Pa Ingalls called it right when he said that puck has to be stopped. Hutch’s fault. Totally.

Question Lady: Why do you call Paul Maurice Pa Ingalls?

Answer Lady: Because that’s the only way to explain how Alexander Burmistrov is still on the team. The coach must have adopted him when they were both in Russia.

Question Lady: Last question…is Chris Thorburn adopted, too?

Answer Lady: Naw. Thorbs is Chris the Cockroach. Try as you might, you just can’t get rid of him. But he’s become kind of like the family pet.

Question Lady: Okay, see you in about a month, just before Christmas.

Answer Lady: It’s a date. We can give out our annual goal or coal gifts for the naughty and nice. Should be fun.

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for 46 years, longer than any living being. Do not, however, assume that to mean she harbors a wealth of sports knowledge or that she’s a jock journalist of award-winning loft. It simply means she is old and comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she apparently doesn’t know when to quit. Or she can’t quit.
She is most proud of her Q Award, presented in 2012 for her scribblings about the LGBT community in Victoria, B.C., and her induction into the Manitoba Sportswriters & Sportscasters Association Media Roll of Honour in 2015.

About sports and social issues…women in the Hockey Hall of Fame…sad days in America…that left-wing kook Babs…and other things on my mind

I cannot survive in a 140-character world, so here are more tweets that grew up to be too big for Twitter…

Donald Trump

I have often wondered why more sports scribes don’t tackle societal issues, yet, when they do, I wonder why they bothered.

Consider Michael Grange of Sportsnet, as an e.g.

Grange penned a piece in the wake of last week’s United States presidential election that sends Donald Trump to the White House, and it included this comment: “Sports have generally been perceived as being ahead of the general population on many social issues. While not always elegantly, the major U.S. sports leagues have pushed ahead on inclusivity and tolerance.”

I assume Grange wrote that with a straight face, which is ironic because it’s so laughable.

I mean, hands up anyone who actually believes that major professional sports has been “ahead” of the curve in areas such as domestic violence, gay rights, gender equality, drug abuse, drunk driving, etc. Hmmm, I don’t see any hands. No surprise.

Our major professional sports leagues, all of which are for and about men, have been a leader on these issues like Lady Gaga is a middle linebacker.

Let’s use sexual orientation as an example. Openly gay men can be found in every segment of society, from our military to our music, from our law courts to our classrooms, from our newspapers and our TV networks to our amateur playing fields and arenas. Yet how many openly gay men play in the National Hockey League? The National Football League? The National Basketball Association? Major League Baseball? Zero.

Julia Lemigova and tennis great Martina Navratilova on their wedding day.

Meantime, there are out lesbians performing in the Women’s NBA—Elena Delle Donne, Janel McCarville, Brittney Griner, Seimone Augustus, etc. Professional women’s tennis has featured many out lesbians, including legendary players such as Billie Jean King and Martina Navratilova, as well as Grand Slam champions Amelie Mauresmo and Hana Mandlikova. And that’s not to forget transgender pioneer Renee Richards. The Ladies Professional Golf Association Tour included openly gay Hall of Famer Patty Sheehan, Karrie Webb, Jane Geddes, Rosie Jones, etc. Canada’s national women’s hockey team has included lesbians Angela James, Sarah Vaillancourt, Charline Labonte and Jayna Hefford. The rosters in women’s soccer, here and abroad, are pockmarked with open lesbians.

Major men’s professional sports leagues and peripheral affiliates like tennis and golf are, in fact, decades behind society and women’s pro and amateur sports in the acceptance of gays. I doubt they will catch up in my lifetime. So much for inclusivity.

Tolerance? Yes, the NFL exercises tolerance, but in an ass-backwards manner. That is, it tolerates the use of a racist nickname for one of its member teams, the Washington Redskins. MLB tolerates the use of Chief Wahoo, a red-skinned, clownish, crazed-looking Indian as a logo for one of its member teams, Cleveland.

Grange failed to provide examples of how sports has been “ahead of the general population on many social issues,” which leads me to assume he was lazy or couldn’t think of any. And his use of the word “tolerance” shows a lack of understanding of marginalized groups. My gay friends don’t seek tolerance, they seek acceptance.

On the matter of minorities, Damien Cox has used his Toronto Star soapbox to deliver a lament about the lack of female presence in the Hockey Hall of Fame. It’s a wellborn thought, to be sure, but Cox misses the mark when he implies it was a stretch for this year’s selection committee to induct Sergei Makarov ahead of women like Cassie Campbell-Pascall and Manon Rheaume. The committee “showed some genuine creativity in bending over backwards to honour men over women, dusting off the portfolios of former goaltender Rogatien Vachon and one-time Calgary Flames winger Sergei Makarov,” is how Cox put it. Nonsense. Makarov is a two-time Olympic champion, an eight-time world champion, a two-time world junior champion, and he was named to the International Ice Hockey Federation centennial all-star team, along with Wayne Gretzky, Valeri Kharlamov, Borje Salming, Viacheslav Fetisov and Vladislav Tretiak. Campbell-Pascall had a commendable international career, but that was largley in a two-country competition. As for Rheaume, she was Phil Esposito’s public relations sideshow in Tampa. Yes, that experiment certainly raised the profile of women’s hockey, but that was of Espo’s doing mostly.

Cox also points out that 28 men and two women have been elected to the Hockey Hall of Fame in the past six years. “So much for even a semblance of equality,” he writes. Cox just doesn’t get it. It isn’t about gender equality or a female quota. It’s about performance and contribution. And, given the female game’s relative newness on a global scale and its overall lack of competitive depth, the pool of possibility is quite shallow for the women. Certainly someone like Fran Rider qualifies for the Hockey Hall of Fame for her contribution to the women’s game. She’ll get in. But not before Teemu Selanne, and it won’t be because he’s a he and she’s a she.

At least one sports writer believes Donald Trump winning the U.S. presidential election was a more mournful day than Nov. 22, 1963, when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated.

From the department of “Does He Actually Think Before He Writes?” I give you anti-Trumpster Steve Simmons of Postmedia. On the night our neighbors to the south elected Donald Trump as their 45^th president, the Toronto Sun sports scribe tweeted this gem: “The saddest night in American history.” Sigh. Let’s play that Sesame Street game: Pearl Harbor. JFK. 9/11. Katrina. Challenger. Kent State. Trump elected president…which one of these doesn’t belong?

Speaking of speaking without thinking, Hockey Night in Canada blowhard Don Cherry also used his Twitter account to weigh in on the presidential election: “The left wing kook entertainers and the left wing weirdo’s (sic) in the media in the U.S. have said if Trump wins the presidency they will move to Canada. Please, we have enough of these type here now.” Yes, by all means Grapes, let’s keep “kook entertainers” like Barbra Streisand out of Canada. She might do something radical. Like teach Justin Bieber how to sing, act and behave properly in mixed company.

Why are so many Canadians feeling misguidedly smug about the American election? Wasn’t it so long ago when they voted a man many consider to be a xenophobe, a racist, a protectionist, a bigot, a misogynist and a homophobe as the seventh greatest Canadian in history? Yup. That man is Don Cherry.

Yes, now that you mention it, this is an interesting world in which we live. I mean, unvarnished, unscripted, misogynist “locker room talk” gets Billy Bush fired from a TV show and it gets Donald Trump a room in the White House. Go figure.

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for 46 years, longer than any living being. Do not, however, assume that to mean she harbors a wealth of sports knowledge or that she’s a jock journalist of award-winning loft. It simply means she is old and comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she apparently doesn’t know when to quit. Or she can’t quit.
She is most proud of her Q Award, presented in 2012 for her scribblings about the LGBT community in Victoria, B.C., and her induction into the Manitoba Sportswriters & Sportscasters Association Media Roll of Honour in 2015.

 

Winnipeg Blue Bombers: O’Shea can you coach?

Wouldn’t you just love to be sitting at a poker table with Mike O’Shea?

I mean, the guy would go all-in on a fist full of nothing. No face cards. No aces. Just a collection of random numbers that add up to zip. Even if he held a full house in his meaty paws—three aces, kings high—he’d probably fold and let you take the pot with a pair of deuces.

Mike O’Shea: Did he really do what he did?

Basically, that’s what O’Shea did on Sunday afternoon at B.C. Place Stadium in Vancouver. He folded.

Justin Medlock was going to kick a 61-yard field goal like Donald Trump is going to invite Hillary Clinton into his inner circle. Oh, sure, a field goal of 61 or more yards is doable. It’s been done. Once. In the entire history of Canadian football, which dates back more than 100 years.

Can we put that in perspective? Well, consider this: Halley’s Comet appears in our sky every 76 years. That means some people will see it twice in their lifetime. Nobody’s ever seen a field goal of 61 yards or longer twice. Not north of the 49th.

Ironically, the only man to have had enough oomph in his kicking leg to hoof a field goal from that distance, Paul McCallum, was standing on the B.C. Lions’ sideline Sunday when Medlock launched a long-distance missile that fell seven yards shy of its desired landing site, thus leaving a resurgent Winnipeg Blue Bombers’ season in ruin.

McCallum might have been the only person in the joint who truly thought a 61-yard field goal possible, because he’d been there and done that one late October day in 2001, booting a 62-yarder for the Saskatchewan Roughriders. There’s also been a 60-yard FG and two from 59 yards out in the Canadian Football League. But, like McCallum’s kick, each of those was struck at old Taylor Field in Regina. Geez, you don’t suppose wind might have been a factor, do you?

If there was any wind at B.C. Place, it had to be the product of bad gas or the gasping of patrons who couldn’t believe that Bombers head coach O’Shea would make such a fool’s bet on one swing of Medlock’s left leg.

The option, of course, was to leave the ball in quarterback Matt Nichols’ hurling hand, which had been hot on this day. Trailing 32-31 in the West Division semifinal and confronted with a third down-and-four predicament, surely securing an additional four yards of real estate on a passing play was a more favorable gamble than a once-in-a-lifetime kick.

“I’m sure if I go out there and hit three of them, I probably make one of them,” Medlock suggested post-game.

Justin Medlock: Missed it by that much.

So, by the kicker’s own admission, the success rate was 33.3 per cent. At best. In reality, the odds were much, much worse, given that CFL place-kickers are 1-for-forever in field goal attempts of 61 yards or more. Again, it’s only happened once. Ever. Outdoors. With a strong wind pushing from behind. Yet O’Shea instructed QB Nichols to stay on the sideline and trotted Medlock out on to the field and into the empty air of B.C. Place to attempt something he’d never done before.

“Kick gets off, it’s got a chance, right?” O’Shea reasoned after the fact. “I realize the offence would give us an opportunity, too, but the finality of…um…a third-down play compared to kicking the ball…”

Um…what part of “finality” did O’Shea not understand? Fail on a third-down pass or run, it’s over. Miss the kick, it’s over. So, you go with your best odds. Except O’Shea’s specialty as a coach has always been special teams, thus he placed his faith in a special-teams guy attempting a no-hoper rather than the quarterback who delivered a 10-3 record as a starter and saved the coach’s job in the process.

If I’m being charitable, I’ll describe O’Shea’s decision to kick a misguided bit of business. If I’m being honest (with gusts up to cruel), I’ll describe it as boneheaded, dumb, clueless, brain dead, all of the above.

Was this an off-with-his-head gaffe? Nope. Once the dust has settled on the Bombers 11-7 regular-season crusade and their one-and-done ouster from the Grey Cup skirmish, grand poobah Wade Miller will instruct general manager Kyle Walters to offer O’Shea a renewal. Soon. Term will be the issue. Had the Bombers beaten the Lions and advanced to the West Division final against the Stampeders in Calgary, a three-year deal might have been on the table. Now? Not so much. I’m guessing the blunder has cost O’Shea a year.

Either way, O’Shea will return and attempt to end Winnipeg’s 26-year Grey Cup famine. Perhaps he can get the job done by the time Halley’s Comet next appears in our sky. That’s scheduled for 2061. Gives him ample time to learn when to pass/run and when to kick.

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for 46 years, longer than any living being. Do not, however, assume that to mean she harbors a wealth of sports knowledge or that she’s a jock journalist of award-winning loft. It simply means she is old and comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she apparently doesn’t know when to quit. Or she can’t quit.
She is most proud of her Q Award, presented in 2012 for her scribblings about the LGBT community in Victoria, B.C., and her induction into the Manitoba Sportswriters & Sportscasters Association Media Roll of Honour in 2015.

About the Winnipeg Jets’ version of Seinfeld…Kevin Cheveldayoff taking 18 minutes to say nothing…telling Mathieu Perreault to shove it…and a bad scoop at the Freep

(Note: Old friend Brian Smiley sent me a note last week wondering if I was going to pull a Brett Favre and unretire my retired River City Renegade blog. Damn you, Smiles! Just call me Patti Favre! I swore I wouldn’t do this, but Jacob Trouba made me do it. Thus, the retirement of The River City Renegade lasted less than a week. She’s back in the saddle. So sue me.)

***

I cannot survive in a 140-character world, so here are more tweets that grew up to be too big for Twitter…

Chevy wanted to talk about pictures on a wall, not Jacob Trouba’s trade request.

After all the hand wringing, teeth gnashing and the braying of the rabble and journos since Jacob Trouba’s agent, Kurt Overhardt, went public with his client’s trade request, what have we learned about the relationship between Trouba and the Winnipeg Jets?

Only this: The man who generally manages the National Hockey League outfit, Kevin Cheveldayoff, has photographs on his office wall of himself and Trouba shaking hands at the 2012 entry draft. Awwww. That’s so sweet.

That singular, warm-and-fuzzy revelation aside, however, we know nothing of the intimate details that convinced Trouba to finally stir from his sofa and join his teammates in their 2016-17 NHL frolic, the first 13 assignments of which he spent playing video games or whatever it is that 22-year-old guys do to amuse themselves these days.

Thus, what we have witnessed for the better part of two months, ladies and gentlemen, was an episode of Seinfeld. It was about nothing.

Trouba didn’t stay at home in Michigan because of money. He didn’t stay at home because of geography. He didn’t stay at home because of on-ice deployment. He didn’t stay home for more of mom’s home cooking. No, no, no, no. The young, truant defenceman stayed at home because…well, just because.

That, at least, is my conclusion after listening to 18 minutes of Kevin Cheveldayoff and news snoops flap their gums during a telephone tete-a-tete on Monday.

When asked to speak directly to the issue of Trouba’s trade request, Cheveldayoff allowed that his chin-wags with Overhardt and/or Trouba were “private.” He then added this nugget of nothingness:

“I’ve got pictures hanging in my office of the day that I shook Jacob’s hand when we drafted him.”

I’m so glad Chevy cleared up that trade matter.

So, again, other than framed photos on a wall, nothing Cheveldayoff said or didn’t say enlightened us.

Jacob Trouba was smiling the day the Jets drafted him, but not so much anymore.

Trouba’s stated reason for withholding his services was on-ice deployment. His desire is to play on the right side of the blueline, and he doesn’t see room for growth if the head coach, Paul Maurice, insists on slotting him third on the depth chart, behind Dustin Byfuglien and Tyler Myers. Conspiracy theorists, of course, scoff and submit that the playing arrangement is a smoke-and-mirrors argument to deflect attention from the actual issue—Trouba wants out of Winnipeg, he wants out of Canada.

But those are theories. Nothing more. Neither Trouba or Overhardt have publicly stated an aversion to River City and the True North, before or during the rearguard’s self-imposed work stoppage that stretched from the opening of training camp until the signing of a two-year contract this week that will compensate him to the tune of $2.5 million this season and $3.5 million a year from now.

We, therefore, are left to speculate, and here’s what I think: There’s as much chance of Jacob Trouba finishing his career in Jets livery as there is of palm trees sprouting at Portage and Main in January.

He’s gone. It’s just a matter of when.

The rabble might not be ready to prepare the fatted calf for the prodigal rearguard’s return and, indeed, they might be rather hostile the first time he messes up in a game, but I’m guessing Trouba’s teammates will offer a warm welcome. Except perhaps Mathieu Perreault, the all-talk, no-walk forward. Among the Jets, only Perreault spoke out against Trouba’s reasoning for a trade and his holdout, branding him “selfish.” I don’t know the dynamics between the two players, but if I’m Trouba I’m telling Perreault to take his opinions and stick them where the sun don’t shine.

Paul Wiecek of the Winnipeg Free Press might want to find a different source for Jets-related intel. In a Saturday dispatch out of Detroit, he wrote this of Trouba and the Jets: “When it comes to resolving an increasingly bitter dispute that has deprived the Jets of one of the NHL’s most promising young defencemen, you couldn’t help but get the feeling the two parties have never been further apart.” Two days later, those two parties had a deal. And where did that “increasingly bitter dispute” stuff come from? Is there something Wiecek isn’t sharing with us? Seems to me that the Trouba situation was handled in a very business-like, professional manner. If bitterness existed, I never heard or read about it. Perhaps Wiecek could enlighten us.

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for 46 years, longer than any living being. Do not, however, assume that to mean she harbors a wealth of sports knowledge or that she’s a jock journalist of award-winning loft. It simply means she is old and comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she apparently doesn’t know when to quit. Or she can’t quit.
She is most proud of her Q Award, presented in 2012 for her scribblings about the LGBT community in Victoria, B.C., and her induction into the Manitoba Sportswriters & Sportscasters Association Media Roll of Honour in 2015.

 

Happy trails

I’m afraid the River City Renegade is at trail’s end, kids.

Yup, that’s all she wrote.

Actually, I thought this day had arrived two years ago, when I advised the half dozen people who actually follow this blog that I was throwing a leg over the saddle and riding off into the sunset. Turns out I wasn’t quite prepared to let go, though. Now I am.

Happy trails to y’all (especially Bombers and Jets fan boys and girls).

About Evander Kane…Winnipeg Jets coach Pa Ingalls…sugar-coating a loss…intimidating the media…Cubs win, Cubs win…and other things on my mind

I cannot survive in a 140-character world, so here are more tweets that grew up to be too big for Twitter…

Evander Kane fought the law and won.

Okay, what’s the over/under on Evander Kane? One month? Two months? Or can he go the distance and keep his nose clean for the next six months, thus escaping the long arm of the law?

I you missed it, old friend Evander fought the law and won this week in upstate New York, where it seems that men physically assailing women—i.e. grabbing a fistful of their hair, grabbing them by the throat, grabbing them by the wrist—is such a common occurrence on the Buffalo bar scene that prosecutors react with all the scorn of a parent scolding a child for failing to wash behind his ears.

“This type of activity in bars occurs every weekend,” Erie county District Attorney Michael Flaherty said quite ho-humishly when explaining how it was that Kane walked on charges of misdemeanor trespass and non-criminal violations of harassment and disorderly conduct on Monday.

It didn’t matter that surveillance evidence from the Bottoms Up bar security cameras showed images of Kane “in contact with other patrons, grabbing a girl by her hair, grabbing another girl by her wrist and then scuffling with some bouncers as they try to escort him.” According to Flaherty (he apparently overlooked or ignored the part of the security film that showed Kane wrapping his hands around a woman’s throat), this behaviour “could be described as arrogant, surly and boorish, but at the end of the day what he did did not rise to the level of criminal offence.”

(Yes, I suppose that begs this question: What the hell does pass for a criminal offence in Buffalo?)

Whatever, Kane, the former oft-injured, underachieving, controversial Winnipeg Jets winger and now an oft-injured, underachieving, controversial Buffalo Sabres winger, received a get-out-of-jail-free card. There was, mind you, a caveat: He must straighten up and fly right between now and March 30, otherwise some big-bellied sheriff will stir from his boys-will-be-boys posture and revisit Kane’s improprieties on that late June night at Bottoms Up.

Assuming Kane keeps his hands to himself and eats all his vegetables for the next six months, Lady Justice will turn a blind eye to his misdeeds and pretend they never happened. You know, sort of like what the National Hockey League is already doing.

Well, good luck with that.

I mean, keeping one’s name off a police blotter for half a year wouldn’t be a burden for 99.99999 per cent of 25-year-old men in North America, but we’re talking Evander Kane here. Party boy. Loads of loot. Doesn’t much give a damn what you or I or someone wearing a tin badge think or say about him. If he wants to jaywalk, he’ll jaywalk. If he wants to spit on a city sidewalk, he’ll unload a loogie. And if he wants to grab a woman’s hair in a bar, he’ll have a mitt full of splint ends.

But, hey, he promises to eat all his veggies for the next six months, which apparently is good enough for the Buffalo legal system, the Sabres and the NHL.

Alexander Burmistrov, aka Paul Maurice’s adopted son.

I have a few questions for Jets head coach Paul Maurice: It’s about Alexander Burmistrov…why, Paul? Why? Did you pull a Madonna and legally adopt the wandering waif when you were coaching in Russia? I mean, this isn’t Little House on the Prairie, where Ma and Pa Ingalls continually brought strays and orphans home to their wee shack on the flatland. The guy’s a bust. Let’s move on.

Speaking of coach Pa Ingalls, he delivered a rather harsh indictment of the linesman who ticketed the Jets for a too-many-men violation in the bonus period of their 4-3 overtime loss to Team Ovechkin in Washington on Thursday night. “Horse shit,” is how Maurice described the call. Well, I’ll see his “horse shit” and raise him a “horse’s ass” for his interpretation of the play and rule. Captain Blake Wheeler was in a different time zone when his replacement, Patrik Laine, hopped over the boards as the Capitals dashed forward on a two-on-one. Forty feet from the players’ bench is a penalty. At any time.

Dumbest headline of the week was delivered by the Winnipeg Sun after the local hockey heroes’ defeat in Donald Trump’s kind of town: “Jets winners even in loss.” The accompanying article by Ted Wyman was just as lame. I swear, there was more sugar coating on his game story than on a dozen glazed Timbits. I got a toothache just reading the thing. Spare us the pom-pom waving, boys. Moral victories are for the forlorn and the Toronto Maple Leafs.

Coach Paul Maurice: Is this the look that intimidates the Winnipeg media?

Here’s more on Maurice. Interesting chin-wag between the two Grumpets in the Winnipeg Free Press toy department, sports editor Steve Lyons and columnist Paul Wiecek, who discuss the likelihood that news snoops in River City walk on egg shells around the Jets bench boss. I cannot imagine that coach Pa Ingalls is a more intimidating man than John Bowie Ferguson back in the day. Seldom did we see Fergy when there wasn’t smoke seeping from his mouth, nose and ears. And that was before he lit his cigar. I don’t recall news scavengers running scared, though. Yo! Journos! Any man who harbors hope for Alexander Burmistrov and his rudderless game is never the smartest man in the room. Next time Maurice goes into intimidation mode, remind him of his NHL coaching record: 18 seasons, 11 seasons out of playoffs, two times fired mid-season, won-lost percentage .500, give or take a shootout.

I note that the Freep Grumpets allowed the induction of Doug Brown to the Winnipeg Blue Bombers Roll of Honour to pass without mention. I find that interesting because Lyons and Wiecek pooh-poohed a similar salute to quarterbacking legend Dieter Brock. “He never won anything,” is what Lyons said of Diet the Treat, twice anointed the Most Outstanding Player in the Canadian Football League. Well, okay, Brock failed to bring the Grey Cup to River City. And D-lineman Brown did it how many times? Once? Twice. Thrice? Nope. Try zero. Zilch. Zip. He never won anything. But hey. Brown delivers once-a-week alphabet soup to the Freep sports pages, and we can’t have the Grumpets eating their own, now can we.

I don’t want to be accused of ageism, but it’s about the B.C. Lions. Seriously? Paul McCallum? If you missed it, the Leos have hauled McCallum out of moth balls and he’ll be doing the short-range place-kicking in the Leos’ final regular-season game and the CFL playoffs. My initial thought: Can Joe Kapp be far behind? Upon further review, however, McCallum’s 46-year-old right leg can’t be any worse than Richie Leone’s 24-year-old right limb. Leone has been about as dependable as a leaky condom. He’s had more misses than Donald Trump and Hillary Clinton combined. So, based on coach/GM Wally Buono’s track record, this will probably work.

Legendary Cubs broadcaster Harry Caray.

My takes on the Chicago Cubs winning the World Series: 1) Finally, Steve Bartman can leave his house; 2) Love the Budweiser commercial featuring a Harry Caray voiceover, it’s pure genius; 3) Game 7 of the Cubs-Cleveland Indians series was the reason I love baseball more than any other sport.

Steve Simmons, whose work often appears in the Winnipeg Sun, has been voted favorite sports writer by readers of the Toronto Sun. He calls it “humbling.” Not so humbling, apparently, that he couldn’t resist the urge to advise his Twitter followers that “it’s 21 times now” that he’s felt so humbled.

Patti Dawn Swansson has been writing about Winnipeg sports for 46 years, longer than any living being. Do not, however, assume that to mean she harbors a wealth of sports knowledge or that she’s a jock journalist of award-winning loft. It simply means she is old and comfortable at a keyboard (although arthritic fingers sometimes make typing a bit of a chore) and she apparently doesn’t know when to quit. Or she can’t quit.
She is most proud of her Q Award, presented in 2012 for her scribblings about the LGBT community in Victoria, B.C., and her induction into the Manitoba Sportswriters & Sportscasters Association Media Roll of Honour in 2015.