For no reason?

Johnny Gaudreau, the cornerstone of The Flames, just up and joined the Columbus Bluejackets.  Why?  No one has a clue!?  Wasn't money, 'cause he was offered more than the measly $68+million than Columbus is now paying him.  Was it Daryl Sutter's coaching?  Was it the suits running the club?  Was it the weird weather here?  Who knows?  He claims it's to be closer to his family, but in reality he won't be.  (Don't they always say that when something weird is going on in the background.)

"Every time I play in Columbus, it's a lot of fun.  The fans are into it and I dig the vibe," said Gaudreau at his presser.  To paraphrase the brilliant Cathal Kelly, that sounds like a four-year-old explaining why he likes daycare.  There's gotta be something else going on and it'll emerge.  One day.

Whatever happened to building a hockey dynasty, a la Montreal back-in-the-day?  Whatever happened to sticking with a club to win the cup?  Oh ya, no one really cares about winning the cup; it's all about money (except not in Gaudreau's case).  Through thick and thin, Flames fans have been loyal.  Not so Gaudreau.  It's very disappointing -- even to a non-fan such as I -- to see this happen and no, I don't wish him well.  To build a dynasty, you need discipline and you need to pick a plan and stick with it until it works and it will work because that's what plans do.  Unless you don't stick with it and I'm not just talking coaches and owners; I'm talkin' players too.  That means commitment and loyalty, both sadly lacking thanks to the money-hungry agents who run the players and the latter's greedy families.  I mean, how much money do you actually need or deserve to dash around a sheet of ice with a stick?   

So, now the Jays have fired poor, old Charlie Montoyo because they aren't winning.  Frankly, they always fire the coach when dumb player purchasing decisions are made, but don't work out.  Mark Shapiro should really fire himself.  When he arrived a few years ago, he swore up-and-down that it would always be about winning the World Series, but we all knew that wasn't true.  

Poor, old Toronto sports fans can't catch a break.  Look at Mathews.  We all thought his signing would be the turning point in the Leaf's sad losing curse.  But it wasn't.  His contributions, in spite of his talent, have been miniscule.  I suggested they trade him, Marner and couple of other "stars" a while ago, just to shake up the team.  But they didn't and now Mathews will be the next to go the minute his contract is up.  Loyalty?  None there either.

______________________________________

In 2006, B and I went on a little nostalgia trip to Wellesley and Chicago.  Chicago was to visit his first, true flame and Wellesley was to re-connect with an old tennis buddy from his teenage years.  We read today that the tennis buddy -- just a couple of months older than B -- has died.  The obituary brought back memories of that trip, which were not all pleasant.  This guy, let's call him "Tom", lived in a beautiful home (because he had scads of money), but which was a bit of an unravelling dump inside.  The furniture was threadbare and the bed we were assigned collapsed the minute we climbed into it.  

The living room decor centred around a racket-stringing machine, which was a tad weird.  As grateful guests, we bought two very expensive bottles of wine, which he promptly hid under the dining table while serving us his cheap brand.  I was appalled -- especially when I discovered that he was sneaking the good stuff for himself while pouring us plonk.  As for dinner?  I said I would teach his lady friend how to make gnocchi as a side dish to whatever she had planned.  Turned out, she had nothing planned so I had to make the entire dinner out of odds-and-sods scrounged from the fridge, plus throw in the gnocchi which takes a long time to prepare and cook.  Huh?? 

But the corker was a visit to his very posh tennis club.  "I can't wait to play on those beautiful grass courts," said B as we were driving in.  B and Tom had played competitively together as teens in Montreal because they were both fanatical about the sport.  "Did you bring your raquet," asked Tom.  "Of course," affirmed B anxiously.  Time passed, as I sat there with his girlfriend sipping wine, but no courts were booked and they didn't play.  I concluded it was because Tom was afraid B would beat him and he would not have been able to handle that -- especially in front of other club members.  B was understandably very upset.  As for the wine?  I was offered one glass and when I had finished it, a second was not proffered.  That's just plain rude.   

____________________________

A word about the killing of the guy acquitted of master-minding the Air India bombing 37 years ago.  This was retribution by other Sikhs long in the planning and execution.  Firstly, why it is always referred to as the greatest air disaster in Canadian history?  It was not a "Canadian" tragedy, it was a Sikh one.  Even though most of the passengers were Canadian, their primary identity was Sikh.  So, let's call it what it was:  A Sikh disaster carried out by Sikhs against other Sikhs.  

Like the troubles in Ireland, religious hatred is long, immortal and is passed down from generation to generation.  But 37 years later, the guy who did it finally got his.