A COUPLE OF GOOD OLD BOYS

Last night's game between the Toronto Rock and the Rochester Knighthawks had a great deal of drama attached to it. Playoff implications were everywhere. After the dust had settled, the Rock had scored an important 15-7 victory, guaranteeing a playoff appearance. At last, a Toronto sports team made it into post-season action. Everyone was happy, and the Rock certainly were the dominant team.

But the game was also interesting for a couple of the veteran warriors on the floor. John Grant Jr. of the Knighthawks and Bob Watson of the Rock, were key players. In a sport of young men, it was refreshing to see two wily veterans have a vital role.

Watson recently celebrated his 40th birthday. Forty year old athletes are no longer a rarity in sports, but for the difficult and demanding position of goaltender, being on the wrong side of 40 is usually not an ingredient for success. Watson certainly has had his ups and downs this season, but then again, so has the entire team. When he is on form, Watson is one of the most athletic goaltenders in a sport where size and bulk usually are what the goalies rely on. Last night, Watson made some incredible saves, showing speed and agility of a much younger man. One scoop save in particular stood out, denying Rochester any chance of getting back into the game.

Grant's story is even more dramatic. He missed the entire 2009 season because of a serious knee injury that became infected. Reports said that the infection destroyed the ligaments in his knee and almost took his life. A cadaver's ligament was eventually placed in the joint and a year of fierce rehab and re-conditioning followed. His return to competitive lacrosse is nothing short of a miracle. To be sure, Grant has lost speed and agility, but he made two plays reminiscent of the Grant of old. On one, he was in close on Watson and unleashed a wicked behind the back shot that rang off the goalpost. On the other, he scored while on the ground under a pile of Rock defenders. The strength of Grant's shots, based on uncanny wrists and hands, is legendary and he has not lost any of that.

I enjoy seeing ageing stars continue to shine in any field where younger people are supposed to be the center of attention. Well done, Bob and John.... long may you rock, long may you roll !!!

NOW OR NEVER

The Toronto Rock host their last game of a turbulent 2010 season tonight at the ACC against the Rochester Knighthawks. Both teams are flirting with the .500 mark on the season. For the Rock, it is now a case of which team will show up: the good Rock or the evil Rock.

The evil Rock were in evidence last weekend in Buffalo, where the Bandits handed the Rock their lunch in a game that can only be described as weird. The Bandits held a substantial lead at half time, only to have the Rock suddenly get interested in the third quarter. When the Rock tied the score at 10-10, it was almost as though they had accomplished their goal of getting even. They slid back into their disinterested mode to finish the game. Final score, Buffalo 13, Rock 10.

Obviously, this is not the mind-set of a championship calibre team. To be so inconsistent is an indication that something has gone wrong internally. The Rock in the first half of the season had re-acquired the old swagger of the championship teams from the recent past, but the road trip to Alberta at the half way point of the season has proven to be their undoing. Confidence is gone, the goaltending is inconsistent, and Colin Doyle seems to have his mind elsewhere. The coaches are reduced to either staring in disbelief at the mess on the floor or shouting in panic-stricken intensity at their players. My guess is that there is feuding in the locker room, but that is only a guess. How else to explain the dramatic change in appearance of what should be an excellent team?

The Knighthawks also need this game. They are 7-7 on the season, indicating mediocrity at best. However, they have won back to back games last weekend, so they would appear to be improving while the Rock are struggling.

For the Rock, it is now or never. If they are indeed worthy of our respect, they must not only win tonight, but win convincingly. Otherwise, their playoff experience will be a short one.

CRUNCH TIME

It's been a season of ups and downs for the Toronto Rock. After starting the season like the proverbial house on fire, they suffered a mid season swoon and dropped five games in a row. Their efforts at home during the swoon can only be described as lack-lustre.

Now, their fortunes seem to be on the up-swing again. Wins last weekend over Calgary at home and Philadelphia on the road have boosted their over-all record to 8-6, which is not spectacular, but is still good enough for second place in the hotly contested East Division. Two games remain, this weekend in Buffalo against the desperate Bandits, followed by a home closer against the Rochester Knighthawks. Both opponents are in the playoff race also, and will probably play hard against the Rock. Nevertheless, the Rock hold their destiny in their own hands. Wins will solidify their place in the playoffs and probably secure a home date.

What causes teams to do what the Rock have done this year? A promising start seemed to indicate that their past problems had been solved. They played the first 7 games with great confidence: goaltending was spectacular, the offence was productive, and the defence seemed to be solid. Then, the losing slide began with close but uninspiring games in Alberta. Confidence waned, and all parts of their game looked shabby and unpolished. Key players began to look average, especially the captain, Colin Doyle, who appeared to be disinterested. Mistakes piled on top of each other and players looked at each other as though expecting a disaster to happen at any time. The result: going from a solid first place team to just one more in the pack of the division.

Organizations of any kind go through dry spells, where focus is lost, creativity seems to disappear, and members lose confidence in their colleagues and try to do their jobs for them. There are only two ways for a rebound to occur: blind luck, or the ability of a leader to see the problem and do what is necessary to correct it in time to restore the faith of the members and put the organization back on track. Teams, businesses, schools, armies, and governments all run the same way.

Let's see if the Rock can keep the winning ways going. If they do, it will prove that leadership is solid on the team. One might say "Rock solid".

Leafs Army

Last Christmas, I asked for and received (thank-you, family! ) two books as gifts. As a die-hard and long-suffering Leafs fan ( ever noticed that Leafs fans use hyphenated descriptors to indicate their level of pain? ) I asked for "Leafs Abomination" by Dave Feschuk and Michael Grange. Also, as a devoted student of history and politics, I asked for "A Soldier First" by retired General Rick Hillier. Both promised to be great reading, which they indeed proved to be, but little did I realize that they would be about the same thing. Consider these summaries.

In "Leafs Abomination", Feschuk and Grange traced the sordid history of the Toronto Maple Leafs since their last Stanley Cup win in 1967, which, satirically, is the price of their book! Most casual fans know the long litany of failure that has plagued the team: Harold Ballard, poor drafting, ridiculous trades, underachieving players, and fans who can best be described as bored and boring. But this book goes further and starts to raise questions about the corporate culture at the heart of the Leafs' woes. After Ballard, the team has been controlled ( not owned per se ) by a changing cast of people who, in their real careers, are startlingly successful, and whose dedication to the Leafs cannot be questionned. Yet, the team still flounders. The book tries to answer the question "why is this the case?" and boils it down to three essential things: lack of visionary leadership, in-house rivalry among the major controllers, and a fan base who are incorrectly characterised as loving the team too much: the book claims the fans don't love the team enough. There are so many facets to these three items, it would take a blog as long as a book to summarize them. Suffice to say that Feschuk and Grange have hit the nail on the head. As long as the current controllers ( Richard Peddie, Larry Tanenbaum, and the Teachers Pension Plan ) own the team, and as long as fans continue to flock to the ACC to watch the futility on ice, nothing will change. An owner along the lines of Larry Illitch in Detroit is needed: deep pockets, yes, but a real vision of what the team should be and what is needed to win.

In "A Soldier First", Hillier sets out to tell his life story. If the book were only that, it would be fair reading. But Hillier goes into minute detail about how decisions were made in the Department of National Defence, and what was needed to change the culture of that organization. Hillier describes the shameful treatment of our military by not only the government, but the public as well. It is writing that almost brings tears to the eyes of the reader. The waste, the dithering, the politics of military decision making is pathetic and heart breaking. When Hillier witnessed all this as he rose up the ranks, he vowed that he would try to do something about it if he ever came into a position where he could influence things. Happily, that happened in 2002, when he became Chief of Defence Staff. He began to move the mountain that was, as he described it, the "risk averse" beurocracy that was NDHQ in Ottawa. The change also involved "recruiting the nation", which was an effort by the troops to make themselves more visible and of greater service to the general public. Hillier worked a major miracle to achieve these goals, but the work continues.

The lessons of all this? Any organization needs strong leadership in order to succeed. Unfortunately, today's concept of strong leadership is more like "strong management." Both books suggest that today's leaders in politics, the military, business, sports, dare I say education, are all managers: they do not effect real or meaningful change because they are afraid to take risks, they have no true vision of what their enterprise is and should be, and they are unable to communicate their vision and the need to take risks to their followers or to the public at large. Managers want to "manage" or simply steer their group through the turbulent waters of whatever enterprise they do, with a minimum of worry, a minimum of fuss, and close to the same results as always. That's how success is measured: not by achievement, but by how hassle-free the managers have done their jobs. Leaders like Rick Hillier are needed: intelligent, eloquent shit disturbers. For the Leafs, Feschuk and Grange hold out hope for Brian Burke: intelligent, eloquent, and a shit disturber in his own right.

I have always been fascinated by studying leadership. I have read memoirs and biographies about Margaret Thatcher, Caesar, Pierre Trudeau, Washington, Jefferson, Adams, Franklin, Macdonald, MacArthur, Napoleon and Wellington, and the list goes on. The abiding things which unite all these leaders is a strong vision, an iron will to carry the vision to a successful conclusion, and the intelligence and communication skills to tell people why their vision is good. I'd love to have Rick Hillier for Prime Minister of Canada some day: or maybe president and general manager of the Leafs after the fans and media ride Brian Burke out of town on a rail.

No More Talk.... Let's See What You've Got !!

On Saturday, Jan. 9, another season of Toronto Rock lacrosse starts. The Rock travel to Boston to take on the Blazers. Happily, the game will be televised on TSN2.

As many of you know, I am a die hard lacrosse fan. I believe that lacrosse is the very best of sports, and to play lacrosse well means that one is a superior athlete. Lacrosse goes by two impressive nicknames, derived from its aboriginal roots: "The Little Brother of War" and "The Creator's Game." When I learned about the Major Indoor Lacrosse League many years ago, I was absolutely stunned at the popularity of the game. When Toronto entered the league, as the Ontario Raiders, in 1998, I was tremendously happy. The Rock went on to win 5 championships in 7 years, and were hailed as a success story. They have since fallen on hard times, finishing out of the playoffs for the last 3 years.

Now, with the opening of the season mere days away, the Rock are talking proud again. They are under new ownership, a new coach with proven success, a new general manager who is a legend in the game. They have re-acquired two players from their glory days, Kim Squire and Colin Doyle, the defending league scoring champ. Doyle has been recently named captain.

Understandably, Rock fans have applauded all these moves. The talk now is of a return to the glory of championship years. But talk is cheap. Every team starts out on equal footing at the start of a season. What matters is what you do on the floor. And the Rock, in my mind, have several question marks. The most important question is whether Doyle can still bring it. He is still young, at the prime of his game and is coming off a tremendous season last year. But he is only one man. The Rock still depend on an ageing goalie, a mediocre defence and a transition game that was non-existant last year. In this league, transition is the most important aspect of the game. The problem was not addressed in the off-season.

So, it comes down to this: will action speak louder than words? If talk could win championships, the Rock would be hoisting another pennant to the rafters of the ACC. It's been my experience that tough talk at the start of a season is really a mask for inadequacies that will be all too apparent later on. I'm worried that my fears will be proven to be true in about 3 weeks. Let's hope I'm wrong.

No more talk, Rock. Go out and compete and prove your words !!

The Love of Reading

One of the truly great rewards of being retired is a renewal of my love of reading. Many would be surprised to see me use the word "renewal" here: in my capacity as an English teacher, surely I was reading all the time! And, indeed, I was: students' papers and tests, ministry documents, school and departmental papers, and novels, plays, poems, stories, journals, articles all for the students to read. But, sadly, none of it, with a few notable exceptions, would really qualify as "serious" reading: that is to say, reading for me alone, designed to enrich and stimulate my mind and soul.

Many years ago, I acquired a book called "The Western Canon" by the noted scholar Harold Bloom. I read bits and pieces of it through the years as a resource to help me better understand the world's great literature. But, for the last three months, I have been able to read this huge and far-reaching book on my own, cover to cover, slowly, thoughtfully and even meditatively. The experience was wonderful: Bloom is a truly brilliant man, sometimes bombastic and even a little infuriating. But the breadth and scope of his life-long adventure in reading and re-reading the western world's great books is so impressive. Any of us who considers ourselves to be "good" readers must shudder and feel inadequate compared to this man.

Besides the wonderful observations he shares when he writes about the 26 of the greatest writers and books in the western world, however, Bloom spends much time in bemoaning the state of the study of literature in our modern world. In these passages, I found myself particularly engaged, because, of course, I have just completed 29 years teaching English to the young people of south Oshawa. Much of what Bloom writes about rang true, and gave me so much anguish at the way I have earned my living for almost 3 decades.

Bloom lashes out at those who seek to change the study of English into a hodge-podge of politically correct and socially acceptable activities designed to build better citizens. Bloom would not call this English at all, and he is absolutely right. The true study of English, and the English language in all its beauty and majesty, is similar to the study of music and painting and sculpture: it is an art, not a social science, and, for Bloom, the true way to study it is to surrender to an aesthetic approach. This certainly is not the way English is taught in high schools, nor should it be so for the vast majority of our young people. But Bloom rages against the complete absence of the aesthetic, and I would have to agree. Too often, English is the subject governments latch on to whenever a particular "motherhood" issue becomes a hot topic. The recent English guidelines, which I read and began to ponder in the last year of my career, was an impressive document on how the study of English would save the world on the multiple fronts of

gender equality, racial harmony, environmental responsibility, complete tolerance of all beliefs and lifestyles, all the while promoting a strong appreciation for Canadian literature and culture in an ever changing world, and, of course, making a meaningful contribution to students' understanding of technology and media. Where was the room for Shakespeare?

Bloom calls the new approach the "School of Resentment", and, alas, I must admit that I was a cog in the resenters' machine. I had to hack away time in my curriculum for all the new things needed to be taught in order to satisfy the powers that be. But, much to my everlasting pleasure, whenever it came to teaching Shakespeare in most of my classes, many and even perhaps most of my students actually ended up enjoying the experience. Would they go on to become scholars? Happily, many of them have, but most simply enjoyed the transitory experience of reading and thinking about a Shakespearean play. Not just Shakespeare either, but several other of the world's great writers. I would like to think that Bloom would applaud my efforts, even just a little.

In the last couple of years of my headship of the English Department at G.L. Roberts, I tried to challenge my young and talented colleagues to seriously re-think the way we teach English. That's a tough challenge, and I must admit that I wasn't very good at re-thinking it. But, in our fast paced, technology driven, economically oriented missionary zeal, I would hope that a future English Department Head would attempt to put on the brakes on the new "School of Resentment" and say to the world "No, we are not abandoning our most important mission. We are going to attempt to expose our students to some of the world's greatest minds, souls and words. We are going to continue to teach literature for its own sake: for the joy of reading." Such a person would make Harold Bloom happy. Bloom said about the teaching of English that "English and related departments have always been unable to define themselves and unwise enough to swallow up everything that seems available for ingestion." He fears that English departments will soon join the Classical departments in our universities, marginalized and cut back to anachronistic curiousities. He may be right. But I certainly hope that, somewhere, there will be educational leaders who will resist the trend and continue to offer the great works for the shrinking but no less worthy number of young minds and souls who thirst for this knowledge.

Bloom says that we are entering a "Theocratic" age. This used to mean an age and an ethos dominated by those who profess a knowledge of God and who use this knowledge to rule others. Bloom makes it quite clear, however, that the new "Theocratic" age may have little to do with religion or philosophy, at least in its classical definition. Perhaps the new age has already begun.

Is Bloom merely a crank, an old man ( now almost 80 ) who just doesn't like the modern world? Perhaps, although you see an awareness of the modern world and detect a great sense of humour in his writing. I don't see him as a crank. I think he is a prophet. And I am glad he has written so prodigously in his more than 50 year career. I have another one of his books, a huge work completely devoted to Shakespeare. I think I'll set aside the next 6 months to read it : slowly, silently, thoughtfully, and completely alone. He would want it to be this way.

All Things Must Pass

In 1964, when I was nine years old, I had my share of heroes. Certainly, all the adults in my life, particularly my dad and mom, were heroes. And, like so many young boys, I turned to world of sports for other heroes. Hockey and football, baseball and Olympic athletes were somehow exotic to me, because I never saw them in person, only by the flickering shadows of black and white television. Emerging from that eternal pantheon was one hero, who stood out bolder and more majestic: perhaps strangely, that hero was a horse.

Northern Dancer was the premier stallion of his day. He emerged from relative obscurity to capture the imagination of an entire nation. He was small, judged to be unfit for the furious and tumultuous world of thoroughbred racing. And, to underscore the point, he was Canadian. No Canadian horse had ever dominated the world stage before. When the Dancer prepared to race in the 1964 Kentucky Derby, the conventional wisdom was that he would be soundly defeated. He had only run in Canadian races prior to the Derby in May of that year. The greatest jockey of that time, Willie Shoemaker, passed him over in favour of the American champion, Hill Rise.

The rest, of course, is history. The Dancer defeated Hill Rise and the rest of the field to win the Derby with Bill Hartack aboard. The Dancer would go on to win at the Preakness, with Hill Rise fading to third. There was no victory in the Belmont Stakes, only a third place. But in Canada's premier event, the Queen's Plate, the Dancer decimated the field and won handily. It was to be his last race: injury forced him to retire and stand as stud, where he went on to become the most profolic and successful sire in modern times.

I remember cheering for the Dancer and, later, all his progeny. His home stable, Windfields Farms became a kind of sporting vallhalla for all Canadians. Whether you played the ponies or just watched, there was something magical, something proud for all of us to know that a Canadian, albeit a four-legged Canadian, had defied the odds and beaten not only the Americans, but the entire world on their own turf, on their own terms. The little horse with the big heart, owned by a larger than life, geniune Canadian tychoon, E.P. Taylor, and bred on a quiet farm north of Oshawa, had turned the world on its head.

Now, Windfields Farms is no more. Subdivisions are already encroaching on the green grass where the Dancer and his herd galloped under blue skies and bright suns. A university and college are its largest neighbours, and the demand for housing for students who have never heard of the Dancer, are eating up the turf the way the Dancer did in that glorious summer of 1964. Beyond the schools, suburban houses give modern residents a small share of the Canadian dream. It is all so modern, so cookie-cutter, so sprawling. All that remains of the fields of dreams are the main buildings, a few barns, including the one where the Dancer was born in 1961, and graves of some of the greatest athletes Canada has ever produced. The Dancer himself, who died at the ripe old age of 29 in 1990 in Kentucky is there. Such was the respect the nation had for him that we brought him home and buried him at Windfields. He lies there still, along with some of his sons and grandsons.

As the news of the fate of the remaining parcels of land at Windfields, and the remaining horses there, became known, one of the Dancer's decendants, Careless Jewel, was racing in the Breeder's Cup in the US. Careless Jewel is a fine horse, but she suffers a tendency to drift in the race, to lose focus. At the start of the race, Careless Jewel began to drift, but she was brought back by the jockey, Robert Landry, and actually led the race by 20 lengths at one point. But the drift set in again, and the carrier of the Dancer's genes faded, only to finish dead last.

The wrecking balls will swing, the bulldozers will rumble over the green land soon, and the Farm will pass. Careless Jewel lost the race, but the blood line will go on. When the development is complete, I think I'll go back to Oshawa to see what is left of the Farm. I'll get out of my car and stand where I remember fences kept the road away from the herd, and I'll imagine the Dancer arrogantly surveying his domain: probably on some stranger's front lawn on a nameless cul-de-sac.