it should come as snow surprise

Now I don't want to piss off any Northerners who read this, but I just lived through my first snowless November and to tell you the truth, I was turning a little batty. While the days flew by in a barely-distinguishable flurry and the darkness came earlier and earlier, not one flake of snow touched the ground and I was starting to wonder if what I was experiencing was real. How can it be 16 degrees in the last week of November? It's not possible.

Well, winter has arrived at last and while the first major snowfall usually leaves me depressed or rueful, this year, to be honest, I'm relieved. It was as if there was an itchiness inside my chest cavity that could only be scratched with an ice-scraper. From my kitchen window with a cup of coffee, I'm watching clusters of inanimate flakes scatter around in the lulling wind like pollen and I'm sighing. It's been snowing for hours now and there is a good foot of the sticky stuff sitting upon just about everything: the steps and railings of the fire escapes that wind up each of the brick buildings in my neighbourhood, the clock on the Molson Brewery building that's barely visible in the distance and the cars dormant in the parking lot in the alley behind my apartment.

I just took a walk and realized what effect snow like this has on a city.

I don't know if it's due to all the flakes taking up space in the air and if perhaps they muffle soundwaves by their existing, but the city is much quieter. I don't know if it's the fog and decreased visibility a heavy snowfall like this produces but it appeared three-quarters of the population had disappeared.

The city is just so much cleaner. Gone was the garbage and the puke puddles and the yelling and the honking horns.

The people who asked me for money yesterday had shovels in their hands.

I walked into a restaurant and in my happy cloud, ordered a cheeseburger and donair and one of those kids'-only, over-sugared grape drinks, and when I sat down to eat, I actually smiled and enjoyed the Anne Murray Christmas song that was playing on the radio. (Unforgivable, I know.)

The African cabbies that line up along St. Hubert were taking the snowfall seriously, dressing up in hyperbole, with parkas, mitts, scarves, large fur hats, and wiping the accumulating snow off their cabs each time they idled after struggling and slipping into the next spot in line following the first in line taking a fare. They'll figure out eventually that whenever it snows, it usually means it's warmer out.

When I got back, I threw my soaked socks in the laundry. My roommate came home. He isn't used to any of this, and he asked me what you are supposed to do with your shoes and socks and pants after coming inside on a day like this. Roll 'em up, I said. My friend from Australia has been excited for -- and shit-scared of -- this day for the past two months and it was one of the reasons she came to Montreal. I've been building it up, while also saying it's nothing major, for just as long, like I'm some sort of expert.

Coming from the North, I never thought the sight of snow would ever make me feel anything but disappointment. I never once thought I'd ever take snow for granted. Yet there I was, just last week, wondering when the hell I could strap on some skates and play some pond hockey or do some ice-fishing with my boss. I felt uneasy with Christmas fast approaching and no snowmen or toboggans around.

I may regret saying this in a month's time, but I have to admit, Snow, I'm happy to see ya.

when did this happen to us?

I, not unlike many, have been fascinated by the mayhem and the ceaseless barrage of stories surrounding the sordid life of one Tiger Woods over the past week and a half. But the whole thing also makes me feel sick and sort of like I'm a perverted voyeur.

I've followed the thing with my hands over my eyes, peaking through a crack in my fingers. From the bizarre initial story, where he smashed into a fire hydrant and tree in his gated community going no faster than 20 mph, whereupon his wife, acting heroically we were told, smashed the rear window of his SUV to save him, to the new revelations of his "transgressions", I've watched with a giggle.

We all know about all this because we've all been watching. Turns out Tiger has quite a voracious appetite for the flesh (I never thought he liked playing Skins that much, really) with more than four ladies going public with stories of romance with the world's greatest golfer (including one chick who said Tiger brought her back to his place in Florida one night after a tournament, where the two had 'unprotected' sex. Do we really need to know that Tiger went Raw Daddy? Here I always thought he put a head-cover on his driver.).

Also, it appears his wife, in fact, was not smashing his window in a bid to save Tiger, but most likely she was chasing him or at least smashed up the ride in anger. Now there are suspicions Tiger was drunk when he was driving (I KNEW IT!).

The whole story has not only blemished his reputation (although I thought he was kind of douchey in the first place) and has spurred thousands of jokes, but has once again made me sad at what now constitutes sports news.

(Before I continue, I have to write that when I spoke to my dad on the phone last night, he recited a good half dozen jokes off the top of his head:

"What's the difference between a car and a golf ball?

Tiger Woods can drive a golf ball 300 yards."

"Why did Tiger hit a fire hydrant AND a tree?

Because he didn't know whether to choose a wood or an iron."

Ahhh... Good stuff.)

While I won't say I haven't enjoyed watching this story play out (because I have), I do believe we are falling further and further into a sick kind of depravity in our mainstream sports fandom.

Let me elaborate.

It's hard to argue when the life of the world's most successful, popular and richest athlete crumbles in front of our eyes, it doesn't constitute a sports story. But at what point does it stop becoming a sports story? Today, his mother in law was taken to the hospital. Why is that leading ESPN.com? I suppose we are all still in shock, since Tiger had concealed his personal life and his personality better than anyone since MJ. All we know about him is his chilly and nearly assholish competitiveness on the links, he has a temper with photographers and fans, and he had a super-devoted father, who shoved a golf club in his son's hands before his first steps.

But the non-stop, CNN-Situation-Room-Style coverage given this story, along with the daily stream of headlines about other athlete screw-ups makes me take pause. The other major story in the sports sphere on the day Woods sliced his SUV into the trees was Ron Artest's admission that he used to drink alcohol before NBA games (and during halftime, even). Again, this is a story, but it was front page news on sports websites.

At some point in my life, the game being played on the field, court or ice surface began to play second fiddle to what athletes were doing when they weren't competing. I honestly can say I barely remember opening up the Edmonton Journal Sports page when I was a kid and reading a story about an athlete getting a speeding ticket or a DUI. I only remember events like Mike Tyson going to prison for rape and Michael Irvin getting busted with hookers and blow in a hotel room. That's pretty much it.

Nowadays, the sports page is filled with the personal and off-the-field activities of athletes. And the internet is worse. Seriously, go have a look at any mainstream sports website and I guarantee there are at least two or three stories about DUIs, a controversial quote or some kind of pending charge against an athlete.

In the past week or so, I've seen stories about Adrian Peterson -- and later that week, a teammate of his -- getting nabbed for a speeding ticket. David Stern tells a reporter that he believes women will play in the NBA in 10 years, and LeBron James is asked the question, where he respectfully disagrees. ESPN.com puts that on their front page in the headlines box, a tiny little article trolling for backlash and baiting readers to blow the issue up. Andy Murray's girlfriend tells the media she can't deal with her husband's 7-hour-a-day computer RPG habit. And at least once a day, someone in the sports world says something dumb, or sexist, or racist, or controversial, and then the next day, there is a story about how incredulous an affected group is, and the next day there is an apology. What does this have to do with sport? We don't elect these people to play professionally. Sure, they sort of represent us to a degree, because we may cheer for them or because we idolize them and because we pay tickets to see them, but do they really deserve that kind of scrutiny and should their personal mistakes really be made that public? Many players are far from academics and scores come from difficult backgrounds, and are under pressure every night in front of millions of people. They are bound to make mistakes.

It's a beef I have with sports media now. While I'm sure all these quotes are entertaining and these extracurricular blunders are definitely not to be forgiven, I do wish more sports writing focused on the games and the dynamic in the locker room. I mean, that's what a sportswriter should give the reader, because they have access to that place and we don't. Anyone can write up a story about an athlete blowing over 0.08. It's lazy. I have found a few places I'll stop by now to read up on my favorite teams, but it seems you really have to search now and nothing you find on television or any of the mainstream sports websites is of any interest to the actual sports fan.

I want to read about interactions between teammates on my teams, or the dynamics in the dressing room of a winning team or losing team, and what makes a leader. I want to know what makes the special players special, and the characteristics that make some transcendent.

Everything that's written now is about building up an athlete or destroying them. Often, it has little to do with how they perform during gametime.

And if it's not personal crises, it's player transactions and rumours about players coming and going which generate more ink than what the players do on the court. Now this may have to do with the rise of fantasy sports, and everyone considering themselves a GM, but again, it overshadows what happens on the court.

For instance, while LeBron James, a player who has all the skill and physical gifts to be the greatest basketball player of all time, is reaching his prime, all the media has talked about for the past three years is where he'll end up when his contract expires in 2010. Whether it will be New York or Miami or Chicago or L.A. Will he eschew Cleveland to play in a bigger market? He is asked the question in every city he visits, every comment -- often taken out of context -- on his future results in a front page headline on ESPN.com, and it has led to thousands of columns and frothy talk radio discussions. But lost in all of this talk is James' present-day play, where he's doing things only paralleled by a few players in history. It's like nothing from the present is allowed to be spoken about, which means anything happening in the present is lost as all that matters is establishing the player's legacy or trying to figure out who the next LeBron James will be.

Once in PoliSci class in University, during a discussion about sports, some dude in the back of the room called them a distraction, saying they kept people focused on things that ultimately didn't matter and away from what was really important and happening in the world.

That made me very angry, as a lifelong sports fan. I find inspiration in performances like Steve Yzerman's 2002 Stanley Cup Playoffs, where he led the Wings to a Cup on one leg. I love how sports can bring people together like nothing else, whether it's a playoff run or World Cup victory. I see how lessons taken from team sports about sacrifice, playing a role, selflessness, hard-work, dedication and co-operation are transferrable to life. And fuck it, I love watching Dywane Wade soar into the air and throw a dunk down on a helpless opponent, or Jonathan Toews making two defensemen look foolish before tucking the puck behind the goalie, and watching the most athletic, co-ordinated and talented beings on this planet do things that were previous unimaginable.

But with the way these off-the-court activities are starting to take precedent and the way I've been distracted by Tiger Woods' self-destruction, the more I'm beginning to believe that dude in my PoliSci class was right.

the creation -- making time

tiger woods goes r. kelly

Props to Bill Simmons for throwing this link up on his Twitter account.

I want to chime in on all the hoopla, but to be honest, I never really liked Tiger. So I'm kind of basking in this. I'll have something later.

Until then, enjoy.

pastime building steam

So as I've written more than once in the past, one of the things I really enjoy is picking up little bits in songs on the radio or wherever that some of my favourite artists have used as samples.

Today I learned there is an entire website devoted to this:

http://www.whosampled.com/

And now I'll officially kiss this day goodbye (no work today, in case you were wondering.)

And again, I want to reiterate that sampling is not stealing. If you don't agree, please have a look at the Nas - Illmatic section:

Memory Lane (Sittin' in Da Park) -- Nas

The DJ Shadow section:

High Noon -- DJ Shadow

Building Steam with a Grain of Sand -- DJ Shadow

The DJ Premier section:

2nd Childhood -- Nas

The J Dilla/Slum Village section:

Get Dis Money -- Slum Village

Anti-American Graffiti -- J Dilla

The Madvillain section:

Meat Grinder -- Madvillain

Rapp Snitch Kitches -- MF Doom

Oldies:

Respiration -- Black Star

Concrete Schoolyard -- Jurassic 5

Electric Relaxation -- Tribe Called Quest

C.R.E.A.M. -- Wu Tang Clan

They created something completely new from these long forgotten songs. And now hearing those old songs, I want to pick them up and give them a listen.

Shit, I was only going to put one or two, but got lost on here. I need to get up. Ouch, my back is sore. I've been doing this for like two hours.

Empire State of Mind -- Jay-Z (sorry folks, but Alicia Keys really isn't playing that piano!)

What happened to the day?

riddle me this

Why isn't there an iPhone application that can tell you if your lunch meat has gone bad?

(Note: I don't have an iPhone... but maybe I would if it had the lunch meat application.)

Fer fuck sakes. Guess I'm just going to have to let my stomach decide this one.

asleep at the wheel

Coach put me back in the line-up. After being a healthy scratch for 29 dang days -- and nearly asking for my release in order to test free agency -- I'm back at work and back on the road. Left early for Ottawa Monday and earlier for Quebec City today, to toil on rooftops in the snow (FINALLY) and wind and quick-to-arrive darkness.

The days are long, but made longer by the daily commutes. Two hours each way to Ottawa, three each way to Quebec City. So I'm up at 5, on the train at 5:30 (with about a thousand other sad six a.m. sacks) and in my co-worker's van by 6 to get into Quebec by 9ish. I try not to sleep in the passenger seat, so the driver next to me doesn't do the same. And we've been cool so far.

(Note: Kids, you may not want to read ahead. But I think Santa may have a tough time getting around this winter, since I saw two of his reindeer laying on the side of the road. Lots of death this morning.

KIDS! I told you not to read ahead.

Ummm... well nothing to worry about, you'll get your toys. Santa's gonna be okay. So will his reindeer. I'm sure they were just taking naps... in puddles of strawberry jam.)

Before leaving Quebec City tonight, I told my Columbian co-worker I could drive because I felt shitty that he always had to do it and he obliged.

Bad idea. I've never fought as hard to stay awake in my (lucky-to-still-own) life.

Now I've driven 20 hours straight to Calgary from Yellowknife before, I did 11 hours overnight from the Quebec/Maine border to just about Halifax a couple months ago, and a handful of late night, ill advised drives through B.C., but honestly, I've never conked out before. Before tonight.

I was listening to the radio -- a story about a guy nearly getting crush by a car that drove through his drycleaner shop on As It Happens -- and I was watching the two red lights on the back of the semi in front of me, in the darkness, and watched as they began to run from beside to between a solid white line. Turns out that was the shoulder.

I just went. I didn't slowly fall asleep or anything, but I just slipped, my eyes crossed a little, my face probably looked like an infant pushing stool, and I snapped to it when the passenger-side wheels ran over the serrated strip on the side of the highway. If not for that, I'm sure I'd be in a ditch right now, spooning Bambi, in my own puddle of berry marmalade.

I totally understand how people fall asleep at the wheel now. I've slept 5 real hours in the past three days and I didn't want to touch a coffee tonight before the drive -- even though I needed one -- because I knew it would affect me when I got home. I watched myself let attention drift from the road to the radio or the road lines or lights and then SHIT!!! snap back and jerk the wheel. I fought it hard, mon! At least a dozen times. And the whole time, my co-worker slept next to me. Maybe he was dreaming pleasant things, keeping our karmic balance intact and battling my attention deficit and disorder to coax the ride back into its lane.