In the Swirsk's mind, until they start playing hockey with a basketball, the sport will never be any good.
But I really want to talk about Craig, who is a great guy, but a guy who let me down a few years ago -- even if he doesn't know it.
DOWN IN FLAMES
Here's the deal: When Craig was the general manager of the Calgary Flames, the rumour was that he was going to hire Wharnsby in the front office. Wharnsby neither confirmed nor denied the rumour but promised me that if he did go to the Flames, he would hire me as some kind of a media/communications big shot -- Senior Vice-President of Strategic Loafing, or something like that.
Once all that fell into place, we were going to hire a dynamic, hard-working executive assistant (the Rowing Czarina) to basically do all the work, at a fraction of the huge salaries we would be making, of course.
And then, we were going to find a good bar near the Flames office and spend our afternoons there formulating various "business strategies" for the team.
I already came up with a couple great ideas, like finding the world's fattest guy to be our goaltender and teaching strippers how to skate.
But nooooo, Craig had to go and leave the Flames. Talk about selfish.
Of course, Craig had no idea of this fantastic plan of ours (or at least the part of hiring me and an executive assistant to do all the work).
The thing is, I'm a big-plan guy. That is, I'm great at thinking of great plans for the future -- plans that will make my life great. And when I say great, I mean really easy. But unfortunately, what I'm even better at than coming up with great plans, is not following through with any of them.
For instance, another plan Wharnsby and I came up with a few years ago, when we were young and single, was to hang out at the Windsor Arms hotel where, apparently, rich, old widows congregate. We would then ingratiate ourselves with a couple of the rich old widows, and then marry then. That is, we would each marry a different rich, old widow. And then we live the life of Riley. Here's how I figure a typical day would go when I married a rich, old widow: Get up late, go for coffee and read the newspapers, go to the gym, go for lunch, then have a nap, meet the old girl for dinner (somewhere fancy and expensive), service the old girl, put the old girl to bed, and then go out boozing all night ... and then start the cycle again the next day.
It very well could have been the greatest life ever.
Our plan never came to fruition because ... well, it always sounded like a great idea when we were lying on the couch, watching TV.
One day, when Wharnsby was out of town, I actually thought of heading down to the Windsor Arms, but then I realized I didn't know where it was and I was too lazy to get an address.
Being lazy always has been my downfall -- although I guess I shouldn't admit this in print because when my number comes up with the Quebecor layoff lottery, it can use this confession against me.
For the record, when it comes to work, I am not lazy. Just in every other aspect of my life.
My buddy, Ed Zawadzki, has mentioned my name in his Canada Free Press column a couple times. You know, Ed is quite the character, and I say that only because he hates when I say that.
Anyway, Ed always is threatening to reveal some "disturbing" detail about my life in his column and I always warn him that if he does, I'll sue him for huge bucks. But Ed says he isn't worried because, well, this is how he sees the scenario unfolding: He writes something scandalous about me in his column. I sue. Canada Free Press and I agree on a big, cash settlement. My lawyer tells me that I have to go down to the Canada Free Press office to pick up the cheque. I phone Ed and ask him if he can drive me to the Canada Free Press office. He says no, he's too busy. And then I say, to hell with it, because I'm too lazy to call a cab. And Canada Free Press ends up paying me zip.
My new plan is for Bubba to become a rock star and put me in a ritzy old age home, where I will have a private (sexy) nurse, beer-scented oxygen canisters, and all the morphine I want.
And it's a great plan for Bub too because, you know, when she locks me away in the home and never visits, there's no guilt.
