Note: The fine folks at The Hockey News didn't really have a spot for this and posted a shorter version online but I still think the original deserves some blogspace.
Booze, babes, beefcake and ball hockey is a recipe that tends to cook up a frat boy’s fantasy weekend, not a kettle full of controversy. That’s exactly what Montreal Canadiens enforcer Georges Laraque brought to the front burner of Gary Bettman’s already over-heated stove thanks to the forward flashing his smile in an online ad for an alcohol-laced energy drink.
Seeing how I was the lone female at THN’s morning meeting – the other women were busy running the joint – the boss asked me to weigh in on the situation.
Watching youtube and well-built men in shorts as part of my living is a tough job, but it’s one in a long line of sacrifices THN readers deserve, so I hunkered down into my cubicle to do some serious research.
Serious? Who am I kidding? From the opening shot of a McMansion, followed by women jiggling down the road this was so cheesy I was wiping Velveeta (processed cheese food spread?) off my monitor, along with some drool courtesy of the boys in the intern pit. The whole production screamed ‘parody’ and while I didn’t delight in the display of nubile vixens, found this an entertaining way to waste a minute of my life for the sake of my employer.
I’ve spent most of my adult life working with men, and spent my childhood more apt to trading hockey cards and playing Lego with the boys on the block than picking out Barbie’s next outfit. No doubt that has skewed my sexism meter a bit differently than some of my female friends.
Women needing a husband’s signature to open bank accounts. Single women making more than men with families but unable to get mortgages. Women being paid less for the same job because ‘he has a family to support.’ Those situations were not uncommon during my childhood..
This tempest in an NHL teapot isn’t worth burning any bras, unlike the situations listed above, especially not when good ones are so expensive.
Even through the visual assault of boobs and booty, I could clearly see this is a parody, sort of like what the NHL will be if it hands out much, if any punishment for Laraque’s involvement in the commercial.
Despite the gratuitous display of mammaries, it kept crossing my mind that the biggest boobs were those gullible Guses who would buy into the hoopla hook, line and snap shot. For those thinking ‘Me want booze, me want caffeine, me buy, bring on chicks’ I hate to break it to you, but it aint’ gonna’ happen.
The issue that demands a second look here, unlike the video, is the hypocrisy of the NHL banning players from appearing in alcohol ads while gleefully raking in the coin from concession stand bars.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Ms. M Is On Sabbatical
Hello and thnak you to my blog followers! I'm finished with school and headed for my internship in a few weeks. For the first time in a decade I have the summer off - no work, no school - so I'm taking a break from blogging and keeping non-stop tabs on NHL transactions.
Enjoy the rest of your summer!
Enjoy the rest of your summer!
Monday, July 6, 2009
First Day Of Camp
I've been doing a lot of writing, most of it too personal to post online. My last post was over a month ago - I will never forget that day.
This morning I dropped my son off at camp, as I had planned to do months ago but there was a hitch in our plans. Today would have been the first day of hockey and sports camp. If all had gone as it was supposed to, my son would have woken me up, yelling, "Let's go!" If all had gone as planned, I would have rung a doorbell, waited a few minutes for someone to answer and been greeted by a smile brighter than a summer afternoon. If all had gone as planned, I would have dropped off my son and his hockey gear in my friend's truck, knowing both would be taken care of. If all had gone as planned, I would not have to worry about the clock, zooming to pick my boy up by 4PM or risk late fees. If all had gone as planned, my son's favourite part of camp would happen after camp - hanging out in the swimming pool, playing with kids and dogs, being doted on by a woman who treated all kids as if the they were her grandbabies.
If all had gone to plan, my son would have spent the next two weeks at Peter Zezel Hockey and Sports Camps.
All has gone as planned but by forces I cannot comprehend. Peter passed away a few weeks ago and didn't want the camps to go on without him, so they won't. I had hoped they would, even though they would never, could never be the same without his direct involvement. Even without Peter, there were the other instructors and counsellors who made it a fantastic experience, but Pete was Pete - if his name was on it, he had to be part of it.
In a few hours I will pick up my son from his first day of camp and he'll be chattering away non-stop telling me all about his adventures. He'll go on about who did this, who did that, what So-and-So said and why he didn't get a super-mega-pack-o-sugarettos for lunch.
Today I will pick up my son from camp and realise life really does go on, no matter what we planned.
This morning I dropped my son off at camp, as I had planned to do months ago but there was a hitch in our plans. Today would have been the first day of hockey and sports camp. If all had gone as it was supposed to, my son would have woken me up, yelling, "Let's go!" If all had gone as planned, I would have rung a doorbell, waited a few minutes for someone to answer and been greeted by a smile brighter than a summer afternoon. If all had gone as planned, I would have dropped off my son and his hockey gear in my friend's truck, knowing both would be taken care of. If all had gone as planned, I would not have to worry about the clock, zooming to pick my boy up by 4PM or risk late fees. If all had gone as planned, my son's favourite part of camp would happen after camp - hanging out in the swimming pool, playing with kids and dogs, being doted on by a woman who treated all kids as if the they were her grandbabies.
If all had gone to plan, my son would have spent the next two weeks at Peter Zezel Hockey and Sports Camps.
All has gone as planned but by forces I cannot comprehend. Peter passed away a few weeks ago and didn't want the camps to go on without him, so they won't. I had hoped they would, even though they would never, could never be the same without his direct involvement. Even without Peter, there were the other instructors and counsellors who made it a fantastic experience, but Pete was Pete - if his name was on it, he had to be part of it.
In a few hours I will pick up my son from his first day of camp and he'll be chattering away non-stop telling me all about his adventures. He'll go on about who did this, who did that, what So-and-So said and why he didn't get a super-mega-pack-o-sugarettos for lunch.
Today I will pick up my son from camp and realise life really does go on, no matter what we planned.
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Farewell Sweet Zez: R.I.P. Peter Zezel
The most heart-wrenching thing is for a parent to outlive a child. I witnessed my parents go through it and it pains me to think of what Peter Zezel's family is going through tonight.
It was one week and 10 years ago that the Zezel family mourned the death of a precious daughter, granddaughter, and niece - Jilliann, the child of Peter's sister Neda.
Today, they lost a son, brother, and uncle. I don't know their pain, but tonight I know mine. Peter's death has two consolations; his body no longer has to battle against itself, and his spirit, that kind and loving soul, will be reunited with his beloved niece. It comes at a steep price, his remaining niece and nephews, all the others in his life will go on without him.
Attending his hockey camp, everyone had a story of how he had gone out of the way for them, whether it was taking a friend's skates to be sharpened and bringing back a new pair, or looking after a child so you could get to work or school.
I referred to him as the Honest Ed of Toronto hockey and he'd jokingly chastise me, saying something along the lines of Honest Ed providing useful things.
Peter, luv, so did you. Think of how many kids you taught to skate, to stick handle. Think of how many women and girls you made smile over the years. Think of all the players who owned the faceoff circle after you showed them a few tips.
But the most useful thing you did for me was give me a friend, one I met waiting at hockey camp.
Today I wanted to visit you in the hospital, hug the family and friends at your side, and say my goodbyes.
Tonight, the memory of our last meeting is much nicer, no tubes, no machines, no medications. On the last day of March Break camp, I waited for you to finish a conversation with a friend. You looked at me and asked jokingly, "Will you be back in the summer?" I laughed, "Not without a hug." I got a little hug, "C'mon Pete! Arms that strong can do better!" I looked at you, saying, "I'm gonna miss you Pete." and you said "You'll get over it." "Not without another hug - it has to last until July."
I never thought it would have to last the rest of my life.
Your memory will.
It was one week and 10 years ago that the Zezel family mourned the death of a precious daughter, granddaughter, and niece - Jilliann, the child of Peter's sister Neda.
Today, they lost a son, brother, and uncle. I don't know their pain, but tonight I know mine. Peter's death has two consolations; his body no longer has to battle against itself, and his spirit, that kind and loving soul, will be reunited with his beloved niece. It comes at a steep price, his remaining niece and nephews, all the others in his life will go on without him.
Attending his hockey camp, everyone had a story of how he had gone out of the way for them, whether it was taking a friend's skates to be sharpened and bringing back a new pair, or looking after a child so you could get to work or school.
I referred to him as the Honest Ed of Toronto hockey and he'd jokingly chastise me, saying something along the lines of Honest Ed providing useful things.
Peter, luv, so did you. Think of how many kids you taught to skate, to stick handle. Think of how many women and girls you made smile over the years. Think of all the players who owned the faceoff circle after you showed them a few tips.
But the most useful thing you did for me was give me a friend, one I met waiting at hockey camp.
Today I wanted to visit you in the hospital, hug the family and friends at your side, and say my goodbyes.
Tonight, the memory of our last meeting is much nicer, no tubes, no machines, no medications. On the last day of March Break camp, I waited for you to finish a conversation with a friend. You looked at me and asked jokingly, "Will you be back in the summer?" I laughed, "Not without a hug." I got a little hug, "C'mon Pete! Arms that strong can do better!" I looked at you, saying, "I'm gonna miss you Pete." and you said "You'll get over it." "Not without another hug - it has to last until July."
I never thought it would have to last the rest of my life.
Your memory will.
Zezel Fighting Biggest Battle
Rumours of Peter Zezel's death are exaggerated. He is seriously ill but still holding on. Please show your support for him at:
http://www.torontosun.com/sports/hockey/2009/05/26/9569546-sun.html
or:
http://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=home#/group.php?gid=2331529009&ref=ts
We're not letting him go without a fight!
http://www.torontosun.com/sports/hockey/2009/05/26/9569546-sun.html
or:
http://www.facebook.com/home.php?ref=home#/group.php?gid=2331529009&ref=ts
We're not letting him go without a fight!
Monday, May 25, 2009
Please Pull Through, Peter Zezel
Best known as a high-scoring Philadelphia Flyers rookie and part of the Toronto Maple Leafs resurgence in the 90s, Peter Zezel is in another battle for his life.
http://slam.canoe.ca/Slam/Hockey/NHL/2009/05/25/9568941-sun.html
Let's hope he wins this draw and kicks the illness back.
My heart goes out to his family, his parents - there is nothing worse than the fear and uncertainly of a sick child, whether's he's four hours or 44-years old.
Godspeed.
http://slam.canoe.ca/Slam/Hockey/NHL/2009/05/25/9568941-sun.html
Let's hope he wins this draw and kicks the illness back.
My heart goes out to his family, his parents - there is nothing worse than the fear and uncertainly of a sick child, whether's he's four hours or 44-years old.
Godspeed.
Monday, April 20, 2009
A Departure From Hockey Tales
Most men looking for a nibble or two on their privates would select Angelina Jolie to do the honours.
Not a man like Reg Mellor, a legend in the Yorkshire “sport” of trouser legging or trouser ferreting. The tradition involves men tying up their pant cuffs with ropes, dropping a ferret down their pants, and cinching the works with a rope belt at the waist to prevent the animal from escaping. This event does not use fluffy, furry, toy ferrets but real live weasel relatives complete with claws and fangs.
The winner is the man who can survive having the creature in his pants longer than the other participants. Mellor, discovered the sport in his 60s and his original record time was 40 seconds. Over the year he has worked his way up to over five hours – five hours with a “furry piranha” down his pants.
Such a feat could not come about without picking up some tricks, including how to dislodge ferrets from his person. That’s not easily done to wee beasties with jaw strength comparable to pit bulls, but the crusty Barnsley native whacks them near the eyes with a screwdriver.
That’s within the rules of ferret legging, as is dislodging ferrets from one’s body, but only from outside the pants. Apparently this is one time when being “master of your domain” really is taboo.
The only other regulation has to do with performance enhancing substances. Neither man nor ferret can be drugged or drunk. Funny that – if ever an event lent itself to being under the influence of mind and pain altering pharmaceuticals, this would be the hands down winner. As for the question you’re dying to ask…yes, Mellor has been bitten “there.”
"Why, I've had 'em hangin' from me tool for hours an' hours an' hours!,” he boasted. “Two at a time -- one on each side. I been swelled up big as that!," proudly pointing to a five-pound coffee can.
The first North American account of ferret legging came from a 1987 article by writer David Katz. Some naysayers claim the sport is nothing more than a legend, saying it is an urban myth created to poke fun at Yorkshire’s quaint and provincial traditions.
Toronto resident Paul Wilde, an ex-pat from the picturesque village of Huddlesfield, Yorkshire, adamantly denies that. “I’ve heard about it. It’s a tradition, something they used to do in working men’s social clubs.”
Over the years ferret legging has declined, likely because modern men want to protect the brains in their pants more than their ancestors.
Ferret fans fret not – the village of Sedgefield offers ferret racing.
*Mellor quotes from David Katz, “King of the Ferret Leggers,” Outside magazine – October 1987
Not a man like Reg Mellor, a legend in the Yorkshire “sport” of trouser legging or trouser ferreting. The tradition involves men tying up their pant cuffs with ropes, dropping a ferret down their pants, and cinching the works with a rope belt at the waist to prevent the animal from escaping. This event does not use fluffy, furry, toy ferrets but real live weasel relatives complete with claws and fangs.
The winner is the man who can survive having the creature in his pants longer than the other participants. Mellor, discovered the sport in his 60s and his original record time was 40 seconds. Over the year he has worked his way up to over five hours – five hours with a “furry piranha” down his pants.
Such a feat could not come about without picking up some tricks, including how to dislodge ferrets from his person. That’s not easily done to wee beasties with jaw strength comparable to pit bulls, but the crusty Barnsley native whacks them near the eyes with a screwdriver.
That’s within the rules of ferret legging, as is dislodging ferrets from one’s body, but only from outside the pants. Apparently this is one time when being “master of your domain” really is taboo.
The only other regulation has to do with performance enhancing substances. Neither man nor ferret can be drugged or drunk. Funny that – if ever an event lent itself to being under the influence of mind and pain altering pharmaceuticals, this would be the hands down winner. As for the question you’re dying to ask…yes, Mellor has been bitten “there.”
"Why, I've had 'em hangin' from me tool for hours an' hours an' hours!,” he boasted. “Two at a time -- one on each side. I been swelled up big as that!," proudly pointing to a five-pound coffee can.
The first North American account of ferret legging came from a 1987 article by writer David Katz. Some naysayers claim the sport is nothing more than a legend, saying it is an urban myth created to poke fun at Yorkshire’s quaint and provincial traditions.
Toronto resident Paul Wilde, an ex-pat from the picturesque village of Huddlesfield, Yorkshire, adamantly denies that. “I’ve heard about it. It’s a tradition, something they used to do in working men’s social clubs.”
Over the years ferret legging has declined, likely because modern men want to protect the brains in their pants more than their ancestors.
Ferret fans fret not – the village of Sedgefield offers ferret racing.
*Mellor quotes from David Katz, “King of the Ferret Leggers,” Outside magazine – October 1987
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