Vancouver Canuck fans are not like my baby?

One of my earlier Sports Baby blog posts was titled "Vancouver Canuck fans are like my baby."

When my wife remembered that title she was horrified, what with last month's downtown bonfire and all. She was also horrified by the riot itself, frowning away and eventually choosing to leave the room rather than watch people act so boorishly.

I was the opposite. I couldn't get enough of it. It was a lot more entertaining than the damn game 7, wasn't it?

I feel a little funny writing about the riot so long after it happened but 1) I work for a newspaper that only publishes two sports sections a week so I'm used to reheating cold chicken from time to time; and 2) we're now one month removed from the riot and everyone still seems to be talking about it, so what the hell. Somewhere a Hummer still smoulders.  

As I watched the riot I was thinking:

1. Rob Brown is awesome;

2. Those rioters suck at building barricades; and

3. The claims coming from the cops and mayor — that this was not the work of hockey fans but rather the devil deeds of criminals and "anarchists" — were as silly as the world's tallest jockey. 

Of course a lot of people called bullshit on the mayor and it very quickly became clear that these weren't anarchists at all. They were hockey fans. They were our friends and neighbours. They were Vancouverites. They were car salesmen. They were UBC students. They were water polo players.

Back to my wife. Her horror stemmed from her relatively new designation as "mother." As the drugstore cowboys smashed their way through London Drugs, no doubt stealing Gold Bond powder and other people's vacation photos, my wife couldn't help but repeat the refrain: "those are someone's kids doing this."

And she wasn't thinking about Ma and Pa Anarchist watching on stolen cable TV as they tore the labels off unsold mattresses. The rioters, and their parents, came from all walks of life. A dread passed over my wife as she thought of one day seeing our little guy all grown up and playing air guitar with a smashed up mannequin's leg on the 11 o'clock news. Oh, the shame.

The riot wound down and amazingly no one was killed. But then things got really bad. The public shaming, rage, threats and judgment that followed the riot as seemingly limitless photographic and video evidence emerged was much more frightening to me than people kicking Sears.  

Here's the thing: young people are idiots. I grew up in a very loving, respectable middle-class, two-parent family. I was a good kid. And while I never had physical altercations with the local police force, I can certainly remember my friends and I running and hiding from them on occasion following some idiot teenager shenanigans. Fire may or may not have been involved at some point. Transplant those shenanigans to Robson Street after watching a hockey team lose game 7 and it's not ridiculous to think that my actions could have led me to become one of the famous riot idiots outed by online evidence and anger, the shame following me for life. That would not have been cool.

Back to my son, idiots, and shame. I'm a daddy now so everything I think about revolves around my boy. Here's the question: what if my son had been there? What if I saw him on some grainy news video doing something that looked really bad? What if it ruined his life long before things like the judicial system or facts could be introduced?

Here's a hypothetical: Let's say it's 2029 and the Canucks have finally made it back to the Stanley Cup finals. My boy, now a young man, wants to be a part of the downtown celebration. The following stuff happens. The question is, when should I feel the shame of raising a rioting monster:

Step 1: My son and his friends from his basketball team go to watch game 7 as the Canucks take on expansion franchise the Mexico City Sombreros. (I already feel shame. I can't believe my son is a Canucks fan.)

Step 2: He and his friends are 18 so they're old enough to vote and go to war but not old enough to drink alcohol in B.C. Instead they drink six Red Bulls each.

Step 3: The Canucks, worn out from a long team walk on the Seawall to "find themselves," lose. Trouble starts. Someone burns a stuffed Speedy Gonzalez doll. A nearby hover car is lit on fire. My son and his friends see a young family trying to get away as a mob fight starts nearby. They rush over to help the family leave the area.

Step 4: Though awkward and pimply, the boys are all tall so they become targets for hopped up water polo thugs looking to fight. To keep his friends from getting pummeled, my son says "no no no no no no no" over and over and pushes some dudes back to clear some space. The police barge in with clubs.  

Step 5: Things start to get really dicey so my son and his friends make for a SkyTrain station. On their way out the team's resident jackass (every sports team has one), pissed off about getting clubbed, kicks a store window.

Step 6: Free Holograph Phones! A shower of phones rains out of one of the 168 telecommunication retailers on Robson Street. As wild-eyed water polo players stuff phones down their Speedos all around him, my son scoops up what he can and brings it to a cop who is standing nearby doing nothing. "Eff off," the cop says.

Step 7: My son stuffs a pair of retro skinny jeans into the gas tank of a police car and lights them on fire. Then he punches a police horse in the mouth and runs to Stanley Park and chops down the tallest tree.

As I said, this is a hypothetical. Obviously grown up Sports Baby would never put himself in any of those situations. He'd be off with the Intergalactic Peace Corp saving baby space pandas from Martians or something.

But say it did happen like that. I'd say there's nothing in the first six steps (except cheering for the Canucks) that I could get really upset about and be forced to take away his used, piece of junk 2016 Toyota Prius.

Until Step 7, the token ridiculous joke step, there's not much to really kill a kid over. A little bad judgment mixed in with wrong place at the wrong time. But it's conceivable that at any point between Step 3 and Step 6 a camera or a video recorder or a brand new iHat could have captured him doing what may have appeared to be hardcore rioting. Facebook tag, story in The Province, basketball scholarship to Ball State revoked, poop thrown at our front door, life ruined.

It's not all that far fetched.

Let's come back to 2011 — Awwww, my baby is so cute and such a good boy. Kisses for daddy? High five? Alright! Sorry, I had to reset his future.

Anyway, a coworker of mine has a 15-year-old son whose first time ever venturing downtown with his buds without parental supervision was for game 7 of the Canucks vs. Bruins series. A car flipped and burned right next to them and, because they're good kids who were scared shitless, they ran straight to the nearest cop, told him about the car and asked how they could get out of there. Take that kid one year later and maybe he sticks around a little, laughs with his buds and snaps a few cellphone picks. A camera catches him at the wrong angle and all of a sudden he's another one of the criminals to be tried and convicted on Facebook.

The thought that I was ultimately left with after the riot and its aftermath is that my wife was right. In cases like this — and with the explosion of social media this is only just the beginning — we'd do well to remember that those are people's children out there. I'm not the first to say it and I won't be the last, but before we start doling out online, vigilante justice we all need to realize that every picture does not necessarily tell the whole truth. If the Internet brands you as evil, the sting of that will likely burn your whole life.

As a parent, that would be a pretty horrible thing to see your kid go through. One of my baby's favourite things to do is to knock down toy towers. We build them up and he slams them down with glee. When he does it we all watch and cheer. Uh oh.

What's that slogan? We are all Canucks? Maybe that's not so far from the truth.

Photo: Andy Clark/Reuters

Follow me on Twitter @Sports_Andy

Vancouver Canuck fans are like my baby

Finally something at a sporting event that my baby is really interested in — boobies!

In case you missed it — or haven't gone back in your DVR to rewatch, then pause, then slo-mo forward, then slo-mo backward, then pause, then regular time forward, then pause again — a tanned Vancouver fan punctuated her team's victory Wednesday by flashing her breasts at San Jose thug Ben Eager as he sat in the penalty box, an act that was broadcast across the nation on CBC's Hockey Night in Canada.

As you know, Sports Baby is still too young to watch TV and it's probably for the best as this random boobing likely would have confused him into thinking it was time for a late-night snack. Not sure what he would have made of the piercings, though.

This spirited young gal, however, clinched it for me as I am now fully onboard with this Canucks playoff run. With the Sedins back performing their creepy magic and Ryan Kesler playing with more grit than an ice cream cone dropped on the beach, there's a lot to like about the team these days (except for Bieksa. Who are you going to fight next? The goalie? The masseuse?) Throw in the Green Men and their chesty one-game replacement and you've got yourself an interesting team. An Albertan by birth and blood-beef level, I'm ready to get behind the team of my adopted home at least for these playoffs.     

It's not the first time I've dabbled in Canuck-ism.

Back in 2009 I wrote this in a North Shore News column:

"I'm not going to jump on your bandwagon just yet, but let's just say I hear the music and am not recoiling in disgust. Another series win and maybe I'll start wearing more green and blue (and orange and yellow and red and brown and purple — gosh you've had some horrible uniforms)."

The weird thing is Canuck fans don't seem to want me. Back in 2009 I got a strongly worded response from a gentleman from Surrey suggesting that, and I'm paraphrasing, "the followers of the Vancouver Canucks hockey club will not be needing your rooting interest and you might be better served to go somewhere else and have sexual relations with yourself."

Odd, I thought. But then this year's playoff run heated up with the thrilling Blackhawks series and the Nashville beatdown and Canucks fans started to voice the same kind of opinion.

"The bandwagon is quickly losing passengers!!" one of my Vancouver friends wrote on Facebook as the Canucks struggled to close out Chicago. "All y'all should just get off and STAY OFF." The post was accompanied by a lot of congratulatory harumphing plus the obligatory Maple Leafs fan reminding us why we all hate Toronto the most.

The we-don't-need-your-support argument even made it into the Vancouver Sun where a columnist wrote this, an opinion piece, titled Dear Rest of Canada - Please Get Your Own Hockey Team, that reads like a 15-year-old's first crack at the humour module of his Grade 10 language arts class. 

I don't quite get the thought process here. This isn't some indie band that you can claim you discovered first and then get all moody and backstabby when your dumb friend Monique claims she heard them before you and your bike courier boyfriend ends up dumping you for that big fake Monique and then proposing to her at Burning Man as that very band wraps up their Songwriter Series set.

This is the NHL. This is the only Canadian team left in the playoffs and, along with Boston, the only team with any sort of history that goes beyond "a brief history of fans not knowing anything about hockey."

How are you going to put together a proper riot after the Canucks lose the finals if only fans who have been with them since the Stan "Steamer" Smyl days are invited?

Canuck fans have gotten to my wife. She's refusing to go anywhere near the bandwagon. She may look sweet but she holds grudges — if a few fans tell her they don't want her support for the team, she's taking that to the grave.

I'm not so hardcore. Tampa Bay broke my little Flames-loving heart back in 2004 so I'd love to see the Canucks beat them. San Jose's Patrick Marleau broke the record for world's glumest face so he and his buddy Joe can take a hike too. (I say this even with Marleau on my playoff pool team. That's how serious I am.)

What does this have to do with my baby? Well, as judged by the Twitter-gasms going on Wednesday night, it seems Canuck fans like boobies. Sports Baby likes boobies too. Heck, who doesn't like boobies? It's a party!

Let's end with a video that made me laugh and laugh (and no, it's not the boobies. If you want to see those try everywhereontheinternet.com).

It's baseball players goofing around during a rain delay. Outstanding.


Photo: Getty Images
Follow me on Twitter @Sports_Andy

The playoffs are like my baby

I'm going to start with what is likely the first piece of actual, legitimate parenting advice found on the Sports Baby blog: sleep training works.

In a previous post I lamented that our sleep training program which was meant to get Sports Baby on a consistent and comforting schedule of naps and sleeps was instead putting him onto a consistent schedule of heartbreaking wailing. Nothing goes better with a crisp spring morning than a confused seven-month-old dropping salty tears on his crib sheets as he stares after the father who has put him down and walked away. It sucked more than Donald Trump's latest dinner date (bravo Seth Myers — I'd recommend watching all of the video in that link but you can fast forward to the 12-minute mark for the Trump evisceration if you like).

Anyway, after two weeks the wailing stopped and the napping started. We used the strategy we found in a book called The Sleep Sense Program written by Dana Obleman who is, I would guess, some sort of powerful She-wizard.

Sports Baby figured the sleeping thing out just in time too, because with him on a regular schedule I've been able to catch a lot of the amazing must-see playoff action going on right now. I can say, with mild exaggeration, that these were the greatest combo NBA/NHL playoff first rounds ever.

In the NBA none of the first-round series went to seven games and yet they were all pretty fantastic with some twists and turns and, most of all, star players putting on a show.

The only sweep was Boston over New York but it had to be the closest four-game sweep I've ever seen, if that makes any sense. The Knicks could have, perhaps should have, won the first two in Boston including game 2, which saw Carmelo Anthony put up 42 points, 17 rebounds and six assists in a losing effort. The Atlanta Hawks upset the Magic in six games even though Orlando's Dwight Howard averaged 27 points and 15.5 rebounds per game. Miami and Chicago took care of business against Philadelphia and Indiana, respectively, in five games but both the 76ers and Pacers put up frisky fights. Toronto hosted a clinic for local seventh graders who then went on to defeat the Raptors in a high scoring affair. "They were just making shots," said head coach Jay Triano. "We maybe needed a little more urgency on defence."

In the Western Conference the Lakers beat the Hornets in six even though Chris Paul nearly stole the show by doing his best Jack Layton impression — the leading a team of nobodies to a very respectable finish part, not the having cancer part. In a game 4 win Paul led all players from both teams in points with 27, assists with 15 and rebounds with 13.

Memphis, the No. 8 seed, toppled No. 1 San Antonio in an upset that would have been shocking if it wasn't so thorough — the Spurs never really had a chance against big men Marc Gasol and Zach Randolph, two former immoveable objects (due to fatness) turned unstoppable forces. Oklahoma versus Denver should have been a thrilling speed race but the Nuggets were unfortunately slowed by injuries. Even so, four of the five games were decided by four points or less as the young Thunder moved on.

And then there was Portland vs. Dallas, a series that featured one of the most amazing performances I've ever seen. Portland's Brandon Roy is a three-time all-star who should be in the prime of his career but instead has become a fringe player due to the fact that his knees retired two years ago. In game 2 of the Dallas series Roy played only eight minutes, scoring zero points, and was reduced to tears as he watched the entire second half from the bench. In game 4, however, Roy returned to glory, scoring 18 points in the fourth quarter to lead the Blazers to a two-point victory after they trailed by 23. If you like sports at all and you haven't seen his amazing performance yet, just watch this video. It may be you with tears in your eyes now. And by the way, the Blazers lost the series in six games.

Now, could you imagine, the NHL playoffs were even better. They may not have had the same star power — that's what happens when you let jackal third-liners cripple the careers of stars like Sidney Crosby — but four of the eight matchups went to game 7. Here in Vancouver it was like a Leonard Cohen song: "The whole damn place goes crazy twice and it's once for the devil and once for Christ."

The devil seeped in when the Canuck-killing Chicago Blackhawks won games 4, 5 and 6 to force game 7 after losing the first three games of the series. Christ appeared just in time for this to happen, saving top-seeded Vancouver the embarrassment of being the first ever city to riot following an opening round loss. As they say, the Luongo works in mysterious ways.

In the end there were no major upsets in the NHL, but every team except for Detroit had to work for their series victories (thanks Coyotes — why can't you be doing all this sucking in a place where somewhere will care that you suck so much?).

Not to be outdone, Sports Baby has put on some must-watch performances of his own. Last week he started crawling and he hasn't stopped since. It's pretty adorable. And when I say he's a must-watch I mean it literally as we now can't take our eyes off him for fear he will crawl over to an electrical outlet and discover what burnt toast feels like.  

Looks like I'll be doing some baby proofing this weekend. I don't mind — the playoff second rounds pale so far in comparison to round one-derful (yeah, that's right — I've already fully embraced the terrible daddy puns).

Happy Mother's Day!

Photo: iamatrailblazersfan.com

Follow me on Twitter @Sports_Andy 

The Sedin twins are like my baby

I’m not 100 per cent certain, but I think that my baby is very good looking. I know I’m biased, but I’d like to think that I’d be able to admit it if he looked like a little gargoyle.

When he first came out he was an off-putting grey colour, but that went away within minutes. He also had a massive conehead — it actually freaked me out a little it was so long and pointy — but that amazingly was gone within eight hours.

Since then he’s been pretty darn adorable, in my opinion. I’m a little surprised because I’d say that most babies aren’t particularly comely. Many have blotches, acne or birth marks on their faces that recede over time. Some take a while to grow into their features. Others just have the bad luck of having ugly parents.

It’s not just me, however, who says my baby is adorable. Complete strangers say it too. Often they’ll see me and my wife approaching with our baby and they’ll offer a token, “Aw, isn’t that adorable,” before they actually see his face. When he comes into full view, however, they’ll take a breath in and say, “Wow, he really is a cutie,” as they take a step back and sneak a longer look, their mouths open a half inch more than is generally deemed acceptable.

So how are the Sedins like my baby? I think they’re pretty adorable too. There’s a Sportsnet commercial that airs in Vancouver with the two of them skating towards a camera in a darkened arena before they power-stop simultaneously while shooting identical confident gazes at the camera.

That commercial always makes me smile. To me they look like two big babies dressed up like hockey players. I don’t mean that in an insulting, “they’re helpless, puny crybabies” kind of way. I mean that they seem honest and pure and earnest and they look like they’d smell nice. They’ve also shown admirable perseverance in carving and maintaining their awesome red chinstrap-goatee beards for so long.

Ryan Kesler may be the heart of the Canucks, Roberto Luongo the spine and Kevin Bieksa the rectum, but Daniel and Henrik are the team’s steely and focused blue eyes.

The two of them have actually helped me grow to at first not despise, then tolerate, then perhaps even like the Canucks a little bit. As a kid growing up on the prairies, my allegiance was secured by the Calgary Flames when a tiny man named Theo Fleury went five-hole on Grant Fuhr to topple the mighty Edmonton Oilers at a time when Alberta hockey was the best in the world.

When I wasn’t ignoring the easily-forgettable Canucks of the 1980s I was growing to hate the Canucks of the 1990s and early 2000s. I moved to Vancouver in 2004 at a time when the offensively-inept Canucks of Marcus Naslund, Todd Bertuzzi, Matt Cooke and Ed Jovanovski were either boring you to death or sucker-punching you to paralysis. They were so easy to hate. The twins were there but they were a cute little sideshow.

Now the Sedins are the cute main attraction and I find it almost impossible to hate this team. Believe me, I’ve tried.

I’ve even resolved to make the ultimate fan sacrifice and let my kid cheer for a different team than me if he so chooses (the Sutterville Flames aren’t offering much to cheer about these days anyway). If my son chooses the Canucks, I won’t fight him. Who could, what with that adorable face of his.


Photo Darryl Dyck/Canadian Press
Follow me on Twitter @Sportsbaby
 Darryl Dyck/Canadian Press