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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2012-08-23, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, AUGUST 23, 2012. PAGE 5. Iobserve but one Cardinal Rule as I am being prodded and scanned by sullen strangers in the meat processing and dignity rendering plants our airports have become. No joking. No one-liners, Shaggy Dog stories, gags, puns or witty banter with the wand-wielding Gorgons at security. If I see my old pal Jack in the line-up I may wave, semaphore, whistle, warble or tweet a greeting to him. What I will NOT do is bellow “Hi Jack!” Generally speaking the Rent-a-Gropers who staff the security check-ins have limited imagination and absolutely zero sense of humour. I know that any behaviour I exhibit that separates me from the milling herd can lead to an exceedingly tiresome visit to, as Paul Simon called it, The Little Room. And it’s not getting better. Paul Chambers, a 28-year-old Englishman was arrested and convicted for making a joke while on his way to the airport. It happened this way. Chambers was en route to an airport in Yorkshire to take off for a winter vacation. A snowfall closed the airport. Chambers tweeted to his friends: “Crap! The airport’s closed. They’ve got one week to get their s—t together; otherwise I’m blowing the airport sky high!” A lame joke for sure – but Mister Chambers did not send the message to the airport headquarters or to a newspaper reporter or a radio station hot line show – he sent it to his small circle of Twitter friends. His message was somehow intercepted, sent to the Yorkshire police and Chambers was duly arrested, charged and convicted of sending a ‘message of menacing character’. Mr. Chambers hired a lawyer and went to the High Court in London to have the conviction overturned. His defence? It wasn’t a ‘message of menace’; it was a joke. His lawyer opened the argument by quoting a line of poetry: “Come friendly bombs, and fall on Slough…” Surely the author of those lines was at least as culpable as Mister Chambers? Better hope not. The line comes from a poem by Britain’s one-time poet laureate, John Betjeman. And it was meant as a joke. Exhibit B: Some scurrilous advice from a chap named Shakespeare who wrote, “Let’s kill all the lawyers.” To which the Lord Chief Justice commented: “That was a good joke in 1600 and it is still a good joke now.” Mr. Chambers’ lawyer added “And it WAS a joke, my Lord.” Indeed. I’m happy to report that Mr. Chambers won his case, his conviction was quashed and it is once again okay to make jokes – even on Twitter. Even about airports. And there are some splendid airport jokes. Such as the one involving a harried and self- important MP caught in a crowd at the MacDonald-Cartier airport in Ottawa. Once again, a snowstorm had hampered operations; flights were delayed and re-routed, passengers were milling around like herring and the line- ups were long. Nowhere longer than at the WestJet check in booth where a harried ticket agent was doing her best to placate irate travellers. The MP barged through the line and bulled his way up to the desk, demanding a boarding pass. The ticket agent looked at him and said “Sir, as you can see, there are many passengers ahead of you. We’re doing our best to get everyone through just as quickly as possible. I’m afraid you’ll have to get back in the line and wait your turn.” The MP went postal. He thumped the desk and roared “DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?” Not missing a beat, the WestJet ticket agent picked up the public address microphone and announced to the entire airport “Attention, please. We have a gentleman at the WestJet ticket counter who does not know who he is. Anyone who thinks they may know this man is asked at this time to please step forward and identify him. Thank you.” The crowd roared. The man snatched his wheeled suitcase and blustered off, tossing an obscene two-word curse over his shoulder. The WestJet clerk picked up the microphone again and said sweetly: “I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to get in line for that, too.” Arthur Black Other Views The not-so-friendly skies During last week’s meeting of Central Huron Council, I thought perhaps it was the most I had ever heard the word “Zumba” in one sitting. Soon enough I was sure of it. Zumba is described as a Colombian dance fitness program that combines the worlds of dance and aerobics. It incorporates elements of hip-hop, soca, samba, merengue, mambo, martial arts, Bollywood dancing, belly dancing, squats and lunges. The laundry list of elements ensures two things: an eclectic audience and that I will never do it. While a conversation about something such as Zumba seems as if it would be rather light- hearted, it was up for some very real discussion. Tanya Dykstra, owner and operator of Curves gym in Clinton, claims that her business is suffering as a result of the recently- opened Central Huron Community Complex, namely its operation by the YMCA and its duplication of fitness services in the area. The YMCA is indeed offering Zumba classes and makes no bones about it and despite councillors recalling discussion about a no- competition clause, there’s nothing they can do about it. Kathi Lomas-McGee, senior vice-president of operations locally for the YMCA, said that at the time of the organization’s initial assessment in 2010, Zumba wasn’t offered by anyone in the community. Dykstra admits this is true, but she brought in Zumba in 2011 and the YMCA soon implemented the fitness program as well. While councillors said they were under the impression that no competition meant no competition whatsoever, without such a clause actually written into the contract, Lomas- McGee informed councillors that they could not force the YMCA to halt the program. She did say she would work with Dykstra, as well as fellow area club owner Ray Garon, on upcoming programs, but that going forward, she didn’t know what such an agreement would mean for the future of the YMCA in Clinton. As fitness trends change, she made the case, if local gyms “stake their claim” to a new program, is the YMCA then destined to never offer the program, therefore not keeping up with the trends? Lomas-McGee said that once the contract is up for renewal in a few years, councillors can change the agreement however they wish, but that they should then understand that they’re limiting the success of the YMCA and such a restriction will show its face in the organization’s bottom line. While the three operators said they would do their best to work their issues out on their own through meetings, councillors were left with little that they could do to help small business owners in the municipality. Councillors must have been left to wonder if they had created a monster that was going to evolve out of their control. Extreme measures were being discussed like cancelling the municipality’s contract with the YMCA altogether. Councillor Alison Lobb said the clause wasn’t in the contract and that council was to blame. “It’s our fault and we need to accept that,” she said. Now council has to find a balance between the bottom lines of area gyms whose owners pay taxes and have brought businesses to Central Huron and the success or failure of the municipality’s own entity at the Central Huron Community Complex, putting councillors in a tough spot to be sure. Zumba-gate Shawn Loughlin Shawn’s Sense It seems that a lot of what I’m writing lately has centred around one thing; financial trials and tribulations. To say money isn’t usually on my mind, or at least lurking in some dark corner of it, would be an out-and-out lie, but this week I’m going to talk about something a little different; having too much money. Now, I’m definitely not talking about me when I talk about anyone having too much money, but I certainly do fit into the following story. When I was younger (and more athletic and in better shape and so on and so forth) I dreamed of playing for the Montreal Canadiens. I dreamed of being the next Serge Savard or Chris Chelios, holding the blue line for Les Habitants. Never once did I dream of making millions of dollars for doing it however. Yep, that’s where I’m heading with this; the pending lockout. Now I could sit here and badmouth National Hockey League (NHL) Commissioner Gary Bettman (or The Imp as I like to call him) and point out that this is the third lockout in his tenure after he was brought on to quell labour disputes within the league (one of which lead to a full-season lockout), but I’m sure that the finger-pointing needs to be spread around. (And if you want to hear more about my feelings on the worse thing to ever happen to the NHL, Gary Bettman, don’t worry, I’ve started dozens of columns focused on him and one of them will one day be completed.) I’m not here to point fingers though. I’m really here to make a confession and explain why the lockout, while incredibly disappointing, probably won’t affect me that much. I love hockey. I’ve loved hockey since the first time I strapped skates on and had a stick on my hand. When I was young and we had a skating rink in our backyard I would spend nights just circling it working on my skating technique. On that rink, and on many other outdoor rinks I still visit today, I found myself closer connected to whatever spirit governs the great sport of hockey than I have anywhere else. What I’m trying to say here is I would love it if someone offered me my current salary to get in better shape and play the sport I love for all the world to watch. As a point of reference, I make a lot less than even the lowest paid NHL players who made, in the 2011-2012 season, a minimum of $525,000 annually. On average, NHL players make more than $2 million a season. So, on to that confession: I don’t really watch NHL games all that often. Sure, I’ll watch the playoffs until all the Canadian teams (be they from Canada or just mostly Canadian players) are eliminated and of course if I stumble upon a game while visiting friends and family I’ll watch it. However, without cable, I find I can’t remember the last time I watched a game. That doesn’t bother me though; I get enough e-mail updates that I usually know who’s beating whom, who’s injured and how my Habs are doing. If given the choice I’d far rather go to a Goderich Pirates game, a Wingham Ironmen game, a Clinton Radar game or (and I may be dating myself here) a Seaforth Centennaires game, because I love watching people who love playing the game instead of watching people paid to play it. I know there are a lot of players in the NHL who love what they do and I pray that a lot of them would still do it if they only made a fraction of $525,000 a year. That said, listening to the Sidney Crosby and other players last week comment to on the news during a longer-than-average work commute, I have to say that I’m disgusted. I’m disgusted that this pasttime of mine, this passion of mine is nothing more than a labour dispute to some of these players. For me, I’d love just to play on those ice surfaces. I’d love to say I’ve touched the same ice as some of my heroes. To me hockey is about feelings: It’s about taking those first strides during a 6 a.m. practice and loving every second of your cold skates biting your feet and ankles. It’s about the rush of relief as you stare down an opponent’s chest (never look at the eyes) as you strip them of the puck and a scoring chance in a one-on-one rush. It’s about that feeling of triumph as you clear people out of the net for daring to think they could breathe the same air as your goaltender. It’s about the incredible surge of energy you get from the cheers of your team and the boos of your opponent’s fans after laying out someone in a huge mid-ice contact. (What can I say, when I played the game more seriously I was a defenseman and scoring goals was never really high on my list of priorities). It’s about that searing pain in your chest as you finish your first shift of the season and your lungs begin adjusting from being stung by the cold arena air to loving how it feels. It’s about the crisp scent of real ice as you skate on an outdoor rink not about the scent of money. It’s also not about half-heartedly playing in the All-Star game for fear of injuring yourself for the season. Call it cheesy or cliché, but the only numbers that interest me in a hockey game are the number of penalty minutes I get and the 110 per cent I’ll give on the ice. Salary negotiations and caps have no place in my pasttime and I hope the NHL can get to a point where it’s the same for them. Now called Denny’s Broken Record Denny Scott Denny’s Den