DIARY

Prime minister of the blue line

                                        by Robert LaFrance

          A few days after you read this, the federal election – the one nobody wanted - will be done. On the subject of elections in general, how about those Leafs? Somebody told me that they were sure to win the Stanley Cup this year. Mind you, the person telling me this was speaking from within a cloud of smoke not necessarily coming from burning tobacco.

          I recall the great rivalries of the 1960s when I was a teenager and thought such things mattered. I was almost nineteen, the same age my son is now, when the Leafs last won the Cup. I was a Canadiens’ fan at the time, probably because most young gaffers who lived near me were Leafs’ fans. Unlike today, I was a little contrary.

          If my level of interest in the Stanley Cup Playoffs were able to be measured, it would scarcely show up. For comparison, if it were 1972 and the Russians were in town, my interest would measure ten on a scale of 1-10, but today it might be up as far as 0.0002. Sorry about that, but since the NHL became an American league, I cannot even feign an interest. I’ve found a new sport that has replaced hockey in my heart.

          I’m talking about poker. Oh, I don’t mean I’ve taken up gambling in any way, but it’s just that poker shows are now common on TV. Talk about watching grass grow. It’s almost up to the excitement of Power Boat TV.

          However, I never thought the idea of a 24-hour Weather Channel would get anywhere either. Trying to discover or predict what people will watch on television is well beyond my dubious mental powers. The point is, I am not watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs and probably won’t until the eventual winner is decided sometime in September, just in time for the 2011-2012 season. It won’t be long before the playoffs and the season openings overlap.

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          It’s almost fishing season! I can’t wait to drag some mighty trout out of the brooks around here. Just think, I can catch as many as FIVE brook trout. I can’t believe it. Think of hauling those beauties out of Muniac Stream and slapping them in the frying pan to be cooked to golden brown perfection just as a pot full of fiddleheads is reaching its own doneness. Five trout, each of them 10 centimetres or more in length. You recognize sarcasm of course.

          All kinds of new seasons are starting now, as we head toward the first of May. LaFrance birthday season for one thing. Four out of five people in our family have birthdays in May; also, my sister’s birthday is in May and my late father’s birthday was in May. What was it about the month of August, nine months before, that resulted in so many May birthdays? Now THERE is a possible topic for a PhD thesis.

          Lawn mowing season, spring cleaning season, painting season, taking off winter tires season, asparagus season, income tax  season – they’re all here or about to arrive, as is the season of high school graduation. For the first time in years, we don’t have a child or a close relative graduating, so it’s party time – maybe some french fries or even some onion rings and a bottle of Dr. Pepper.

          Even as we speak, high school students are starting to obsess (or abscess) about exams even as they watch their university acquaintances arrive home for the summer with horror stories about that calculus final on which they managed to make a D+ and bring up their average.

          You can always tell a nervous student who is about to face exams, especially those who think they are about to graduate, if only they can pull up that math mark. I often quote Harold Green, nephew of Red Green. He and his Uncle Red were looking at Harold’s latest report card on which he received a 43% in math. Harold was planning to go and talk to his math teacher. “If I can only get nine more marks, that would give me a 55, which is the pass mark in that class,” he said.

          Finally, this is the season of changing two mighty important items – underwear and tires. On May 1 old Jimmy Bullarch from up the road always changes from his long winter underwear to his long summer underwear and also changes his snow-tread tires for summer tires on Mayday. “OMG!” He said on Facebook yesterday. “The first of May is on a Sunday. What can I do?”

               I left him sipping lemonade and trying to work out that problem.

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