Mailing it in...

Just don't have it in me right now to go into anything extensive, so instead enjoy the broadcast of the Larky Awards, live and in high def.

Thank you to all who entered and to the accounting firm of Deloitte and Touche for tabulating all the results from the home office in Kenosha, Wisc.

We take a break from our regularly scheduled programming

I never understood people being racist, to be honest.

I didn't really know why one colour of people — simply by pigment and not by something more tangible, or justifiable — would raise furor or prejudices in people of a different complexion.

Blacks: Gangbangers. Whites: Oppressors. Asians: Bad drivers but good at math and not much else. Jews: Cheap. Latinos: Aliens. Natives: Welfare frauds and sniffers.

I'm sure there's others in this word association, but the point is made. Everyone, down deep, has their ugly prejudices that only some allow to show.

I dated an African-American girl once. Her father, with some Irish lineage, had no problem with me. Her mother, and some of that side of the family, never really cozied up to the fact she was dating a white Canadian. I didn't get it. Surely I didn't live through the riots of the 60s in a black man's body, but nor did I live through those same riots in the body of a white man. Nor did I give aid to lynchers, church bombers or backwoods rednecks who didn't want to sip from the same fountain as their black bretheren. Never mind that my knowledge of black history is arguably considerably more advanced than most people — white or black — that you could ask, the fact was I wouldn't be good enough because my skin wasn't the right shade.

So I never got it. But I'm starting to.

I will say to the death there isn't a racist bone in my body, but maybe I'd be lying. In fact, if anyone wants to sleep at night with that thought in their head, they might be lying to themselves too.

Fact is, since living in the City of Brandon for two-plus years, I have been accosted numerous times, a victim of attempted assaults and a victim of a minor assault after living, essentially, nearly three decades in a city that everyone around here refers to with the 'gangland' title.

I'd be a fool to not have noticed that of the countless petty verbal fights I've been in, the many insignificant pushings and shovings and finally, Tuesday night, the not-so-insignificant shotgun that was placed in the back of my head, a large majority of the actions were carried out by the same race of people.

Last night, at a bar, I had a double-barrelled sawed-off jabbed in the back of my head while the small club was robbed blind by a couple of bumbling morons who made off with essentially petty cash but left an elderly man bruised and shaken and the rest of the patrons stunned.

The only terrifying thing about the whole incident was standing in a place where I could see them walk in and approach me the entire time. I saw the masks cloaking their faces, I saw them enter the premisis backwards and I saw them turn to me as they grabbed for their pockets. I was ready for a knife. A knife I felt I could deal with and was ready to. A shotgun was different.

Thus, I'm left sitting and watching it all take place. I took off my grandfather's ring — my most cherished possession — and tucked it in my pocket. And afterwards I'm cursing myself for not doing something anything to a little puke who, only because he had access to a firearm, left a group of grown adults hostage for a few miserable minutes. Any other circumstance, any other time, and this five-foot-nothing wouldn't have been able to punch his way out of a wet paper bag ... with scissors in his hand.

Instead, we're all left in paralysis as victims for those moments and, for the ones following, I'm left raging against anyone I even think might be those guys. And I'm struggling to convince myself that not every one of that colour in this city would do the same thing. Deep down I know it. But deeper down I guess I don't, because it hasn't kept me from looking over my shoulder a little bit more.

And I hate it.

So I don't know whether I loathe Brandon more, or the people that inhabit it. Whether I'm sick of the hillbilly ways of a still-country town trying to be city, or the line of demarcation between the folks that use the word nigger or indian like it's a conjunction, or the lowlifes that walk around like it's their world and we're just happy to live in it.

But lately I've started to know why people feel those racist leanings. Don't think I don't still detest it. I'm just fighting it every minute to not start thinking the same way and change what I've always believed.

For having all those feelings, I still don't know who I hate the most: The people, this god-forsaken city or myself.

---

In light of the mood of the latest post, let's just let one of Brooklyn's finest, Mos Def, leave us with lyric of the day. A brilliant inspection of ghetto life that transcends more than just Flatbush and Bed-Stuy.

Lyric of the Day:
Yo, check it one for Charlie Hustle, two for Steady Rock
Three for the fourth comin live, future shock
It's five dimensions, six senses
Seven firmaments of heaven to hell, 8 Million Stories to tell
Nine planets faithfully keep in orbit
with the probable tenth, the universe expands length
The body of my text posess extra strength
Power-liftin powerless up, out of this, towerin inferno
My ink so hot it burn through the journal
I'm blacker than midnight on Broadway and Myrtle
Hip-Hop past all your tall social hurdles
like the nationwide projects, prison-industry complex
Broken glass wall better keep your alarm set
Streets too loud to ever hear freedom ring
Say evacuate your sleep, it's dangerous to dream
but you chain cats get they CHA-POW, who dead now
Killin fields need blood to graze the cash cow
It's a number game, but shit don't add up somehow
Like I got, 16 to 32 bars to rock it
but only 15 per cent of profits, ever see my pockets like
Sixty-nine billion in the last 20 years
spent on national defense but folks still live in fear like
nearly half of America's largest cities is one-quarter black
That's why they gave Ricky Ross all the crack
Sixteen ounces to a pound, 20 more to a key
A five minute sentence hearing and you no longer free
Forty per cent of Americans own a cell phone
so they can hear, everything that you say when you ain't home
I guess, Michael Jackson was right, "You Are Not Alone"
Rock your hardhat black cause you in the Terrordome
full of hard niggaz, large niggaz, dice tumblers
Young teens and prison greens facin life numbers
Crack mothers, crack babies and AIDS patients
Young bloods can't spell but they could rock you in PlayStation
This new math is whippin mother******s ass
You wanna know how to rhyme you better learn how to add
It's mathematics.
Mos Def, Mathematics from his first solo album of the same name.

Now back in at quarterback...

Well, Kevin Glenn will be inserted back into the Winnipeg Blue Bombers' lineup when they host the Montreal Alouettes on Friday night which should cause the ill-informed, misguided Bomber faithful to rejoice.

Honestly, anyone that knows me knows how much I support and love Winnipeg but the city must have the largest population of morons for fans than any other professional football city in North America.

This isn't about Tee Martin. Quite simply, the offense was stagnant with him at the helm, but to suggest that Tee blew it would be missing a number of significant points.

Instead this is more about Jim Bender. Well, actually, he's just the catalyst. The Winnipeg Sun columnist, in a story in Thursday's edition about the Blue's decision to put Glenn back in at QB after shaking off the effects of a high ankle sprain, led off by saying Bomber fans can now rejoice.

Really? Rejoice? That's the emotion I'm supposed to have right now? Sorry not in Mudville.

The old adage in football goes that you don't lose your job to injury and certainly that applies here for Glenn, the No.1 since well before training camp began. But a funny thing happened before I started "rejoicing", Jim, I realized that the guy we had coming back in was Kevin Glenn. I realized it's a guy who's decision making is suspect, arm strength is barely satisfactory, mobility is hit and miss and whose ability to lead a productive offence has yet to be determined.

But y'know what? There undoubtedly will be Bomber fans that will breath a sigh of relief that Top Gun is back at the helm until they come to terms with the fact that the guy they lust for has about as much chance of leading a team to the Grey Cup as Adam Sandler.

After all, this is what Winnipeg fans do. They chew up whatever quarterback is in charge, spit them out, and then wish they had them back again. If I were in a romantic relationship with the Winnipeg Football Fandom, I would have called for a restraining order 10 years ago.

The same group that hated on Khari Jones during — and after — his remarkable 2001 season in which he threw for 46 touchdowns (46!!!) was just the other day, by way of a CKY-TV poll, wishing he was back. Say what?

Trust me, I was in the stadium watching Khari on a number of occasions and heard the boos. Boos that were followed shortly after by me shouting back to the rest of our section to shut the hell up.

To be honest, the Bombers would be better off with Khari right now. A veteran guy who the rest of the offence would rally around and could at least give some hope of putting points on the board.

But we still wouldn't be winning much. There's bigger canyons to fill and a much pinker elephant in the room to acknowledge than just the quarterback. Receivers dropped balls (Kamau Peterson should have won the game against Calgary two weeks ago), DB's missed assignments (Wes Lysack got burned on a double move that set up the game-winning field goal against Edmonton last week) and seven offensive co-ordinators in the past eight seasons.

The offence is putrid not only because of the guy calling the signals under the centre's butt. But that's the spotlight guy and the one that most Winnipeg fans choose on which to heap their praise and piss.

The lineage of quarterbacks in this city has certainly veered off a track of success one time or another, but they all have one thing in common: At some point in their careers here they heard it from the Winnipeg Stadium fans who always know better than the bosses on the sideline and who always think the guy on the field isn't as good as the T.J. Rubley or Troy Kopp backing him up. (Note to supporters: Kopp earned your adolation for a one-hit wonder performance backing up Kerwin Bell but is most famous and memorable for holding out on the team the following season and then getting in a car accident.)

But here's where I am different (and thus of course qualified to give you all your opinions): I'm going to bat with whoever we put in there and I'm not turning my back on a team of which you're supposed to be a supporter. I'm not excited about our situation but if you're a fan, you pull through it and tough it out. It's not always winning seasons and big ol' rings.

But not Winnipeg. Nope, no matter how incompetent our head coach is, no matter how porous our pass coverage is or how confounding our play calling might be, through thick and thin; rain, snow, sleet or hail, we're going to boo our quarterback. (Even if he did pass for 713 yards the game before or for 46 TDs last season). We're going to boo him and gloss over all the other glaring problems that desperately need to be dealt with.

So buckle in and watch Kevin Glenn lead the Bombers and be ready when the boos come because, no matter what he does, eventually they will come. After all, you'll be watching alongside the most foolish, ill-informed and borderline incoherent fan group in the nation.

Rejoice.

And now a word...

Hey did ya ever notice how commercials stink?

And, hey, did ya ever notice how puppies are cute and winning the lottery has the uncanny way of picking up your day?

Me too, kiddo!

But honestly, how rare is it nowadays to actually find a good commercial? Never mind a great commercial. Pretty fricken' rare, my friends. We're in the same broadcast universe where whoever has been green-lighting those McCain ads has managed to keep a secure job for the past two decades.

With that in mind, here's the worst commercials currently running on TV. As always, feedback is welcomed.

• Tim Horton's "The Guy Who Really Likes The Cookies".
››››› The Highlights: Scene at some generic office building where the boss is brainstorming with a group of geniuses whose best contributions are "we have to get there before our competitors do" and "what if they do beat us there?". The cookie guy responds "touche" and reaches for a cookie. Hilarity ensues.

• Speed Stick "Foreign Dub Special"
››››› This is so bad, I'm not entirely sure it's for Speed Stick, but I'm guessing that it is.

The Highlights: Some frisky little eastern block girlfriend arrives home with her apparently common-law boyfriend in the shower. She's shocked that his shirt doesn't reak after his jog, making their living in sin arrangement a little more tolerable evidently. The commercial's god-awful quality is enough right there but the coup de gras is the fact the entire thing is dubbed. Canada couldn't find a few actors to get into character for this intensely strenuous bit of role-playing — true thespians were needed — so we had to import this little piece of genius from, oh let's just say,... Bulgaria. Hilarity ensues.

• A & W "You Fixed The Car Now Do Something About The Wife"
›››››› The fast food chain has really made a solid run at being a contender for worst series of commercials.

The Highlights: In this particular A & Dub offering, a man has put the finishing touches on his pride and joy: A restoration job on a cherry red '66 Mustang. The loving wife returns home and not even trying to hold back her disdainful sarcasm says "what'd that take you, three years?" The loving husband, and father we presume, shakes off the unnecessary jab and offers to take his tart of a wife for a driving date, turns on a nostalgic 50s tune and goes to the A & W. He flashes the lights towards the restaurant — just like back in the day — as he's arranged to be served at the car. Through all of this, the wife can barely even purse her lips to get her decrepit old mouth to form the fragments of a smile. You ungrateful tart. Is this a marketing strategy? Having the most detestable character in the history of TV ads to pitch the good ol' days and nostalgia of bygone years?

• Canadian Tire "You Mean You Don't Have This Tool Yet?"
›››››› The Highlights: This husband-wife combo has been pitching various inventions available at your local Canadian Tire store for a couple years now and they never seem to get less pretentious about it. Their neighbours are falling over themselves to try the newest pressure washer or leaf mulcher that the couple is all-too-willing to lord over them. The husband, who might be Steven Keaton of Family Ties fame, is utterly giddy any time he can show off his new air mattress or his brand new grill brush-slash-bike pump-slash-cell phone car adapter that he just picked up the other day. The wife is equally pleased being able to have 'girl talk' with the other wives about how much usage Steven gets out of the dog kennell-slash-bike rack-slash-turkey fryer they stumbled across during their bi-weekly trip on Tuesday.

What they don't mention is the price tag on all this usefullness: $859,476.32. And the Canadian Tire money in return for your purchases? $1.48

But the winner that takes it all, is ...

• Saturn "We're About The People"
›››››› Whether it's going back to the earliest ads that showed the car company's policy of putting customer's pictures on the walls, or to the most recent line in which the company literally brings its customers to tears of joy, Saturn has always had a knack for phonily tugging at heartstrings with completely contrived story lines and pathetic attempts at sincerity.

The Highlights: The three that stand out most are the girl who's overseas and has her car ordered up and ready to go only a Saturn dealer greets her at the airport with her keys and car ready for her; the 30-day money back guarantee ad in which a girl loses her job, returns to the dealership sobbing because she can't afford her car leading to this exchange:

HIM: Don't worry because ...
HER: The money back guarantee? (sobbing)
HIM: (Wistfully, head cocked) Yes.
HER: When I get another job, don't worry, because I'm buying a Saturn.

Then, a la The Littlest Hobo, she walks off into the sunset with nary a look back at the earthly saint that she has just crossed paths with.

And finally, the monologue ad from a woman who's picking up her boyfriend at the airport and talking about how great he is and how he's everything she wants in a man. And "not to compare a man to a car, but... *dramatic pause*... that's why I bought a Saturn."

Good christ.

Scotia Bank has thankfully taken its run of ads off the air now in which the family is moving to a new house but the wife can't bear to leave because she can't get her eyes off the wall where the children's heights were measured.

"It's just... that... this is where the kids grew up." And CUE DIDO!

I'm not a fan of fake emotion, especially in the guise of selling RRSPs.

In the words of Dennis Miller, of course that's just my opinion. I could be wrong.

Lyric of the day:
(Hello and welcome to MeatShake)
Hi
Hi, how are you there?
(I am doing meaty good)
Yeah..
(Well, may I take your order) Yeah, my wife would like a shake
(Okay, what flavor do you want? We have chicken, pork or steak)
Huh? (We also have our special of the month Turkey Jerky
So which one will it be?) Mh - I think that you misheard me
(Hello?) Maybe I spoke too soft or you just didn't listen
(You said you want a shake) Yeah, but then you mentioned chicken?
(Uh-huh, or steak or pork or Turkey Jerky) Right, I'm confused
(Oh, I see you're not familiar with ingredients we use
First we take a measure of the sweetest dairy creams
Combine it with your meat of choice, along with cheese and beans
We mix it in a juicy batter, then we heat it up
And add the secret syrup, then serve it in a cup)
Yuck! That sounds disgusting (I see you're not excited)
But wait until you tried it, you'll want it in your diet)
Ah-ah (It's a warm and tasty way to eat your daily beef
And it's very, very smooth, you don't have to use your teeth
It's kinda like the brooth a pregnant women gives her fetus
It builds you up and makes you strong) People really eat this?
(We've served a half a million and they've all been satisfied
We're expanding new locations and they're growing nationwide)
But back to the shake (Okay) All you have are meats?
(Ah-ha) What about chocolate, strawberry or peach?
(Well, we do have vanilla) Now that sounds delicious
(But it's Vanilla Ham, we only make it during Christmas
Maybe you'd be happier to go across the street
You could eat at Veggie Hut where they don't use any meat
They play world music so it's perfect for a hippie
You can talk about communism, meat-hating sissy)
What?
(Beat it granolas)
We're not granolas
(Don't you have a protest to get to or something?)
That's so lame, this place sucks
So rude, honey, he just called me a sissy to my face
I'm not a sissy
(Shouldn't you be reading _Dianetics_?)
We're outta here
Ugly Duckling, The Drive Thru

Crazy town

The chosen one from the land of the frozen sun
When drunk nights get remembered more than sober ones

That lyric has stayed in my head for the longest time. I love it. So I've made it — part of the hottest two minutes of music of 2005 — part of the lyric of the day below.

---

Pittsburgh has been a pretty odd place as of late.

A couple of items have surfaced out of the Steel City in the last week or so that followed up the somewhat bizarre and entirely eyebrow-raising story of the deceased Steelers' fan that was placed on a stage decked in Steeler gear for visitation.

But hey, the Smoky City wasn't done there. Witness this little ditty which probably falls under the most unconscionable action of the week. Now, it would be very easy for me to make jokes here. But I won't.

(Instead, if you're hanging out with me at some point I'll just tell you them then.)

Then there was this impersonator who clearly hadn't thought out his plan too well. On one hand you're trying to impersonate Ben Roethlisberger who has become one of the most recognizable celebrities in the city and then you're trying to impersonate Brian St. Pierre, the Steelers' fourth stringer at QB and a man who even the most diehard fans couldn't pick out of a lineup — or care to for that matter — if he was wearing his jersey and throwing spirals too them.

I especially love his suggestion to one woman that she watch a game sometime.

HIM: Hey you should check out our game against Cleveland on Sunday, it's on TV, y'know?
HER: Oh really? Well I'd love to come. Think you can get me tickets?
HIM: Um, no. No I can't.
HER: You play on the team but can't get tickets?
HIM: They don't let us do that anymore. Yeah, Oliver Ross was really abusing that privilege, inviting cousins and neighbours and all that. Yeah, that's why we let him go.

A real Casanova, that one.

Still, as bone-headed as those two are, they are not nearly Darwin Award material, the annual benchmark for idiocy on the planet Earth. Let's have a look shall we?


1. When his 38-caliber revolver failed to fire at his intended victim during a holdup in Long Beach, California, would-be robber James Elliot did something that can only inspire wonder. He peered down the barrel and tried the trigger again. This time it worked....

And now, the honorable mentions:

1. The chef at a hotel in Switzerland lost a finger in a meat cutting machine and, after a little hopping around, submitted a claim to his insurance company. The company expecting negligence, sent out one of its men to have a look for himself. He tried the machine and lost a finger.  The chef's claim was approved.

2. A man who shoveled snow for an hour to clear a space for his car during a blizzard in Chicago returned with his Vehicle to find a woman had taken the space. Understandably, he shot her.

3. After stopping for drinks at an illegal bar, a Zimbabwean bus driver found that the 20 mental patients he was supposed to be transporting from Harare to Bulawayo had escaped. Not wanting to admit his incompetence, the driver went to a nearby bus stop and offered everyone waiting there a free ride. He then delivered the passengers to the mental hospital, telling the staff that the patients were very excitable and prone to bizarre fantasies.

The deception wasn't discovered for 3 days.

4. An American teenager was in the hospital recovering from serious head wounds received from an oncoming train. When asked how he received the injuries, the lad told police that he was simply trying to see how close he could get his head to a moving train before he was hit.

5. A man walked into a Louisiana Circle-K, put a $20 bill on the counter, and asked for change. When the clerk opened the cash drawer, the man pulled a gun and asked for all the cash in the register, which the clerk promptly provided. The man took the cash from the clerk and fled, leaving the $20 bill on the counter. The total amount of cash he got from the drawer...$15.

(If someone points a gun at you and gives you money, is a crime committed?)

6. Seems an Arkansas guy wanted some beer pretty badly. He decided that he'd just throw a cinder block through a liquor store window, grab some booze, and run. So he lifted the cinder block and heaved it over his head at the window. The cinder block bounced back and hit the would-be thief on the head, knocking him unconscious. The liquor store window was made of Plexiglas. The whole event was caught on videotape.

7. As a female shopper exited a New York convenience store, a man grabbed her purse and ran. The clerk called 911 immediately, and the woman was able to give them a detailed description of the snatcher.  Within minutes, the police apprehended the snatcher. They put him in the car and drove back to the store. The thief was then taken out of the car and told to stand there for a positive ID. To which he replied, "Yes, officer, that's her. That's the lady I stole the purse from."

8. The Ann Arbor News crime column reported that a man walked intoa Burger King in Ypsilanti, Michigan, at 5 a.m., flashed a gun, and demanded cash.

The clerk turned him down because he said he couldn't open the cash register without a food order. When the man ordered onion rings, the clerk said they weren't available for breakfast. The man, frustrated, walked away.

A 5-STAR STUPIDITY AWARD WINNER! When a man attempted to siphon gasoline from a motor home parked on a Seattle street, he got much more than he bargained for. Police arrived at the scene to find a very sick man curled up next to a motor home near spilled sewage. A police spokesman said that the man admitted to trying to steal gasoline and plugged his siphon hose into the motor home's sewage tank by mistake. The owner of the vehicle declined to press charges, saying that it was the best laugh he'd ever had.

Lyric of the Day
I want to be as free as the spirits of those who left
I'm talking Malcom, Coltrane, my man Yusef
Through death through conception
New breath and resurrection
For moms, new steps in her direction
In the right way
Told inside is where the fight lay
And everything a nigga do may not be what he might say
Chicago nights stay, stay on the mind
But I write many lives and lay on these lines
Wave the signs of the times
Many say the grind's on the mind
Shorties blunted-eyed and everyone wanna rhyme
Bush pushing lies, killers immortalized
We got arms but won't reach for the skies
Waiting for the Lord to rise
I look into my daughter's eyes
And realize that I'ma learn through her
The Messiah, might even return through her
If I'ma do it, I gotta change the world through her
Furs and a Benz, hypes wantin 'em
Demons and old friends, pops they hauntin' him
The chosen one from the land of the frozen sun
When drunk nights get remembered more than sober ones
Walk like warriors, we were never told to run
Explored the world to return to where my soul begun
Never looking back or too far in front of me
The present is a gift
and I just wanna BE
Common, Be from the album Be

Oy, blymie!

Spent some time after work going through some ringtones for the cell because I've grown entirely sick of the lame ones that the people of Sony Ericsson provided on the phone. I stumbled across the fight song for the University of Nebraska, "Dear Old Nebraska U".

The fight song is a beautiful thing. Whether it's college football or European football. All this lead me to search a bit on the Liverpool FC's famous anthem "You'll Never Walk Alone" (crowd version link located below lyrics) popularized by Liverpudlians Gerry and The Pacemakers and now a fixture not only in Liverpool but around many soccer grounds around Europe. Ironic really, that a song that's lyrics can invoke such emotion and has a saccharine tinge to it is sung with such endearing earnestness by a group of people notoriously known as some of society's biggest maniacs and hooligans. Maybe that adds to it, but chalk it up as one of the things I would love to do before I die: Sit in Anfield and sing You'll Never Walk Alone.

Not that I'm thinking of my own mortality, but that song would also be well played at my funeral.

Quickly changing subjects ...

The MLB all-star game goes Tuesday in Detroit and the home run derby later tonight will have a different format than past years. The contestants will be selected by country meaning that Canada has a horse in the race by the name of Jason Bay, last year's National League rookie of the year. The new format, however, ensures that because only one player can represent, say, the U.S., there are some quality guys that won't be swinging for the fences (Derrek Lee for instance). With that said, Mark Teixeira of the Texas Rangers, the current AL leader for round trips, isn't a bad horse to pin some hopes on. Bay, too, has some pop and with this year's competition lacking star power, no reason why the Trail, B.C. boy couldn't have a shot at it.

And before anyone objects to the suggestion that this year's comp will lack some shine, the likes of Bobby Abreu, Hee Sop-Choi, Carlos Lee and, to be fair, Bay as well, don't get the average fan salivating.

Continuing on my oft-successful prediction train: Papi Ortiz is my pick.

Delayed

Alright, let's be straight, it's been awhile since I've checked in with the blog and put thoughts from fingers to key. So let's get it on.

First off, lyric of the day for today is by request from Curtis Brown. CuBro shocked the world by playing a CD at his new house the other day that was the blackest I've ever seen him. Bob Marley was joined by the likes of The Roots, Mos Def and others. So not only did he burn a hip hop/reggae CD, he made it a pretty darn good one too. Props. (That mean's good job CuBro).

Sometimes at work, I'll strap on my headphones and load up iTunes on my computer and just listen to the urban radio stations provided. It's really the only way I can try and keep remotely in touch with the hip hop world while living in the land of 10 gallon hats and plaid shirts. Worse yet, the only folks around here that think they're hip hop are so ridiculously far from it, that you'd almost rather chill with Waylon Jennings and Kenny Chesney.

Wearing a cheap Exco "05" jersey and blasting 50 Cent out of your Hyndai, doesn't work. If hip hop wasn't so great in its finest form, I'd almost suggest that we collapse the genre — kinda like we should do to the NHL right now — and build it back up to lose ourselves of all the studio gangsters that infect the music.

Anyway, I've been on that rant before.

Ahh, just for the heck of it, let's do a list of five. As always, the completely random barometer of what is and what isn't.

1. Glen Hnatiuk getting love at the John Deere Classic.
2. Caribana
3. MLB.com Beat the Streak
4. This guy.
5. Cabbage leaves. With temps pushing over 40 degrees C in Manitoba, it's an idea that I'm no longer just entertaining. Expect to see me with foliage on my head at some point soon.

Without further adieu, by request, bang your head to this:

Lyric of the Day:
Yes, I am the inescapable, the irresistable,
The unnegotiable, the unchallenged [who dat?]
I am time
I scroll in measurements, control the elements,
I hold the evidence, I tell the story [say what?]
I am time
I know no prejudice, I bare no sentiments
For wealth or settlement, I move forward [who you?]
I am time
You can't recover me, conceal or smuggle me,
Retreat or run from me, crawl up or under me,
You can't do much for me besides serve
Me well and have good dividends returned to you
Or attempt to kill me off and have me murder you
Many have wasted me but now they are facing me,
Treated me unfaithfully and now endure me painfully
Plaintively, I wait to see what history will shape to be,
Who's hearts will never die inside the sake of me
Angel's scribe the page for me,
Keep a full account of all the names for me
And make a special mark for Hurricane who waited patiently.
Mos Def from The Hurricane

Sack, fumble, pick, sack, fumble, pick

Tee Martin certainly wasn't the second coming of Christ in his debut as a Winnipeg Blue Bomber.

The former national champion with the Tennessee Volunteers and third-string NFL'er was far from splendid in Thursday's loss in Winnipeg to the Edmonton Eskimos.

Still, while all the attention was understandably on Martin heading into the game and much of the negative feeback centres around him following a pitiful Bombers' performance, it is far from accurate to feed all the negative light on him in his debut. Yet, that's likely what most onlookers will do, especially in Winnipeg — where quarterbacks go to be hanged in the court of public opinion.

What Thursday's loss did expose, however, is a few glaring issues that, even two weeks into the season, are enough cause for concern to Bomber fans.

More indicative of Martin's play than anything was how pathetic the offensive line is right now. That fact is just amplified by the fact that Charles Roberts, arguably the most dynamic back in the league, has rushed for roughly -25 yards on 48 carries this year. (I made that stat up. It's actually 47 carries, but I need to make a point). Martin, the most mobile quarterback the Bombers have had since Matt Dunigan in the early 90s, was sacked three times in the first quarter alone. Once your team has established that kind of track record early on in the game, any rhythm is out the window. Martin was running for his life.

Jason Tucker's 105-yard touchdown pass — the longest in Eskimo history — pointed out maybe the most glaring weakness for Winnipeg, its secondary that hasn't improved in years. Not since 2001, when Juran Bolden was one of the most imposing defensive backs in the league, have the Blue DBs been remotely respectable, and even then they weren't setting the world on fire. Now it's just sad.

The DBs are at the mercy of good quarterbacks too because, despite the much-publicized additions to the defensive dozen, the front seven has picked up right where last year's unit left off: Nowhere near the other team's quarterback. The pass rush is invisible, evidenced by the fact the Eskimos' opening drive didn't even see a second down until Edmonton had reached the Bombers 20. Ridiculous.

It's an 18-game season, we have to realize. Tee Martin will improve but everything around him has to get significantly better quick. Luckily there's still 16 more games to go.