There will be others after Stewart, just like there have been others during Stewart. But it's not enough to be an activist, or to be annoying, or to be loud, or to just only occasionally hit the nail on the head, or whatever. Stewart was often left of someone on the right, often right of someone on the left.
We all -- as fans -- pretended we were outraged and shocked when our favourite players, our icons were named to the lists and the reports and the chapters of Jose Canseco's memoir. In fact, we were pretending when we treated these guys as icons in the first place. They're just men... silly, stupid, bloated, inflated men with egos and fears and faults.
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Sunday night's series finale, it's obvious, would have made a much better premiere than the pilot did. It was probably the show's best hour.
In Toronto, it's better bad. It's better like this, with the Leafs believing in only themselves -- believing in nobody but whoever's in that locker room. That means not trusting the always-mocked, never-defined, too-general MEDIA -- going to the mattresses, so to speak. Burying themselves in their bunker until they're one with Lord Stanley's handiwork.
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What country in its right mind would willingly and consciously walk into a Winter Games with the possibility of anything even reaching toward $50 billion on its table? The Sochi Games gave everyone else a chance to think about it for a second, and once you do it's sort of like being sober in a club where all your friends are buying bottle service... you can only get so drunk.
You want to tell me that Michael Sam's sexuality is a distraction? You want to tell me that his presence in the National Football League deserves to be questioned, while Manziel sprays Cleveland with champagne and Blake Bortles, a Central Florida kid, rides in and takes over Jacksonville?
Pushers for Trinity Western and its faith-based law school -- which is an oxymoron up there with civil war and old news -- would like you to believe this whole deal is about religious freedom. How can any law school be able to create, foster, and spit out our next generation of lawyers when it doesn't hold our values? Not just Canadian values but simple human-to-human values.
I feared, way back in 2011, that the league's castoffs had figured out what they apparently now have: it doesn't matter if you do anything illegal in the NHL. You'll get a refreshing, short suspension and the other team you just crippled will still be suffering from it when you get back. That hit by Byron on Sedin was a perfect showcase of the problems Brendan Shanahan has created and then left for this league going forward.
The players have checked out, and they look exhausted. It's not Tortorella's ice time that's killing them... it's the Luongo deal, the Schneider deal, and everything that's happened in the past three seasons. They're chewing old gum, pretending they're still sucking sugar.
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How nice was it to watch an outdoor game in Los Angeles, to not have to care about all those recycled, overdone storylines about "pond hockey" and "childhood memories"? Those teams and their markets may not be perfect and they may not live up to the pretentious ideal us frigid northerners try to hold ourselves to, but they're a part of our game. And they're doing it better than us.
Sunday was probably just great for Saskatchewan. Just grrrreeeeaaaaaaat. I'm sure they were really happy. But I'm sad. As a born Winnipegger with blue bombed blood, I'm sad often, especially when it comes to football. My Bombers are bad and getting worse.
In Tarantino's films, you're always brought to the ledge and hung there for 180 minutes. The hammer always drops, just maybe not in the way you thought it would. Nothing goes unpunished. Nothing goes unrewarded, either.
A piece titled "Why Chivalry Is Dead, From a Man's Perspective," tweaked me. The thing about the norm is, it changes. All the time. It evolves. Personally, ladies of my life, I will continue to hold the door for you, I will continue to bring you soup when you have a cold, and I will always strive to do something nice for you just because it's a Wednesday. And yes, I'd like to treat you to dinner. But I won't do it for the sake of some outdated ideological battle and I won't do it just because you're a woman.
Last Sunday, I spent Jesus's apparent day -- for the first time in nine weeks -- without Breaking Bad. Without Walter White or any of his tics, tendencies, or tacky style. Unlike most who watched Bad, I liked Walter White all the way. I liked him at the beginning, I liked him at the end, and I liked him at his worst.