Dear Canada. Way to go, you hosers. Did yourself proud and put on one heck of an Olympics. Congratulations for providing an incredible seventeen days of thrills and spills on the ice and snow and in the slush and fog. That was a winter games for the ages, except for that excruciatingly obvious lack of winter thing. As it turns out, Washington DC might have been a better host city, but who knew? Although, a quick call to Al Gore might have been worth the international toll call charges.
May I also offer up a big old heaping pile of thanks for keeping Celine Dion out of the Opening Ceremonies. I’m sure it was under the direction of Prime Minister Harper, counseled by a group of high- powered Ottawa lawyers to comply with certain articles of the Geneva Convention, but still, please accept the grateful indebtedness of an entire planet. Then again, no Neil Young? I think you missed a slam- dunk there, eh?
And good on you for winning the most golds. You may not have owned the whole podium but you certainly did hog that center platform, didn’t you? You really deserve to go out and celebrate. Use a pocket full of loonies and buy yourself some extra gravy to pour over your poutine.
Not to mention, could Bob & Doug McKenzie have asked for a more exciting conclusion? Yes, I’m talking the hockey final. At the arena you call The Hockey Place. Which I love. “What should we call that place where they play the hockey there?” “Oh, I know. The Hockey Place.” That is so you.
Of course, you must be aware we allowed you win. Yeah. We did. Threw the match. Let the red and white triumph over the red, white and blue. I mean, come on, its hockey. It just seemed to mean so much more to you. And you were the hosts and it being your national sport and all. And you know what, it just felt like the right thing to do. Now, the Russians in 80, that was a different matter. And by the way, where were you in that? Oh that’s right, you missed the medal round. See, you let us win on our home ice. We did the same for you. Don’t you always take a dive when it comes to Olympic baseball? Quid pro zamboni.
You know that phrase, “we really couldn’t care less.” Nailed it. Have you seen the ratings for the Stanley Cup down here? Regularly gets beat out by “Murder, She Wrote” reruns on the Hallmark Channel. We wouldn’t know a blue line from fuschia linen pillow cases. For US sports fans, hockey ranks right behind the women’s NCAA sweet 16 for water polo.
Not trying to hork your excitement here, but I mean, come on. You Canuckleheads must have had known something was up. A notion. A glimmer of a suspicion. A slight case of dubiosity. Telltale signs were everywhere. Remember we wiped the ice with you in the prelims. Huh? All part of the script. Then, who’s the hero? Nova Scotian, Sidney Crosby, old number 87, scores the winning goal in overtime? You telling me you didn’t know it was a set up? How bout this: you don’t say nothing, we don’t say nothing. No need to thank us; what are neighbors for? Anyhow, once again, well done on the great games, and oh yeah, love your bacon. But you know what, it tastes a lot like ham.
Will Durst is a San Francisco based political comic who writes sometimes. This is an example.
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