The curse lives on

I followed up a trip to Moncton last week (trying two new places during my visit: Taverna and Bâton Rouge; the former is pretty good, but the latter was as meh as I expected and twice as weird) with a one-night trip to Montreal. I had a plan to see my fifth-ever Canadiens game in Montreal in 2025, and just snuck it in before the end of the year.

After a couple nice days back home in Toronto, I headed back to Billy Bishop airport. It was snowing in Toronto, but my flight hit the goodness trifecta: left on time, arrived without incident, and the seat next to me was empty. Can’t ask for more. (Also, the flight attendant on this flight gave me a whole can of pop, while the flight attendant on my Moncton->Toronto flight two days ago gave me a heavy pour of red wine and offered me a second class. I guess I look thirsty.)

I landed at YUL to find a new Uber setup, which I think every airport should copy. On the drive into downtown, I saw some “FUCK ICE” graffiti, which obviously speaks to our political moment in North America, but is probably also an annual sentiment in Montreal.

I arrived at the Centre Sheraton, a location chosen only because I had enough Bonvoy points for a free night, and because it’s about as close as you can get to the Bell Centre, otherwise it would not be on my list. But it was fine for a night, even if the elevators made constant noise.

In search of coffee and tide-over snacks, I popped around the corner to Melk for a cortado and a scone. I finished the book I’ve been reading (Terror from the Air by Peter Sloterdijk), bought some beans to bring home, and walked back to the hotel.

After a couple of relaxing hours I went for an early dinner at Bar Edicola, not far from the hotel. (Thank goodness; it was a full-fledged winter storm now.) It’s essentially a long counter, but the vibes were pretty great. I had a glass of some weird Italian Pinot variant, some heavy soft warm oily bread, a glass of Trebbiano, a plate of ricotta agnolotti, a glass of Nebbiolo, and espresso. Solid meal all around, and perfect for a snowy night.

It was almost time for the game, so I stopped back at the hotel to change into my Montreal jersey and add some extra layers. A short (but cold & snowy) walk later I was settled in, watching the Canadiens take on St. Louis. Now, the curse of my presence at a Montreal home game — once at the old Forum, three times at the Bell Centre — is well documented, so I was a little nervous to go. Sadly, I was right to be nervous: they lost 4-3 to the middling Blues. Apart from a 65-second span to start the second period the Habs outplayed and out-chanced them, but that brief lapse was enough to give away the game. Dejected, I walked home through the snow with the crowds. At least I got to have a Bell Centre hot dog.

The next morning I woke up and had some pretty friggin’ delicious pain perdu downstairs at Stanley. (I’d thought about venturing out for some breakfast, but it was -25° with the windchill.) Some showering, packing, and relaxing later and I was on my way to the airport for my flight home. Not so lucky with the flight this time — it was on time and relatively uneventful, but someone sat next to me, and a lady right in front of me just opened up a can of flaky salmon and ate it with a fork like as if she hadn’t set up a stink bomb in the pressured tube of an airplane. Stunk harder than the Habs at the start of period two last night. (Hey-o.)

I’m glad I’ve gotten to see the Canadiens beat the Leafs here in Toronto a few times, because I’m starting to think I’ll never get to see it happen in Montreal. Frankly, I kind want to give up trying — not because I believe I’m actually unlucky for them, but because it’s kind of a bummer to keep experiencing losses and never get the win.

Ah, who am I kidding? I’ll be back next year.

Stars are born

It’s been a week since the Blue Jays lost game 7 of the World Series in heartbreaking fashion. I could hardly stand to watch it, and I felt sick to my stomach when it was over. Frankly, it would have been easier if they had just lost in five like oddsmakers thought they would.

Now, with a few days’ distance, I can admire the season it was…especially when they started the season so piss-poor. The highlights, from the CBC:

A team that finished dead last in the American League East last season won the division for the first time in a decade and made it to within one swing — several times — of winning the World Series. They beat the hated Yankees in the playoffs, and George Springer joined the Mount Rushmore of big Jays homers with his go-ahead blast in Game 7 of the ALCS against Seattle.

Guerrero had a post-season for the ages, belting eight homers to tie Ohtani for the lead while batting an absurd .397/494/.795 and playing outstanding defence at first. He would have been the World Series MVP if just one of those big plays had gone Toronto’s way.

Bichette, who came up through the minors with Guerrero, returned from a seven-week absence due to a sprained knee to bravely bat .348 in the World Series — and nearly go down in Jays lore with that three-run homer in Game 7. Mad Max Scherzer, still crazy after 41 years, turned back the clock with 4⅓ innings of one-run ball in Game 7 — and showed the fans how much it, and they, meant to him as he walked (reluctantly, as always) off the mound.

New fan favourites emerged too. Yesavage, just 22 years old, struck out a World Series rookie record 12 batters in Game 5 — just his eighth big-league start. Barger hit .367 with three homers in the playoffs, including a huge two-run blast in a do-or-die Game 6 vs. Seattle. Good guy Davis Schneider got his big moment with a home run on the very first pitch of Game 5 at Dodger Stadium. And, of course, the delightful Clement batted a scorching .411 in the playoffs, broke the record for most hits in a single post-season, and nearly became the Joe Carter of his generation until Pages robbed him in the bottom of the ninth of Game 7. Pretty remarkable stuff, especially after Clement revealed that he’d been playing with a hairline fracture in his left middle finger.

I really hope they can mount another charge next year. It was such a thrilling ride, and I’m hoping their contention window might stay open long enough for the Canadiens to open theirs.

Peak sports hope

This is probably the highest my team sports hope will get all year.

In a few hours the Blue Jays, who finished atop the American League, will begin the ALDS against the Yankees. When they started the season I didn’t picture them winning the AL and getting a bye into the second round, but they made believers out of many as the season wore on. Oddsmakers have them losing to the Yanks, but I have hope.

In four days the Montreal Canadiens will begin their new NHL season. They surprised many by sneaking into the playoffs last year. The consensus seems to be that they might just sneak in again, but maybe they can take another step forward? I have hope.

Two days after that, the Raptors kick off their exhibition season. I’m under no delusion the Raps will even contend for the playoffs this year, but for growth and development…I have hope.

There’s a pretty good chance that my collective hope for these teams will never be higher than it is today. So I choose to be optimistic, even if cautiously so. For all the long shots out there today.

Contention window

Earlier this week the Montreal Canadiens were knocked out of their first round playoff series by Washington, in five games. Years ago this would have felt like a dismal failure. This year, it felt like progress.

Since a disastrous season following their Cinderella run to the cup final in 2021, the Habs have been in a rebuild. Their objective to start the year was to be playing competitive games in March and April. Before the season began The Athletic gave them a 4% chance of making the playoffs; that prediction fell to 1% as late as Feb 10th. After the break, though, Montreal stormed back up the rankings, clinching the last playoff spot in the East in their final game of the season.

Gone are the days where any team can contend year in and year out — this is the new reality. You take some bad years, build through the draft and smart trades, and hope to get to a contention window for a few years. Now, a few years in, there’s a solid core in place (Lane Hutson is likely to win the Calder trophy; if he does, he’ll be the first Habs rookie to do it since Ken Dryden in 1972), with lots of upside still left to be realized. A playoff series like this against one of the best teams in the league is invaluable experience. They’ll be an exciting team to watch for a while, assuming they can avoid a Buffalo/Detroit-style backslide.

Can’t wait for September.

Gganbu

The last week’s been pretty social: two days of work meetings downtown which included a Blue Jays win over the Atlanta Braves, coffee from three good spots: the Spadina Neo, the University Fahrenheit, and the Union Pilot, and drinks at The Chase to close it all off.

Friday was a holiday. We basically just binged Squid Game, which we somehow avoided when it came out.

Saturday our friend Upasana made us a delicious dinner, and we had such a lovely time chatting we barely noticed it was midnight. We left feeling fat and happy, as they say.

Sunday night we were the hosts, as Ricky and Olivia came over for dinner. We provided salad and a cheese board; they brought delicious Filipino comfort food. We poured a bunch of fun wine, and served ice cream.

I took Monday off, and kept it chill. Lots of leftovers. Quite a bit of catchup. More Squid Game. Playoff hockey for the first time in four years.

61

This past Wednesday I attended my first Blue Jays game of the season. I’ve been following them closely all summer, watching as many games as I could (even if it’s during weekend work) and hoping they’d make the playoffs. They’ve since clinched a wildcard spot, but on Wednesday they lost to the Yankees.

That game was memorable because Aaron Judge hit his 61st home run, tying both the Yankees’ club record and the American League record — and, in many fans’ mind, the true HR record given the spectre of PEDs over Mark McGwire and Barry Bonds’ NL records — held by Roger Maris. Maris’ son was in attendance to see it happen, just like he was for McGwire hitting #62. I remembered that because I watched 61* (imdb | rotten tomatoes) again recently — very underrated movie, by the way.

One other note: the Rogers Centre Skydome’s drink selection is abysmal. At least where I was — in one of the corporate suites — they had no wine, a single cider, and five generic beers, the “best” of which was Mill Street Organic. Maybe it’s better elsewhere around the park, but I doubt it. Even this ranking — taken last year when the Jays were still playing in Buffalo — ranks them 28th out of 30 in terms of beer selection, and that was influenced by being able to get a $5 beer in Sahlen Field. No such luck in Toronto, I reckon.

A new hope

The Raptors won yesterday against the 76ers, staving off the sweep. (Sorry, Shaq.) Despite no team ever coming back from 3-0 down, I’ll keep the faith until the end. This team has earned it.

Meanwhile, my only excitement surrounding the Canadiens has been hoping they finish dead last so they have the best shot at the #1 draft pick.

Apart from the Raps overachievement, most of my excitement lately has been for the start of the Blue Jays season. They look awfully good this year, and they’ve been fun to watch.

And so it goes. One team playing well (and favoured to win it all); one occupying the middle, and one in dead last. Logically, it’s so rare that all your teams would be at the top at the same time. I guess the closest I ever got was 1993:

  • the Canadiens won the Stanley Cup
  • the Blue Jays won their second world series in a row
  • The Edmonton Eskimos (I used to watch way more CFL) won the Grey Cup
  • The New York Knicks (the team I considered my favourite, until the Raptors were created) lost in the Eastern Conference finals to the Bulls

At the time I probably didn’t appreciate how rare all that combined success was.

So, go Jays. And c’mon, Shane Wright.

Meat. Sports. Good.

Last Saturday I went to my first hockey game since the pre-Omicron home opener. The game was, just like said opener, Leafs against Habs. I’d managed to get my hands on some tickets, so I brought a former colleague who’s a big Leafs fan. We had dinner before at the Hot Stove Club, where we indulged in huge steaks and a 2001 Rioja, which might have been a tiny bit past its peak (no tannin or acid left, just fruit — dried fruit, given the age — and relatively subtle oak, but it hadn’t tipped over into a vegetal note. In retrospect I might have ordered a more delicate cut than my ribeye to match it properly, but we’re niggling now. It was a lovely meal, and chance to catch up. I also got to see Auston Matthews hit fifty goals in his last fifty games, even if it did come at the expense of my team. Nonetheless, a good night all around.

I wanna be your double-axle

I don’t care at all for figure skating, but as of yesterday I have a favourite figure skater: the Russian athlete who skated to “I Wanna Be Your Dog” by The Stooges, won the silver medal, and then seemingly quit.

Seventeen-year-old Russian figure skating prodigy Alexandra Trusova earned a silver medal after skating to the Stooges’ “I Wanna Be Your Dog” at the 2022 Winter Olympics in Beijing yesterday. She won the free skate with an impressive routine that saw her attempting five quadruple jumps, but ultimately came in second to her teammate Anna Shcherbakova, who scored better in the short program on Tuesday.

Trusova was not happy with silver, Reuters reports, breaking down in tears before the podium ceremony for the women’s single event. “Everyone has a gold medal, everyone, but not me. I hate skating. I hate it,” she was heard saying. “I hate this sport. I will never skate again. Never.”

Matthew Stockman/Getty Images