Oh Canada! Wooh!

There was no way I was going to watch this game at home. My friend Steve met me outside of Hooters about an hour before the game. They were full. We raced to every other bar we could and it was the same story. We finally hit the King St. West Gabby’s (full too) when they informed us that the King St. East Gabby’s had lots of space still. Steve was in disbelief that the bars could be so full, so early, and I said to him, “Dude, this is the biggest hockey game in the last…” and I paused when he finished my sentence for me, “in forever.”

I can remember childhood sleepovers at my cousin’s house where my Aunt made us go to the library to do some reading. It was a forced break in the non-stop street hockey playing action. However, we had found a loophole. We spent the entire time in the video section of the library, where we scoured through the collection to find a documentary on the 1972 Summit Series. We became obsessed with it.

The heavily favoured Canadians were up against what was an underestimated and mysterious opponent, the Soviet Union. The Russians took the Canadians by surprise with their unbelievable speed and lightning quick passing. Their goalie, Vladislav Tretiak, is now heralded as one of the greatest goaltenders of all time. Valeri Kharlamov was doing stuff like this which made Canadians nervous. I watched the Kharlamov highlights over and over again, almost breaking my Aunt’s VCR.

The series went to the eighth and final game in a dead heat (3W, 3L, 1T). I’m skipping over the part where Phil Esposito made an apology to all of Canada on National Television, promising the country that they would try harder. The Canadians had to win this game. And then, Paul Henderson scored the game winner, a moment simply known as "the goal," a highlight that would be replayed over and over again for decades to come.

Nothing will equate to the 1972 Summit Series. It was the first international professional hockey competition of its kind. The fact that our opponents were secretive and played an entirely different style in contrast with the NHL made for interesting hockey. And let’s not forget, it was during the Cold War, which made it even more symbolic (beat Communism!).

But Sunday's gold medal match against the United States will be an adored Canadian memory. The story had everything, including a picture perfect ending. We came in as favourites, the US surprised us in the tournament with a dominant goaltending performance by Miller. We had to brace ourselves for one last match against an undefeated US team. The Americans broke our hearts with only seconds remaining in the third period. And then, Crosby scored the goal.

Steve was dizzy from screaming so loud after the goal. I had never handed out so many high fives in my life. On our walk to Dundas Square, anytime Steve yelled “Woooh!” someone would echo back. People were playing street hockey downtown. Everywhere we went, we all sang our National Anthem in unison (unlike Auld Lang Syne and other similar songs often sung by drunk people in unison, I realized on this night that Oh Canada is the only one I can sing with passion and not feel weird about it).

I’m not normally much for spirit, but I couldn’t help but be engulfed. Because Canada is composed of so many different cultures, it’s hard to find a single uniting cause. Sunday night, I lost myself in it.

It was a perfect night. The hockey game climax rolled right into the closing ceremonies. By now we were at another bar, and they were showing highlights from the entire Olympics, including the goal by Crosby. The guy next to me said, “They should just play that goal over and over, eh?” I couldn’t agree more.

The Waiting Room

Every couple of years, I pay a visit to one of the shittiest places in Toronto: Rexdale. In the mid-1980s, my family was poor and the five of us lived snugly in a two bedroom apartment there.

I was too small to understand, but my father was in a deep hurry to move out of that area. Rexdale was (and still is) a hotbed for poor immigrant families just starting out. Success meant you could graduate to some place like Mississauga, much safer and quieter in comparison. My father's career had a habit of failing immediately after succeeding, and housing five people in a two bedroom cement block was how you got your bearings during the lows.

When we finally moved, we were proud to leave everything behind. So what draws us back to Rexdale every so often? We come back to get our eyes checked.

Now, I'm sure everyone thinks their optometrist is the best, but Dr. Snow is seriously the best. He caught a hole in my retina a few years back when there was no reason to be looking. He could have prescribed me glasses when I was a kid but didn't because I was a borderline case (this is honourable because he makes money from selling glasses). My sisters praise him too.

But he's not friendly or hospitable in anyway. To be honest, I still get nervous when he asks me questions, because he has absolutely no patience for vague answers. For example, here is something that happened in my last visit:

Snow: Does anyone in your family have Diabetes?
Umar: Well...um…do you mean my immediate family?
Snow: Okay, let me repeat. Does anyone in your family have Diabetes?
Umar: Yes. But nobody in my immediate family.
Snow: It would help if you told me who it was.
Umar: Right…um…
Snow: For example, it is your father's mother?
Umar: Yes, actually my father's mother had diabetes.
Snow: Thank you. Who else?
Umar: Uh...also my mother's brother.
Snow: You mean your uncle.
Umar: Yes, my uncle. Sorry.

I know by now not to mess with him when he's flipping lenses in order to determine my exact prescription. You only say that lens 1 is better than 2 when it's clearly better. Otherwise, just say that it's the same. It's okay if he's mildly annoyed that you can't spot the difference between the two lenses. He will just sigh deeply, and continue to repeat the same sequences over and over. What you want to avoid is saying something like, "um....I think the first one is better." He totally loses it if you say you “think” something. You need to assert yourself. Man, I love that guy.

But this isn't about Dr. Snow. It's actually about the hour I spent in the waiting room. I listened to two men who spoke to each other with excitement in an otherwise quiet room. They had been re-united. They had worked for the same company a while back, and had lost touch since that company folded.

As they ran through the missing details in each others' lives, I couldn't help but notice that it was the same story repeating itself: company failure. As it turned out, both of them had worked for several different Ontario manufacturing companies in the area since the 1970s. One was an engineer and the other was in sales.

Personally, I've only worked in the service sector and from what I’ve seen people have a tendency to skip from job to job. Not only is there no desire to stay at a company for a long time, but there are rarely consequences to flipping jobs every few years.

These men didn't do this by choice. They had to leave because their companies kept dying. They talked about it with such nonchalance; reciting the names of fallen companies as if they were reminiscing over their favourite films.

I managed to enter the dialogue by sneaking in a question about manufacturing and its future in Ontario. Everyone in the waiting room got involved at this point. Below are some snippets of what was said, which I found to be both frank and enlightening:

"What was it Lee Iacocca used to say? It's all a big circle, you see? If you don't have the people making the cars, you won't have the people buying the cars."

"The worst mistake management made was to open their books and show the unions the money. They never had control after that."

"Free Trade messed everything up for us. We couldn’t compete after free trade."

"The thing is none of these companies lasted long enough for me to get a proper pension. But I'll be okay. I work every other week designing basketball courts for schools in Ontario. But believe me, son, it's not like in the commercials. Freedom at 65 was it?

“Actually, It's 65 now. They used to say 55!”

We all laughed at this, but when I turned my head Dr. Snow was waiting for me with his arms folded.