Revenge of the ... Jocks?

Fan Expo, an already massively huge late summer celebration of nerd culture, is getting a whole lot bigger this year with the addition of a sports section, and have enticed some pretty heavy hitters for their first go-round.

Already on board for the four-day event in August is Joe Montana, Gordie Howe, Bobby Orr and Hulk Hogan, among others, who will compete for autograph hunter attention with the usual celebrity guests from the worlds of comics, sci-fi, horror, gaming and anime.

It’s all good, right?

No way say Geek Nation, who are afraid that letting the jocks loose in their party will lead to high school all over again.

The people who make up the core audience of comic conventions like Fan Expo – which attracted more than 80,000 people last year – took to social media platforms like Facebook to vent their anger over the decision to add sports this year.

“Nerds and jocks do not mix!!” shouted one, while recommending that they should “discriminate” jocks “just as they discriminated (against) nerds everywhere in the past.”  Another warned that cosplayers – those who dress up as their favourite characters – “can now look forward to catcalling, grabasss playing jocks who will treat them like strippers.”

Protection from the ‘jocks’ who are expected to mingle with the regular convention goers seemed to be top of mind for the posters, despite the fact that the sports expo will be housed in a different hall at the Metro Toronto Convention Centre.

“This is a really, really bad idea. I hope you have, like, 10 times the security for us cosplayers,” pleaded one fan, with another citing an incident at an anime convention where some “evil jocks” assaulted cosplayers.

Seriously?

I’ve been to a few comic conventions and one or two sports shows as well and frankly, I don’t see much of a difference in the people who attend. Sure, there will be a few extra jocks – that is to say, people who actually play sports – at this year’s Fan Expo because of the star-studded line-up, but most sports fans that go to these kinds of events are into sports cards and memorabilia. They’re geeks, just like the gamers and sci-fi dudes, just with different interests.

Besides, I see more muscles among the artists and exhibitors at comics cons – there’s something about Superman t-shirts – than I’ve ever seen walking the convention floors at sports shows.

Not all the Facebook posters were complaining about the changes at this year’s Fan Expo. Some suggested that instead of staying home to avoid the jocks, they should show up and stand up for themselves. “It’s like they think the sports fans are going to give wedgies to everyone looking at comic books,” said one. “Since when does liking sports and respecting athletes make you a jock? You guys are mixing up jocks and bullies,” chastised another. “Not every jock is a bully and not every bully is a jock.”

While the concerns expressed by cosplayers and friends do seem overdramatized, their fears should be taken seriously. In this day and age when we pay special attention to bullying, the nerds and geeks that make up the traditional – and to a large degree, clichéd – base for these conventions remember high school all too well. Most of the posters have been out of high school for at least a decade, but clearly old wounds, and old fears, linger.

Hopefully they can “embrace the Fan Expo newbies” and “chill out,” as one self-proclaimed geek advised.

“Relax,” he added. “No one is getting beat up at this show just because they add sports.”

Pwned by Whitby

Whitby and I have never really got along.

It’s not that I don’t like Whitby – I lived there briefly and worked downtown for several years – it’s just that we never bonded. We weren’t bros, you know?

I was trying to figure out why we weren’t good buddies – we are neighbours after all – and I came up with a few reasons, though they’re mostly lame.

There’s the downtown, for one. It looks like something suited for a little town of 10,000 or so, not a metropolis of more than 100,000 people. And while we’re on the subject of towns, what’s with the aversion Whitby’s political leaders have for calling it a city? Like I said: 100,000-plus. You’re not a town, people, no matter what you call yourself. The City of Whitby. Get used to it.

Getting around the city is a bit of a pain as well. A lot of roads stop and start and there are residential streets that seem to go on forever. I hate delivering there.

The slightly superior attitude some Whhhitbeee residents have towards Oshawa is a bit off-putting too. The government decides where the social services agencies go, but they’re your people too. So stop with the holier-than-thou.

And that’s all I could come up with. Like I said, mostly lame.

There's lots of good stuff in Whitby. The library downtown is awesome, though I do have a bias in that Lene, one of my mothers-in-law, was one of the lead interior designers on the project. And the AMC complex (sorry, Empire Theatres now) is a great place to hang out. Then there's Lynde Shores, where magic happens.

And then it hit me. The real reason for my disconnect with the traditional county seat of Durham is jealousy.

Yah, I said it. I’m jealous of Whitby’s success in sports – at our expense. Mostly I’m sick of getting pwned by Whitby in damn near everything.

My boys have played some form of rep in hockey and/or soccer for years and the number of wins against our rivals could be counted on one hand. Or maybe less. Cam was playing in his third or fourth year of rep/select hockey before his bantam AE team kicked some Whitby butt – assuming control (for a short while) of first place in the league in the process. I remember the occasion being a cause for celebration.

“We beat Whitby, we beat Whitby...”

Check the OHL draft list. It seems half of the ‘AAA’ Whitby Wildcat minor midgets get drafted each spring, while it’s a good year when more than one Oshawa Minor General gets an invite to a Major Junior camp. And that’s no surprise when you have a look at the rankings – published weekly – of triple ‘A’ teams across Ontario at all age levels. It’s a shock when just one Whitby squad doesn’t make the top ten. Oshawa teams? Nowhere to be found.

It’s not just hockey. When Jake played U8 soccer a few years ago his team struggled against Whitby’s ‘B’ team. The ‘A’ team was on another level entirely.

The only sport where we didn’t have any trouble with Whitby was ball hockey, which is sort of the family sport. Cam and Matt have represented Oshawa proudly at the provincial championships many times over the years (the J Man’s turn will come) and I’ve never seen a team from Whitby there. Of course, that could be because they don’t have a minor ball hockey organization.

And I hope they never start one.

The Man Without Fear

I was getting off the train at Union when I saw my first one: a red Power Ranger.

The colour was right, anyway.

By the time I got to the Metro Toronto Convention Centre I saw plenty of other costumed heroes parading around. There were Spider-Mans and Batmans and some chubby dude wearing a cape, briefs and little else (commence mental cleansing); there were Dr. Whos, various Star Trek stars, Supergirls (better) and a whole cast of characters from ... well, I had no idea where they were from.

But Daredevil – the Man Without Fear – was nowhere to be found. More’s the pity.

Daredevil, Marvel’s blind, tortured superhero is the reason I read comics; the reason I used to walk down to Moffat & Gardiner Pharmacy in Crang Plaza – twelve cents clutched in my skinny 10 year-old hands – to buy the latest issue.  There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then and I’ve turned away from comics on many occasions, but when I returned, I always returned to Daredevil.

The man is blind, yet has superhuman senses that enable him to ‘see’ far better than normal humans can. He is a devout Catholic (his mother is a nun) who dresses up in a red devil suit and plays vigilante by night, while donning ten-thousand dollar suits and defending the (mostly) innocent as a Manhattan lawyer by day. 

The son of a prize fighter who was killed by the mob for refusing to throw a fight, he’s a super ninja who defends his Hell’s Kitchen turf from super baddies, crime bosses and everyday muggers and thugs.

His success with the women of Marvel is legendary. Regrettably, many of his loves meet tragic ends, adding to the guilt he carries with him as a daily penance.

What’s not to love?

Daredevil has had his success, to be sure. The Frank Miller run of the 1980s made him a star for a while and the writing has been mostly first rate in the years since. (End of Days, a Daredevil mini-series on the shelves now, is the best comic series I’ve read in many years.) But the character has always operated on the fringes of the big stars, like Spider-Man, the X-Men and most of the Avengers. A so-so movie starring Ben Affleck didn’t help his case either.

So I guess I wasn’t too surprised with the absence of red devils at Toronto ComicCon. Maybe there will be some love for Daredevil at the much bigger FanExpo show in August, though I fear the Man Without Fear may be a no-show.

No doubt there will be a Power Ranger or two. Just so long as there won’t be a chubby dude wearing a cape, briefs and little else. I’m all out of mental cleanser.

Genosha B`gosh and the Holiday Inn Express

Oshawa’s downtown got a major boost last month when developer Abdul Rehman and The World’s Innkeeper announced plans for a downtown Holiday Inn Express, with construction to get underway next spring.

This is great news for a downtown core that has enjoyed some good times in the past decade or so, starting with the GMC and the Consolidated Courthouse and moving on to UOIT-led projects like the Alger Press building; the renovated Regent Theatre; and the Scotiabank-turned Faculty of Education, to name a few.

All those projects have brought – besides hockey players, criminals and students – jobs and more importantly, energy to the city centre, as well as a little style. The Alger Press building, for example, was run-down, tired and abandoned and putting a damper on the property values of its neighbour, the General Motors Centre. Today, with very little effort made to the exterior, it`s a funky, retro-chic home for Criminality and Justice students and a big part of UOIT`s downtown footprint.

Rehman wants an even bigger splash with his proposed six-storey, 125-room hotel, with restaurant, pool, fitness centre and small conference centre, to be built at Queen`s Market Square, currently a municipal parking lot and former weekend flea market, at the corner of Simcoe and Richmond streets.

The deal is chock-full of incentives, with Rehman catching a $90,000 break in building permit fees, as well as cashing in on a special facade improvement grant worth $124,000. There’s also $2 million in tax breaks, spread over 13 years.

I really don`t have a problem with this. We need a hotel in downtown Oshawa and this deal makes it happen. The City risks only its credibility if the deal falls through and that shouldn`t happen because, well, Relax, it`s Holiday Inn. The developer, however, risks a great deal more, so incentives offer a small measure of protection.  It`s the way business and government work and taxpayers will start seeing direct payback over the next 20 years, while the spin-off returns should be more immediate.

But if developers and the City want to start Pleasing People the World Over – or at least in Oshawa – then the next major business announcement for the downtown will have the words `Genosha Hotel` in the headline. Or at least Genosha. I don`t care if it`s a hotel. Just do something.

Most of us know a bit of the history of the Genosha, the city`s first classy hotel. It was the place to be in the late 1920s and into the 1930s (and again during a brief renaissance in the 1950s), though it was a money loser through most of its existence. Before the century was out it had become a seedy strip club – remember the Million Dollar Saloon? – before the City put a stop to peelers in Oshawa by passing a bylaw in 2003.

Since then the hotel has gone through several owners. There was the Korea Exchange Bank of Canada, there was ICC Global Group and then Richard Summers (who has forged a good reputation as a downtown landlord in recent years) and Richard Senechal bought the place in 2009 with a dream of turning it into student housing. Now, apparently, it`s just Senechal, but the building, with its boarded-up windows and desperate, crying need for a good sandblasting, sits back on the market with no nibblers, no progress and little hope.

John Borsberry, the guy who built the Genosha, was described as a man with ``unbounding faith in Oshawa.`` Maybe we need one of those guys. Just don`t tell him Borsberry died four years after the hotel opened, with only a pile of debts left behind.

I just don`t want to hear that The Best Surprise is No Surprise. Go ahead. Surprise me.

Generally Speaking

I covered Junior ‘A’ and ‘B’ games early in my newspaper career (back in my sports editor days), but the first Major Junior hockey game I ever saw was in Oshawa in 1997.

That was an Oshawa Generals team led by Marc Savard and John Tripp which, against all odds, captured an OHL championship and went on to play in the Memorial Cup.

This year’s edition of the Gens looks like it might be that kind of squad.

I don’t want to get ahead of myself here. There are a few teams with equal or better pedigrees who have Memorial Cup dreams of their own, so if I was a betting man I would hesitate just a little bit before getting too excited and putting anything down on them booking a trip to Saskatoon this May.  But you know, they have a fighting chance, and that’s enough for me.

They have a balanced and finally healthy attack, which starts with team captain (and two-time national junior player) Boone Jenner, and also includes NHL draftees Tyler Biggs (Toronto), Scott Laughton (Rangers) and Lucas Lessio (Phoenix), as well as overager Scott Sabourin, and young guns Michael Dal Colle and Cole Cassels.

The defence, led by Matt Petgrave, Geoff Schemitsch and veteran Colin Suellentrop is sound and the trio has contributed 111 points as well. And with Daniel Altshuller (Carolina) in net, the Generals have no worries about their goaltending.

But there’s the little matter of the Belleville Bulls, the team that doesn’t want to lose.

Oshawa, second in the division, is on a five game win streak and is 8-2 over their last ten games, which should be enough to start gaining some ground on the leaders. But Belleville, with Malcolm Subban between the pipes, is 8-1-1. Every time Oshawa goes on a roll, the Bulls match and are now nationally ranked, a position Oshawa held as late as January 26.

A month ago Oshawa thumped Belleville 8-2 at home and the Bulls will get a chance at revenge next week at Yardman Arena, where they’re almost unbeatable. With just a handful of games left, however, the result will be mean nothing more than bragging rights, as both teams are virtually locked into their playoff seedings.

The Generals will open against the Niagara Ice Dogs, the team that eliminated Oshawa the previous two years, and will more than likely face a very strong Barrie Colts squad in the second round, with the winner – assuming there are no major upsets – playing Belleville for the conference title.

After that? Probably the powerful London Knights – the third ranked team in the country – for the OHL championship.

It’s no wonder they call the Memorial Cup the toughest trophy to win in sports. The Generals, which boasts such distinguished alumni as Bobby Orr, Eric Lindros and John Tavares, have won it four times – the most of any current CHL team – so its fans know that as well as anybody.

Playoff tickets are already on sale. You know what to do.

Birthday Boys

I know I rave an awful lot about the J Man, my youngest son, but it’s his birthday today, so I’m going to rave about him some more.

Jacob Hendry is awesome. And amazing.

Those words are actually part of the pre-game ritual we do before I leave his hockey team’s dressing room. It’s “Play hard, play strong and have fun.” Followed by “Be awesome” or Be Amazing” or lately, both.  Followed by props, and then he tries to whack me in the head with his glove before I can get the heck out.

The message I’m trying to get across is that he should be responsible to his teammates, but at the same time I want him to be creative and take a few chances, because that’s how you learn and that’s how you unlock your potential. But above all, I want him to remember that it’s a game, so have fun.

Having fun is what Jake enjoyed yesterday at his party at North End Bowl. He’s a lot like me in that he’s basically shy, but when you put him in his comfort zone with friends and family he lets loose and has a blast. 

Yesterday he certainly had a blast and it’s good to see him smiling and having fun with his pals. And kicking butt as well – he bowled a 157 to win easily, though some of his buddies were bowling between their legs or releasing the ball whilst on their bellies or other such shenanigans.

They are just kids after all.

So happy birthday, Jake.

And while I’m on the subject of birthdays, there’s a couple of other boys near and dear to my heart celebrating milestones this week. Both my oldest son Matt – the rock star I’ve talked about before – and my dad, Bob, will blow out birthday candles this Saturday. Matt is turning 23 and will probably celebrate like most rock stars by jamming with his band mates and downing a few wobbly pops. Or Crown Royal. Or whatever he feels like on Saturday night.

Dad, however, will probably make his birthday celebrations a little more low-key. Not because he’s old or anything – he’s only turning 80 – but because he will have just returned the day before from a two-month cruise with my mom to Brazil and other exotic equatorial locales.

The man needs to rest and recuperate and get back to all that busy retirement stuff. And stop spending my inheritance.

So happy birthday Matt and happy birthday Dad. The J Man had a blast on his day. Now it’s your turn.

Wipeout (and Albert Trotter's Big Balls)

Albert Trotter stood at the top of the course, staring at the Big Balls that stood between him and the object of his fantasies. His wild, chest-length devil-spawned salt and pepper beard was already covered with foam, even though he had yet to fall into the churning surf below.

I think it was foam, anyway.

I was still in shock that we were even here, though I helped Albert fill out the application, had personally smoothed things out with the game show staff and even traveled to California with him to help him fulfill his dream.

The Mall Monster was where he said he would be all along: on the Wipeout obstacle course, with just those big balls and assorted other obstacles separating him from his (as yet unrequited) love – Jill Wagoner.

***

Albert always had strange tastes in women. Indiscriminate, but strange nonetheless.

The fact that he had any luck with the ladies at all came as a surprise to the other guys in the shop, but not to me. He was in pretty good shape for a drunk and in the seedy bars he frequented, he was probably quite a catch. The fact that he would have sex with any woman who said yes, no matter what they looked like or what state of coherency they enjoyed at that moment, certainly helped increase his odds.

But whenever we met one of his ‘friends’ – he would bring them to his cot in the back of the shop on occasion, much to the horror of the early arrivals in the morning – they would always appear to be shining examples of barflies gone bad. Really, really bad.

So when he announced one morning that he wanted to appear on the Wipeout television show just so he could meet Jill Wagoner, the very beautiful co-host of the show, we laughed.

He ignored us and insisted he was going to do it.

“She won’t have anything to do with you,” I told him. “She’s holding out for me,” said another. “She’s gorgeous, you’re ugly,” said another. (It might have been me, but this was a few years ago.)

He continued to ignore us.

I watched the show – a big hit in my family – so I knew all about it. I knew about Jill, too, and could completely understand Albert’s infatuation, but seriously, here. We’re talking about Albert. He may have the gift for the, um …ladies of his neighbourhood, but this is Jill Wagner. This is the big time.

And this is Albert here. Six-foot three with that insane Bad Santa beard. A crooked grin – more of a leer, actually – that remained perpetually on his face whether he was happy, angry (almost never) or sad. The man also showed an unhealthy aversion to bathing and considered jeans to be sub-standard if they couldn’t withstand the rigours of picking up garbage for at least two weeks.

The latter two traits gave Albert a certain pungency that at the very least always let us know when he was around.

So, no, I didn’t fancy his chances with Wagner, who earned a number 90 ranking on the Maxim magazine Hot 100 Women of 2004 list, a sure-fire reliable measure of sexiness as exists in this world.

But Albert was determined, so I figured I should help him by doing a little research on the show. I ^[had read something about Wipeout, and I seem to recall that you had to be American and – if I remember right – a California resident as well.

Last time I checked Albert was Canadian, with no U.S. ties that I knew about, and that he lived with his aging mother in a trailer park sandwiched between a super highway and train tracks, thirty miles east of the shop.

“Not true,” he mumbled when I informed him of these facts.” “You don’t know everything about me.”

That’s true, I agreed, remembering visits – quarterly, like clockwork – that the local police made, usually at his home but sometimes at the shop. Awkward questions, mumbled answers. 

“It’s best for both of us that you keep some stuff to yourself,” I said.

Albert insisted he qualified, saying he had a brother in California – in the movie business, he boasted – as well as a couple of his children who had moved out there. As he claimed some dozen or so kids and didn’t have a relationship with any of them (as he said himself), his explanation wasn't resonating too well with me.

Albert persisted. “My brother will vouch for me; say I live there. I’m gonna do it.”

The boys laughed when they heard this and kept on howling after I told them that Albert was serious. The only one who stopped laughing was Eddie, who (after he wiped the tears from his eyes), looked at me and said: “Fifty bucks says he doesn’t even make it to Toronto.”

I thought about Eddie’s offer for about two seconds. And looked at Albert, who was watching us with the same crooked grin he always had, but with a crazy-ass look in his eyes I hadn’t seen before.

“You’re on,” I told Eddie.

It’s on.