Glenn Kubish

Facts are facts, and, so, eventually (or in six games, whichever arrives first), we all have to face the Brad Marchands in our lives.  It is anathema for me to praise Florida Panthers winger Brad Marchand.  I am an Edmonton Oilers fan, and have been since the days of the World Hockey Association. I am an old-enough Oilers fan to have seen, with my own eyes, Jacques Plante play for Edmonton at the Coliseum against New England Whalers’ star Gordie Howe. I am a crazy-enough Oilers fan to have been arrested for throwing firecrackers onto Jasper Avenue during a Stanley Cup victory parade. (I was released because officers were more urgently needed up the block at a fur store break-in. When I say released, I mean from the neck.) I am a tradition-bound-enough Oilers fan to have passed on the identity to my sons. One of my grandsons walked around during the Cup playoffs with three stuffed toys: 1. Woody 2. Buzz Lightyear 3. Ryan Nuygent-Hopkins. No one should doubt my hometown team cre...

No music. No introduction. No criss-crossing spotlights. No confetti gun. And certainly no smoke. He just walked in. Carrying the Stanley Cup. While two Mounties in red serge watched, the people in the hall clapped politely. And then waited. What do we do next? He put the trophy on a table in front of a printed sign that congratulated him for winning the Cup, and then he motioned for people to line up, come forward. And they lined up. He was Darryl Sutter, the coach of the Los Angeles Kings, one of the favourite sons of Viking, and what he walked into was the Viking Community Hall. And what it all was was a great Canadian moment. Five bucks got you a picture with the coach and the Cup. The money went to Viking minor hockey. The line of fans curled around the hall and out the door. When we got to the front of the line, and it was our turn to get a photo taken, he was the first to speak. "Hi, I'm Darryl, thanks for comin'," he said to Shelagh. "You...