Why I Was A Goalie

Before completely turning to music, writing and the odd bit of translating to make ends meet, I played hockey until the Major Juniors level for Laval (Halifax also owned my rights). I was a goalie. I looked like this:

I wanted to be a goalie first and foremost because my boyhood idol, Patrick Roy, was one, but also because it fit my personality the best: as the last line of defense, the goalie is the one responsible for fixing any previous mistakes. The best ones do so with little fanfare, but the egotistical bastards can also have their day - and look foolish at times as well, when things don't go according to plan.

Being a person of extremes, I'm both: calm, quiet, and reserved, but who likes others to know he'll get the job done and will, at times, bask in the temporary glory it brings, knowing full well it will only last until the next ugly goal against. As such, my tenure in many places ended with a severe correction (a 9-1 loss at Brébeuf at the Collegiate level, a 12-0 loss at Notre-Dame to finish my high school career, a 5-0 loss at the Midget AAA level after having posted four straight shutouts). Only my time in the ''Q'' in Juniors didn't end badly - no goals against, and two fights in my final half-game for Laval.

Where I shined, however, was in tournament play. I loved playing in front of packed arenas full of strangers. I have never played in one and gotten less than a silver medal (second-place finish), and never been less than at least MVP of one game, usually named the best goalie of the tournament. For some reason, when the pressure was on, it was like the puck was twice its normal size and fit perfectly in my glove, which became a magnet for it.

There was one tournament, Sainte-Marie, where there was a rule that a player couldn't be named Player Of The Game more than once - so everybody had their chance to shine, and no one could end up being the perennial second-best. I got it in my first game, which meant no matter how I played, I couldn't get it any other time. I didn't care, I was having a blast with the rest of the NDG Wings.

Nevertheless, in the Finals, which we lost 1-0 with the shots being around the 40-10 mark favoring the other team, my buddy Giovanni Rippolo (who had the best slap shot in our age range) was named the best player. While he did get some applause, as soon as he got his prize (a medal), the 1000-seat crowd started chanting ''goalie! goalie! goalie!'' and I had to acknowledge them with a wave, slightly embarrassed yet extremely proud.

Just like Slovakia's Denis Godla from the World Juniors last night:



Those are the moments you live for.

I'm a huge fan of Slovakia in general, and in hockey in particular. They're usually the team I root for in international play, more so since the Rise Of Jaroslav Halak in 2010, but it was already the case even back in the 1980s and 1990s, thanks to the Québec Nordiques' Stastny brothers and an education system that taught us about the rest of the world in addition to our own history.

The Decline Of k-os

k-os' debut record, Exit (2002) was full of promise. I even went around praising his all-around talent for the music's production as rivaling Beck, and his lyrics and flow as ''eventually in the same league as Outkast''.

His second output, Joyful Rebellion (2004) still showcased his talents, but had a decidedly more old school vibe, relying less on k-os' knack for melody and creating music from various inspirational sources and leaned more towards classic hip hop.

But then it turned to insipid pop and un-researched music pretty fast, starting with 2006's Atlantis: Hymns For Disco and perpetuated with the sample-heavy Yes (2009) and this year's uneven BLack On BLonde.

And apparently, it's transpired to his live shows as well, as per The Gazette:

k-os, 1:30 p.m., Mountain Stage

And the award for Osheaga drama queen goes to… k-os.

The Toronto rapper is well past his prime. And his new album Black on Blonde – despite guest appearances by Emily Haines, Black Thought, Shad, Saukrates, and Sam Roberts – is a bit of a mess. So when he took the stage 20 minutes late, as the day’s first show on the mountain stage, there was reason to worry. He began to rhyme over an amped up Public Enemy sample, but stopped after a few minutes. “I can’t do this right now – I can’t hear myself,” he said. He threw his all access VIP bracelet into the crowd,and walked off the stage. Very rock ‘n’ roll, man, but it’s not going to win you any new fans. And next time, maybe skip the Blue Jays cap.

Jesus.

For a guy who performs in Montréal four times a year, perhaps he should have done his research a tad. When playing his own shows at Club Soda or Théâtre Corona, where his own fans - by definition a forgiving following - show up, sure, you can use your Canadianism as a factor for common ground, as much as ''supporting the local underground''.

But at a festival show, with a broad audience representing pretty much everything your usual crowd isn't - there's a difference between playing to a thousand folks who know your shit and 35,000 who've never heard it before - perhaps it'd be nice to take an hour out of your bubble and read about where you're playing.

Most of us will never cheer for the Blue Jays as ''Canada's Team'' for the simple fact that we had the Montréal Expos - Canada's first major league baseball team - and the way they were taken from us left such a sour taste in our mouths we were turned off by the sport altogether. So... Jays? No. NO. NO. I'm pretty sure it wouldn't work in Vancouver so much either, with the Seattle Mariners basically playing in their back yard.

Also, though they don't go to your usual shows, 50% of the population wanted out of Canada altogether at any cost twice in the recent past - and would have won had it not been for shady politicking and backdoor money dealings the last time around, to say nothing of those who think it would be a good idea on paper but weren't convinced by the arguments brought forth as the focal points the last time. So even if the Jays had been Canada's team, it's like wanting Puerto Rico to cheer for the Washington Nationals.

And what's up with not trying to work out the issue with the sound guy? Any band who's played in a bar will tell you that 3 times out of 4 it can be worked out if you're clear on what you want. The other time you'll wish you had walked out - which he did - but he should have tried to fix things first. By showing little patience with the staff at the very first show of the very first day of Osheaga - kinks are bound to occur - he instead showed great disrespect to the thousands who had paid fifteen times the price of entry as the first edition 5 years ago so it could attract artists ''of his caliber''.

And that attitude of ''artist vs staff'' usually escalates throughout the day as one side becomes more defensive and the other reacts accordingly, which ultimately led to headliners The Cure having the plug pulled on them in the middle of their mega-hit Boys Don't Cry at 11:05 PM, instead of being given the chance to finish the song before it happened so that the crowd could at the very least go home with the illusion that it went down well.

Instead, here is the evening's score card:
k-os: 0
The Cure: 0
Osheaga: 0
the public: 0

And instead of it being a 4-way tie, it's a 4-way loss. With k-os proving to be the biggest loser.