I sincerely hope your holidays went as smoothly as mine did. My super-model partner is such a tremendous cook that her dinners were better than any over the counter stool softener that money can buy.Who knew 7-11 sold turkeys, or that stuffing can be made with wieners and beans? Neither did I.
While reflecting on the holiday season it's important to look back and see if you have had an impact on anyone's life or took some time to determine if you left a footprint at all.
I pride myself on "touching the world lightly" recycling and always donating my SARCAN returns to the staff who are employed at such noble enterprises. I also made an effort to help the homeless and those God has either forgotten about or misplaced their addresses.
Just before Christmas I decided to leave the glory, fame and wealth that this journalism business has bestowed upon me and lend a hand at the Salvation Army. I made sure to leave my wallet and phone in the car in case I got mugged, and then handed out heaping plates of turkey and all the trimmings to nearly 100 of Regina's sorriest lot. As it turned out, it was I who was the sorry one for never choosing to chip in before 2010.
I hugged strangers, shook hands with the bleary-eyed and mentally ill of this world, and at one point even considered donating my new dentures to one lost soul who was having issues with his drumstick. I relented and offered to chew it for him, but like trooper, he declined. I grabbed the microphone in a fit of emotion and praised the cooks and other volunteers only to be overcome with grief when a poor fellow suddenly broke into tears over having lost his wallet.
I searched the entire building and then made another announcement on the PA system and then graciously gave him my last $20 and wished him a better 2011. The Salvation Army staff all displayed a silly grin on their faces as I handed out my gas money and then they told me this chap pulled the identical charade every year. Oops. I noticed that his watch looked exactly like mine.
Which brings me to the sports part of the column. I knew you were waiting for it. As much as I detested athletes like Pedro Martinez, he defined the idea of giving back. Other than A-Rod, who created a huge foundation in his name, but then charged a fee to autograph baseballs. Gretzky and many others of his ilk hold fundraising golf tournaments for good causes and one of my boyhood heroes, Roberto Clemente, died while trying to deliver aid to his Latin neighbours after a natural disaster.
My eldest son hosted yet another shinny tournament on Boxing Day with all of the proceeds going to support the education of African school kids and my other two boys spent a fortune on beer at the same event to be a part of such a wonderful gesture. I needed to do more. In a simple twist of fate just after Christmas, I crossed paths with my Grade 8 teacher, who once gave me the strap twice in one recess at Douglas Park School. Thinking of A-Rod's farcical inkling of a dignified contribution to the masses, I decided to thank my school for the memories with much aplomb and a heartfelt personal touch.
I drove past my school, climbed out of my chariot and signed a baseball to Mr. Riley and the fellow teachers of 1968. Coincidentally, I had recently taken my disabled nephew on a tour down those hallowed halls, and could easily judge the distance to where the picture of my graduating class was still posted.
Utilizing my famous two-seam sinker, I fired a perfect strike through the front door windows and then had the balls to peak through the hole in the broken glass.
Sure enough - the baseball had rolled within inches of my class photo. To be safe, I had used the same style of latex gloves that I use when I dine at my sweetheart's house. I learned my forensic science by watching CSI.
Who's making the rules now I thought, as I climbed back into my rusty Japanese sedan and sped away into the traffic of the big city? Paul Edwards that's who. I had his signature down pat after so many years of kinship with he and his wacky brood. Paul had long since moved to Japan and the last guy to ever touch that ball was his brother Craig, the catcher on my ball team of that era. Craig is currently giving back in a penal institution near you.
The moral of the story - sometimes you just have to send a check to your favourite charity. I did my part. Happy holidays to you and yours and thank you for supporting my benevolent approach to the needy by purchasing this publication.
