Monday, March 25, 2013

Double-breasted moo moos, Dracula collars and other Monday morning musings

It's a bit of a shame that Canada's most marketable athlete competes in a sport that's fighting for survival. James Hinchcliffe has it all. He's young, good-looking, articulate, charismatic and strikes a perfect balance between humility and fierce pride in his Canadian roots. Unfortunately, he competes in IndyCar racing, where his first career victory yesterday in St. Petersburg, Florida, was won in the giant shadows cast by NASCAR in North America and the globally-dominant Formula One brand. The good news for IndyCar is that Hinchcliffe is exactly the kind of talent the circuit needs on and off the track to get back on the motorsport map...I'm of two minds on the Red Bull brouhaha at the Malaysian Formula One Grand Prix. Sebastien Vettel didn't win three straight world championships by deferring to anyone, but team orders are team orders, and yesterday wasn't the first time he tangled with teammate Mark Webber. Fire in the belly is one of the hallmarks of a champion, but Vettel's competitive streak crosses the line into selfishness...Three of a possible six points is probably two fewer than the Canadiens had targeted last week in three games with conference bottom feeders. The saving grace is that aside from a first period letdown against Buffalo Tuesday, the effort was there, the Habs stayed true to the system and Carey Price was banana-free, all of which which bodes well ahead of back-to-back road games in Pittsburgh and Boston...Don Cherry's Saturday night get-up (as seen on P.K. Subban's Twitter account) took Cherry's lifetime ode to Liberace to a whole new level. I've heard of guys wearing jeans or even shorts under the anchor desk, but Cherry is the first male television personality I've ever seen rocking the full-on, double-breasted moo moo...Meanwhile, I'm less concerned about P.J. Stock's Dracula collars than I am with running into P.J. in a fog-shrouded cemetery under a full moon at midnight...I defy you to watch Sergio Garcia's shot from eight feet up in a tree at the Arnold Palmer Invitational and tell me Darwin was wrong.

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