Thirty years on this planet and what have I learned? To take every moment for granted and live each day like there are millions more to come!
But seriously, the roaring twenties are over and I’ve reached that pivotal age when Jesus began his ministry. Don’t forget, people didn’t live as long back then so really, he was more like seventy.
Congratulations Mr. James,
You turned an important decision into a Vegas wedding. No-one can question your right to play in “South Beach”; but putting Cleveland through a one hour television special only to leave them high and dry at the end of it all? You might as well have taken them on Jerry Springer.
Being dumped isn’t enjoyable under the best of circumstances. But being rejected on a National Broadcast in front of millions including the city that just took away your franchise player? That’s sadistic! Way to go LeBron, when it comes to cruelty, you have taken your game to a whole knew level.
Since when do vampires celebrate Independence Day? Eric Northman must have had his hands full manning the barbeque this past Sunday evening, because when I turned on my television set, I didn’t see him once. I’ll give Bill Compton credit: the guy served in the civil war and deserves to bask in the glow of American Freedom.
But a July 4th without True Blood? What kind of holiday is that? Especially at such a critical turning point in American History. Vampires and humans are only now learning to live together. How are they supposed to get along without guidance from HBO?
Truth be told, this television show leads to more questions than answers. Here are some queries that have been troubling me about vampires and their integration into society.
The police got it wrong. They were all innocent!
That’s what some facets of the left wing media want you to believe. Never mind the torched police cruisers, smashed windows or masked bandits who looked like extras in a film about Colombian drug lords – this was a peaceful protest.
And the police? Well they were just over-reacting. It’s not like planes were flying into buildings or anything. Who cares about millions of dollars worth of damage and a general threat to public safety? But good old wholesome people being detained for thirteen hours? That’s something we just won’t tolerate. So what if Toronto was burning and on the verge of ruin. Nothing overrides the all powerful rights of the individual. Even if that person’s liberties put the rest of us at risk.
But don’t tell that to Toronto Sun Columnist Joe Warmington. With a nickname like “Night Scrawler”, maybe he’s the one who should be in a cage.
Midnight has arrived, the ball is over and Les Glorieux have been exposed for what they were all along: a fat, grotesque, rotted out pumpkin. Rest assured, NHL commissioner Gary Bettman won’t be seeking out Jaroslav Halak to see if the slipper fits when the Stanley Cup is awarded. If Halak really is wearing women’s footwear, then maybe being eliminated by the Flyers isn’t the Montreal Canadiens’ biggest problem right now.
Cross dressing aside, Halak truly had a remarkable playoff. Forget the ill advised poke check on Richards that so perfectly illustrated the goaltender’s sudden mortality in the Eastern Conference Final. 500 plus saves stopped over three rounds was more than enough to make the net minder a French Canadian deity.
That said, the 2010 version of the Canadiens are finished, and this season needs to be remembered for what it truly was: nothing! Habs fans don’t acknowledge the “half triumphs” of the Maple Leafs because though Gilmour, Clark, Sundin and Joseph were great, they fell short of the Cup. Lord Stanley has always been the Montreal standard and just because they have fallen on hard times, they can’t change their benchmark now.
“Get the homeless off the streets and back in the work force.” It’s a challenging task, but in an effort to develop my reputation as a humanitarian, this has become my 2010 goal.
Since it’s already May, I have to act quickly. Back to school programs? Not a chance! Medical treatment for the mentally ill? Sounds wonderful in theory, but this government has a tough enough time providing Medicare for working stiffs like you and me.
Yes, many philanthropists have tried to solve the homeless riddle and failed, but worry not my unsheltered friends: I have the answer. Want a quick fix? It’s simple. Teach street people how to throw a knuckleball. Mastery of this pitch will bump their social stature from the stars of google street view to penthouse occupants overnight.
In 1995, American country singer-songwriter Joan Osborne had a lot of questions about God becoming human. Desperate for answers, the soulful songstress sang a contemplative melody called “One Of Us”.
“What if”, she said over and over again leaving no time for the audience to respond. Ms. Osborne could have learned a great deal from comedian Mitch Hedberg: “if you’re going to ask a question, you must put a pause in there somewhere.”
Had she been listening as well as singing, this would have been straightened out much sooner. It’s time to put my University degree to work for you Joanie. Here are the answers to your questions.
Now that I’ve ripped the Roger’s Centre’s inability to attract fans, it’s time to help the Blue Jays draw larger crowds. A championship calibre team would certainly ramp up interest, but with the club situated in the AL East, the post season is pretty much an impossibility.
The answer, therefore, lies in making the stadium less of a warehouse and more of a ballpark. True, the Roger’s Centre isn’t the ideal setting for a baseball game; but then again, I wasn’t the ideal marriage partner for most women either. Then, one day, I decided to lose some weight, shave my face and look like I was actually interested in being a human being. Things changed for me after that, and with a little makeover, things can change for the Roger’s Centre too.
And so, I present to you the “Extreme Makeover” edition of Headley Talks. In a desperate attempt to save baseball in Toronto, I have compiled a list of “musts” that the self proclaimed “World’s Greatest Entertainment Centre” needs to implement should it hope to return to its past glory.
Marketing team, consider this your 1968 Elvis Comeback Special. It’s not too late. You’re not too fat. All you need is a leather outfit and reason to believe. Here’s what you need to do.
Replace the artificial turf with real grass.
Blue Jays Brass, the year is 2010. If we can send a man to the moon and keep Lloyd Robertson alive for the evening news, then we can find a way to grow grass in a dome. Carpets are a thing of the past. 400 feet of it makes the whole place look like a bad 1990’s living room. Leave the turf to the front porches in Oshawa. You’re operating a Major League Baseball Team, not a eighteen hole glow in the dark mini-putt.
Keep the lid off. Baseball is meant to be played outside.
When the roof is closed, I feel like I’m trapped inside a robot’s uterus. Free me from R2D2’s womb. The dome is a much better place to take in a game when the roof is open.
For years, Blue Jays management has viewed the Roger’s Centre as an enclosed facility that can be opened. It would be far better to manage it as an open stadium that can be closed. In my humble opinion, the Roger’s Centre should only be closed for baseball in situations where the weather would delay or cancel the game. If Minnesota can play outside in April, then so can Toronto.
Heck, U2 played an open air concert at the Roger’s Centre in September and they’re frail Irish rock stars. Come to think of it, the Blue Jays would probably sell out far more often if they lied on their tickets and pretended that U2 was coming to Toronto eighty-one times a year.
Lose the “smurf” blue. Make the seats and fences dark green.
Having travelled to ballparks throughout the league, I’ve come to the realization that dark green is the colour of baseball. Camden Yards, Jacob’s Field and The Ballpark in Arlington are all sacred temples of the sport that find much of their beauty in green seats and green walls. And so, we in Toronto must learn from our American counterparts and follow suit. All the blue at the Roger’s Centre just makes the building look like a high school gymnasium.
Back to Basics. It’s time to once again rock the 1992-93 uniforms.
Hey, if we’re giving the stadium a facelift, it only makes sense to doll up the players taking the field. Why not go back to a time when all was right with baseball in Toronto by putting players back in the jammies from the franchise’s glory days?
A consistent jersey doesn’t make an organization stagnant, it gives the club a sense of history. The Yankee pinstripes aren’t tired and old, they’re established and legendary.
While we’re at it, why don’t we put Fernandez, White, Alomar, Carter, Molitor and Olerud back in those uniforms and onto the field? That ought to bring back the fanfare. Toronto loves their celebrities.
By: Alex Headley
(the very Headley of, Headley Talks, a blog rich in word count and empty in content. By any means necessary. Whatever fills the pages.)
"Let's hear it for the new starting lineup for your Toronto Blue Jays."
Thinking of going on retreat? Having an affair? Holding a memorial for your dead grandmother? Planning a terrorist plot? Then why not head down to the Rogers Centre?
This unique getaway spot in the heart of the city comes equipped with the comforts of home minus all the distractions. Its cold, barren, grey interior guarantees patrons a discreet setting so far removed from the mainstream that Yorkville Pets won’t even pee on its concrete.
And if for some reason, you and your mistress do get caught in the act on the JumboTron, it’s o.k.: nobody’s watching anyway. In fact, being at the Roger’s Centre actually works in your favour. If someone does accuse you, your wife’s never going to believe you were at a Blue Jays game!
Rumour has it that every missing child on the side of a milk carton in the GTA isn’t actually missing at all: they’re just hanging out in the 500 level. It’s even possible that Jimmy Hoffa is a season’s ticket holder and that the Ark of the Covenant is buried under second base. That would certainly explain some of the bad hops that the ball has been taking in the infield lately. But we must not discuss this topic further. It’s starting to sound like I’m actually watching!
Attendance at the Roger’s Centre is so bad that Canada’s prison system is actually considering the grounds as a possible future site for solitary confinement. These days, the park is so barren that the Green Party won’t even canvas there.
This week, a Papal Encyclical suggested that Benedict XVIth plans to hide a few priests in the outfield until the latest Church scandal blows over. The Witness Protection Program is now operating out of the stadium’s Hard Rock Café and should another World War Break out, the House of Commons has already named the Roger’s Centre the “Camp X” of the 2000’s.
Enough already. I’m starting to beat a dead horse here and nobody’s a fan of that. But if there ever was a place to beat a dead horse and get away with it, it would be the Roger’s Centre. And even if PETA did catch wind of it, they could come down and protest all they wanted: nobody would be there to listen.
By: Alex Headley
(The very Headley of, Headley Talks, a blog that has more all time views than the average attendance at a Blue Jays game. Seriously, I’ve done the math. The numbers don’t lie.)
Even this lid has more going on inside than the Roger's Centre.
Act III: the final curtain call. We’ve been to the peak of Arthur’s Seat. Now it’s time to tie up loose ends.
In Shakespeare, round three is all about momentum and critical irreversible moments that are tantamount to the unfolding of an intricate plot. But alas, this is not Shakespeare: it’s a trivial blog about the life of an insignificant man and his insights into the greatest moments in the world of pop.
More than anything else, these are the melodies that molded me into the unremarkable person that I am today. I’ve already listed the top twenty. Now, we’ve finally reached the bottom of the barrel.
Ladies and gentleman, I present to you “a keg gone dry”, the final five explosion songs that defined my coming of age experience. I tried to forget this quintet, but in truth, without them, there isn’t a complete story. And so, I don’t care if their mention injures my credibility or makes me more “nerdy”. It’s time for acceptance. The truth will set me free.
Black or White, Michael Jackson, 1991.
“I’m not gonna spend my life being a colour.” True to his lyric, Mr. Jackson spent his lifetime being many. What the song forgot to include? That Michael didn’t care if you were black or white as long as you were under fourteen. Forgive my “expected” humour, but sometimes, the artist’s histories write themselves. When the music video came out for Black or White in 1991, it was all my house league hockey dressing room could talk about. Coincidently, the main thing on Michael’s mind at that time? Boys house league hockey dressing rooms!
Zombie, The Cranberries, 1994.
How big were the Cranberries in 1994? To give you some perspective, when my friend Joe travelled to Ireland in 2006, he was shocked to discover that every single Irish woman wasn’t a fan of the band. Forget O’Connell Street: Joe felt that Dublin’s main strip should be re-named O’Riordan Boulevard. To this day, Joe still sings Zombie as he wipes away the sleep from his eyes whilst preparing for work in the morning.
Everything I Do, Brian Adams, 1991.
No need for choirs of angels: if God wants to make me feel welcome, he can simply play the piano intro to Everything I Do on Judgment Day in heaven. In turn, I’ll respond by singing, “Look into my eyes and you will see what you mean to me”. Once God searches His heart, He’ll see that mine is a worthy soul. Although now that I’m older, I must confess: waking up the neighbours isn’t nearly as fun as it used to be. Heck, I am the neighbours! Turn that sound down!
I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That), Meatloaf, 1993.
Today, marriage has taught me that Meatloaf was a great man. I won’t do most things for love. Making dinner, mowing the lawn, doing laundry, washing dishes: for me, any of these things could really be the “that” that Meatloaf refers to in his song. But for Meatloaf, there was only one thing that he wasn’t willing to do. Maybe he meant walking down the aisle. If you’re not willing to do that, then you’ve pretty much eliminated every “that” that follows.
If I Had A Million Dollars, Barenaked Ladies, 1993.
It’s time to come clean. The first tape I ever purchased may have been Nirvana’s Nevermind, but the first CD I ever called my own was definitely Gordon. My brother can deny it all he wants, but much of our childhood was wasted away playing Super Mario Brothers on mute while our ears were filled to the brim with Enid, What a Good Boy and Brian Wilson. And what celebratory song did we play on repeat every time we killed the dragon? You guessed it: If I Had A Million Dollars. Too bad the call and answer vocal these days is just Ed Robertson talking to himself. Steven Page’s real wish? “If I had a million dollars (I wouldn’t have to be in a band).”
By: Alex Headley, the very Headley of, Headley Talks, who lost many years to Nintendo’s, Duck Hunt.
"If I had a million dollars (we wouldn't get our hair cut at First Choice)".