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Football – The Band That Wouldn’t Die.

Just a few days after posting my article Football – Ducks vs Nuts, one of my readers sent me a YouTube link to a fifty minute documentary by Barry Levinson about the Baltimore Colt Band, the Colt football team and its move to Indianapolis titledThe Band That Wouldn’t Die (2009). It should be required viewing for every football fan. Levinson was born in Baltimore and had earlier created the briliant film DINER (1982) about his teenage years in his home town. Some of its most memorable moments concern a young girl who must pass a lenghty examination about the Colts before her boy friend will marry her. She is aided in her preparations by her entire family. As a team, they are as Baltimore as Baltimoreans can be. If you’re looking for some entertaining viewing, I recommend DINER.  P.S. On numerous occasions I went to this diner with school chums. If you could eat their super sundae unaided, you’d get another one free of charge.

In the mean time, read my article Football –  Ducks vs Nuts and then check out The Band That Wouldn’t Die:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbKlElazhGE

 

 

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FOOTBALL- Ducks vs. Nuts

Baltimore Colts Johnny Unitas c. 1958.

Baltimore Colts Johnny Unitas, 1958.

 

There was a time not too long ago, when I could barely think of NFL football without experiencing  pangs of remorse and anger. I had been a fan of the Colts since their relocation to Baltimore in 1953. Along with the Washington Redskins, the Colts were the first NFL team to create a fight song, a band to play it and cheerleaders to hustle it.  My girlfriend, now my wife, and I greeted the teams return to Baltimore in 1958 after they had defeated the NY Giants in the Greatest Game Ever Played. In 1984, Bob Irsay, the Colts alcoholic owner, moved the team to Indianapolis – a cowardly act perpetrated in an early morning raid on the Colts administrative offices. As the moving vans headed for Indiana, he locked all the doors behind him. The Colts staff arrived for work, and found themselves locked out. Irsay permanently broke the hearts of Colts fans. Another profiteering scrooge did the same to Brooklyn Dodgers fans. We martyrs cannot say Indianapolis Colts or Los Angeles Dodgers without gagging.

That’s all in the past and now only persistent but ever diminishing aches remain to remind me of those glorious, sinister days. I’ve gradually learn to live with the Baltimore Ravens, if only because Edgar Allen Poe died and is buried in Baltimore. So, screw Bob Irsay. As Mark Twain said, “Never say anything bad about anyone until they’re dead”. Quoth the Raven, nevermore.

Another thing that helps alleviate the pain of losing my beloved Colts is the success of the Ravens and their defensive style of football. After all, they won a Super Bowl and this year my hopes soared when they not only made playoffs, but in the first game they handed Baltimore’s perennial rivals, the Pittsburgh Steelers and their silly towel waving fans, a humiliating defeat. They lost the next game to the New England Patriots, but the defeat of Pittsburgh kind of made the season. Then I resumed watching my next best game, college football.

The college game is fun because it’s mostly played by youngsters and bizarre plays rarely seen in the professional game are created by college coaches and flukes. Then there’s the cheer leaders, the bands and the fans. All of these things contribute to a carnival atmosphere. But a creeping professionalisim is threatening the college game.

Monday, 14 January 2015, launched the first contest to determine the “real” collegiate national champion, the 2015 College Football Playoff National Championship. The Oregon Ducks was pitted against the Ohio Nuts, or Buckeyes if you will.  The buckeye tree is the state tree of Ohio and it produces a nut called Buckeye. The Ohio State football team mascot is Brutus Buckeye. The Oregon mascot is, wait for it, a duck. It looks something like a Disney duck or a Sesame Street reject.

270px-Oregon_Ducks_mascotimages16751402-mmmain

 

 

 

 

The Ducks regular season uniform is almost Day-Glo green with yellow numbers. Ohio’s red uniform was designed back in the 60s by their coach, the legendary Woody Hays. However, for this night in North Texas, both schools broke with tradition. their uniforms were designed by Nike, the shoe company whose logo is already on all NCAA players uniforms and coaches clothing. For Oscar night in the AT&T Stadium, the Ducks became swans, all white with black numbers and pale grey feathers on their helmets and pullovers.  Both teams sat on orange colored benches courtesy of Gatorade.

I was pretty sure the Ducks were going to win. They play a hurry-up offense which unsettles their adversaries by not giving them enough time to prepare defenses. Their quarterback was the 2014 Heisman Trophy winner.

Football players for large schools seem to get bigger every year, as big as the pros.  The defensive line of the Ducks had two players weighing in at 290 pounds, one of them 6′ 8″ tall the other 6′ 9″. Both looked slim. I don’t recall Gene Lipscomb’s measurements or weight, but I do believe the big time college guys, particularly the linemen, are apt to be bigger than Big Daddy was. The Baltimore Colts practiced in Westminster, Maryland where I attended high school. One day after school I visited their practice field and stood next to Big Daddy. Those were the days when player’s salaries were counted in thousands rather than millions of dollars and there were no security guards looking out for terrorists. He appeared to be a giant of a man but I don’t think he was 6′ 9″ tall, though he may have weighed 290 pounds.

The Nut’s quarterback Cardale Jones, weighed in it 250 pounds!  What made him unique in the annals of collegiate playoff was the fact that he was playing in only his third college football game. He ran the Nuts like a professional and made the Duck’s Heisman Trophy winner look absolutely pathetic. After the season opened, Ohio was ranked 18th in the nation – at game time Oregon was favoured by 7 points. The final score was Nuts 42, Ducks 20. Take that, Daffy!

Backing up its wunderkind QB, was Nuts running back Zeke Elliott and an offensive line that tore holes in the Ducks defense, allowing Zeke to run for record yardage and four touchdowns. The Ohio defense was just as impressive. Adjusting to the Ducks hurry up offense, after the first quarter, Ohio pretty well shut down the Ducks running and the passing game of their Heisman winner. All in all, Ohio proved to be the dominant college team in the United States.

Ohio’s coach, Urban Meyer has now won three national championships coaching two different schools. The University of Ohio pays him $4.5 million a year. The coach of the Ducks makes 2.5 million. No wonder the Ducks lost.

I do believe the popularity of the sport is such that it has surpassed baseball to become the national game. A college might field 50 to 100 players, a coaching staff of 15, three or four of them in a booth above the stadium floor, and the games generate untold millions of dollars for their schools, advertisers and television.

And so I watch because I love what these kids do on the playing field. They make goofy plays, brilliant plays and stupid mistakes, but they’re excited about the game and make me excited as well. And every once in a while a guy like Ohio’s quarterback Cardale Jones comes along. He was brought up in squalor in East Cleveland and had the guts to call a children’s aid worker and say, “Come and get me. I can’t live like this anymore”. He went to Ohio State as a regular student, only later becoming third quarterback. By an incredible chain of events, accidents to the first and second string quarterbacks, he quarterbacked and led the Nuts in its last three games of the season, defeating three of the strongest teams in America including the perennial and once again favourite for the national title, Alabama. Thus did the Nuts become the first “real” collegiate national champion.

In an attempt to escape a large Duck lineman intent on doing him bodily harm, Cardale lost his grip on the football and the Ducks pounced on it. When Cardale reached the sidelines, an irate coach Meyers asked him, “What happened”. Cardale answered, “The ball came out of my hand”. What’s not to like about that!

 

http://www.sportingnews.com/photos/4631521-college-football-playoff-national-championship-nike-uniforms-oregon-and-ohio-state-photos/slide/291482

 

 
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Posted by on January 14, 2015 in Articles, Commentaries & Critiques, History

 

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Mary Jolliffe, a Canadian Arts Legend.

    Mary Jolliffe, November 11, 1929 - October 29, 2014.

Mary Jolliffe, November 11, 1923 – October 29, 2014.

I first met Mary Jolliffe at a soirée in the home of Karin Wells and Peter Schenkman. Mary was seated at the dining room table and I was introduced to her as a musician. Mary looked me in the eye and said, “You’re not going to discuss the meaning of art are you?” Her voice had an edge honed by a life time of smoking cigarettes and quaffing booze. Though I don’t remember my response, I  recognized the challenge in her question and probably mumbled something along the lines of me knowing nothing about art.

Karin Wells, a C.B.C. producer, had met Mary years before me and they had been fast friends ever since. At the time we met Mary, she was no longer working as a publicist, editor and general factotum to the theater and dance world. She was already a legend. She had been inducted into the Order of Canada and though she never wore its distinctive pin, she thought that kind of thing was silly, she certainly deserved it.

My wife and I attended many dinners given by Karin and Peter and often came to drive Mary home at the end of the evening. We became friends though I doubt she knew anything about music. Once in a while she would ask me a question about music, but she was only trying to include me in the conversation. We didn’t need to talk about music or theatre or dance. We just enjoyed being together, and though our topics were often of a serious nature, we could slide easily into the humorous and the absurd.

Mary had been born in China to missionary parents.  During Mary’s Memorial service, Karin said that Mary would wake-up in the morning in China and see dead bodies outside her parents compound wall. Mary told me that at the beginning of the troubles in China, she had been flown to safety by a member of Clair Chennault’s flying Tigers.  Later in Canada she was hired by Tyrone Guthrie to be the Stratford Shakespeare Festival’s first publicist. Thus began her long career in the arts.

Mary had a clear perspective on the vagaries of people and their bureaucracies. She kowtowed to no one and did not tolerate bull shit. Frail as she appeared, there were tines when she reminded me of Japan’s national treasures, those old Zen masters of martial arts, who could prostrate a room of young wannabes without appearing to move. After Stratford, she made invaluable contributions to National Ballet of Canada and spent a few years in New York City with the Metropolitan Opera’s Touring Office.  Mary came back to Canada to work with the new National Arts Center in Ottawa and later the Ontario Arts Council and the Canada Council.

I’ve never met anyone who loved the English language more than Mary. The most serious moments I ever had with her concerned the subtleness of language. She knew I enjoyed words, though she was a master far, far beyond me. One day as she read the opening paragraph of Bleak House by Charles Dickens, her voice almost acquired  a reverential tone. When she had finished she said, “Isn’t that incredible? Such beautiful language. The mastery of it”. Months later Mary gave me her copy of the Nonesuch edition of Bleak House, a reproduction of the original edition.

Mary’s personality, her impetuosity and spontaneity, were what drove my wife and I to her. She had reached an age when she “didn’t give a damn”.  And much like the late C.B.C. director Franz Kramer, she could be counted on to speak the truth and to express her thoughts, even at times deemed inappropriate by her friends. Her voice was loud and energetic, probably because she was hard of hearing and often refused to wear her hearing aid, or maybe not.

We went with Mary and another friend to dinner at a respectable middle-class restaurant. We were having a good time and were talking rather than deciding what to order, so the waiter had to come back a couple of times. On or about his third trip to our table, Mary picked up the menu for the first time, glanced at it for a moment and said in a voice well above a stage whisper, “Oh fuck it, I’ll have the lamb”. The restaurant became quiet and the waiter smiled.

During Mary’s Memorial, former associates remarked on Mary’s Oh fuck it moments. She had other opinions as well. “Oh darlings, he, or she, was a gormless ass”, Or ” He, or she, was an ego ridden non-entity”. Mary always correctly pronounced ego as Eggo.

My wife and I have lived in a smokeless environment since I gave up cigarettes about 20 years ago and we discourage smoking in our condo. Mary, who really needed cigarettes, was our exception. Mary tried to quit, but as she often remarked, “Darlings, at my age, what the Fuck does it matter?”. Many years ago Mary had been fired from a job because of alcohol abuse and its affects on her dealings with people under and above her. She finally took the pledge and when we met her, she had been holding a steady course for many years excluding the occasional brief lapse. Though she tried, Mary was never able to give up her smokes.

When her dementia began, Mary became terrified during her lucid moments. She once looked at me and said, “I’m scared” and she truly was. At 90 years of age she was beginning to lose control and knew it. My wife and I drove her to doctors appointments and meals of dim sum, helped her shop and retrieve her prescriptions. But it was clear that Mary often did not know who we were and we stopped visiting. Soon after, we learned of Mary’s death in her last residence, a nursing home.

She had lived for a long time among friends, well, some friends, in Toronto’s Performing Arts Lodge (PAL). When she unknowingly began to drop lit cigarettes, Mary was reluctantly convinced to enter a home. She had contributed mightily to the success of PAL. She served for years on the PAL’s board of directors and her ability to read and write comprehensively and argue cogently, pulled them out of one hole after another. Now that Mary is no longer there, they’ll have to take care of themselves.

My wife and I are among a large group of people who miss her more than words can express. She had repeatedly and adamantly refused to write her memoir. Pity.

Mary not long before her death.

Mary, not long before her death.

 
 

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