There's only one Terry Fox

Hi all,

I prepared an update this morning ready for posting when western Europe arose from its slumbers.

Sometimes however serendipity takes over and a chance encounter makes me draw breath and just wonder who I am.

I walked today in the most amazing weather imaginable for this time of the year, perhaps five kilometers along Douglas street to the outskirst of the inner harbour.

It was a day that only magicians could have conjured up and as a million words tumbled into phrases and sentences, as a thousand pictures formed and focused in my inner kaleidescope, as sounds of people living became the music of life's beat, I reached the junction of Douglas and Dallas.

A statue stood, obvious but unheralded off the main walkway. It seemed a little misshapen, one leg obviously larger than the other.

I walked across, a little intrigued but oblivious to the fact that that same Serendipity had taken my hand and pointed me towards the figure.

I'll leave you with a picture and an inscription and this thought.

Sometimes even for a product of the Celtic Nations, a wee tear is not a slight on our virility.

Mine today was not a tear of regret but one of inspiration, admiration and humility.

Perhaps Terry Fox's 'Marathon of Hope' was more successful than even he could have hoped for; for surely as long as we can recognise the 'real heroes' and 'real heroines' in this world there is 'real hope' for us all.

Terry will always be for me one of those heroes and heroines!

Click the pictures! and then google his name and 'Marathon of hope' for the full amazing story.







There is indeed only one Terry Fox


Matt

Go Canucks Go!!

Damian strode down the bar towards me.

“Not long now” he said.

“Not long to the clash of the titans, David v Goliath, Little Red Riding Hood confronts the Big Bad Wolf eh?”

Damian was a walking cliché. He could have been Keith Jackson or Chick Young in disguise.

He was right though, even in Vancouver the temperature was rising both metaphorically and literally, as the clock ticked inexorably by; and with each passing second either the fears of the apparently helpless fans dissolved into a black-hole of irrelevance and confidence began its unstoppable ascent towards irrational certainty; or like ying and yang the upbeat buoyancy was eroded by the constant riptide of bad memories, and the insidious fear became magnified as it echoed loudly around the dark dank cavern of what might happen in our nightmarish imagination.

Daft really how the game grabs you and puts you in a tumble drier of ever-changing direction and temperature.

More of that later.

Meanwhile, Vancouver is undoubtedly (and possibly surpasses the Italian City) the Rome of the north. Seven hills would have been a mere warm up stroll for those who have hewn this city of magnificent geographical and climactic contrasts in a cooperative endeavour of Caucasian, Chinese, Inuit and most importantly indigenous Indian inhabitants.

Romulus and Remus might, just might have been hired as willing and promising apprentices.

From the arrival of the Canadian Pacific Railway in 1887 as it hacked, battered, mined, and exploded apparently impassable stone, and then weaved its way over, under, round and through the gargantuan guardians of the Rockies, this community and its peoples have spread to every corner, every depth of valley and every height of mountain imaginable.

If ever there was a definition of the word ‘Railroaded’, then the establishment of Vancouver is its expression carved in concrete, flourished in forest and manifest in mountain.

A city built on mountains and a city built with a respect for the environment that sees not only bears a relatively common sight, but also numbers among my sister’s occasional garden visitors such cuddly little, soon-to-be domesticated pets, as timber wolves and cougars.

Next week I have promised myself a walk in the forest and, passing the pinned-up requests and pictures for information on the whereabouts of lost family pets, hopefully to experience the thrill of even the possibility of an encounter of the first kind – although not quite the same encounter as the mourned family pets, so forlorn on the fading novenas!

Me and wanted posters have a bad history!

Of course evolution will sprinkle the necessary fairy dust of survival and something will probably give, and maybe even here, the sights and sounds of our fellow travellers will be but a final cry in the dwindling wilderness; but I hope not and hope even more that this is the place where an equilibrium has been reached within which we all can live and trumpet an example to the world.

Burns' observation of "Man's inhumanity to man" is rightly resonant and famous but while the term inhumanity would be illogical in relation to other creatures, it is hard to be emotionally neutral at the prospect of the loss of the natural magnificence of Gaia’s gift to all of us.

Take away the gift and what is there to appreciate other than the rats in the race – and sadly we’re the rats.

Anyway if you’re ever in the area then remember that scene from “Where eagles dare”, as you ascend in a Gondola to the top of Grouse Mountain.(where you must try some of the Grouse Mountain Cream Ale)

Stare down on three sides at the valleys, the mountains, and the vast ocean inlets, forests and huge conurbations and breathe, taste and wallow in the genuine awe of man’s ability to fashion shape and form from whatever raw materials he happens upon; wonder at the motivation, imagination, expectation and final thoughts of those who first set foot here and having experienced the vagaries delights and challenges of the four seasons, said to themselves “yes, this is a good place to be”!

Stare over the Cleveland dam and in the mind’s eye and ear for a second or two put yourself in the place of Dr Richard Kimble peering down into the unforgiving power and depths of the murderous white cataract, Marshal Sam Gerard cornering him, and then (I know it was only a film) making the decision to dive or jump.

Look upon the mountain called the two lions as they appeared to the original settlers and also at the man-made Lions Gate bridge, built by the Guinness family, and wonder what was the greatest of the achievements, but have no doubt about what given the true course of nature will be the most enduring.

These Lions get everywhere (there's a Lions Park Station in Calgary as well - I wonder why I notice things about Lions?)

And then there is the Capilano Bridge!

Here lies acrophobia unbound, as the prospect of a sudden gust of wind or the man-made rocking of the bridge’s equilibrium threatens to toss all upon it, into the Capilano river some 230 ft below!

“I believe that many in this room will live to hear a whistle of a steam engine in the passes of the Rocky mountains, and to make the journey from Halifax to the Pacific in five to six days” Joseph Howe 1851

Joseph Howe was a Nova-Scotian journalist, politician and public servant!

Imagine that! A combination of probably three of the four most ridiculed professions (imagine if he had been a lawyer as well....only joking), and yet one who not only had vision and imagination but one whose portrait of the future came to fruition in 1887 as the final rocks fell away and the age of steam travel heralded its arrival on the west coast no doubt with a celebratory scream of the steam whistle!

What would we do now for individuals with such creative minds to trigger the endeavours of men and women, to see life as an uplifting challenge and not as a grinding burden.

And with that first train and those that followed, came people not just with imagination and dreams, but with the skills and callouses, perseverance and belief, stubbornness and heroism; men and women versed in taking on the wilderness, not to destroy it but to open up its magic to all who wanted to see.

One of these was an ‘Entrepreneurial Scot’ who went by the name of George MacKay, who having bought land either side of the Capilano River enlisted the help of two Indians, August Jack and Willie Khatsahlano to erect this bridge for no reason other than to create an attraction.(Not sure if Jack and Willie were their given names!!)

He arrived in 1888 (a fine year) and by 1889 the first real public attraction had been opened in British Columbia.

Pictures do so little justice but believe me when you see, grown men take a breath and sway with the bridge while putting on a brave face or where similar souls sink to their knees as a sudden wave crosses and lifts the securing cables, and then when you walk across its cedar planks yourself, as a slight wind urges you to hold the side (just to set a good example mind you), then you realise just what a marvellous idea it was, especially since no evidence can be found of George MacKay having any engineering qualifications.

Wherever you go in this unforgettable city you cannot escape the mountains.

On bus, train, boat, car, foot or even plane there they stand not brooding but smiling like a master conductor waving his baton, bringing order, fun and resounding music of life to the land, sea, sky and creatures who enjoy and enhance this unique garden.

And as the day disappears beyond the Vancouver Island and the rim of the pacific it’s time for a bit of modern day mental massage and though there’s Gastown and Chinatown there’s nowhere better than The Library Square Sports bar, home of the Vancouver Shamrock CSC.

Damian’s yer man on the bar and he and his staff have been given the expert’s award for the most well poured pint of Guinness in Canada. Not necessarily the best pint taste-wise (it was excellent mind-you, but so were others), but in terms of the ritual, chat, and final body and head he and the gorgeous girls who serve in the pub are beyond reproach.

**the expert who made this award by the way was me!

I suppose it would be crass to note negatively just how ice-hockey, and sport in general, mad this nation is, especially coming from as football daft a culture as our own.

BUT.

Three screens confronted me as I sat at the bar, my Guinness to hand and my eyes flicking left to right and back again as each game vied for my attention.

One was dropped almost immediately; I had no emotional or logical ties to either team.

The others were different.

To my left a City that I have rarely had little time for, Washington, were performing heroics against the obviously arrogant supremacists from New York – those garishly clad red, white and blue New York Rangers.

There was only one team for me! "Go on you Capitals! "

To my right, a stirring and close fought contest was being enacted by the San Jose Sharks and the Pittsburgh Penguins.

I was about to eliminate them from my roving attention when the subtle and attractive shades of the Sharks Green and White caught my eye.

That was it!

Just “Show me the way to San Jose”.

Cross eyed and neck-strained I switched and swapped from the support for the Sharks to the antipathy for the Big Apples!

The games were even. Capitals ahead, Capitals Drawing! Sharks ahead, Penguins reply. Pitch and toss, to and fro. Time was called on both games. Full time draws.

Overtime began.

My self-imposed limit on Guinness had been reached and my last pint of the evening was all I had to see myself through to the potential tension and guillotine of a shoot-out.

One minute to go, San Jose on the break, but so are Washington. Shimmy right, shimmy left, the goaltenders advance , they’re left stranded as the Shark leaves the Penguin all at sea, and the Capital outprints, I mean outsprints, the lower case rangers.

As one, the two attackers swing their sticks and in synchronised acclamation the bar (well me rise) to greet two amazing and stonewall deserved victories.

Unfortunately both shots take off like a Dixie Dean penalty and the whistles go.

I sit back down, silent, humbled and but for the dregs in the glass, bereft of booze.

Two shoot outs and you know the rest. Is it not always thus!

Capitals and Sharks both lose 2-1.

Still it’s only Hockey!

Except “only” isn’t really an applicable word.

This is a great sport!

It has speed, skill, aggression, controversy, commitment and artistry that rivals everything but one other sport. I not only could get into this but I am already into it, and through my family out here all I can say is “Go on Vancouver, Go on you Canucks”

And so Sunday looms and the gathering of clans is taking place here in Vancouver.

Damian asks me if I am going to watch "The showdown!!! "

“I’ll be here” not wishing to sneer too much at the daftness of the question.

“Better get here early “he says,” it could be packed, there are a lot of both camps in town and they all want to see this one”.

“Aye but there will only be one team’s support in here” I suggest

“Nope, open doors here buddy”

I’m going off him now!

“Being as you are the Vancouver Shamrock CSC, AND I only see Celtic games advertised, AND there is only a Celtic scarf to be seen, AND the huns will be off seeking necks to bite at 4.30 in the morning, I would have thought that this would have been exclusively a little bit of Paradise, the Holy Ground, Celtic Park, Heaven on Earth EVEN Parkheid”

He shakes his head forlornly!

“I’m taking about Vancouver against Montreal, the Canucks against the Canadiens in the afternoon.”

I try to look as forlornly but with a frisson of pity back!

“It may be speed, skill, aggression, controversy, commitment and artistry, but sorry Damian it’s still a game for pussies” I said

I look even more forlornly into my barely damp glass, and drain the remnants of the evening.

“Hail Hail, see you after Damian”

“After? After what?” he queries.

“After now” I reply.

He shakes his head again.

“OK, see ya buddy”!

Hail Hail

Matt

Beyond the Rockies

Greetings from the Pacific coast of Canada.

Made it phew!

Twenty hours on and off the Grehound service from Calgary and finally crossed the Fraser River with it’s thousands of logs floating downstream to the timber yards and mills.

At Chilliwac (as in a scouser telling his mate that it's cold), the snow suddenly disappeared like the artist had gone for his tea. The land was suddenly verdant and fertile again, and was being worked with the enthusiasmm that probably only comes with rare opportunity!

Arriving in Vancouver, some snow still lay on the ground, but in comparison to the prairies - very little other than garden patches and resiliently built snowmen.

I’ve got about a fortnight to visit the three major clubs in the area, Vancouver CSC in Port Moody (I’m staying in that town), Vancouver Shamrock CSC in Downtown Vancouver (watching Celtic vs them there), and Victoria CSC across the water on Vancouver Island.

Especially for SFTB.

The bears out here (big black grizzly specimens) have taken a liking to human food (that’s food that humans eat, not eating humans). This has altered their behaviour patterns and they tend not to go into any extended hibernation. (a bit like the Glasgow Town foxes coming out during the day)

The bearesses and their cubs are regular visitors to the bins put out for collection and they have even sussed out how to get round the sophisticated tamper-proof locking mechanisms.......they just smash the bin open on the ground. Bit like Manchester on UEFA cup final night.

My niece Carly, showed me the fence that they have put round their property to keep the bears out. Somehow I think a six-foot high mesh barrier isnae going to stop a hungry bear!

So guess who won’t be taking the garbage out!

Just before leaving Calgary I walked across the frozen River Bow.

You might normally expect a river to freeze smoothly.

But if you open the picture and zoom in a bit, have a gander at this.


The huge blocks and lumps are broken bits of mini-bergs from much further upstream that have floated down the gradually freezing downstream river, till in a slow version of ‘the day after tomorrow’, they finally ground to a halt and concertined the floating bits into the air!

Meanwhile, it’s 09.04 here and time to grab a bite, intrigue the local curtain-twitchers and tease the bears with the sight of someone ‘Walking’; and especially for the bears - wearing a celtic top!!!!!

I may even spray green vegeatable dye hoops on the Snowmen!

Hail Hail for the moment

Matt

Goodbye Cowtown, Hello Vancouver (Soon)

Morning/afternoon/evening all.

Time to get on board that Bus bound for them there hills!

Well it will be at 23.15 this evening arriving in Vancouver at 14.45 tomorrow.

Spent yesterday after our game, going to the saddledome to watch Calgary Flames getting beaten by Anaheim Ducks 2-1 (Ice Hockey).

I think sport the world over is being priced out of everyone but the mature and well off. I could've counted the young future of Calgary near me on slightly less than two hands. Still losing to a team with the monicker 'Ducks' is probably as low as it gets

Anyway, many a good memory of the cityso far, but I was caught by this shop whose name and colours seemed to have a certain je ne sais quoi!




I tell you, if we don't solve the problem of resistance in anti-biotics, this sort of bacteria will spread like a plague!

Hail Hail

Estadio

Hello Cow Town (That's Calgary)

It's o8:37 a.m. and I'm heading off to Denny's for some breakfast before crossing town to search out the Calgary CSC based at Peanuts Sports Pub, Carriage House Inn, 9030 MacLeod Trail South.

Just love the address, "Macleod Trail South".

I'm staying at a place called the motel village on "Banff Trail NW".

The street and road names (and the snow and frozen over Bow river) conjure up tales of pan-handling, gold-rushes, mounties in pursuit of pistol Pete, and having to decide which of the huskies to shoot and eat in order to survive another night in the wilderness!

Times were hard then!

Still I'm gooing to catch the cross town C-train which for the princely sum of $2.50 ($1.50 ish) will speed me in Comfort from Banff Trail station to Heritage in approx 28 minutes.

Got to arrange to see the Queens park game the morra at 7 a.m.

Will be here until Sunday when I get a bus across the Rockies.

That should be interesting.

Fortunately I think that the bears (brown, white, or teddy) are all in hibernation at the moment, although it would be good to upstage the Saltmarket bus with my tale of encountering a grizzly on the snow capped peaks of British Columbia!

Mind you if you've ever had the misfortune of foolishly wandering into Whitelaws after a game against 'them', a Grizzly holds little fear!

Hail Hail

Estadio

Farewell to Edmonton, Tina, Rose and Daphne

Thursday morning. Edmonton. 09.18 Mountain time.

Got my new camera, Pentax k200d. WOOOOOOOOO!

So Rose, when you read this please send me another picture since the ones I took of you are on the lost camera. Another one with that figure hugging wooly jumper would be perfect - I just loved the pattern.

Went down to McNally's High Run Sports bar, home of Edmonton CSC. Failed miserably in my attempts to get in touch with the club's president - Steve Kerr so will try again on my return journey across Canada.

The bar has 14 pool tables and 2 full size snooker tables, and a really well poured pint of Guinness!

98 avenue where the pub is must be the biggest avenue in the world. It starts not far from my hotel on Stony Plain road and takes half an hour to get to by taxi (and thirty dollars).

Meanwhile a big hello to my resident Taxi drivers - Bashir, Sam and last but not least Raj.

Raj in particular had a strange fixation with Brussels. I didn't explore it too uch as I felt there may have been a dark secret involved. But what an entertaining bloke.

Also I mustn't forget Daphne (who didn't like her surname - so I won't tell anyone that it is 'Jerome') and her boyfriend Sean. They are from the Northern Territories and came south to live in Edmonton to try out living in stone buildings instead of Igloos.

Daphne (I taught her how to spell her name correctly- she always thought it was DAFFNY) has a smile that can kill the devil at 200 yards and Sean has a beard. So you should be able to tell who is who in this picture.

Anyway off to get the Greyhound now. Calgary next stop!

Hail Hail

Matt

Peope drink Red Eye here. That's lager and Tomato Juice!!

NOOOOOOOO!!!!!

NOOOOOOOOO!!!

I only went in because it was called TB's bar. Thought it might by some weird rip in the space time continuum, be Tommy Burns' bar, but it wis Tony Burke's Bar.

A biker or rather ex biker of the highest order,

Drink flowed, stories were told, pool was played, pictures were taken and more drink flowed.

I've lost my Camera, so if Tina (of the flashing smile), Rose (of the dreamboat eyes) or James (of the 'don't call me American') happen to read this, have a search around the floor, I may have dropped it when doing the Cossack dance.

The advert for tequila was a classic!

"Tequila - have you hugged a toilet today"!

Just remembered that my walk home (I passed TB's bar 3 times at last count) was punctuated with a number of Torville and Dean moments. (probably a bit more Orville than Torville)

Camera has probably skidded into the depths of history by now.

HOWEVVAH

Before its sad demise I did transfer the following to my pc the view from my Edmonton hotel room!

Nooooooooo!

Hail Hail

Matt (Estadio)

Where the hell am I now?

Failte everyone.

For anyone that's interested I've made it to Winnipeg where at 06.30 this morning (12.30 UK time) I dragged myself from bed and headed to the Irish centre to watch the ICT game in the company of the Winnipeg CSC (and two ICT supporters)!

What a miserable game and outcome. Still faithful through and through.

Meanwhile, some of you may already know that I visited the Bramalea CSC on the outskirts of Toronto. It is a magnificent club with magnificent people who are a credit to Celtic, Scotland, Ireland, Canada, and England.

Here are a couple of pictures of two Murals.

This one is the Huddle painted during big Rab and Bobo's era. (spot Bobo's legs)

This one show a magnificent hand painted collage of Brother Walfrid and many a Celtic legend mounted on the wall within a context of other Celtic heroes.

This is the main mural blown up into greater detail. It really is superb.


What a welcome I received at the Bramalea and I will forever be in awe of people like Martin Guthrie (pictured in the huddle mural), his absolutely crackin wife Pat, Tom Donnelly, Colin Phillips, Tom McCardle, Michael Wooley, Tom McGougan, and everyone else who extended a true hand of welcome.

Pat in paricular stands out from her response to my enquiring if she was Canadian.

Fair affronted she was as she replied 'Get away with yourself, I'm seventh generation Irish'!

You'll do for me!

So to Winnipeg and the attraction of my hotel was the promised outdoor heated swimming pool which in this weather conjured up images of the hot springs and spas of Iceland.

Not quite!

The Winnipeg CSC is only a small unit of about 15 people, but no bigger Celtic hearts will be found anywhere and my thanks and admiration go to them all and in particular Archie Kane, Lawrence Malone, Jim Stewart and those who suffered this morning. It is the first time I think I have watched the full game while drinking a cup of tea - and fine tea it was.

Finally on a stroll earlier I passed the Winnipeg Goldeyes (baseball) stadium.

Just outside it's precincts I stumbled upon what I regard as one of the most well thought out combination of colours, outlandish dress and descriptive words.

It reminds me somehow of a group of peepul never far from my pen's aim and was put togethjer with all the skill of a master cobbler fashioning a hand made-to-measure brogue.

Anyway, It's Edmonton next, followed by Calgary and finally Vancouver before I start the return journey when I hope to visit other CSCs and thriving little outposts of Paradise that personal imperatives made impossible on the outward part of the trip.

So for now

Hail hail

And guess what - It's snowing again.

Matt (Estadio)