Becks’ Move Draws a Red Card

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By Jason Menard,

So soccer’s royal family will be heading Stateside to join Major League Soccer’s Los Angeles Galaxy squad as early as June 30 th when David Beckham will leave the bright lights of Real Madrid for the big city of L.A.

And while this could be news, sporting fans throughout North America have had to stifle a yawn.

If Pele couldn’t kick soccer into the mainstream consciousness on this side of the Atlantic when he played MLS soccer in the 70s, who can honestly believe that an aging, glamour boy known more on this side of the ocean for his off-field exploits than anything he’s done on the pitch is going to be able to be anything more than a blip on the public radar.

On top of that, who can’t foresee this as being a $250 million (British reports) blunder that’s going to end unhappily for all.

Beckham and his wife, the artist formerly known as Posh Spice, are household names in England. Their every step is photographed and every fashion choice scrutinized by a ravenous British faithful. Here they’ll be nothing more than another couple of sunkissed faces in the crowd. A novelty act for sure, but certainly not the main course.

And how will a couple that’s so used to the adoration – and, arguably, so willing to court it – of a breathless public handle being relegated to the back pages of People magazine once the initial frenzy wears off? In less than a year they’ll be the subject – along with Britney and Lindsay’s panties – of a “where are they now?”-style expose on VH1.

Sporting-wise? Forget it. MLS already has a marquee talent in Freddie Adu, but hasn’t been able to translate his obvious marketability into any sort of Tiger Woods-esque revival of a moribund sport. And while Pele was big news, the sport was unable to maintain any momentum gained by his arrival. Once he was gone, so too were any of the casual viewers. If it couldn’t be done in the 1970s, there’s no way that Beckham has a chance in today’s marketplace.

Think back to that time. The NFL wasn’t the marketing juggernaut that it is today. The NBA was an afterthought league struggling for its very survival in the pre-Magic/Bird years, and Major League Baseball ruled the roost. The NHL, at the time, was a regional league that enjoyed pockets of support, but no general U.S.-wide presence.

Today? The NFL is arguably the most dominant sporting empire in the world and it’s only gaining steam. Basketball, thanks to the aforementioned Magic and Bird, along with a guy named Jordan, has captured the hearts – and, more importantly, wallets – of a younger generation. And baseball still has its die-hards and it seems to be recovering from its steroid scandal. Auto racing, specifically NASCAR, has come to the fore. And the NHL? Uhm… it’s a regional league that enjoys pockets of support, but no general U.S.-wide presence. What’s that they say about the more things change?

North American soccer fans – and they do exist – are already paying satellite charges to watch the world’s best play in European leagues. They’re certainly not going to pay first-rate ticket prices for second-rate soccer, in a league that features a guy who was no longer able to earn a roster spot on his own club.

So while this experiment is sure to arouse a quick bit of interest, it’s nothing that’s going to be sustainable long-term. In a sports market that’s already saturated, you gain nothing by making a big splash like this. You have to work from the ground level up. It’s not a 31-year-old pretty boy you have to attract – it’s the five-year-old kid who is looking to find a sport to call their own.

In fact, if the aforementioned Adu bids Adieu to MLS for a European league, then the league has truly missed its opportunity. It’s the younger players like Adu that the league must build around. Like Tiger, Adu could bring a legion of new fans to the sport and his youth would mean longevity. In the end it looks as if MLS is going to be replacing Adu’s promise for Beckham’s glamour. And no matter how you look at it, that’s a losing proposition.

The problem is that people on this side of the ocean view Beckham as a celebrity first and a soccer player a distant second. He’s known more for his hair than his passing, and our pundits would rather comment on the cut of his suit than the jersey on his back. And unless that perception changes rapidly, this is one play that’s doomed to fail.

Beckham’s arrival may cause a brief blip on the screen, but the sport is still doomed to flat line.

2007© Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

Finding the Right Route

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By Jason Menard

So, the naysayers opine, who would rather trade in their car for a bus? Who are these people that will embrace the London Transit Commission’s commitment to more efficient service, eschewing their vehicles for public transport?

I’m one. I’ve done it before and loved it. The only reason I don’t do it now is practicality. Well, that and I love my family, so I’d like to see them sometime instead of laboriously meandering through the streets of London under the flickering lights of an overhead advertisement.

However, for any public transit venture to be successful, the principles need to stop thinking green and focus more on the black and white.

When we moved to London from Montreal a few years ago the first thing I did was check out the public transit situation. That way, I figured, I could take the bus to work, which would allow my wife to have use of the family car. But there was a problem with that equation – something that refused to allow it to add up. Time.

Simply put, it didn’t make sense for me to take the bus. When I lived in Montreal, I commuted across the island from my St-Laurent residence to the downtown core or the Old Port. What would have taken me an hour-and-a-half by car, fighting through gridlock and inflated parking prices, only took me 15 minutes by public transit.

That’s it. It made sense. For just over $50, I obtained a pass that would allow me to ride the bus, Métro (underground subway), and commuter train. That monthly outlay more than made up for the amount of money I would have spent during the same time frame on gas and parking (the cheaper rates around where I worked went for about $100 a month).

And while the money was nice, it was the time that was the key. I could leave work by 4:30 and be home easily before 5:00. I could spend time with my wife and kids, and all was good. Devoid of road rage, I came home rested, relaxed, and in a much better mood than had I driven home through rush-hour traffic, swearing all the while, and watching my blood pressure rise during a twice-daily commute.

An ancillary benefit was that I read more than I had in years! Before I had a hard time finding the time to read. When I was on the bus or train, I had all the time in the world to quietly enjoy a book.

But here, in London, it’s the opposite. A 10-minute commute by car takes over an hour-and-a-half. There are multiple stop-overs and a significant walk involved. It’s hardly an incentive to commute.

And people have to stop focusing on the environmental incentives for taking public transit. We get it. We don’t care. If we haven’t changed by now for that reason, we won’t. Stop thinking green and focus on the black and white – what’s in it for me? Make it convenient. Make it affordable. And make it effective, and we will come.

The Bus Rapid Transit system is a good start for debate. However, I don’t think we need to investigate bus lanes and the like right now. The city’s not big enough for that. The one thing that would improve service is to improve the buses’ routes and schedule.

Straight. Up and down. Intersecting routes. And a bus every 10 minutes during rush hour on major routes. That’s it. Part of the problem solved.

Our public transit system tries to be everything to everyone. Routes meander through subdivisions, in an attempt to ensure that everyone can get where they want to go. But usually the fastest way to get anywhere is in a straight line. We have major arteries in this city, let’s use them.

A bus running every 10 minutes up and down major east-west arteries like Dundas, Commissioners, Hamilton/Horton, Southdale, Oxford, and Fanshawe Park Road, and north-south routes such as Wellington, Wharncliffe, Wonderland, Richmond, and Adelaide should be the basis of any system. Then you start adding the ancillary buses off of these major routes. Less-frequent buses up streets like Exeter, Baseline, Bradley, and the like would help make the grid more accessible.

Prioritize the rush hours. On these key routes buses running every seven to 10 minutes between the hours of 7:00 a.m. and 9:30 a.m., and 4:00 p.m. to 6:30 p.m. would improve service.

Sure, it may take more than 10 minutes to get to work for me, but I’d sacrifice an extra 10-15 minutes to leave the car at home. After all, while some people may cling to their vehicle as a status symbol, personally it doesn’t do me much good sitting in the parking lot of my office for eight hours a day.

If London really wants to grow and be the city it thinks it is – or at least the city it thinks it can become – then we have to make an effort. After all, if we want to attract the masses, we need mass transit to get them where they want to go.

2007© Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

The Bear Necessities

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By Jason Menard

It was a bitterly cold winter’s day in the city formerly known as Hull. The skies were clear, which made the cold outside bite a little harder. And as the car crested the small hill, off in the distance, we could begin to make out a shape. Blood red, arms and legs askew, alone in the parking lot. I gasped, my wife uttered the words, “I don’t believe it.” And in the back seat, my five-year-old daughter wailed.

Yes, Reddy Bear had been found. Now it was time to assess the damage.

But before we get to that, let’s provide a little back story. Reddy Bear is, in fact, a small red teddy bear, about the size of an adult’s hand, which was purchased many moons ago from some Roots store somewhere. Given to my daughter for her first Valentine’s Day back in 2002, the bear has become a fast friend to my daughter, and, by extension, a member of our family.

Odd? Not if you’re a parent. Many of us have children who have something in their lives that brings them a special comfort. Some children have a special blanket, others have imaginary friends, and many more have stuffed animals. And the thought of losing them is equally hard on both the child and the child’s parent.

Reddy Bear has undergone a number of changes over the years. When my daughter was old enough to talk, we discovered that Reddy was a boy. He was also her friend, Reddy. Later, as my daughter entered into the “playing mommy” stage, Reddy apparently made a side trip to Sweden, because she was now a girl (we still, sometimes, refer to Reddy as ‘he’) and had transformed into my daughter’s daughter.

After getting past the initial shock of being grandparents in our early 30s, my wife and I acquiesced to the fact that Reddy was special. Simply put, my daughter and Reddy play together, share confidences, and comfort each other in times of need. With that in mind, the question was now how do we make sure we don’t lose her?

It’s every parent’s fear. As much as our children love these creature comforts, they are still children and can, at times, be less than vigilant about taking care of their toys. This was doubly a concern when it became apparent that Reddy Bear was a significant part of our daughter’s sleeping routine. The thought of a night without Reddy conjured up the image of a tear-streaked face and the feeling of loss.

As silly as it appears – after all, it’s just a bear – parents will understand that their children’s attachment to these stuffed animals, special toys, blankets, etc. is very real and very deep. As easy as it is to say, ‘it’s not real’, it’s hard to deny the very real heartbreak that you can see in their faces when something this special goes missing. While my daughter will go a couple of nights without Reddy in bed – sometimes taking another stuffed animal in its stead – there truly is nothing like the real thing. Literally. Nothing. In fact, we have another identical Roots bear. Purchased at roughly the same time – except white. And while Snowbear is fun and all, he’s not Reddy.

We even contacted Roots stores throughout Canada, through the assistance of the company’s helpful – and indulgent – staff, looking for other red bears to buy as back-ups. And when that route failed to pay off, there have been repeated eBay searches – again, all in vain. So with no replacement, we’ve got to make this one last.

It’s not like we haven’t had close calls in the past. There was a trip from Montreal to London where, while getting something out of the trunk, Reddy almost made an unexpected stop in Kingston. There was also the trip to the mall, where Reddy found herself perched atop a garbage can as some kind stranger picked her off the floor and left her to be discovered.

But Hull was almost the end. Apparently, while getting my daughter situated in the car – not an easy task considering snowsuits and car seats – Reddy fell out into a grocery store parking lot. As my wife and I debated about whether Reddy had even made this trip (as opposed to staying in the luggage where we were) Reddy was left to fend for herself. Three hours later, en route to a New Year’s Eve dinner, we decided to take that fateful detour. And, miraculously to us, there she was, alone in the parking lot.

In the end, she appeared to have not been run over by passing cars. She was not taken or discarded. A little hand washing and a few tumbles in the dryer (not to mention repeated apologies by my daughter to her bear) Reddy was back as good as new. Eventually my daughter told us that Reddy had left the car to have lunch with a friend and was merely waiting for us – although she didn’t like waiting in the cold.

Another crisis was averted. However, let’s just say the grandparents are going to be even more vigilant – if that’s possible – about their furry, red granddaughter’s whereabouts from now on!

2007© Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

Delusion Key to Surviving Kids’ Concerts

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By Jason Menard

The true sign that the holiday season is in full swing? The fact that many of us willingly subject ourselves to the ear-splitting phenomenon known as The School Concert. And the greatest gift of all during these holiday concerts is the gift of self-delusion.

Well, perhaps I should amend that. It wouldn’t be ear-splitting if it were just my child performing. Your kids are terrible. Honestly.

My son, playing the clarinet, hits all the right notes, has the right tone and pacing, and displays a musical ability that obviously wasn’t passed down by his parents – or shared by many of his fellow band members. And my daughter sang with the voice of an angel, rising above the pedestrian voices from the rest of the school to shine like the star she is.

Of course, I may be biased.

And it’s that bias that makes these concerts tolerable. If I didn’t believe – like all parents – that my own kids were great, then the only plausible explanation for attending some of these events would be a penchant for self-mutilation. Seriously. The caterwauling at some of these events would have even the most ardent PETA activist clamouring to put down that injured cat.

Just as love is blind, so too can it be deaf – at least conveniently deaf. When we get together to watch a group of young children perform, we concern ourselves less with the quality of the performance than the quantity of the cuteness. A group of kindergarten-aged children can elicit oohs and aws just by appearing on stage in a collection of cute dresses.

But next time you have the opportunity to watch one of these performances, truly watch them. They are spectacularly bad, but enjoyable all the same. From stilted, shuffling dances to choirs singing what appears to be four or five different songs all at the same time, they can be entertaining in a sort of “watching a disaster unfold” manner.

Nowhere is this more evident than in musical performances. In any choral group you’ll have a collection of kids singing in time with the music, some who figure they can simply race through the song regardless of the beat, and others who just lip synch their way through the performance. And the same holds true for the band. Squeaks and squonks aside, some players play like they’ve never heard the song before – off key and off beat!

Of course, my kids are in the group who are on key and on time.

And that’s what we, as parents, all believe. That’s why a person can watch their kids up on stage, facing the wrong direction, with a finger up his or her nose, and still convince themselves that their child put on a virtuoso performance. And it’s that shared experiences that make these performances a joy for parents across the board.

We’ve all been there. We’ve all shared in how bad these things are. But we do so together, understanding that our children have poured their blood, sweat, and tears into these performances. It’s at times like this that we’re truly able to share in our kids’ imagination. When they get on stage they’re the prima ballerina, the concert pianist, or the award-winning actor. What to us appears as uncoordinated dancing to them is a routine worthy of Much Music.

That’s the greatest gift that these Christmas pageants can provide. They allow our kids to dream. To believe that they’re performing at the same level as the stars and professionals with whom they may be familiar. They don’t see the obvious flaws in their performances – they simply revel in the joy of performing. And when they think back upon those experiences their memories will be filtered through that combination of enthusiasm and fantasy.

To them, they’ll have all performed on time, on cue, synchronized, and in perfect harmony. And while they may, in truth, have sounded like wounded antelopes in heat, to them they’ll believe that they sang with the voices of angels, danced with the feet of prima ballerinas, and played with the grace and skill of the Philharmonic.

Well, at least that’s the case for your kids. Because it’s plain to see that mine performed perfectly. Of course.

2006© Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved

Peddling Naming Rights Wrong Answer

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By Jason Menard

And now, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the NAPA Auto Parts Centre the Avis Rent-a-Car “We’re Number Two, We Try Harder” second-place team in the Rogers Mobility Division of the Wal-Mart National Hockey League, the Teacher’s Pension Fund of Ontario Toronto Maple Leafs. This pre-team announcement was brought to you by your friends at Canadian Tire.

Sound outrageous? Maybe. Is this day that far off? Probably not – especially in light of the fact that the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League’s Western Division has now been officially named the Telus Division, as part of an agreement with the league’s major sponsor.

Historians please note: this is officially the day that your job just got immeasurably harder.

Remember the hue and cry when, back in 1993, the National Hockey League decided to scrap years of history in an attempt to dumb down the divisional and conference breakdown for our yet-to-be-found American fans? Gary Bettman, newly minted as NHL commissioner, decided to make his new league emulate the league from whence he came – the NBA.

So instead of the more colourful Prince of Wales Conference and the Clarence Campbell Conference, both of which are names dripping with historical significance to a league steeped in tradition, we have the yawn-inducing Eastern and Western Conference. And instead of divisional names that pay the appropriate honour and respect to the league’s founding fathers: (Charles) Adams, (Conn) Smythe, (James) Norris, and (Lester) Patrick, we have divisional names that sort-of let you know where your teams are.

Hockey, along with baseball, are probably the two sports that can best trade on their pasts. These games were built upon solid names – whether they be storied franchises, influential families, or key players, and the old divisional and conference nomenclature was a way of not just playing respect for those that came before, but also enticing newer fans to discover the history of the game.

Now, if the Quebec League’s sponsored nomenclature catches on, the only enticement that conference and divisional names will create is the desire to find out what the latest unlimited minutes plan is.

But what happens if Telus hits a down period in its business? What happens when a company decides that the investment in sponsoring a sporting division is no longer providing an adequate return? Well, it’s going to mean a constant shifting of divisional titles that will make it harder and harder to appreciate a league’s history.

Much in the same way that most fans have given up trying to remember what a team’s stadium or arena is called, so too will they stop caring about the divisional name. And when that happens, doesn’t that mean that the value of the sponsor’s investment has diminished completely?

Take a look at Montreal. The Bell Centre sign shines brightly into the night informing all who purchased the facility’s naming rights. However, how many people still refer to the building as the Molson Centre? Even more, how many people will continue to call the building the Forum, even if it never carries that name? That being said, maybe Telus has made the smart decision in being first in. After all, there’s a good chance that no matter who sponsors the division in 10 years, there will be those who continue to refer to it as the Telus division.

And look at the U.S. college football bowl system. There are so many bowls, with so many ludicrous sponsors (the Chick-a-Fill Bowl anyone?) that corporate oversponsorship has completely robbed the bowls of any cachet that they may have once had.

How ridiculous will it be for people interested in a league’s history 20 years from now to look back at the fortunes of a team and follow its progression spanning a number of different divisional corporate sponsors? Yes, Telus could give way to Rona, which could give way to Saputo, which in turn will pass the rights on to Provigo, who will then pass it on to Bell. And yet the teams remain the same, the composition of the division remains the same, only the sponsor changes.

Everybody’s in search of the quick buck. But there is a coin that carries an immense amount of weight which sport leagues refuse to trade upon – history. Tradition, honour, memories, and an attachment to things past are easier when there’s a common thread holding them together. Stories are only compelling when there’s sufficient context. Instead of peddling off the league’s tradition for a here-and-now cash grab, why not get creative with the marketing of tradition?

Nothing says stability and value for a league than consistency. But by peddling off tradition for a quick marketing buck, sporting leagues are running the risk of diminishing the value of the sport for the most important consumers of all – the fans.

2006© Menard Communications – Jason Menard All Rights Reserved