Cakers adore a degenerate turd of a man and take cues about their national identity from him entirely because he once coached a hockeymans team. This is despite him costing the Boston Bruins a chance at the Hockeymans Trophy of Smacky Boom-Plop because he accidentally sent too many players on the ice at once and gave Montreal a chance to come back and kick the Bruins out of the playoffs, which would generally suggest that he’s not the greatest at hockeymans either. Far worse, he currently sits in a chair being a rancid shit and wearing hideous costumes on national television, which is okay because reasons and hockeymans.
Coaches’ Corner is a caker tradition. Two elderly folks who couldn’t lace skates up without their feet crumbling to dust run the show – a rude, abrasive, racist, sexist, mealy-mouthed caker apologist named Don Cherry, and a ghost named Ron MacLean who exists to look sad when Cherry invariably says something inane and stupid, which is always. I’m not kidding – just look at Ron in the picture below (Ron, for the record, is a rather polite guy who once rescued a suicidal dude in Philadelphia). I don’t have a whole lot of reason to hate Ron – once upon a time he was apparently biased because he defended a ref from accusations of fraud or something, but that’s within the hockey-bubble and I don’t care about the hockey-bubble.
And then there’s Don. Don is a fucking idiot. His nickname is “Grapes” and it would be wiser to have them talk about hockey instead of this prolapsed rectum of a man because fruit at least stays clear of declaring entire cultures and peoples weak.
Like when Don said “never mind the concussions” in response to concerns that maybe having meatheads punching each other to prove that they haven’t roided their balls into nothingness is a bad idea. Or when he called bike riders “pinkos” while supporting Rob Ford’s run for office. Don Cherry is a singular cystic disgrace upon mankind, a garish douchebag who exists exclusively for banal Anglo-Canadians to get their dose of Bill O’ Reilly-esque reactionary blather while couching it in the comfortable terminology of hockey. Yeah – Bryan Fischer and Glenn Beck only suck because they don’t talk about The Game. All Glenn needs to do is shout that the guys on a baseball diamond lack “Grit and Heart” before he pulls out the chalkboard and he’s good, right?
It’s okay for this ancient fossilized suitrack to get wheeled in front of the television camera and spread screed because he has been doing it for a while and he both played and coached hockey. Playing hockey, as we all know, is a qualification for anything. His political power devolves into a play at defining Canada entirely in consumptive ways – beer swilling English-speaking hockey-bro-friends watching the CBC (now Rogers, which is somehow even shittier) while sitting in a suburban garage. He allows sadsacks cakers the fictive chance to pound their own chests and pretend that the misfortune of their birthplace (let’s be real here – Don’s is a white, distinctly suburban world where nonwhites may be novel but are little more than window-dressing) give them secret insights into the fine act of trying to turn a guy in made-in-China body armor to paste. In defining the caker Don helps to create the fiction that guides cakers to a deluded make-believe version of Canada.
Somehow, cakers still think that theirs is a tolerant and welcoming culture, and that’s the real treat. AmeriKKKa and its evil right-wing newscasters are cast as evidence that AmeriKKKa is Literally Hitler, but Don Cherry and his screed are fine because hockey. The narrative Don peddles – the sort of violent, meatheaded, hoo-rah machismo manifesto that would make an eighties action hero feel uncomfortable – that’s totally different. Sure, we had an asshole telling people with injuries to stop whining and calling Russians cowards on our national broadcaster – but it’s hockey you guys and that means a senile suitrack can spew bile with impunity.