For those about to Valk, we salute you!

Most of my adulthood and late adolescence are awash in a boozy haze; a defense mechanism, really, to keep those repressed memories down in the dank, cold cellar of my psyche (where they belong!). However, every now and again, there’s little slivers of memory that emerge from the druggy ether, like the inky messages contained in Magic 8-balls; one such memory was a quote from a high school geography teacher, arguing that Canadian identity is organized around two central tenets: beer, and the fact that Canadians aren’t Americans.

Now, I can’t exactly remember whether or not the argument was supposed to be facetious (I vaguely remember it being dead serious), but it’s a incredibly reductionist understanding of Canada’s national identity and by extension, Canadian culture. I’m no Canadian cultural imperialist, but I’m pretty positive that there’s more to Canada than beer and proprietorship to the 49th parallel. However, I could certainly understand how and why this particular geography teacher made such an argument: Canadian culture has an inferiority complex. And we indulge in it.

The Canadian inferiority complex, and the uniquely Canadian celebration of the underdog, is especially evident in hockey. See, like most good Toronto boys, I’m a Maple Leafs fan; and, in my years, I’ve seen plenty of talent pass through Toronto. Including, but not limited to, former elegant former captain Mats Sundin, to the arthritic dangler Alexander Mogilny, to hard-shooting Bryan McCabe, smooth-skating Hall-of-Fame defenceman Larry Murphy, and even 29-goal scorer Jonas Hoglund, the Maple Leafs have possessed no shortage of legitimate hockey talent. But every single one of these players has, at some point, drawn the ire of Toronto sports fans – in some cases, such as those of Murphy and McCabe, they were chased right out of town.

However, Toronto has also had a truly bizarre love-love relationship with certain bit players – players who haven’t quite possessed the talent, but had certainly possessed the drive. Garry Valk, Mark Osborne, and current Leaf Dominic Moore are all players who have been, at times, the apple of Leaf-land’s eye. And what’s astounding is that these players are journeymen, ham-n-eggers, lunchpailers – players with only the requisite minimum amount of talent to stick around in professional sports.

And I suspect that this phenomena isn’t limited to the Toronto Maple Leafs. Don Cherry, seems to love ham-n-eggers, and, for better or for worse, when Cherry speaks, Canadian hockey fans listen. So why do Cherry, and Canadian hockey fans, love marginal players? Perhaps it’s because fans can project their own images upon these players, perhaps these players are representative of regional alliances, and perhaps fans associate with their workman-like ethic. Perhaps each ham-n-egger presents a palatable allegory for hockey fans: though most can’t carve their niche via talent alone, a certain degree of success can be achieved via hard work. It’s the American dream packed in cork-board flooring with the unmistakable aroma of hockey bags.

And through this allegory, perhaps Canadians relate to ham-n-eggers due to a perceived common experience, in the same way that Canadians can associate with Joel Plaskett’s description of taking ‘the Dartmouth Ferry into the town’ – even if they’ve never been to Nova Scotia.



Speaking of Don Cherry, I recently stumbled across the above interview with hockey’s Voltaire, and Vogue Magazine intern, Sean Avery, taken from CBC’s the Hour. When George Stroumboulopoulos prods Avery about his ongoing feud with Cherry, he retorts that Cherry "knows nothing about hockey... he knows, like, unnecessary facts about putting Sears catalogues on your shin pads.”

And while Avery’s critique is both truthful and hilarious, Cherry’s shinpad-advice is still strikingly Canadian. As a culture, Cherry is indicating that Canadians don’t advocate pharmaceuticals for cures, but celebrate folk-remedies. And truthfully, Cherry doesn’t need to know anything about hockey because he isn’t specifically addressing hockey. His popularity isn’t as a hockey commentator, as he’s xenophobic and misinformed; as a cultural commentator, he’s expressive of perspectives shared by many Canadians.

And, if Canadians actually do celebrate working-class values in their hockey players, such logic is also extended to Canadian cultural products. While Canadians have certainly had their fair share of successful cultural exports – Broken Social Scene / Arts and Crafts, Feist, and Fucked Up (who, oddly, have performed for 12 consecutive hours in NYC with the help of Russell Simmons, David Cross, the Edge, and others) come to mind – some of our most celebrated products aren’t heralded at all at the international level; and, judging by some of Canada’s most successful exports, success cannot be equated to talent.

The Tragically Hip’s struggles for recognition abroad have been well-documented. But one of Canadian Indie Rock’s most celebrated acts – the Rheostatics – are also so criminally underappreciated that it seems like the only person documenting their legacy is excellent hockey/music writer Dave Bidini – who, it should be noted, is also the Rheos former guitarist. They are the band that, amongst other things, have championed Canadian author Paul Quarrington (author of Whale Music, a title which the Rheos reference as an album title, and King Leary, the On the Road of hockey-lit) and coaxed Stompin’ Tom out retirement (he who penned ‘the Good Ole Hockey Game’ and the oddly disturbing ‘Believe in Your Country,’ which feature the lyrics “If you don't believe your country should come before yourself / Ya can better serve your country, by living somewhere else”).

Of course, that’s not to say that the Rheos are entirely unappreciated. Last year, fans from across the country packed Massey Hall, in Toronto, for their emotional farewell shows. Within that year, a tribute album to the Rheos has emerged, featuring classic Cancon artists ranging from the Barenaked Ladies to the Weakerthans. The Rheostatics have proved that Canadian music fans, like their hockey counterparts, appreciate underappreciation.

It’s a bizarre paradox; though Canadian culture has produced some truly exceptional artists, there seems to be a bizarre propensity towards keeping Canadian talent underappreciated. It’s not that the talent isn’t there – it’s simply that we’ve decided not to advertise it. As such, Canadian talent seems to thrive on the under-dog label and a workman’s ethic, despite the clear abundance of talent in our backyards.

And it’s time to start appreciating our unappreciated; there is an abundance of diverse talent in Toronto alone aching for recognition. There are visual artists, such as the stoically patriotic Charles Pachter and the morbidly hilarious Jimmy Limit. There are bands such as lo-fi mope Hayden (still probably best known for decade old singles ‘Bad as they Seem’ and ‘Trees Lounge’) and surf-country act the Sadies, who have been quietly building up solid discographies for over a decade. Ben Cook – formerly of hardcore band No Warning, and more recently, the brainchild behind the Marvelous Darlings, Surplus Sons, Young Governor, and Fucked Up – has quietly developed into one of the city’s most talented and prolific songwriters. One of my favourite bands in the city, the Beauties, is unsigned and occupies a role as the Dakota Tavern’s house act – where they’ve been playing weekly for over a year, without any formal recorded material. And if you need more proof on exactly how good the Beauties are, see the below video:

There’s a lot more to Canadiana than beer and borders; it’s just a matter of recognizing it.