Funny Business Archives - Page 4 of 33

A Christmas wish

Some stories start off sad and end up happy.

Some stories start off happy and end up sad.

**Scott Adamson writes stuff. Follow him on Twitter @adamsonsl**

Then there are those stories that blend tears with smiles, and you find yourself trying to write the ending.

That leads me to another Christmas Day, and another decision to make about how I choose to feel about it.

Do I pick Christmas Day, 1994, or Christmas Day, 1970?

Is it really even my choice to make?

See, on December 25, 1994, my dad died. Just weeks earlier he had been diagnosed with an aggressive form of cancer, and by December 20 he was already in hospice care.

I was with him when he passed away, cringing as I watched him struggle to breathe and staring at a clock that showed 3:12 p.m. when the breathing stopped.

It was the worst day of my life.

Like many people I grapple with severe depression and man, oh man, did that event start a freefall. Pop was my best friend and my hero, and suddenly he was gone.

And it happened on Christmas Day.

So, are you sufficiently bummed out yet? Can’t blame you. That tale is quite the buzz-harsher.

Please try to bear with me, though, because things get better – even though I thought they never would.

I spent a long time “celebrating” every Christmas Day by reliving the one from 1994 – the one that saw part of my world end.

But as Christmas Day, 2022, is at hand, my mind no longer goes back to 1994, but to 1970.

I was a kid, one who had been mesmerized by the New York Jets’ win over the Baltimore Colts in Super Bowl III. While Joe Namath and company wouldn’t recapture the magic again, they were cemented as my favorite team. And all I wanted for Christmas was a department store New York Jets football uniform (complete with plastic helmet, jersey, pants and shoulder pads).

I made this request quite clear.

“Pop, I sure would like a New York Jets football uniform for Christmas,” I said.

If you’ve ever read me before you know my father was a Green Bay Packers fan, so his response was colored by green and yellow instead of green and white.

“You mean you don’t want a number 15 Packers uniform?” he said with a grin. “You’d look good dressed up like Bart Starr.”

I guess I knew he was kidding, although I couldn’t be sure. And had I torn open a package containing a yellow helmet with a big “G” on the side, I would’ve still been happy. I loved the man dearly, so he could’ve gifted me with a rock and it would’ve been just the rock I had always hoped for.

But of course, it was a Jets kit, courtesy of our friends at J.C. Penny. As far as presents go, it was the best one, from the best dad (who was also my best friend).

And it happened on Christmas Day.

So, I suppose now you’re wondering how I’m able to make my memory default from that awful Christmas to my happiest one.

That’s a good question, and a fair one.

Depression – or at least the way it affects me – is akin to being attacked by a gang of demons that vary in size and strength from day to day (and sometimes moment to moment). When you’re lucky, you can brush them back with a broom.

When you’re not, they will absolutely beat you senseless.

I guess one Christmas Day I just got tired of getting my butt kicked.

So, instead of waking up preparing to be overwhelmed with a profound feeling of loss, I concentrated really, really hard and tried to remember the healthy, happy Pop – the one who lived, not the one who died.

And the more I dug deep into my memory, the more I realized as happy as I was forcing a green jersey over shoulder pads and squeezing into that Jets lid, he was even happier. It was a great day for me, but a great day for him, too. That shared moment now seems more like a treasure, because it is a treasure.

And this season, that brings me comfort and joy.

Look, much of what I’m rambling on about sounds trite; I’m acutely aware we can’t always take our mind where we want it to go. Some days, the sadness is so overwhelming we can barely move. I mean, if we knew how to rid ourselves of depression we’d all do it, right?

Knowing that, I can’t promise you that next Christmas my ruminations won’t revert back to December 25, 1994, at 3:12 p.m.

What I can tell you, though, is that time – and the knowledge that there are caring people everywhere – has helped me give far more weight to my best Christmas than my worst one.

And that nasty gang of demons? Well, sometimes they’ll win.

But other times, they won’t.

And what I hope you take from this is that I know how you feel, regardless of what you feel today and what you might feel tomorrow. There is help available, and sometimes we all need it.

So, this holiday season, I wish you strength and send you love and light. If you look hard enough, maybe you’ll find your own version of a Jets uniform under the tree.

Because things can get better, even though you might think they never will.

If you’re struggling and need help, call or text 988 or chat at 988lifeline.org/chat.

Canadian Football Day

Saturday was American Football Day, and millions of gridiron enthusiasts across the globe celebrated by watching college teams compete in the four-down game.

Of course, those of us in Birmingham who remember the Barracudas understand that November 5 is also a solemn occasion; it was that day in 1995 our Canadian Football League team played its final game, which resulted in a 52-9 spanking at the hands of the San Antonio Texans.

Speaking of which (and I’m speaking of the CFL, not spanking … how you spend your leisure time is none of my business) today is opening day of the 2022 Grey Cup playoffs. At noon my favorite team, the Hamilton Tiger-Cats, tangle with my second favorite team, the Montreal Alouettes, in the Eastern Semi-Final, followed by the BC Lions versus the Calgary Stampeders at 3:30 p.m. in the Western Semi-Final.

For that reason – and because I was in the mood to write a CFL-centric column – I’m proclaiming today, November 6, 2022, as Canadian Football Day.

It’s a day to celebrate fields that are 110 yards long and 65 yards wide with end zones that are 20 yards deep.

It’s a time to revel in a league that doesn’t throw a flag if a team has 12 players on the field because that’s the correct number.

It’s an occasion to laud the sense of urgency required to make 10 yards in only three downs.

And it gives us the opportunity to praise the single point, or rouge, which is awarded when the receiving team doesn’t return (or kick) the ball out of its end zone following a punt or missed field goal, or if a kick goes out of bounds in the end zone without being touched.

Do I have the authority to do such a thing? I certainly think so. I mean, who can stop me? (It reminds me of an old George Carlin quote: “I have as much authority as the Pope. I just don’t have as many people who believe it.”)

Admittedly, I’m having to wedge it in among several other recognized days. November 6 is “International Day for Preventing the Exploitation of the Environment in War and Armed Conflict.” That’s certainly a noble cause, but not one conducive to a festive atmosphere.

Here in the States, it’s also “National Nachos Day” as well as “National Saxophone Day.” Nachos go great with football, so the occasions mesh. And if you eat enough of them, you won’t even need a saxophone to create your own melancholy sounds. (I was going to throw in a line about breaking woodwind, but that would’ve been pushing it).

Anyway, this is one of those rare late Fall Sundays when I shove the NFL in the backseat. Throughout most of the regular season the CFL avoids Sunday games so as not to clash with the Billionaire’s Club, but I’m always going to take a Canadian playoff game over an American regular season affair – every single time.

Plus, the Jets-Bills game at noon isn’t televised in my market, so the only decision I had to make was whether to watch the Ti-Cats-Alouettes over the Packers-Lions or Dolphins-Bears.

And honestly, it was an easy call.

Having said that (and then written it because I doubt you could hear me), I once thought by the time this weekend rolled around I’d be an innocent bystander when it came to the CFL playoffs. Hamilton appeared dead and buried at one point – standing at 3-9 through 12 games – but somehow managed to sneak into the playoffs with an 8-10 record.

How great is that?

Pretty great for me, because I get to keep all my Hamilton caps and T-shirts in the “season in progress” pile for at least one more day.

I know there are those who think it’s ridiculous that a team with a losing record gets a shot at a championship, but I don’t hang around with those people so I don’t particularly care what they think.

And besides, anybody remember the 2000 Lions, 2001 Stampeders and 2016 Ottawa Redblacks?

All had sub-.500 records during the regular season … all won Grey Cups.

That’s one of the beauties of postseason sports; championships aren’t necessarily won by the best overall team, but by the hottest team in the tournament.

And today’s matchups could translate into a couple of terrific games.

Hamilton (8-10) at Montreal (9-9) will be the fourth meeting between the two in 2022, with the Alouettes holding a 2-1 edge.

Montreal won 29-28 and 23-16 at Percival Molson Memorial Stadium, while Hamilton earned a 24-17 victory in the friendly confines of Tim Hortons Field.

As a former wide receiver myself (I don’t like to brag, but I caught both a TD pass and 2-point conversion toss while playing for the L.M. Smith Elementary School Cougars in 1974), I’m looking most forward to seeing Ti-Cat All-Stars Tim White and Steven Dunbar Jr. haul in Dane Evans aerials.

But Trevor Harris can be scary good behind center for the Als, and comes into the clash having passed for more than 4,000 yards this year (Eugene Lewis has 1,303 receiving yards). The only other Montreal QBs to reach that number in a season are Sam Etcheverry and Anthony Calvillo, and they’re both in the Canadian Football Hall of Fame.

Obviously, I’m hoping the Tabbies prevail, but all is not lost if they come up short. When I’m not cheering for them, I’m pulling for the Larks, and since I have a pair of Montreal dad caps, I’m fully prepared for the East finals at BMO Field on November 13.

From a pure entertainment standpoint, the West semi between BC (12-6) and Calgary (12-6) should be a dandy.

The Vancouver hosts have taken two of the three meetings and the Lion victories were wild – 41-40 and 30-29 in overtime. And aide from two great teams squaring off, there are a couple of terrific sidebars.

BC’s Nathan Rourke makes his first playoff start after coming back from an injury that derailed what was shaping up as a phenomenal season. In just 10 games behind center the Victoria, British Columbia, native has thrown for 3,349 yards and 28 touchdowns in his second year in the league.

On the other side of the field is Jake Maier, another CFL sophomore hotshot who won the signal calling job from future Hall of Famer Bo Levi Mitchell. Maier replaced Mitchell as starter in Week 11 and has come on to toss 14 TD passes against seven picks and rack up 2,389 yards.

If the teams don’t combine for at least 60 points I’ll be a little disappointed.

At any rate, today I’m rocking my gold Ti-Cats shirt and black Ti-Cats cap and settling in for a full day of CFL-style entertainment.

Hell, I might even color my cheeks with some rouge to honor that single point.

It is, after all, Canadian Football Day.

Halloween, werewolves and flame retardant costumes

I love Halloween.

Always have.

It is without question my favorite holiday – there isn’t even a close second.

Sure, you get presents at Christmas, colorful eggs at Easter, chocolate covered cherries on Valentine’s Day and term life policies on National Insurance Awareness Day, but you don’t get to dress as a werewolf.

I mean, I guess you could, but trying to work a werewolf into a Nativity Scene might be pushing things a bit. Then again, sheep are involved and werewolves like a good sheep now and then, so who knows?

Throw in some silver bullets with that gold, frankincense, and myrrh, and you realize how wise those men really were.

Point being, Halloween gives you the opportunity to be someone else for a day, watch spooky movies, and keep the inside of your house dark so Trick or Treaters won’t ring your doorbell.

As for werewolves, I was rather obsessed with them during my formative years. In fact, I used to take toothpaste to school and, during recess, lick a small bit of Colgate and swish it around so that it would appear that I was foaming at the mouth.

Werewolves, in case you don’t know, tend to foam at the mouth – or at least the committed ones do. And, by god, I wanted to be a committed werewolf.

Fortunately, my grammar school had no guidance counselors, so there was no one to check on me to see if my lycanthropy was interfering with my school work or mental health.

For the record, it was not.

I was an “A” student, and as far as mental health goes, I was as well-adjusted as any boy capable of assuming the form of a wolf while retaining human intelligence could possibly be.

The greatest Halloween, though, came when I was about 8 and my mom bought me a werewolf costume at a department store.

That was back in the days of those hard plastic masks with rubber bands on the back, and rayon outfits that tied around your neck.

The major selling point was that they had to be “flame retardant.”

That was of the utmost importance to my mother, who if she said, “I’ll get you a costume, but it has to be flame retardant,” once, she said it a thousand times.

Apparently, before these outfits came along, Trick or Treaters tended to burst into flames.

I never saw it happen, but I’m sure it was horrific … dozens of children bopping along with their little bags of candy and then suddenly turning into human torches.

And to the credit of the flame retardant costume makers, in all the years I wore their products I never caught fire, nor did any other kids I saw wearing them.

That’s impressive.

Anyway, this particular costume was a Wolfman, and it was reminiscent of the 1941 movie “The Wolf Man,” starring Lon Chaney, Jr.

It was made by Ben Cooper Inc. and, aside from looking cool, there was a sticker on the front of the box letting me know that the mask was ventilated.

That was important, because suffocation slows you down when you’re going house to house.

Knowing I looked menacing and could breathe freely made me more proud of this costume than any I’ve had in my life.

It was great to be with my posse out ringing doorbells, and then have the candy-giving parent or adult guardian tell me how scary I looked.

Of course, there was that one guy who opened the door, looked at me and said, “Oh, you must be a mean dog!”

Dumbass.

I kept that werewolf mask for months, taking it to school with me to augment my toothpaste-induced mouth foaming.

It finally wore out, though, and as I grew a bit older, I began to broaden my Halloween horizons.

I went as Batman for several years, and still have Batman masks, capes and onesies that I wear from time to time.

If there’s one thing I like better than a werewolf, it’s a Dark Knight.

And even though I’ve reached the age where I can order from the 55+ menu at Denny’s, I still have the urge to dress up for Halloween.

And this year, I might even go old school, relieving those carefree days of my youth when I ran around in flame retardant costumes, howling at the moon.

I think I’ll go buy some Colgate.

Editor’s note: This column was originally published in 2018.