Quote:

---

San Jose got Joe Thornton from Boston for Marco Sturm, Brad Stuart, and Wayne Primeau. That deal seems to favor San Jose. Boston should have at least gotten Marleau if they were going to give up Thornton. Your thoughts?

---

Quote:

---

The romantics say we all have a soul mate out there somewhere (And for the last time Charlize Theron, I'm not yours, so please stop calling).



Maybe. But this I know for sure: we do have a sport mate, a half best buddy/half nemesis we are destined to compete with for forever. The French use the term "rivalle eternalle." Eternal rival.



(Clearly I made that up. The French don't call it anything. I just was trying to sound worldly again.)



Ali had Frazier. Magic had Larry. Sidney has Alexander.



And I have Mark Ward.



I met Wardo in Grade 3, when we invented a bizarre hybrid of soccer, hockey, and basketball, where you try to kick a rubber puck between the base posts of the playground basketball hoop to score. It was pure genius (we're still bitter we don't get the props Naismith gets), and occupied every winter recess in public school.



The problem was Wardo happened to be better than me at Sockeyhoop. He was a sick combination of Beckham, Jagr and LeBron (I mean…In a three-foot ten kid in snow boots kind of way).



And this drove me nuts.



Even worse, he could climb the steep aluminum slope and get on the roof of our school, which, in summertime, was carpeted with brand new tennis balls sprayed by adults who practised against the school wall.



This made him God of Glen Ogilvie Public.



Fresh Slazengers were like crack to Grade Three boys. Not for tennis, but for road hockey, baseball, Chance (throw ball against wall, must catch it on the way back or you're out). Tennis balls were currency. And he was Bill flippin' Gates.



I would try to climb up for hours, and couldn't get half way. So I'd sit on the grass and catch all the balls he'd throw down. Reduced to a ball boy at age 8. Sad.



This is my first memory of competitive fire. And the moment a lifelong rivalry was born.



Wardo would become my best friend. And my eternal rival. My Newman.



For the next 20 years, we would compete at everything.



Running, jumping, climbing, marbles, baseball, soccer, hockey, football, basketball, tennis, badminton, wrestling, golf, mini-golf, dodgeball, lawn darts, Frogger, flexed arm-hang, Toss-A-Cross, Risk, hockey-card flipping, Crazy 8's, Electronic Quarterback, caps, and eventually…girls.



And that doesn't even take into account the zillions of games we invented. You don't understand. This went on every waking moment we were together.



Waiting for the school bus? Who can hit the stop sign with the snowball first!



Bored in class? Who can peg Darryl Fogel in the head with a piece of eraser!



We used to walk two miles to the local mini-golf (racing at the end), play three rounds like it was the fifth major, hit two buckets of balls, with an intricate points system points for hitting various targets, then wager on how many cars would pass before my Mom picked us up.



It was a two-kid daily decathlon.



We once invented a two-man game of baseball we played on our knees in my basement using one of my Dad's drumsticks for a bat, and a ping-pong ball. We started this when we were 10. It only ended when I moved from that house.



At 21.



This continued into our 30's, and it went beyond sport.



Just before I moved to Vancouver in 1997, we went on one last boy's road trip to Newfoundland. One night at a bar on George Street, we were talking to a cute blonde. When she excused herself to go to the washroom, Wardo said: "She's totally into me."



"Yeah, right." I said.



"She's just being friendly, moron. It's Newfoundland. They're friendly to everyone."



So, of course, it was game on. I stayed in the same spot. Wardo moved to the other side of the mostly empty bar. If she came out, and went to him, he'd win.



Well, she comes out, starts towards me, notices Wardo isn't there, and B-lines across the bar to him. He did a victory dance Chad Johnson would be envious of. And just to flaunt his win, he married her.



When my wife gave birth to our first, my first call was to Wardo. It was a touching moment between two lifelong friends.



"One-nothing sucker! I am kicking your ass in babies!"



It went back and forth from there. For the record, it's now 3-3, and due to...umm...procedures...is destined to end that way. Though I'm pondering adopting a baby from China, just to beat him.



Wardo lives in Newfoundland now, so the games have been reduced to hockey pools and one golf weekend a year. But the new generation brings hope.



Last year, a bunch of old friends got together for an afternoon at a park in Ottawa. Wardo was in town with his oldest son (Age 4), and I brought mine (Age 4.5).






We raced them.



For the record, my boy crushed Wardo's boy by 10 feet. We sooooo rule.



(*By the way, if this constitutes some form of abuse, please don't contact authorities.)



(**Unless you are in Newfoundland. If they take Wardo's kid away, I'll lead 3-2 again.)



James Duthie can be reached at jduthie@tsn.ca.

---

Quote:

---

spezza, mccabe and stall on reserve - no crosby, no cujo

doan, doan and doan.. bertuzzi and his handful of points do not beat out the reservists ... i think they got it wrong. draper is like a 4th line dude.. blake isn't getting it done anymore

i just dun like it!

and i couldnt give bush a brain either, had to figure it was impossible from the start

---

Quote:

---

He already has one. You don't graduate from Yale without a good head on your shoulders. Silly socialists

---

Quote:

---

Quote:

---

He already has one. You don't graduate from Yale without a good head on your shoulders. Silly socialists

---

**edited**

Let's see some facts to back up these accusations.

So here's a question for everyone - who is your favorite of the new young players?

---