Tick off Queen Liz and the Winnipeg Jets lose their logo

You want to get politics out of sports?

Fine. By all means, let’s do that. And let’s start by instructing the Winnipeg Jets to ditch their Royal Canadian Air Force logo. That’s right. Call graphics. It’s back to the drawing board.

I mean, let’s face it, the Jets logo is nothing if not a political statement. The National Hockey League club’s ties to the Canadian military are so tight I’m surprised they don’t play in fatigues. The Jets even have a nine-page, do-this-and-don’t-do-that contract with the national Defence Department that requires them to abide by certain conditions, the most significant of which is this: Do not dare tick off Queen Liz.

Queen Liz and two of her beloved Corgis.

“The club agrees to use the Winnipeg Jets logos solely in accordance with the terms and conditions of this agreement and in such manner as to protect and preserve the reputation and integrity of Her Majesty the Queen in Right of Canada, as represented by the Minister of National Defence, and the Canadian Forces.”

So there. Queen Elizabeth gets royally PO’d with, oh, I don’t know, let’s say head coach Paul Maurice’s potty mouth, and there’s going to be royal hell to pay. The Jets will lose their logo faster than you can sing “God save Camilla Parker Bowles.” No more CF-18 Hornet, no more awkward-looking Maple Leaf, no more navy blue-and-grey roundel. And those shoulder patches with the RCAF wings? Gonzo alonzo.

Now, I realize the odds of the Jets peeing on Her Majesty’s Corn Flakes (actually, she prefers Special K) are remote. She likely spends less time following Patrik Laine than Brent Burns spends in his barber’s chair. Mention Dustin Byfuglien and she’s apt to assume you’re talking about one of her Royal Beefeaters.

And, of course, hockey players are political like Don Cherry is a pinko. They wouldn’t say Donald Trump if their mouth was full of his tweets.

Oh, wait. Jets captain Blake Wheeler did that very thing, didn’t he? He called out the president of the United States. And Tie Domi’s boy Max had some scolding words for Canada from his home base in Arizona, suggesting our immigration laws are weaker than the Coyotes team defence. So who and what’s to say a young guy like Mark Scheifele won’t step up and dump on, say, the Monarchy? That might put a snag in Queen Liz’s royal knickers, don’t you think?

And let’s not overlook the other Royals, most notably those first in queue to the throne—Princes Charlie, William, George and Harry, and Princess Charlotte. If you can’t tick off the Queen, it follows that her boy, her grandsons and great-granddaughter/son are off limits, too.

Don’t mess with the Queen and Camilla’s royal lids.

But that’s the risk co-bankrolls Mark Chipman and David Thomson ran when they chose to crawl into bed with the RCAF and sign that nine-page pre-nupt.

What are the do’s and don’ts of the contract? That’s strictly hush, hush, but we all know how to get Queen Liz’s attention:

• Tell her Corgis are really, really dumb-looking dogs.
• Tell her that Camilla will make a much better Queen.
• Poke fun at the Royal ladies’ hats.
• Tell Prince Harry that Meghan Markle is a lousy actor and a bit of a skank.
• Mention that Prince George and Princess Charlotte are cute kids but William and Kate might want to get them to a dentist before it’s too late.

Any or all of the above ought to do the trick.

Silliness aside, if you really want to get politics out of sports, the Winnipeg Jets and their logo must be your starting point. Clip 17 Wing Winnipeg and go from there.

 

Things that are on my mind this morning…

patti dawn swansson

Random thoughts in the wee hours before dawn’s early light…

I keep reading about the United States being the “land of the free?” What makes the United States the “land of the free?” What freedoms do Americans have that we don’t enjoy in Canada? Oh, that’s right, they get to play with guns and we don’t. How’s that working out for them?

I no longer use the phrase “You know you’re getting old when…” I now say, “Now that I’m old…”

As the day when there are 66 candles on my birthday cake approaches, I surrender to the reality that time is running short for me to take my first selfie. That is not, however, on my bucket list, so I shall be ashes in an urn before I engage in that self-serving ritual. I’ll continue to talk about myself, write about myself and look at myself in the mirror, but snapping a selfie is a non-starter.

I really like my dentist, but why does it cost so much to have her peer into my mouth? How do we know dentists aren’t ripping us off?

I find it interesting, also odd, that I can fly clear across an ocean to England for less money than it costs me to fly most places in Canada.

Someone told me that Americans would never be so dumb as to elect Donald Trump president. No? Then explain the voters in Minnesota electing a professional wrestler as governor and the voters in California doing the same with a body builder.

The Spice Girls: Did I miss anything?

While watching Mel B on one of the late-night gab shows recently, it occurred to me that I could not name one Spice Girls song. So you tell me, have I missed something?

Someone once said, “Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be,” and I agree. Whereas certain of my childhood friends go on Facebook to reminisce about the good, old days, I sometimes wonder if I even had a childhood or good, old days. They drop names I don’t recognize. They write of events I don’t recall. For example, the other day someone posted a comment about walking to high school in a group that apparently included moi. I have no recollection of that. I remember almost always walking to and from school alone or with one of the Lowery girls.

I witnessed the rarest of sightings the other day: Two people sitting in a pub, talking to each other instead of playing with their smart phones or tablets. That was nice.

I was a 10-minute walk from the Royals on Saturday, so I had a choice: Make that 10-minute walk and watch Kate and Will deliver the Royal wave, or sit in the pub and order another pint. I’m pleased to report that that other pint tasted real good.

Why was security on highest alert when Kate and Will arrived in Victoria on Saturday? Were the motorcycle cops and those men in sun glasses and long, black limos afraid one of our homeless citizens would insult the Royals by asking for spare change?

If the cost of rent continues to soar in Victoria, I might soon be one of those homeless citizens begging the Royals for spare change.

I missed the Royal wave from Kate and Will.

I have nothing against the Royals. I have something against fawning over faux celebrities. Or any celebrities, for that matter.

I tried to watch The Voice last week, but I can’t get past Miley Cyrus. I’m not sure what it is about Billy Ray’s little girl, but she’s a most irritating bit of business. Her nails-on-chalkboard voice is grating and those teeth that look store-bought don’t seem to fit her mouth or face. She’s over the top with her rebel-with-a-cause schtick, too. I’ll pass on The Voice this year now that I know she’s a coach.

On the matter of The Voice, the adolescent bantering between Adam Levine and Blake Shelton became painfully tiresome about three seasons ago. How often do those two mooks have to call each other an “idiot” before the audience and producers decide the schtick is just childish and not funny?

I was a fan of country music in the 1980s, when I hitched my horse in Calgary. That was a wonderful decade for the genre, with the emergence of George Strait and Clint Black and Garth Brooks and Alan Jackson and Randy Travis and Reba and Alabama and Dwight Yoakam and Roseanne Cash and Ricky Van Shelton. So what happened? When did Nashville become a haven for the vocally challenged? I mean, you’re telling me that Blake Shelton and Luke Bryan are mega-stars? George Strait and Alan Jackson were right when they sang Murder on Music Row. It’s a crime what’s happened to country music.

I really like Renee Zellwegger. She makes me laugh.