There’s a revolution coming, people. Not the “We’d like to sell you some mutual funds by incorporating music that used to be subersive into our otherwise non-threatening and highly establishment-based television ad” kind of revolution. Not the kind that requires a lot of marching with torches, either (which is good, because it’s been a wet summer, making serviceably dry torch wood difficult to find, and quite frankly, I’m just a little too bushed to be marching about prattling on about brotherhood and equality while singing full-throated anthems and such). No, not that one either; that happened, it was fun, and we all got nice t-shirts out of it.
Not to go all Tracy Chapman on you, but I’m talking ’bout a revolution that sounds like a twitter.
The new media, and in particular Twitter, is going to change the way that large organizations communicate with individuals. It’s going to have serious implications for the way teams like the Maple Leafs – and their players – relate to the fans.
In and around the free agency period, for example, I had a feeling that Brian Burke would be signing Francois Beauchemin. Incidentally, it is entirely possible that I picked up on that idea at least somewhat by reading Leafs-related chatter on Twitter, I don’t know; I can’t say for sure. In any event, though, using the excellent interface TweetDeck (basically a supercharged Twitter client/browser that allows you to open multiple Twitter streams at once), I kept tabs on a number of potential Leaf-related developments by opening columns designed to stream tweets containing certain words. One of these was a search for “beauchemin“. The columns continually updated as people from all over sent out their thoughts and information concerning the big defenceman. For a day or two, much of the chatter was simply conjecture about the possibility of Happy Trails signing with this or that NHL team; there came a point, though, when the information being exchanged started strongly suggesting that he would imminently become a Leaf. The tweets began to fly fast and furious, and not very long after, I learned – via a 140 character (or less) tweet – that Beauchemin was coming to Toronto.
In seconds, I was “re-tweeting” the information to the folks who were following me, and watching the information disseminate further like concentric circles on a pond as my tweet alerted others on the network of the news. fascinating stuff, and a definite game changer when you consider that only 40 years ago, the interested consumer of this knowledge would have had to wait for the morning paper to arrive on his or her doorstep. Not long after that, Brian Burke was confirming the signing at a press conference. My point is that because of Twitter, there doesn’t need to be any newspaper or conventional news gathering organization involved in the dissemination of this information.
YES I KNOW. STOP IT!!
The implications for large organizations wishing to push their message out to the populace are stunningly obvious. Well, stunningly obvious that is, to every organization except MLSE, which has had certain well poorly documented problems in the past with Twitter. Quite apart from the “Brian Burke” fiasco though, MLSE has now apparently hired HAL 9000’s autistic cousin to robo-tweet, in hyper-annoying fashion, the same repetitive and dated messages over and over again to the increasingly exasperated masses. This is the approximate digital equivalent, in old media terms, of sending Mr. Whipple to your house to berate you for squeezing the Charmin, pee on your floor and punch your dog in the face.
It’s probably safe to assume, then, that the suits at MLSE aren’t exactly ahead of the curve on integrating a medium like this into the daily life of the team, and it remains to be seen how the team will handle it once that robot is given a proper sendoff.
Even more interesting will be watching teams like the Leafs deal – or attempt to do so – with the players in the locker room tweeting away, communicating directly with fans via a service like this. This is an issue that the Leafs will have to deal with this year, as Mike Komisarek is a Twitter user. Komikazi tweeted tonight that he had received some good medical news and expected his shoulder to be fully recovered in time to begin training camp. Reading this tweet left me with a sense of some connection, some almost direct connection with the player. I didn’t read a quote from Komisarek about his shoulder that had been chosen by a newspaper writer who had decided to write about the subject; Komi told me, matter of fact. It’s the next best thing to him calling up and leaving a message on my voicemail.
I wonder, though, whether there will be a struggle to come between management and players about the use of a service like this. MLSE is an organization that labours mightily to try and maintain control over the message being disseminated about the Maple Leaf brand, and it is an organization that is very well positioned to do so, having access to the video production and broadcast facilities of Leafs television, on-air talent on staff, etc. It remains to be seen how tolerant the NHL in general and Leaf management in particular will be about tweets emanating from the dressing room; I suspect that it won’t be long before a fun-killing directive or policy is developed on this. The potential for problems, or at least things that have in the past been perceived as problems, is enormous: consider a player warring with his coach tweeting from the locker room during an intermission, complaining to his fans about not getting icetime on the powerplay. Imagine the fans getting behind their disgruntled hero and chanting for him as the next period begins. Tensions between the coach and player go up as the coach has to decide whether to give the fans what they want or keep the player riding the pine.
Even in the absence of conflicts such as the above, the simple fact is that – as more and more players begin talking for themselves in this way – fans will become less and less likely to care what the “official” MLSE website, spokesperson or twitter feed says; why would we spend time digesting that content when we can get our information fix directly from the horse’s mouth? Perhaps more than any other single factor, this dynamic – driving interest to player accounts rather than team/organizational outlets – will provoke a reaction from NHL teams. These teams, after all, are in the entertainment business; sooner or later, they will realize that their audience is generating traffic that’s going “off campus” and by definition isn’t helping them sell tickets, sweaters and bobbleheads. Expect the “twitter” issue to be part of the next CBA negotiations.
It’ll be a shame for the fans when the orders do come down for players to cease and desist. In the meantime, imagine the fun of sitting in the seats at the ACC and getting updates on your mobile phone from one or more of the players in the locker room during an intermission: “Interview with HNIC a godsend; Kabby’s shinpads stink” or “Stajan just took a wad of tape in the face,” or “Holy crap, Wilson bitch-slapped Jamal Mayers. I am hiding in the shower.”
Every year, the August long weekend is marked by a few of the nicest guys you’ll ever meet in the following fashion: they gather at a cabin on Lake Nipissing to tell lies about the fish they didn’t catch. As an incidental to this purpose, alcohol is consumed.
I have been fortunate enough to join these fine gentlemen in this noble pursuit many a year, though not so many a year as I would have liked. Circumstances and my own idiocy have combined on more than a few occasions to deprive me of the opportunity to join them, wet a line in the water, and share a laugh or two.
This coming weekend, the fishermen of the G8 will venture forth. Alas, I will not be among them, owing to the previously mentioned idiocy and circumstances. I wish them every success on the water, every laugh around the fire, and every moment of respite from the mosquitoes they can find.
It was no big deal; nobody got hurt, or sick, or died today, so it’s not like it was an awful day.
It was, however, a shit day. A day filled with shit. A day in which each and every thing that I did, from the moment I awoke to the thirty-eighth consecutive day of pissing rain, to the moment I returned home, was filled with maddening, aggravating, infuriating shit. The kind of day that begins to convince you that in the end, life is one long series of frustrating kicks in the crotch, until finally you say “fuck it,” and give up the ghost already, leaving this fucked-up planet to the deranged idiots who seem to multiply upon it so prolifically.
It did not help that at one point, while trying to accomplish one or the other of my myriad of tasks, I had to try and squeeze between a hall obstacle (it may have been someone idly flapping their gums about some no doubt pointless bullshit) and a storage cabinet against the wall, the door handle on the cabinet somehow slipped down into my back pocket, causing me to rip the seat of my fucking pants virtually clear off.
Anton Stralman is not now, nor will he ever be, Bobby Orr.
Realistically, Stralman has failed to crack the Leafs lineup over the last two years under either Coach Wilson or Paul Maurice. The Leafs’ defence has been paper thin in this time period. Stralman is not old at 23, but it’s fair to say that his failure to impress when given an opportunity suggests that losing him is no big deal.
Remember too, Leafs fans, that your blueline is stacked and set for a number of years. Stralman didn’t figure realistically in Burke’s plans; better that he gets converted into an asset for the future rather than burying him in the minors to waste away and bugger off next year for no return whatsoever.
Wayne Primeau? It’s all about shuffling around salaries and such. Burke gave Calgary a bit of soothing cap relief and basically got a 2nd rounder out of the deal. Whether Primeau plays centre on the first line or sells beer in section 504, it matters not.
Yesterday, Spouse and I were out for a drive in the Big Nickel listening to the local radio (Q92 – they “move more rock than Inco”). Unsurprisingly, after having the radio on for eight minutes, the programming included some Black Sabbath: Iron Man.
Spouse and I were in a bit of a creative mood and we felt that the tune – though entertaining – could use a bit of re-arranging. After a few minutes’ discussion, we came to the inescapable conclusion that this song should be performed by a marching band at a football half time.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Michigan Marching Band:
Spouse and I are in Sudbury for a few days; I had a meeting to attend here in the Big Nickel on Thursday for work, and she and I have both taken today off to make a long weekend of our drive up so that we can attend a horse show at the barn where Spouse learned to ride.
Updates may be sparse for the next day few days, as I plan to be spending quite a bit of time standing in a field – rain or shine – watching horses jump over fences. I am really bummed that I forgot to pack my camera, but given the weather forecast, pleased to have remembered a raincoat. It’s fair to say it was a bit of a scramble to make it out of the house and on the road in time to arrive at the meeting on schedule.
Note to Canadian government: if our nation ever becomes a world power with a bellicose army intent on liberating the heck out of anybody, do not put Spouse and I in charge of organizing any invasions. If we were in charge, the convoy would have to stop halfway to the beach for Tim Hortons Bagel B.E.L.T.s (no breakfast), there would be considerable confusion about the precise assignments of the participants upon arrival at the destination, and certain of the Marines would be searching their gear in vain to find eyeglasses that were not packed.
Since late last week, I’ve been spending a huge amount of time working on a writing project that was due this past Tuesday.
It’s the first time I’ve been commissioned to write something for publication. Naturally, I wanted to make as good an impression as possible, so I promptly missed my deadline and turned in a piece that is slightly – and I have to emphasize the word “slightly” – longer than the specs called for. I will be able to share some more details later, but my article will be published in a magazine that is targeted towards Leafs fans and written by bloggers and fans who follow the team passionately. Heavy involvement of bloggers basically guarantees that the target audience skews younger.
Here’s how I make myself laugh sometimes. I actually engaged in a thought process that took several hours, no word of a lie, in which I decided that it was important to write a catchy opening paragraph in an effort to draw the reader in to the piece; I carefully analyzed the expected demographic of my audience (see above) and came to the conclusion that some smart modern humour would fit the bill. I then set out to write the joke around which the introduction to the piece revolves.
Somehow, a paragraph that started out referring to Adam Lambert (of American Idol fame) ended up being about Dagwood Bumstead. The truth of the matter is that I have absolutely no explanation as to how and why this happened. Modern humour? Dagwood? Seriously, anyone who makes it past that opening paragraph will be required to mentally picture me driving twenty miles an hour too slow in the left lane with my right blinker on, wearing a ridiculous hat and rushing to get home so I can shake my cane at the neighbourhood kids to get off my lawn.
I have been working all day on a writing project that is due shortly. The “writing process” (by which I mean “staring at the screen wondering what the hell I’ve gottem myself into”) was going painfully slow a bit earlier, so Spouse convinced me to take a break to go into town. We had dry cleaning to pick up and it just so happens that there’s this little ice cream stand right next door to the shop.
Admit it: you thought this paragraph was going to be about me getting ice cream all over the dry cleaning, didn’t you? Sorry to disappoint – all clothing has successfully been retrieved from the cleaners and is safely back inside the house with little or no additional patina of melted ice cream. I am an idiot; just not that kind of idiot.
While we were driving back home, I mentioned that I needed to repair to Mission Control with all due haste, so that I could “art my writicle.”
Oh dear. This might be tougher than previously expected.
HiR:tb has obtained exclusive photographic evidence of one such positive development in Lower Canada: a picture showing some of the extensive refurbishing that’s been done to the Bell Centre since early July.
Brian Gionta may still need a boost.
Can’t wait to see that new equipment put into action when the Lollipop Guild needs a line change. In the meantime, Habs fans despairing of the future of their club should remember this:
Bring your kid to a Habs game this year; there’s a decent chance Gainey will sign him to a 6 million dollar contract and get him some time on the power play.
