I know you're out there, somewhere out there

By Agatha Moonfry
Staff Writer

Back in 2001, when we were all afraid of a military draft as a result of the War on Terror (which we’ll never win until American Idol is officially off the air), my boyfriend at the time asked me to move to Canada with him.

There were perks. Good health care, French-Canadian snobbery, greater rock music and better national parks in which sexual relations could be consummated, thanks to a less stringent police force. But there was one deep desire that made me stay in the States, and I bid adieu to Donovan in a steamy, epic night on his twin bed in the outskirts of town before he left the next morning.

That deep desire that kept me stateside, one that left me clinging to the idea of something greater, was that I knew American sports were far superior to anything I could find in Canada. While the Canucks were busy playing with hockey, curling and various forms of good naturedness, I knew I could count on the USA to bring me baseball, basketball and substances unavailable in the methadone-clinic world up north. With American sports, I could get a natural high. Not that I need it, with my more traditional high in place.

Donovan. If you’re reading … I’ve changed my mind.

I cannot bear to watch as folks named Adam Stern and Eric Cyr and Stubby Clapp (which could would be the perfect nickname for Brad, another former beau) crush the Americans in a sport that they claim as their pastime. We’ve been through this before –- the US National Basketball team, the Winter Olympics and now this, where the Americans were supposed to dominate but instead look like Sugar Ray in a world of Nickelback, Our Lady Peace, Finger Eleven and Avril Lavigne.

Instead of hearing about how the team coasted through pool play, paired against such useless nations as Mexico and South Africa, the USA must now actually CHEER for Canada if they want to move forward. Headlines such as “Whoa, Canada,” “Northern Exposure,” and “Maple Leaf It To Beaver” adorn American newspapers … it’s a national embarrassment.

I made up the last headline; I agree it doesn’t make sense. I was just feeling saucy.

There is nothing left to live for in this country. I have weathered the storm that made boy band pop and Latin-flavored music popular in this nation, and I have suffered through the reality television craze and that time when I was summoned for jury duty under my actual name, Agatha Matenopoulos. If the government can’t do anything about these problems, then really the only thing left to do is embrace the north and their sports dominion.

Donovan, I’ll be in Ontario by midnight if you’re reading. In a couple days, I’ll meet you in that special Quebec place we’ve always talked about. And yes, by “Quebec,” I think you know what I mean.