Overview:
When my parents moved to Montreal from the mainland depths of Israel, after spasms of childhood spent in Casablanca and Bucharest, they chose a French speaking domain in which to raise their Jewish-half-Moroccan-half-Romanian son.
And while their intentions only pushed forward an agenda of anglo-xenophobia that would make all of us Québécois proud, they accidentally laid the seeds of everything that is wrong with our province du Québec, and that has now spilled over into sacred territory, into the very fabric of les Canadiens de Montréal – a complete disregard for the pristine beauty and unequivocal superiority of everything French and with it, the enhanced probability of assimilation of the French culture altogether – this in the name of worldly multiculturalism that only serves to darken the contours of the already obvious inferiority of all that don’t bask in the privileged light that shines when one calls oneself a pure Québécois, and who have chosen to make breath and sound in the screeching wounding cacophony some call English.
Because what my parents really managed to accomplish in not shoving the purity of French down our throats, what they failed to acknowledge in letting us congregate in what at first seemed like harmless fun with the Anglo kids, was affording their Jewish-half-Morrocan-half-Romanian-half-francophone-half-anglophone son the wonderful opportunity to marry a fully-Christian-half-Lebanese-half-Palestinian-half-Anglo-half-Franco girl, with whom he could raise his very own half-anglo-half-franco-half-Jewish-half-Christian-quarter-Moroccan-quarter-Romanian-quarter-Lebanese-quarter-Palestinian cultural clusterfucks they are doomed to bring into this world.
This was made possible by the only tie that bound us, the English language in which we enveloped ourselves from the very beginning, with our English jokes, and our English movies, and our English logic, and our English ways. We rarely spoke French together, we lived a subterranean subversive secret Anglophone lifestyle and we giggled our way through it all, slapping the face our beloved province and the xenophobic values it holds so dearly in the process.
Had our language police done its job and cracked down on this English nonsense, had it punished it with impunity they way it is meant to be punished, wielding weapon and ruler, measuring every single letter to ensure the reduction of anything that appeared as audacious or emboldened English on a stained sign, I wouldn’t have the bastard kids I’m about to have and my Sainte-Flanelle wouldn’t look like the second coming of a cucumber sandwich eating contest.
Les Maudits Anglais. They ruined a summer full of promise. They infected a new family with the possibility of tainted multiculturalism and worldy knowledge, and they ran everything French out of the locker room at the Bell Centre,
Just look at them, these Habs, they’re disgusting, and you can just feel them thinking in their rotten English. It makes me ill, I can’t tell you how much it does.
They’ve brought shame to the jersey. Dryden, forever immortalized leaning over his stick, in a pose that evokes the blatant laziness that characterised every Anglophone. Without the brilliant Bunny Laroque pushing and threatening Dryden’s place on the team, Kenny would have just been another rotten Anglo lawyer perched high atop his pretentious Anglo ivory tower, keeping the Québécois away from power and knowledge. Robinson, another example of Anglo ineptitude, who was only rendered passable playing alongside the immeasurable genius of Guy Lapointe and Serge Savard. Sans Lapointe and Savard, Larry, you’re just another shlep who tried to sleep with my mom. Steve Shutt: a right wing who brings shame to the term right wing. An afterthought without Lafleur and Lemaire, who showed the entire world what chemistry means, and who remain extremely close friends to this day.
I can’t go on.
Les Maudits Anglais:
Nom: Glen Metropolit
Lieu de naissance: Holy shit – Toronto fucking Ontario.
Strenghts: Doesn’t call Toronto home anymore.
Weaknesses: An astute student of nothingness. Zero work ethic, and a collector of welfare checks. Such a tête carrée, CCM has been commissioned to design the first cubic helmet.
Should be traded for: Steve Bégin, an incredible Québécois warrior- ambassador who would probably cry in Renaud Lavoie’s arms if he were ever traded from Montreal. But that would never happen as it would summon such fury in the streets it would make the Richard Riot look like a macramé convention.
Nom: Carey Price
Lieu de naissance: Anahim Lake, British Columbia
Strengths: Can drink a beer like any good Québécois, and models his choice of summer holiday destinations on the Pures Laines, vacationing in Cancun and Cayo Coco drinking beer and Margaritas. Will never win a gold medal for Quebec but as a native of BC knows the value of Quebec Gold. Has also shown the ability to adopt the flapping butterfly style brought to this game by Québécois immortal legend, Patrick Roy, where one makes a routine butterfly save and then raises both arms in the air to acknowledge the adoring crowd.
Weaknesses: An Indian who’s ancestors probably have Québécois blood on their hands in trying to prevent the noble takeover of native land by brave French forces. Has chosen goaltending as his position of choice. A suspicious Anglo who speaks in subdued hushes while probably pushing forward a hostile anti-francophone agenda. Can’t cover his angles, only doing well at 90 degrees. Has more Anglo trash depicted on his goalie mask than a painting at Buckingham Palace.
Must be traded for: Pascal Leclaire, an emerging superstar in this league who took the Columbus Blue (great color) Jackets to the next level, i.e. just missing the playoffs. Leclaire will be reminding this Anglo laden Canadiens battalion what they are missing eight times this season.
Nom: Travis Moen
Lieu de naissance: Swift Current, Sascartoon.
Strenghts: Name can be pronounced in a French way. Is apparently an aggressive forward who played for Anaheim, California, a state where super Québécois legend Alexandre Daigle surely bedded thousands of busty women.
Weaknesses: Is the most unknown player to wear a Habs sweater since Juha Lind.
Should be traded for: Antoine Vermette, a gritty two-way player who knows how to vote in referendums.
Nom: Gregory Stewart
Lieu de naissance: Cuisiner, Ontario
Strengths: Hard working forward who will do well on the fourth line and who’s not afraid to take on the biggest and meanest players on the opposing team.
Weaknesses: Only takes on the biggest and meanest players on the opposing team after the team is on the verge of losing an incredibly important game prompting a huge last second downtown rally that finally brings people out of their slumbers and stirs the crucial passion required to turn the tide. An Anglo procrastinator.
Should be traded for: Grégory Charles, the only Grégory this province will ever cheer for.
Nom: Josh Gorges
Strengths: Emerging into a convincing argument in the Rivet trade discussion. Is rumoured to be considering changing his name to Jean Georges.
Weaknesses: Average skater, passer, shooter, hitter. Average human being. The model Anglo. Taking skating lessons from Galganov Russian skating school in Côte-St-Luc.
Should be traded for: François Beauchemin, an incredible blue liner had the Canadiens had the fortune to draft would have never dealt.
Nom: Ryan O’Byrne
Lieu de naissance: Victoria – (yeah, as in Queen Victoria), British (yeah, as in England British) Columbia
Strengths: Amazing scoring ability
Weaknesses: …to score in his own net
Should be traded for: Francis Bouillon, a hard working all-Québécois hero who at 5”5 stands taller than every inch of the 6”5 Anglo frame O’Byrne should be ashamed of carrying. Bouillon is also far more able at 5”5 to snatch a purse without raising any suspicion.
Folks, pray for this team. And my children.
