Hockey great Wayne Gretzky has spent most of his life as the one person every Canadian could agree upon.
But in recent weeks, this has frayed due to Gretzky’s friendly association with Donald Trump, the U.S. president currently leading a trade war against Canada. There is no evidence that Gretzky endorses the anti-Canadian elements of Trump’s agenda. And according to Trump himself, Gretzky has actually tried to talk down the U.S. president from his various threats to annex the country.
Nevertheless, The Great One has been assailed by angry letters to the editor, and petitions to have his Edmonton statue torn down.
In Dear Diary, the National Post satirically re-imagines a week in the life of a newsmaker. This week, Tristin Hopper takes a journey inside the thoughts of Wayne Gretzky.
Monday
It was a few years ago when my caddy whipped out his phone and showed me a picture of people tearing down a statue in Toronto. “This is in Canada, Wayne. That’s where you’re from. They’re probably coming for your statue next,” he said.
I laughed, of course. “Yes, that’s right, I am from Canada,” I said, as I always do. The sight was otherwise troubling to me. I don’t recall statue destruction being a part of my upbringing in Brantford, or my many years playing for Edmonton. In fact, I mostly just remember playing hockey during that time. Perhaps this caddy knew something I didn’t.
Tuesday
Have you ever just sat down with a hockey player and tried to talk to them about non-hockey things? Try it; grab your nearest NHL player and gauge their thoughts on say, abortion or immigration.
Let’s just say these men are not philosopher kings. These men reached the pinnacle of their craft primarily by obsessing over hockey to the exclusion of almost every other basic life skill. Sidney Crosby doesn’t know what an onion looks like. Connor McDavid thinks Spanish and Italian are the same language. Maurice Richard thought Star Trek was a documentary.
What I’m trying to say is that I went to the home of a man I understood to be the American president, because I thought it would be neat to meet an American president. I have no other context for what occurred and I am now confused about why this is controversial.
Wednesday
I am aware of politics, of course. I’m aware it refers to how human societies decide how power should be wielded. I’m told I’ve met prime ministers in airport lounges: I shake a lot of people’s hands and I don’t always know who they are.
But aside from these basic outlines, the endeavour is a mystery to me. I make no apologies for this. For my entire life, I’ve heard no end of amateur hockey opinions; legions of overweight colour commentators and columnists delivering their uninformed views of a game to which I have a supernatural mastery.
I have attained hockey Nirvana; I understand the game at a level of consciousness that may never be replicated in the history of the species. And on a near-hourly basis, I am expected to discuss hockey with mere mortals who don’t know what a five hole is.
Do I get mad at them for this lack of understanding? Do I resent them for failing to match my own divine grasp of the subject? No. So, again, I would ask people to consider that I went to the shiny Florida home of a U.S. politician without an encyclopedic knowledge of his various controversial pledges. It was frankly a miracle that I remembered which political party he represented. It was the Republic Party.
Thursday
The charge is that I wish to see Canada’s destruction, and am a party to its planned annexation by the United States. This is incorrect. And I would ask Canadians to examine my record on this. An actual traitor would move to the United States, purchase a large dacha in California and never look back. When calls came to coach Team Canada, join a Canadian Olympic bid committee, lend my name to a Niagara winery or endorse some obscure Ontario charity, my replies would have been naught but raucous laughter.
Or I could pursue the Neil Young route: Become a permanent American expat, returning to my homeland only when I have some specific political axe to grind.
Instead, I faithfully did all that was asked of me by Canada, and have spent decades here in the U.S. patiently answering questions about how cold Canada is, and why we seem to be killing our elderly all of a sudden. If I knew it would all come to charges of treachery anyway, I probably wouldn’t have bothered going to as many Rideau Hall ceremonies.
Friday
The irony in all this is that one of the few overtures of national pride seen in recent weeks is the Canadian victory in the Four Nations Face-Off.
It was a triumph secured by people much like myself: Millionaire professionals whom no one would describe as politically engaged, and whose connection to geopolitics doesn’t extend much beyond the knowledge that Canada has a prime minister and Americans have a president.
And yet, when it came time to stand for the maple leaf in an exhibition match, they dropped everything and sweated and threw elbows until final victory. Now, you tell me; what made Canada great? Was it scenes like this? Or was it petitions asking for streets to be renamed because the namesake took a picture with a politician the petitioner didn’t like.