www.rakisingh.com

I posted this track over at Punktoronto.com. I can say without doubt that I’m a fan of Propagandhi’s ideas without feeling like I must agree with every thing that they believe in (It wouldn’t be punk rock if we didn’t think for ourselves…dissent intelligently and meaningfully, I say). Check them out: http://propagandhi.com/

However, watching hockey with my little niece has brought up a similar feeling that the band expresses in this song. I know that Coach’s Corner is a comedian routine, but we collectively need to take a moment to talk about what Don Cherry’s exclamations actually mean in the great scheme of things.

Entertainment is the most surreptitious form of political campaigning. There is no better time to brainwash us than when we let our minds idle.

I dunno, but I think it is a little disturbing that a sport can be so tied to our cultural identity. Maybe that’s why I twisted Leaf’s Nation Logo for punktoronto’s website. I’d rather Canada be known as a peace-loving nation rather than a hockey-loving one.

Dear Coach’s Corner :
Dear Ron McLane. Dear Coach’s Corner.
I’m writing in order for someone to explain
to my niece the distinction between
these mandatory pre-game group rites of submission
and the rallies at Nuremberg.
Specifically the function the ritual serves
in conjunction with what everybody knows is,
in the end, a kid’s game.
I’m just appealing to your sense of fair play
when I say she’s puzzled by this incessant pressure
for her to not defy collective will and yellow ribboned lapels,
as the soldiers inexplicably repel down from the arena rafters.
Which, if it not so insane,
they’ll be grounds for screaming laughter.

Dear Ron McLane, I wouldn’t bother with these questions
if I didn’t sense some spiritual connection.
We may not be the same, but it’s not like we’re from different planets.
We both love this game so much we can hardly fucking stand it.
Alberta-born, and Prairie-raised.
It seems like there ain’t a sheet of ice north of Fargo I ain’t played.
From Penhold to the Gatinaeu, every fond memory of childhood
that I know is somehow connected to the culture of this game.
I just can’t let it go.

I guess it comes down to what kind of world you want to live in.
And if diversity is disagreement, disagreement is treason.
Well, you’ll be surprised if we find ourselves
reaping a strange and bitter fruit that that sad old man beside you
keeps feeding to young minds as virtue.
It takes a village to raise a child, but just a flag to raze the children
till they’re nothing more than ballasts for fulfilling
a madman’s dream of a paradise. Complexity reduced to black and white.
How do I protect her from this cult of death?