A Boy and his BlackBerry

Reunited. And it feels so good.

There’s luck. And then there’s being really lucky. 

This is the story of how I got my phone back. It’s one that’s filled with despair, desperation and dedication.

It starts one fateful Sunday afternoon as I’m off to edit a three part series for school. There is no phone in my pocket – “one less distraction” I say to myself. At the time, it was the least of my concerns.

But it wasn’t.

Fast forward to 11pm. The scene: my living room, home to the frantic search for a cell phone that can’t be traced. Where is it?

Indeed where was it? Did I drop it?

Outside it was snowing merrily, with nonchalance as if to say, I’m here to trouble you more.

And off I go back to school. The great cell phone hunt has begun.

Plastic bags on my knees, double layers on, with my warmest hat, mitts and scarf I search amidst the snow – on all fours – for a tiny minuscule BlackBerry. A BlackBerry that is the very lifeblood of my fledging journalism career.

It was nowhere to be found.

Dejected I lay in bed, but not before sweeping my apartment’s parking lot one last time. The clock stuck 1 o’clock.

“I have a class in 7 hours,” I say to myself. “This is futile.”

And so Sunday turned Monday. And the search resumed. The snow was receding, the ground was slowly exposing itself. But still no BlackBerry.

“It’s going straight to voicemail. The phone is lost forever.”

But a part of me kept me from calling my service provider. No, I’d wait it out a bit more, unless there was drastic usage on my phone’s account. There wasn’t. 24 hours had passed.

For a guy who lived 17 years of his life without a cell phone, one day without one was tough.

It was rough.

But still, there was no cell phone.

And so Tuesday dawned bright and sunny. It was the perfect day. It was my day off, and all efforts were directed to locating this cell phone. I was due in Leamington on Wednesday. Would I be willing to make the trip with no proper means of communication?

Unlikely.

And then, almost as if something called out to me, I tried to track my phone online. It was just after noon.

There was a trace. Not two kilometres away. Suddenly there was hope. A hope that increased when the phone was accurately tracked to within 7 metres.

“But how did the phone reach there?” I hadn’t been in the area in almost three weeks. This was one of life’s great mysteries.

Four hours later, after some frantic dialing to see if someone will answer the phone, I set out to see who has my phone.

Now, there are plenty of stupid things that one can do. And this was right up there. Picture walking up a stranger’s driveway, and asking them if they had your missing (possibly stolen) phone? Crazy right?

But there was hope.

And so with an able sidekick in Greg, Starsky and Hutch, as he termed our duo, we approached our first potential location.

The door opens. And a man, morbidly obese with a vest and shorts, walks out.

“Can I help you?”

We didn’t know whether to talk or to run.

“I know this sounds weird sir. But would you have happened to have seen a cell phone?” I ask, nervously. “I lost mine and tracked it to one of these houses.”

“No, I haven’t sorry!”

And that was it. Was he lying? There was no way we could be sure.

The other house, his neighbour, was not home. And it was almost dark. The bubble of joy, burst.

Twenty minutes later, a little McDonalds cheered me up. I mean, is there anything that a McNugget can’t do? It was just past six o’clock now.

“Let’s give it one more shot before I drop you home Greg,” I say. “Maybe they’re home now.”

And so, back we go. This time there’s activity in the once empty house. Two cars are on the driveway. This is it.

I go up to the door, and ring the bell. Just like before.

“Can I help you?” asks a tall, greying man.

“Yes. Would you perhaps have seen a BlackBerry lying about? I lost mine, and tracked it to one of these houses. I know this sounds crazy.”

“No. No.” he said. “Is it a Z10?”

I was shocked and happy at the same time.

“Yes. A black one.”

“Come on in. My son found one yesterday in the Fanshawe parking lot.”

And once inside, his wife hands me a badly damaged cell phone. It’s still working, but the display would need some major repairs.

I didn’t quite catch their names. I’m now wishing I did as I recall my adventures.

“How did you know it was here?” asked the lady.

“Tracked it online. The phone was on and I got a signal.”

“That’s amazing!”

It sure was. And then we spoke for fifteen minutes, mostly about how I was able to locate the phone.

You see it turns out that Brandon, who works at Fanshawe College found the phone on Monday evening and took it home. He meant to bring it to school the next day, but forgot. His dad, a BlackBerry user himself, turned it on to see if he could try and reach the owner.

“That was the smartest thing you did sir,” I say exuberantly.

“It kept going off and I couldn’t answer it,” said the lady. “Wou

I’d thought I lost the phone somewhere. And the chances of finding it were pretty slim. But no, there was hope.

Brandon had saved the day.

I’ve tried to reach out to Brandon at Fanshawe a number of times now. But our paths don’t seem to cross. Sure the phone was damaged; a vehicle had driven over it. But Brandon had saved me a lot of money.

So Brandon, if you ever read this, and we’re unable to meet: Thank You. This means a lot to me. 

If we do ever meet, and I hope we do, there's a beer or two in it for you.

The Best Council Ever

Big B, Stickman, Loony Lawyer, Langra Tyagi, Mario

As a badge holder in high school, you’re expected to lead by example. You’re told to be on your best behavior around the clock. You’re reminded that people will follow your example to a T. But funnily enough, five young men weren’t made fully aware of that responsibility.

Five men, from very different backgrounds amalgamated into the student council at Don Bosco Park Circus: Goan, Punjabi, Rajasthani, Gujarati, a little bit of Bengali, and a hint of Portuguese: it was all there.

Led by Big B - who famously had veto power - Langra Tyagi, Stickman, Loony Lawyer and Mario donned this responsibility daily. Four men, who had four different houses to lead every day, with one prefect to rule them all.

And that is where the fun began.

Fun: more so in the final year of our three year tenure, in Grade XII between 2010 and 2011. The last hurrah for high school students: made frightening by the impending board exams. Or so the authorities thought.

Exams were the last thing that we worried about. After all, there are plenty of opportunities to pass or fail exams in the future, there’s four years of college for all that. But there was only going to be one opportunity to enjoy life as a student council member.

“You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow

This opportunity comes once in a lifetime”

Bosco Fest 2010 was looming, and it was our time to shine. After two years of seeing how it’s done, there was our chance to go one better. Like the Fest motto, we had a “Vision, Venture and a Victory.” Our motto as the council, I’d like to think, was simple: to have as much fun as possible, having fun while having fun!

Confused? Don’t be.

Picture five guys in uniform – shirts, trousers, ties, the whole nine yards – who hated the idea of sitting in class from more than 20 minutes at a stretch. Five guys who’d rather do something else. Anything! So when Bosco Fest drew near, we found our something else.

“Legalized bunking!”

Yes folks, six hours or more (lunch break not included) spent in the school library working. On occasion, it was six hours or more loitering around the school corridors, looking important.

What work you ask?

"Work"

Time spent online mostly. A facebook status here, a YouTube video there. A little bit of twitter, and a lot of Reddit. Of course when push came to shove, we got stuff done. School representative profiles, fest content, event descriptions, judges, invitations, banners and websites – everything you need to put on a successful show. We had a tech team to do most of the designing, but you know; what’s a tech team without supervisors?

“Welcome to class, staying for long?”

Arguably the best phrase we’d heard during our tenure as the student council. Such was our reputation. We were never in class, yet somehow got our school work done on time.

"I maintain, we may not have been the flashiest or statistically, the most successful council ever, but we sure as hell were the funniest," words from the great Langra Tyagi while reminiscing over a famed ‘phone’ incident in the Vice Principal’s office.   

Call me Maybe?

Nothing serious – just something that brings a chuckle to our faces, even to this day.

"Hello father. Oh, it's you boys!" - Utter that phrase to any one of us - Langra Tyagi, Loony Lawyer or Mario in particular - and I guarantee, you'll get a laugh out of us.

There was this other event that still makes us smile. It was in grade XI. Ruskin Bond, the famed Indian author of British origin, was at school to address students between grades VI and VII.

Of course, being the famous council that we were, all fifteen of us, volunteered to maintain the crowd during this two hour tête-à-tête. Fifteen guys patrolling the middle schoolers like shepherds tending their flocks, all for a chance to meet Mr. Bond.

Upstairs in our respective classes physics, math, and commerce was being taught, with not one care in the world from us. We had our priorities.

Other priorities.

Priorities

Such was our life in high school. We were self-appointed benevolent kings. High school was our reign, Don Bosco was our kingdom. 

Another memory that still lingers fresh, involves our insatiable appetite for adventure. We were those guys who ordered pizzas to the school. Customer name: 'The Council.' Address: 'Don Bosco Park Circus.' If you're wondering whether Dominos delivers to high schools, wonder no more. They do. Or at least they did. That was some experience - pepperoni, olives, mushrooms - the works.

Delivered Hot and Fresh in 30 minutes

Now almost three years since we called time on our reign, the memories are fond and satisfying.

Did we have fun? You bet.

Would we go back and relive those days? In a heartbeat.

Such was our love to the school, we’d gained a reputation. A reputation that we would somehow be able to work magic and get people out of trouble.

For instance, and I won’t go naming names, we had to somehow get ‘class skipping’ leave sanctioned, on multiple occasions, hours after the skipping in question had occurred. And yes, in case you’re wondering, we succeeded - every single time.

In fact, trying to get week long written leave for ourselves sanctioned by our vice principal was a topic of discussion, to 'save paper.' It didn’t work, but golly we still got our daily leave sanctioned, promptly before 9 o'clock. Sanctioned to the degree where the phrase "Allow the Five Musketeers to Work in the Library" was used on one instance.

Yes folks, our vice principal called us musketeers. It was the greatest thing ever.

A picture is worth a thousand words

So now as I look back on those glorious days, I can’t help but want to relive them over again. College and life has plenty to offer us, but nothing matches the exuberance that high school had to offer. We were young, we were carefree. 

But more importantly, we were family.

We had each others backs and we battled against each other for the House Cup. In the end Stickman walked away with the House Cup. Langra Tyagi walked away with the sports trophy.

But in truth, we were all winners.

When sports day came around, we were among the lucky group of council members who got a chance to march with the school flags. That was the icing on the cake. Sports days occurred every other year, so there were council members who never got the chance to march with the school flags.

But not us.

You’d think we had a tough job as council members, it was quite the opposite. Being part of a fantastic batch of students that graduated in 2011 was the real reason for our success. Quizzers, debaters, athletes, musicians, dancers – we had a talented bunch all around with plenty of reserves.

So it was no surprise when Don Bosco romped to victories in various city-school fests: Xuberance, Odyssey, Boscotsav, the Jubilee Quiz, Bosco Fest, Concord, even the prestigious Frank Anthony Memorial All India Debate – it was a combined team effort and when push came to shove, we gave it all for our school.

“And the first place trophy goes to… Don Bosco School, Park Circus.”

The Spoils of War

Off the field and in the class room it was no different.  To this day, the Class of 2011 still holds the highest aggregate scores both in the ICSE and the ISC exams between 1997 and 2013 – 85.87% in the ISCE and a little over 88% in the ISC. Yes, we truly were a talented bunch, now spread all over the country, spread across the world. 

As a council member, it was an honour to lead and be led by this group.

I could have asked for a lot more in life, but couldn't have asked for a better group of guys to graduate alongside. Wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, remember, Don Bosco Park Circus Class of 2011: “We were a class apart!”

“Let it roll, baby, roll 

Let it roll, all night long”

Etched Forever

My Adventures with the London Majors

Meet the Upside-down Man.

I grew up without baseball. Until around 2010 I was convinced the sport wasn’t worth my time. But such is life, as days, weeks and months pass by.

Times change; people change.

And there I was, bright and early at Labatt Park, auditioning for a hosting gig with the London Majors on Rogers TV. I’d never been given the chance to audition before, although I've heard snide remarks as to why, but let’s not go there.

These adventures are fun.

How much fun you ask?

Think Jacob Raffaele and the upside-down man (pictured). Think sitting drenched in the home dug out waiting for a sudden thunderstorm to pass by, enjoying the camaraderie that the players put on for themselves.

Think trying to tell people about baseball on live TV while learning the game myself. I know you can do it; I’m here to prove that I can too.

And again, I didn't grow up with baseball.

These are my adventures with the London Majors.

Trust me; I’m still in shock that Rogers TV would give a guy with next to no knowledge about a sport, the chance to be part of a broadcast team. It must have been the cricket knowledge; even Kiwi pitcher Andrew Marck thinks so.

“Did you watch the Champions Trophy?” Marck and I talked about in June.

“A little, did you?”

“Yes, bit gutted that New Zealand lost the other day.”

At least we understood each other. Picture an American and a Canadian meeting in Singapore, the hockey talk is bound to flow like running water.

“Kris, maybe we could throw in a cricket report in there somewhere,” I've said on more than one occasion.

You hit a home run, it’s called a six. You’re grounded out at second base, it’s called a run out. See, it’s all there. Somewhere, anyway!

And then there’s Cleveland.

Big Cleveland Brownlee, from Atlanta, Georgia, positioned at first base less than ten feet from me each broadcast.

“Attaboy Cleve!” yells scores of fans from the bleachers. “You go Cleve!”

And I’m thrust in the middle of it all.

“Cleveland will hit home runs, the fans can be assured of that,” Brownlee smirked early on in the season.

He did. Thirteen of them in fact, many of them jaw droppers.

Jaw droppers; like the time I first faced a camera on live TV. It’s no easy task, indirectly looking at the tens, hundreds perhaps thousands of people who watch you week in and week out through a camera lens. It sure looks easy, I can tell you that, but you've got a hundred different thoughts racing through your head.

“What if I forget the most important line? Suppose I mix up the teams playing? Or maybe you mispronounce a word, or ten.”

But in the end all that’s worth it. Trust me.

I've had a whale of a good time hosting Majors broadcasts this summer. In fact, it’s the only reason I didn't take off for home. I could have done without the summer job; I could have done with some time home, running into people I went to high school with. I could have been enjoying the sunny skies of the Indian subcontinent.

But instead, I’m in London, Ontario.

As a broadcaster you’re told to stay professional, in front of celebrities: no autographs, no photographs. But that doesn't stop us from having fun.

No.

“I go out to try and get my five strike outs as quickly as possible,” chimes in Jordan Townshend. “Otherwise I’ll have hungry and not angry fans behind my back all the while.”

There was a smirk or two when I put that into the broadcast, I’m sure of it. For when there’s free wings on offer at each game, walking away wingless seems wrong.

“Do you like Sachin [Tendulkar]?” this coming from Marck once again.

Yes. Again that’s something that only the two of us understood at Labatt Park.

Here’s the thing: when you cover a sports team, you get along with a ton of players. You know the players, and they know you. There's times you ask them how things are away from the game.

"My man, how you're doing?" goes Brownlee every time as he goes for a high five.

Maybe you know when a player's getting married, or when they’re going off to dental school.

Maybe you know what company they work for in addition to playing baseball in the Intercounty Baseball League.

When Rogers brought in the HD mobile for the first time, we were all excited. “Better beat Toronto tonight, it’ll be in high definition,” the motto from the truck to the players. So much so, no one had ever seen Labatt Park in HD before, we spent an extra minute showing off the park's beauty on live TV.

But that brought its own sets of problems, for us anyways. The broadcast crew continued to do what they did before. The players continued likewise.

What about the ‘talent’?

“Is my beard trimmed enough?” we joked.

But in seriousness, it’s as nerve-racking a job as any. And I love every second of it.

People recognize you, at times, anyway. "You're the Majors host are you not?" I've heard in the bus on occasion. That's what you hope for as a youngster, that people will recognize you. Maybe someday on a much grander scale.

But back on ground level, I’m not ashamed at walking up to away team coaches and asking them if there’s something specific they want to talk about. I figure everyone’s got to learn somewhere, why not at the IBL level.

As the Majors get set for playoffs in 2013, with a seemingly buoyant attitude that this is their year, so too are we as the TV crew. 

"I think the Brantford Red Sox are getting old," says catcher turned third baseman turned second baseman Derrik Strzalkowski. "They're also getting tired of winning."

Tired maybe, but we certainly aren't.

Do I want to be back for next season? Of course. But that’s a decision for the Rogers TV top brass to make. I now know what a sac fly is, and what a stand up double is. Surely that’s got to mean something right?

For now, it's taking one game at a time, and to use a sports cliché, it's the chance to learn something new everyday.

My adventures with the London Majors, that’s something I’ll always have with me. Forever.

Playball!

Mailing It In...

This is pure, unadulterated comedy TV.

It’s that week where, well let’s face, everyone who watches SportsCentre in Canada is in mourning. Why? Because Jay Onrait and Dan O’Toole are, to put it in their own words, ‘Mailing it In.’

Ten hilarious years on the job anchoring SportsCentre and while everyone seems to have fond memories of the dynamic duo, I don’t.

And why?

Because I grew up many a mile away, where the only sports that seemed to ever be on TV was cricket. And more cricket.

But this isn’t me complaining. This is just me enjoying the ride I had watching Jay and Dan since late 2011, and yes trying to model a little bit of my sportscasts on what they do. Sure, it’s a lot easier to be outlandish when you’re on TV because, face it; you don’t have to describe everything like you do on the radio.

I wish I had the ability to say I remember what Jay and Dan did back in 2004, around the time Anchorman came out. I would have been around 12 then, an age when well, you remember stuff you did. I still know what I did back in 2002 for the most part, but in this case, I don’t since I wasn’t around.

And while people call Jay and Dan’s move to Los Angeles and to FOX Sports as the “Wayne Gretzky trade” all over again, it’s not difficult to see why they moved. Surely, when you’re pushing 40 that’s the age to move and discover sunny skies and golden beaches, rather than look back two decades later and wonder what might have been.

And what does this departure mean for TSN as a whole? That’s just one of the questions that now arise. How will TSN deal with their loss? Will Jay and Dan succeed in the U.S?  And of course the big one - Who will replace Jay and Dan at TSN?

Sure TSN’s next anchors, whoever they maybe, will have tons to live up to, and I’m sure they will. But for budding sportscasters like me, and probably several hundreds more in the country, the departure could mean an opening somewhere in the organization.

O’Toole and Onrait, and yes I used their surnames for a change, did perhaps the right thing by moving on. It’s what they feel was best for them. And to me personally, that's the way to do it. And in this crazy industry, we call journalism, there’s one thing that’s always constant – Change!

Prior to Jay and Dan I hear that sports news was delivered much like hard news, serious and informed, with not much personality and or witty, sarcastic remarks. So there’s that, a complete and radical transformation brought about by these two unique personalities and by Ron Burgundy to some degree as well, but mostly, Jay and Dan.

Something to live up to? Yes.

So if Jay and Dan were to ever read this someday, thanks for all the memories, albeit it was just for a couple of years. And while most of them are in the form of YouTube clips, I’ve got something to work towards in the future.

"Ya blew it!"

No, not yet.

 And I'll leave you with one of my personal favourites from what I remember watching on TV.