Sunday, October 26, 2008

Motivation in Tights

Boring Sunday, no real Jays news of late (if Adam Loewen plays another game at the Rogers Centre, I'll buy you a Coke Zero) and nothing coming down the pipe either. Ms Moseby and I head out to a local High Park breakfast spot, the kind of place staffed exclusively by Slavic-styled Ice Queens that populate this area known for Russian/Ukrainian/Assorted Eastern Bloc immigrants with angry blood and big hair.

Seated in my booth, enjoying bad coffee and hot sauce-infused eggs and hash browns, contemplating how I would go about filling this space during the coming dry season. I was briefly distracted by the petite, yoga pant-clad form of a young BoBo trophy wife. The bronzed flesh and platinum hair told me this wasn't the kind of woman usually found in this neighbourhood, the kind of woman that never misses a pilates class but doesn't understand why her kids have Filipino accents. She was older, and tanned in a way that Canadian winters couldn't sustain. Her grizzly bear husband rose, equally tanned under his professionally applied baseball hat.

Wait a damn second, that is no ordinary grizzly bear, that is ERNIE FUCKING WHITT! Awesome! Ernie Whitt keeps it real, staying in Toronto 4 months after being unceremoniously dumped by the Jays.

What should I have done? Should I have chased him down? Should I shatter the quiet, hungover serenity of a busy breakfast spot with a You the Man, Earn? Looking down at the delicious nitrate omelet in front of me, I chose to bury my head in the eggs, content in the knowledge that Ernie Whitt follows Borje Salming's lead and bigs up Bloor West.


  1. Dude, you probably should've said something. I think Big Ern is pretty much anonymous in TO those days and would've appreciated some fan gushing. If I ever met him I think I'd probably say thanks for coming up the idea of serving *pitchers* of pop at Mother's Pizza back in the day. That was genius! Still can't believe that place went under...


  2. I can't believe you saw the Whitt at a breakfast joint! I probably would've just cowered in the corner, and maybe eventually got the courage to just walk by his table and wave. I'm not so good with brushes with fame - I choked and couldn't even say hi to Dave Coulier.

  3. I can see the headlines now:

    Persona Non Grata harassed over Potatoes O'gratin

  4. Ernie Whitt is the greatest line cook that diner never hired.

  5. Apparently Denny's tried to sign him, but Whitt wanted a 1 pound of bacon per week clause in the contract.


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