LOVE MEANS SAYING ‘SORRY’ A LOT, CLEARING THE TRACK FOR EDDIE SHACK, AND THE GUY WHO BECOMES A WHALE TREAT
Vol. 1, No. 30
In this edition, your critically thinking correspondent contemplates the myriad ways the movie Love Story is not a very good love story, yields the field (sorry, ice) to a great story about Eddie Shack, and reports on a guy who gets swallowed by a whale. Yeah, really.
This week: a 6-minute read plus two short attached videos
YEAH, SAY YOU’RE SORRY
Remember the movie Love Story? There are a few impressions—other than that of Ryan O’Neal skating badly for the Harvard hockey team—that have clung to the back of my mind since first seeing this flick at the theatre in 1970. So when it popped up on TCM the other night, I taped it for watching later. Mainly, I was curious as to how well it’s aged.
The news? Love Story hasn’t aged well at all.
I mean, it was always an emotionally manipulative story, crafted and staged in such a way to evoke the maximum emotional response when Ali MacGraw lies dying in a hospital bed. That ruined the movie for me when I saw it the first time. That and the fact neither of these lead actors, O’Neal nor MacGraw, could deliver a line with the appropriate pathos and nuance to save their lives.
The most egregious example of this movie dating itself, however, was a scene I had all but forgotten. In it, MacGraw’s character shares the news she has just won a scholarship to attend school in Paris the next fall. Pretty exciting, eh? She thinks so. O’Neal’s character, not so much. He is appalled because her spending a year in Paris screws up all the plans he has, but has not shared, to marry her and live happily ever after. He rants. And the worst part? Then she caves. I mean, who does that?
Of course, the low point in this movie was the most-quoted line of all: “Love means never having to say you’re sorry,” says MacGraw through tears to O’Neal after he loses his temper. That’s not true! Love means you will need to say you’re sorry a lot, and mean it, too. You can’t build a relationship without it.
If you can bear to watch the 50-second “sorry” clip, it’s here.
OK, so I’m done. Bad, bad movie. Let’s move on.
NOT GETTING BY
Overheard coming from the muzak system in the washroom at a Boston Pizza in St. Albert, Alberta, last week: the Grateful Dead.
God, if Jerry Garcia wasn’t already dead, that would have killed him.
CLEARING THE TRACK FOR SHACK
Sticking with hockey moments, we have in past newsletters attempted to regale faithful readers with such tales as spending 90 minutes chatting with Wayne Gretzky, Pit Martin, repairing a pool pump in our backyard, and having dinner next to Marcel Pronovost at a minor hockey banquet. Readers weighed in with their own recollections from that vein, including one remembering when NHL great Garry Unger came by his house and another who had a visit from CFL Hall of Famer George Reed. Another recalled meeting Team Canada legend Paul Henderson. I mention all these now because of the following, submitted by steadfast reader David Mailloux of Nanaimo, B.C.
“During my university days, I worked the summers at the Board of Trade Golf and Country Club in Woodbridge, north of Toronto,” David wrote. “They had a staff hockey team in a summer league at the double-rink arena on Jane Street.
“There were a lot of connections to the Maple Leafs at that rink, including one Eddie Shack, who owned an executive golf course near Woodbridge that also had a staff hockey team. So we invited his staff to play a game against our staff. We expected to see just a bunch of guys like ourselves, but who do you think showed up? Eddie Shack!
“He could skate like the wind. I was always quick on my skates, but this guy made me look like my skates hadn't been sharpened for a few years. The best part though was when Eddie dropped by our dressing room for a few minutes after the game to get to know us and chat about hockey and golf. He was down to earth, respectful and had a great sense of humour. And yes, he wore the cowboy hat.
“It was a great memory that has stayed with me and I am privileged to have it. ‘Clear the track, here comes Shack!’”
STRAIGHT OUTTA THE STRAIT
OK, we are not making this up. This happened down in the Strait of Magellan. (Look it up; I did. The Strait of Magellan separates mainland South America from the Tierra del Fuego archipelago and flows from the Pacific to the Atlantic. Or is it the other way around?)
So what happened? A kayaker who was, er, kayaking and minding his own business was swallowed whole by a humpback whale. But fear not. The hapless boatman, a Chilean named Adrián Simancas, was spit up again. Then his kayak followed him out. Adrián quickly resumed his voyage.
“I thought it had eaten me,” said Adrián afterward. “But when I came out, I understood that it was probably out of curiosity that the whale approached me.”
The one-minute video is here, shot by Adrián’s dad. We’ll leave you to make your own joke about Chileans not going down easy.
ANOTHER ‘DEAR TERRY’ LETTER
Re ‘ High School Drama,’ Feb. 16. I watched the entire Super Bowl. But the half-time show was the worst musical entertainment ever. I couldn’t tell you if Kendrick Lamar picked on Drake because I couldn’t understand a thing he said. Robert White, Tilbury, Ontario
If you want to drop me a note (and risk me publishing it here), just reply to this email or, if you prefer send it to mysundayreader@gmail.com.
THIS WEEK’S SHAMELESS PLUG
Here’s an excerpt from Page 195 of The Puck Talks Here when Oilers’ owner Peter Pocklington has to break the news to his general manager, Glen Sather, that he’s agreed to sell Wayne Gretzky, the greatest hockey player ever, to the Los Angeles Kings.
After a day of golfing, they returned to Peter’s condo in Beaver Creek. By then, Sather was expecting to hear the worst. “Peter had to tell me sooner or later,” Sather recalls. “He was nervous about it.”
Peter opened one of his expensive bottles of wine. “Peter in those days used to buy the most expensive wine, thinking it was always going to taste good,” Sather recalls. “But sometimes it doesn’t taste so good.” That day was one of those times. “It was pretty sour, actually.”
Peter finally broke the news to his best friend: he was selling Gretzky to the Kings for $15 million US, about $18.5 million Cdn. It was a good deal, Peter told him, and besides, he needed the money—the bank was tightening the screws.
Sather’s response? “I told him he was out of his fucking mind.”
Sather thought fleetingly about giving his boss a punch in the nose, but it’s not an idea he entertained for long. After all, “it’s his team. He has the right to do what he wants.”
Sather knew Peter was trying to get Gretzky to sign a contract extension to keep him in Edmonton for at least a few more years, but this? This he never expected. “I figured at some point we’d get this new deal put together, or something would happen. But I never thought we’d ever sell the guy. I was angry—and disappointed.”
To Sather’s way of thinking, Wayne Gretzky was the best player in the league, playing on the best team in the league. He was an icon, and you don’t trade an icon. Do this deal, he told Peter, and “you go from being a hero in Canada to a schmuck—overnight.
“I think this is the biggest mistake you’ll make in your life, selling this guy.”
We’re still offering $3 off the retail price for The Puck Talks Here until the end of February. It’s an excellent read and yours at terrymcconnell.com for $12.95 for the paperback, or the ebook for $4.95. Sorry, shipping is extra. We take Visa, MasterCard or PayPal. And I thank you.
See ya next week. / T.
© Terry McConnell, 2025
Please note: Artificial intelligence was not used in the preparation or writing of any part of this newsletter.