THESE LIONS ARE NOT GRAZING ON THE SERENGETI, BUT CLOSER TO HOME
In this issue of the Reader, your archival correspondent explores the story behind the Detroit Lions and the names behind T&T Supermarkets. Also other stuff.
This week: a 6-minute read
LIONS AND TIGERS, NO BEARS
The Detroit Lions, who incidentally play closer to the Canadian border than any of the 31 other teams in the NFL at a mere 2.7 kilometres from the sanctity of the maple leaf and free health care, are at this moment having the best season in their 90-year history. Their 12-1 win-loss record is tops in the U.S.-based league.
We fully appreciate that this knowledge and $1.83 will buy you a medium double-double coffee at Tim Hortons. So here is some stuff you didn’t know.
The Lions moved to Detroit in 1934 from Portsmouth, Ohio, which is about 160 kilometres east of Cincinnati and 160 klicks south of Columbus and about as far south as you can get and still be in Ohio. The team, then known as the Spartans, struggled both financially and performance-wise in Portsmouth, which explains the move.
Well, the move improved the team’s finances. Performance-wise, not so much—until this season. The Lions are the only NFL team that existed before the merger with the rival AFL in 1970 not to have won a Super Bowl.
Here is something else you probably didn’t know. The team was re-christened the Lions because of the Tigers, the baseball team that has called Detroit home since 1901. Get it? Lions and Tigers? Oh my, and the Bears play in Chicago.
The Tigers were so named to honour a military regiment, the Detroit Light Guard, which distinguished itself in the Civil War. This merry band of warriors was known as—yup—the Detroit Tigers.
WHEN THE LIONS WERE MOCKED
Q. What do the Detroit Lions and possums have in common?
A. Both play dead at home and get killed on the road.
WHO PUT THE T AND T IN T&T?
If you live in one of our nation’s largest cities, then you’ll likely be familiar with T&T Supermarkets, the chain of Chinese-influenced grocery stores founded in Richmond, B.C., back in the 1990s by Jack and Ruby Lee. But did you ever get to wondering what the T&T stood for?
Not us. We were always too busy trying to find a parking spot outside our local T&T, or a seat in the food court once we made it inside. These people do a boffo business, which would explain why Loblaws bought them out 15 years ago.
Still, members of the Lee family continue to run things at T&T, and they’ve just opened their 37th store, and first outside Canada, this week in Bellevue, Washington, reports the Globe and Mail. Oh, and the name T&T? It stands for the Lees’ daughters, Tina and Tiffany. Tina continues to burnish the family’s legacy as T&T’s CEO.
FROM THE MAILBAG
Re ‘So, Where is the Best Pizza?’ Nov. 24. Hi Terry. Just recently we had Tony’s Pizza. I agree. It’s the best in Edmonton. Melanie St. Andrews, Edmonton, Alberta
Re ‘Murder In The Beachcombers’ Town,’ Dec. 1. On Sunday nights, Terry, when I was growing up in my hometown of Powell River, B.C., our entire family would watch The Beachcombers together. For many years, whenever we went to Vancouver—until a new part of the highway was built—we would travel past Molly’s Reach. When our son Shane worked in the movie industry in Vancouver, one of the productions he worked on was the series Edgemont, starring Kristin Kreuk. Thanks for the memories evoked by this week’s newsletter. Joyce Carlson, Powell River, B.C.
Gibsons is one of my favourite places in B.C., Terry, so I was really looking forward to something good when it first came on. As we say in French, “Maudit Americains.” Brilliant reading. Adèle Fontaine, Edmonton, Alberta
Another great story, Terry. I like how you mention a murder a week in Gibsons seems a bit extravagant. Given the size of the place, I suggest there is probably not a death a week for any reason. Still, let’s not forget the hundreds of murders that have apparently been committed on TV in Causton, that ancient English market town in Midsomer County. Many of the hundreds of episodes feature multiple murders. The two chief inspector Barnabys have solved so many murders over the course of the series, I can’t imagine there is anyone left alive in the place. Walter O’Rourke, Fergus, 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.
DEFINING ROLE
It's been awhile since we featured a Harry Stemp story in this space. This one speaks to the skewed priorities of the modern labour market.
Charley, a new retiree-greeter at Walmart, just couldn’t seem to get to work on time. Every day he was five, 10, 15 minutes late. Yet he was a good worker, really tidy, clean-shaven, sharp-minded and a credit to the company. Charley obviously demonstrated Walmart’s “older person-friendly” hiring practices.
So one day, the boss called Charley into the office for a talk. “Charley,” said the boss, “I have to tell you, I like your work ethic, you do a bang-up job when you finally get here, but your being late so often is quite bothersome.”
“Yes I know, boss, and I am sorry. I am working on it.”
“Well good, Charley. You are a team player. That’s what I like to hear.”
“Yes sir. I understand your concern and I will try harder.”
Puzzled by the obvious contradiction, the manager went on. “I know you’re retired from the Armed Forces, Charley. What did they say to you there if you showed up late so often in the morning?”
The old man looked down at the floor and smiled. He chuckled quietly, then said with a grin: “They usually saluted and said, ‘Good morning, Admiral. Can I get your coffee, sir?’”
THIS WEEK’S SHAMELESS PLUG
Here is an excerpt from The Puck Talks Here, when Peter Pocklington was being held at gunpoint by a kidnapper, only to be shot by the police as they attempted to intervene. This excerpt is in Peter’s own words:
Just as I straightened up again, I saw one of the tactical cops burst through the door, his M16 rifle aimed at us. “Halt, police!” said the cop. And then he fired.
The bullet from the M16 struck me in the arm. It was a .22-calibre bullet with a .30-calibre jacket, charging at me with 4,000 foot-pounds of pressure at the muzzle.
The weight of the bullet is like being hit by a car, or maybe a sledge-hammer. My ass was on the floor like ‘BANG!’ My hands were still tied up, so my head hit the floor and I was knocked out for a minute.
I came to, and suddenly felt the worst pain in my life. At first, I didn’t know what had happened, but then the horror and shock of it all began to set in. I looked down—I was covered in blood. “Shit, I’ve been shot,” I thought. “They hit me?” And then I started to belt out the worst obscenities to these cops I’ve ever heard myself use—just the frustration of the day, you know?
“Do you know who you just shot, you assholes?” I yelled.
Remember, a book makes a great Christmas gift. See ya next week. / T.
