A New Wedding Song

Aside from John Mayer, I’m not sure a whole lot of musicians set out to purposely write a song to be used at your wedding.

I doubt The Edge planned his heaven’s echo guitar solo on “All I Want Is You” with someone’s nuptials in mind, and it’s unlikely Eric Clapton took pause from another day’s heroin daze and mumbled to himself, “Wonderful Tonight is going to be a bloody smash at weddings.” And, I find it impossible to believe that David Gray designed his entire catalogue around the possibility that couple after couple would harvest his chords for their first dance as a married match.

(Note: “Babylon” is not about your love. It’s a beautiful song about Gray’s emotional realizations after inhaling a load of beers. Listen to the lyrics, dammit.)

But, sometimes a song can embody more than it’s meant to embody. It can soundtrack a moment or symbolize a feeling. It can say words we can’t find or elicit emotions we didn’t know we had. Or, in the case of the upcoming onslaught of spring and summer weddings, it can communicate the meaning of a formal, romantic moment in front of family, friends and caterers.

“A New Life” by Jim James is one of these songs, and it’s destined to become the next big wedding song—albeit unintentionally. Off his eclectic 2013 release Regions of Light and Sound of God, it’s a gorgeous and inventive arrangement of acoustic guitar, percussion and strings, strumming listeners through a sublime lead-in before transitioning into an emotional, marching cacophony. Without any vocals, it could be absorbed as a sonic embodiment of advancing emotions toward the realization of love. But, lucky for future brides and grooms, its locomotive progression is supported by the following lyrics:

Jim James's Regions of Light and Sound of God

Hey, open the door
I want a new life
Hey, and here’s what’s more
I want a new life, a new life
Babe, let’s get one thing clear
There’s much more star dust when you’re near
I think I’m really being sincere
I want a new life, a new life
With you 

Perfect. If you’re like me, you pick apart wedding song communication like a reverse rotation of The White Album. A wedding song's lyrics earn the most confirmation or confusion from alert guests. A couple borrows an artist’s words to describe their own thoughts and feelings while isolated on a dance floor. Choose a song with a direct, simplistic message of love, devotion and transition and you’re golden. Mistakenly select one about sexual liberation (Marvin Gaye’s “Let’s Get It On”) or banging groupies (Kings of Leon’s “Use Somebody”) and you're swaying amid horrified aunts, uncles and coworkers. Rest assured, James comes direct, providing an unambiguous message for couples entering into commitment.      

Can’t you see a perfect picture
You and me
But you know, it won’t come easy
And what’s more 
It’s worth looking for  

After the lyrics, there are length and pace to consider. My unproven theories on this topic include the following: If the song’s too short, the couple isn't truly invested in their choice. If it’s too long, they’re totally inconsiderate of their guests. If it’s too fast, they’re acting too casual on what’s supposed to be the most important day of their lives. If it’s too slow and/or sexual, they’re overcompensating for something—or simply accentuating their constructed fairytale for those willing to buy in. And, if they go with Journey’s “Faithfully,” they’re simply ripping off my high school’s senior prom. (Note: This song was not new at the time of the prom, which made its choice as the evening's theme song incredibly pathetic.) 

“A New Life” provides a diversified opportunity for adventurous new couples. It runs a little long at 4:22, but its change of pace at the 1:26 mark allows for the always popular “you thought this song was slow, but we’ve fooled you” transition. The bride can kick off her shoes, the groom can work off his crippling anxiety, and guests will be spared of watching another couple’s uncomfortable PDA’s under Joe Cocker’s “You Are So Beautiful To Me.” As an added bonus, the wedding party or whole reception can be invited to the floor amid James's impassioned howl to share in the stomp that rolls the song to its end. What could ensue would be a scene worthy of a YouTube clip and a videographer’s fee—which would seem like a bargain for the first time in history.

And isn't this vibrant display of happiness and elation what love's supposed to look like? Isn't this the euphoria a wedding day is supposed to elicit? It isn't about the perfect dress or the most extravagant cake. It isn't about the most picturesque hall, all-you-can-drink Jameson or seafood wrapped in bacon. It's about two people excited and prepared to start a new life together, one surrounded by family, friends and music. Seems like such a decision should be celebrated in the type of collective fashion James's track is ideally suited to soundtrack.  

Like I noted at the start of this, I doubt most credible musicians purposely carve out songs to be used for your wedding. Jeff Tweedy didn’t record “One By One” for my sister’s event, and Bob Dylan didn’t write “If Not For You” for mine. I’m fairly certain Jim James didn’t write “A New Life” to be used by anonymous couples inside the Hotel Lafayette’s ballroom. But here it is, there for the taking on your wedding day.  

Babe, open the door
And start you new life,
Oh, your new life
Babe, on to the shore
And start your new life
Your new life, with me.

A new life for you. A new wedding song for everyone. Your move, John Mayer.

(Author’s note: This entry was finished while listening to “While You Were Sleeping” by Elvis Perkins—but I did listen to “A New Life” roughly 17 times while writing the bulk of this post.)    

First Ward Marches Forward

"The story of the Old First Ward is not finished; it remains to be written by future generations.”

-Timothy Bohen, Against the Grain

As a Buffalo gateway—as well as home to one of the city’s two St. Patrick’s Day parades—it’s hard to believe that any area resident would have no idea how to find the riverfront enclave known as the Old First Ward. But, during his five years of work on his first book Against the Grain, Buffalo author Timothy Bohen regularly encountered such confusion.

“When I mentioned (my book’s topic) to people who didn’t have roots in the Ward, their first question was always, ‘Where exactly is the First Ward?”

A passing survey of the aforementioned individuals may yield Ward knowledge results of “Irish,” “grain elevators” or “free Sabres parking.” But these people have never walked down O’Connell Avenue or Mackinaw Street; they’ve never found Sunday mass at Our Lady of Perpetual Help or a can of Genny Double Bock at Cook’s. They haven’t inhaled a Mazurek’s pastry heart or split a Carbone’s chicken finger pizza. And, unless they’re the masochistic type, they’ve never toured the neighborhood at a plodding, wind-restricted shuffle during the annual emerald slog known as the Shamrock Run.

But Bohen didn’t enter into half a decade cataloging the Ward’s historical relevance for Against the Grain because he knew it’d be a hot read. He did it because, initially, he was unfamiliar with the origins of his Irish surname (Bohane). But, the deeper he dug into the neighborhood of his ancestors, the more certain he was that the neighborhood’s story needed to be told to those unaware of its tremendous international significance.

“The story of wanting to know more about the First Ward started to overtake my concerns about the spelling of my last name,” said Bohen, nursing a Guinness under a Shane MacGowan serenade last month inside Gene McCarthy’s Tavern, a Ward institution. “I didn’t get answers on the spelling until several years after starting this journey.”

It’s proved a journey worth taking. Over the 258 pages of Bohen’s stirring march through Ward history, he takes readers through an exhausting amount of significant institutions, individuals and achievements, ones fueled by an immigrant population entrusted with managing lucrative waterfront commerce and building a lakefront city into a national economic power. 

Against the Grain author Timothy Bohen

“A lot of the treasures that we have in Buffalo—whether architecture treasures or some of the other identifiable features—came from the wealth generated in the First Ward,” said Bohen. “Many of Delaware Avenue’s fortunes were made from the First Ward and the waterfront, and without its role in the region’s history, this region would be radically different.”

As would the rest of the country. Grain elevators now used for inventive art festivals and prospective rock-climbing venues once housed the bulk of America’s grain. Ward residents walked down streets like Hamburg, Alabama and Vincennes to find shovels and fill Lake Erie vessels, ones tasked with shipping this essential ingredient across the country.

“This area played an integral part in not only feeding this country, but feeding the world,” said Bohen. “Being on the eastern end of Lake Erie, it was responsible for handling grain that was later made into cereal or dough for pizzas in New York City. It was all done right here in the First Ward, whether it was the milling of the grain or its shipment.”

But this information is just a piece of the First Ward’s significance to the region and, in particular, its Irish Americans. Dig a little deeper and you’ll find the neighborhood once housed one of America’s top five Irish immigrant populations, earning the constant guidance of Catholic leader John Timon, and earning Buffalo visits from such Irish independence advocates as Eamon DeValera and, more recently, Gerry Adams. On their trips into Western New York, they found the Ward, backdrop of the Labor Strike of 1899, violent and deadly railroad strikes of 1877 and 1892, and land once home to Michael Quinn’s Tavern, which hosted planning stages of the infamous Fenian raid on Canada in 1866. Also, the first Buffalo St. Patrick’s Day Parade? In the First Ward, and organized by tavern owner Quinn.

“I don’t think locals or people across the country have any idea of how important of an Irish center this once was,” said Bohen. “It was always on a short list of cities that Irish independence leaders would visit in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.”

When they’d visit, they traveled the same streets of historical figures who once called the First Ward home. Go one way and they’d find residences of Bishop Timon and the Sisters of Mercy, both essential shepherds of the community; go another and they’d find addresses belonging to Michael Shea and D’Arcy McGee, both namesakes of two current downtown entertainment venues. Boxing legend Jimmy Slattery prepped for eventual Madison Square Garden bouts on Ward streets; mayoral legend Jimmy Griffin rehearsed for years of Buffalo political scrapes inside now shuttered bars like Leahy's. And, raised in a house on Michigan Street, World War hero and O.S.S. founder Major General William Donovan grew up to be arguably the most significant Buffalonian ever, a fact Bohen is quick to note.

“What’s mind-boggling to me is the lack of honor (Buffalo has) paid to General William Donovan,” he said. “There was the Donovan State Building now being converted to One Canalside, so that’s gone. Then, there was talk about having his name on the new federal courthouse, but that didn’t come to fruition. This is a character that, in any other city would have a bridge or turnpike named after him. There would at least be a major monument in his honor. Historically, he’s the most important Buffalonian to come out of the 20^th century.”

And maybe there will soon be proper respect shown to all the events and individuals that made the Old First Ward worthy of Bohen’s engaging and illuminating offering. Maybe there will soon be long-overdue attention paid to the neighborhood’s historical relevance—and the devoted residents who’ve kept it alive—by those who don’t know nearly enough about either. Renaming the Ohio Street Bridge the General William Donovan Bridge would be a start, and moving the city’s Irish Famine Memorial (soon to be made more clandestine by Ellicott Development’s mammoth Carlo project) to the Ward would be another. The Erie Canal Harbor Development Corporation’s planned $11 million complete street conversion of Ohio Street—which will connect Canalside to the Outer Harbor—provides the opportunity for a litany of historical markers, as well as for eventually naming the reconstructed thoroughfare for the most significant modern First Ward resident, Peg Overdorf.

“She’s probably done more over the past two decades for the Ward and the Valley than anyone,” said Bohen. “She’s got a lot of help behind her, but she’s the one with the vision and dogged spirit that ultimately gets things done.”

Overdorf’s devoted vision now welcomes First Ward visitors off Michigan with Riverfest Park, and lures kayakers through the Buffalo River’s Elevator Alley to Mutual Riverfront Park and the Waterfront Memories and More Museum. Aided by the tireless efforts of loyal neighborhood residents, the momentum continues. Two weeks ago, over 5,600 Under-Armored lunatics descended on the Ward to conquer the terrain (five miles) and temperatures (mid-20s) of the Shamrock Run, now in its 34th year. The Buffalo Scholastic Rowing Association Boathouse has plans for a new facility near the Ohio Basin Inlet; riverfront housing has been discussed for the collapsed Erie Freight House; the Ohio and Michigan Street bridges have plans to be illuminated; and uniting historical signage for Buffalo’s Industrial Heritage Trail is on the way. And, don’t forget about this Saturday’s parade. With more than 100 marching units scheduled to find South Park Avenue, it plans to be the largest St. Patrick’s installment since the event was resurrected 20 years ago.

All these developments join the interest in Bohen’s work as reasons to believe the Ward’s days of inadequate appreciation are approaching a thankful end.

“When I started this project, I didn’t see all of the synergy and development happening in the First Ward. In the year I finished the project, I found two new parks, the museum, and even a focus (from the ECHDC) on lighting up the city’s grain elevators. None of this has anything to do with my book, but if the history detailed in my book leads to future historical endeavors, then that will be a great thing.”

(Author's note: This report was finished while listening to "Streams of Whiskey" by The Pogues)

Last Moments of the Mohawk

When I think about Mohawk Place, my first thought is of holiday reunions spent amid their annual Joe Strummer Tribute Night, scheduled for the 11^th and final time this Saturday night.

My second thought? The hilariously abhorrent condition of their men’s bathroom.

I don’t immediately think about how The White Stripes, My Morning Jacket or Dr. Dog once mounted the Mohawk stage to echo vocals and chords off steel coolers and street signs. I don’t think about the Elvis in Buffalo poster, the hawk-emblazoned mirror or walls covered with local guitar heroes. And, I don’t think about how they may have been the last bar in Buffalo to offer (and actually move) bottles of Old Vienna. I think about their bathroom, with walls and urinals covered in band stickers, floor swimming in spilled or recycled Genny Cream Ale—and a toilet seat covered in duct tape.

    

But, the state of those facilities has always been oddly complementary to the gritty, leather-clad aura of the Mohawk. It’s always stood as an unkempt rock hole, one focused less on presentation of pristine interiors and more on presentation of Fenders and feedback. If you were there to use the can, you were definitely in the wrong place. If you were there to see Buffalo’s finest musicians, some touring up-and-comers, or a group of your childhood friends cover The Clash’s “Clampdown” as a tribute to Strummer, then you were in the right place.

Sticker-covered wall of Buffalo's Mohawk Place 

If you grew up in or around Buffalo in the nineties, you found your music at Record Theatre or Home of the Hits. You may have followed up that shopping with shows inside Showplace Theater or Nietzsche's before, eventually, a friend’s band—or some band you absolutely needed to see—booked Mohawk. And, once you weaved through its dingy interiors, continued past the odd pile of crumbled, roped-off debris near the bathrooms and found a place atop the raised landing in the front right corner, you fell in love with the joint. Like every great Buffalo dive, it attached itself to you. It felt like yours.

    

If you’ve stayed local since 1990, you’ve been able to treat it like yours for decades. If you moved away, maybe you visited while home and carried it with you when you left.

    

After I left Buffalo for Boston in 2000, I spent time in Cambridge venues like T.T The Bear’s Place and the Middle East, watching acts like Ted Leo and the Pharmacists or The Moondoggies. From 2008 to 2011, I tended bar at the Paradise Rock Club, a Boston venue famous for hosting upstarts in the seventies like Tom Petty and AC/DC, and some Irish band in 1980 named U2. Five nights-a-week, I watched bands like the Bouncing Souls, Deer Tick or Dinosaur Jr. tear up the Paradise, churning out ear-bleeding riffs while patrons would move together, belt out lyrics or fist-pump drum beats. At least once per night, I’d smile, take it all in and realize I was employed to sling cans of Pabst and watch electric sets. And, at least once every few nights, I’d look over the same scene, see joy or recognition cascade over shadowed faces and think to myself, “This reminds me of the Mohawk.”

    

Environments within the Paradise and Mohawk Place are special; these types of venues don’t just open up. They develop like a relationship, with years of memories forming a connection between two entities. Place and patron unite to elicit a sense of genuine contentment, albeit over cans of beer and jangling cacophony. With more shows grows a deeper connection, and with a deeper connection grows a loyalty that’s essential to longevity and reputation. Most major cities have a few places like this, but every city needs at least one. Mohawk’s been one of Buffalo’s best, and now it’s down to its last days.

A farewell message for legions of loyal patrons

When it finally closes its doors in January, it’ll leave behind thousands of moments for thousands of people. It’ll disconnect from the relationship it formed with patrons over cover bands, punk quartets and Canadian frontmen. Many will remember those early, blues-soaked Friday nights with South Buffalo standard Willie Schoellkopf. Others will recall a bourbon-fueled evening with the Felice Brothers or a sweat-drenched show with Snapcase. If you were there for the Hollerado show two weeks ago, maybe you’ll cherish the memory of Kids in the Hall’s Dave Foley, nonchalantly roaming around the joint amid the flashes of iPhone cameras. If these moments are yours, take them with you as another Buffalo backdrop fades into history.

    

As for me, I’ll stash the vision of the venue’s glorified outhouse. Instead, I’ll lean on other Strummer Tribute Night-related memories, like the scene that flanked me a couple of years ago. As I stood talking to a friend at the bar, a drunken couple next to us began bar-necking so hard they lost their balance and crashed to the floor under the wail of The Clash’s “Safe European Home.” Tattered romance to a few; reckless action to some. Genuine Mohawk to others.

    

Thanks for the memories.

(Author’s note: This entry was finished while listening to “I’m Not Down” by The Clash.)    

Sam City

Sam Roberts is not from Buffalo.

He’s from Montreal, Quebec. He’s been churning out songs with his current Sam Roberts Band since 2000, setting Canadian sales records while rocking a steady number of onstage Levi’s tuxedos in the process. He’s ruled the Rock Album category of Juno Awards for most of the past decade, has his music blasted over Montreal Canadiens home games, and probably can’t walk into a Pizza Pizza without having faded denim torn from his diminutive frame by crazed Degrassi fans.

Yes, Sam Roberts is Canadian. But, if you come down to Canalside for his band’s “Buffalo Place Rocks the Harbor” performance tonight (with Grace Potter and the Nocturnals; lawn opens at 6 p.m.), you’ll see a guitarist and band whose style and substance may be the sonic embodiment of modern day Buffalo.

Roll through the tracks on 2001’s We Were Born In A Flame and you’ll hear a Cobblestone barroom. Cue up follow-ups Chemical City, Love at the End of the World or Collider and you’ll absorb the level of eclectic rock and roll variances found on a pub crawl down Allen Street. You’ll find mandatory Queen City rock riffs and optimistic melodies amid contemplative lyrics, all with a bit of rust on its edges. You’ll hear about hard roads, about how your friends will save you in the end; you’ll hear about a brother, graveyard shifts and love as deep as a coal mine. You’ll sing along with songs because you’re rhythmically lured in, even if you don’t like girls named Eileen or Maria (or necessarily agree with metaphorical stretches concerning the Taj Mahal). And, when you’re done with each album, you’ll play it again. And again. And again.

And another Canadian musician finds American fandom in Buffalo. In a city that’s showered QEW acts like Rush and the Tragically Hip with mania reserved for 70's-era Zeppelin or Springsteen, we’re attracted to the type of rough-hued northern musicianship not always appreciated by the rest of America. We’ve bought Matthew Good Band imports from Record Theatre, crossed the Peace Bridge for Sloan shows—and considered the memorization of Ron Hawkins lyrics required for over two decades. Simply put, we’ve always gravitated toward the honesty of blue-collar Canadian artistry.

But, with Roberts and today’s Buffalo, the cross-border connection seems different.

Sure, he was the pea-coated guitarist at 2008’s Winter Classic, charging through “Fixed to Ruin” on an outdoor riser between periods. And yes, the guy’s sold out Town Ballroom and other local venues over the past few years. But, he’s also a scruffy underdog who’s striving toward better times, albeit with an appreciation of the past. He’s an unassuming frontman who’s grinding forward not with huge singles, but with endless road work and a succession of solid albums. And, just like Buffalo, he’s adding new elements to his composition while not losing the essence of his act.

(Hell, on newer numbers like “The Last Crusade” and “Let It In,” Roberts joins bandmates Dave Nugent, Eric Fares, James Hall and Josh Trager to rip through their traditional guitar-and-percussion approach—and accommodate an intermingling of saxophone notes. This addition to their historical foundation could be considered the Sam Roberts Band’s Larkinville.)

With this connection understood, it’s appropriate that Roberts is opening up this summer’s “Rocks the Harbor” series. These are optimistic, adventurous times in Buffalo, with downtown renewal blooming amid a seemingly endless stream of outdoor music and 80-degree temperatures. Tonight, you’ll have a chance to see the best of the present, surrounded by glipses of the future. All the while, you’ll be serenaded by the guitar chords of the city’s possible soundtrack, with songs to make you gently sway, hoist a beer or head nod.

And once again, no: Sam Roberts is not from Buffalo. But tonight, you can assuredly count on him delivering a show that’s emblematic of the current rhythm of this city. 

(Author's note: This entry was finished while listening to "Up Sister" by the Sam Roberts Band.)

Home

(Author's note #1: I wrote the below essay for my graduate school's nationally distributed newsletter. Since it's started to make its way around via cut-paste-and-forward, I decided to post it on the blog. If you've ever read my Idea of Buffalo piece from last fall, then I apologize for a few of the regugitated points below.)

I saw the streets all ripe with jewels
Balconies and the laundry lines
They tried to make me welcome there
But their streets did not feel like mine
So long, I’m goin’, goin’ home
-Dan Auerbach, “Goin’ Home”

One’s connection to home can be like one’s connection to family. At its best, home is a wonderful thing. It is the one place that feels like yours, the place you’re truly attached to. At its worst, home is a suffocating beast, full of frustration and timeless annoyances. I somehow overlooked the enduring duality of this relationship while living elsewhere. Now back on my hometown streets of Buffalo, New York as a returned resident, I’m surrounded by the daily complications of this association.

Buffalo has been both haven and harrowing for most of my life. It’s the city that hosted my birth, my Christmas mornings and high school basketball games. It gave me friends I’ve kept since preschool, girls I kissed in elementary school. It instilled the competitive grit I’ve used to tough through professional obstacles and rejection. And, it infected me with the underdog mentality that western New Yorkers are born with. Every Buffalo kid grows up with a chip on the shoulder, earned from condescending New York City scowls and southern state insults—the ones about snow and rust, urban blight and Super Bowl losses. I’m from a city that no one understands, compliments or respects. This has bred intense loyalty, one that’s ignited arguments with ignorant strangers and Florida waiters. It’s been an inconvenient loyalty, but it’s always been considered necessary. This is my hometown, to defend and support. In good times and bad.

Unfortunately, the whole defend-and-support thing isn’t always reciprocal. Home can agitate, frustrate and torment. It can be like a Springsteen song, but not in a good way. No matter how your beliefs, attitudes and aptitudes have progressed, home drags behind. No matter how many positive memories you’ve generated away from it, home can rekindle the painful moments you’ve forever tried to shake. No matter how many out-of-town successes you’ve experienced, home can preserve your failures for family dinners, Friday night socials and supermarket reunions. Buffalo is where my mother wants me to become a teacher, where my father thinks I should become a salesman. And, it will forever be where my high school English teacher said, if he had one piece of advice for me, it was to never pursue a career in English.

But, it will also remain the chief source of my artistic inspiration, just as it has for my entire writing life.

I lived in Boston for eleven years; I worked inside Manhattan’s Rockefeller Center for a summer. I once fell asleep in Spain and woke up in France. I’ve been to Ireland twice, Italy once, and to nearly every major American city for more than a weekend. I’ve never felt compelled to write about those places the way I do about Buffalo. It’s forever been an underutilized backdrop, full of faded glory amid glimmers of progress and waterfront panoramas; it’s loaded with complex characters striving for genuine salvation in the shadows of economic stall. Its story has surrounded my own story, and continues to affect me with its successes and failures. Some days, I smile at nineteenth-century buildings being refurbished by flanneled laborers; other days, I seethe down sidewalks as another Hunt Realty sign finds an empty storefront. Both experiences sear through me in different ways, both eliciting intense feelings usually reserved for personal hardships. But, that tightening cringe in my stomach—whether from excitement or resentment—proves I care. It’s undeniable evidence of an intense and, at times, exhausting personal connection. And, it’s a multi-faceted emotional connection that’s injected a voice, passion and literary purpose into every Buffalo-set item I’ve ever scribbled.

And maybe that’s why I moved back here last year. Maybe I grew tired of disrespecting this connection, of treating it with distance when it’s actually truly special. Maybe I got sick of not contributing to the place whose avenues, buildings and barflies have given me chapters of narrative inspiration. Or, maybe I’ve simply grown weary of writing essays, columns and novels about the only home I’d ever claim, all while keeping it four hundred miles away.

Whatever the reason, one thing is certain: I’m back, living and writing in the Queen City of the Lakes. Our winters are cold, but our summers are gorgeous. Our local economy’s inconsistent, but our neighborhoods are varied and vibrant. All our streets aren’t ripe with jewels, but many of them feel like mine. If you need me, I’ll be here.

This is my home.

(Author's note #2: This entry was posted while listening to "Atlantic City" by The Band.)

Barstool Prophet: Embrace Buf-ronto

According to the latest Buffalo football scheduling news, the Bills are signing on with Toronto for five more years of Canadian visits—and the hometown faithful are not exactly giddy with the arrangement.

For the next five seasons, stubborn western New Yorkers will sit on their couches, shout expletives over beers and wonder why they have to sacrifice a game per season to thousands of drunken Maple Leaf fans. Confused locals can look forward to seeing the Bills play in front of Southern Ontarians (?) wearing a odd smattering of Peyton Manning, Michael Vick and Doug Flutie jerseys inside the Rogers Center as they care less about who's actually playing on the field in front of them. We'll see televised Fred Jackson touchdowns inside Canada's answer to Minnesota's Metrodome, and we'll all yearn for those freewheeling days of the nineties when Orchard Park was enough. When it was a sprawling weekly Woodstock, full of wild, committed, ticket-gobbling fans waiting for another impending AFC championship.

Only two problems with this: 1. the NFL economy has changed drastically since my January 12th, 1992 AFC Championship ticket cost $32 (including tax and county charge); and 2. this Toronto arrangement is extremely smart—and not without precedent.

Is it wrong to wonder whether the extension of this agreement is further proof that the Bills might move to Toronto? I guess not. Since many fatalistic Bills fans already fear the team is California-bound, I guess you're free to pick your pessimism. But, why would the NFL move the Bills up the QEW when a regionalized, lucrative partnership between an international metropolis and an established, passionate, historical football locale makes far more sense? The Bills extending their reach into Southern Ontario doesn't hurt Buffalo's viability for any future ownership group; it helps it. 

About 15% of Bills season ticket holders are from Canada, so why not play one annual game there in December? Sure, prideful Bills fans are reluctant to admit it, but Buffalo (by itself) lacks the economic and/or corporate swingers to both regularly compete and keep the Bills here long-term. Regionalization of the franchise isn't a choice; it's a necessity. Fans bitch about giving Canada a regular season game, but would those same fans be willing to pay double to see that Canadian-located game? Nope. You can't have it both ways. If Rogers wants to fork over another $78 million to rent the Bills for five more Sundays (and a meaningless preseason game every now and then), no problem; a small price to pay for solidifying the franchise's place in the region. In order for the Bills to remain in Buffalo—and, in a much larger sense, for this region's business sector to advance and thrive forward—a partnership with Southern Ontario and Toronto makes a tremendous amount of sense. (It's amazing that this cross-border relationship is considered such a controversial idea. And, maybe that border's the problem. Would there be such a stink about playing games in Syracuse? It's just an underwhelming bridge between collaborative countries, so why the hostility? Who are we, the Fenians?)  

Embrace it or endure through it, but know that this kind of travel arrangement has happened before—and for a much more prestigious organization.

There is a precedent set by another small market franchise who enhanced their viability by playing games in a regional location where a larger fan base existed. The team? The Green Bay Packers. From 1933 to 1994, the Packers played two to three games per year in Milwaukee due to the regional lure of the team. The Packers are 13-time NFL champions and arguably the league's most historic franchise, steeped in narrative lore and profanity-laden Lombardi speeches. They are the small market model and, yes, even they had to travel out of their hamlet to enhance their reach. Also, the distance between Green Bay and Milwaukee? 118.96 miles.

The distance between Buffalo and Toronto? 98.61. 

Not a bad drive. And, it's a lot closer than Los Angeles.

(Author's note: This entry was completed while listening to Donovan's "Sunshine Superman.")

Barstool Prophet: Gratitude

There wasn’t many weekends of my teens or early twenties that didn’t include an intervention or two from the Beastie Boys’ now deceased Adam Yauch, aka MCA.

His voice came out of Ford speakers and bar jukeboxes, from radio headphones or the tape deck from an old basement stereo system. The instances are so numerous that, as I type this, I can still see friends dancing and mimicking lyrics from songs off Paul’s Boutique or Ill Communication. It’s not that Yauch himself was inspiring or emotionally invigorating, instilling everyone at our parties with some expanded world view or political conscience; that wasn’t it. He—along with his bandmates Mike D and Ad Rock—were simply responsible for the rhythms and beats that carried so many of our reckless or carefree nights and weekends. Their music elicited laughter and air-scratching; it stopped parties and started ridiculous dance contests; and it inspired the opportunity to shout hilariously crude statements about parties and mashed potatoes.

Now, as we grow older and transition deep into adulthood, those remembered moments will forever be soundtracked by MCA’s sonic imprint.

Until I pull something together of greater length on this subject, I wanted to offer the below playlist (with audio or video links) to the honor Yauch’s memory. Enjoy it alone or gather with friends, ones who know all the words to “Root Down”—or can recognize the greatest use of an Abbey Road sample ever. Turn it up, raise a beer and count it down for the late, great MCA:

“Four and three and two and one.”

1. Skills To Pay The Bills
2. Do It
3. Shake Your Rump
4. Jimmy James
5. Sure Shot
6. Root Down
7. Hold It Now, Hit It
8. Unite
9. Make Some Noise
10. Sabotage
11. The Sounds of Science
12. The Negotiation Limerick File
13. So What’cha Want
14. Heart Attack Man
15. Ch-Check It Out
16. Don’t Play No Game That I Can’t Win
17. Get It Together
18. The New Style
19. Flute Loop
20. Egg Man
21. Intergalactic
22. Pass The Mic
23. Professor Booty
24. B-Boys Makin’ With The Freak Freak
25. Super Disco Breakin’

(Author's Note: This entry was finished while listening to "Unite" by the Beastie Boys.)