“Anybody can throw themselves in front of a slapshot,” he said. “It takes a real tough man to carry another man’s baby formula.”

Amen, brother.

Posted by cementslinger from Midland MI on 12/06/07 at 11:30 AM ET

Hey, I forgive Probie his nose candy because of the crap he kept from hitting the team.  But then, I’m a bit liberal when it comes to ‘controlled substances.’

I’m Andrew, from Ann Arbor, and this has been your daily reminder of smelly hippies.

Posted by AndrewFromAnnArbor on 12/06/07 at 01:01 PM ET

Don’t knock it, man...I still go across the Bridge to get myself some Harvey’s hamburgers, an Aero bar or three, and some Smarties...If the damn Homeland Security people weren’t so uppity, I’d have my ex--girlfriend send some Kub Ukrainian Rye Bread my way from Winnipeg, too.  There’s nothing like good Ukrainian rye…

Posted by George James Malik from South Lyon, MI on 12/06/07 at 02:08 PM ET

umm...George, aren’t you going to say that you linked this story a few days ago? Or a week ago? Sorry Chief but his nose has been in this candy for a while now…

Posted by srt on 12/06/07 at 05:17 PM ET

No, not really...This thing was posted at like 1 AM a few days ago, and reappeared on the wires earlier today, so it happens...Besides, between the Swedish Hug Study and “Canadian Food Follies,” we might just be seeing the beginnings of a sense of humour from the Diggers...which is scary.

Posted by George James Malik from South Lyon, MI on 12/06/07 at 07:19 PM ET

Ah, ok then. I bow to you both and leave you with one question:

Can anyone get me in touch with Probie’s dealers? Andrew, I’m looking at you.

Posted by srt on 12/06/07 at 10:17 PM ET

Sorry, no can do-- I have no Colombian connections except for Juan Valdez and his donkey.

But hey, if you want white-boy dreadlocks, rancid patchouli oil, and tie-dyed junk, brother, I can hook you up!  Come down to A2 around Hash Bash time...I’ll see what I can do.

Posted by AndrewFromAnnArbor from the crack (den) on 12/07/07 at 02:56 AM ET

SRT, if you want real Timmy’s coffee, there’s certainly a belief that the “real” stuff (Canadian Tim Horton’s coffee) has something addictive in it (ask any Canadian...My ex swore that the “real” stuff was a different animal entirely)…

Posted by George James Malik from South Lyon, MI on 12/07/07 at 04:25 AM ET

‘bout 20-23 years ago, we used to go through Canada to get to the east coast, roughly 5 times a year.  About an hour inside Canada, there was this little diner that served fries with gravy and real cherry pepsi.  This was before cherry pepsi came out in the states. the cans had those push button openings, one to release the pressure, the other to drink out of.  An’ now ya can gravy n fries damnear anywhere, but they’re just not the same.

Posted by cementslinger from Midland MI on 12/07/07 at 06:49 AM ET

All the “Crush” flavors other than orange were first available in Canada, too.

Of course, there’s also Poutine, which is as deadly as it is addictive…

I personally like Alberta beef, though (and I’m not making this up) you’d get in serious trouble if a border guard were to find raw beef in your vehicle at the bridge or tunnel (mad cow and all).

“Homeland security” really screwed things up as far as getting Canadian food in the U.S.  My ex would have to get an importer’s license to just send me that Kub Ukrainian rye bread, and sending anything that isn’t pre-packaged is illegal by mail, so grandma’s fruitcake is seized as a potenitla biohazard…

Which is, ironically, the one time the border guards might be right…

Posted by George James Malik from South Lyon, MI on 12/07/07 at 07:00 AM ET

Look at the guts on Malik!  Anyone who’s ballsy enough to actually ingest something an ex-girlfriend sends is definitely foxhole material.

Posted by HockeyinHD on 12/07/07 at 07:19 AM ET

We’re talking about Aero bars here, man...you’d be surprised what chocolate can do to mend friendships, end wars, that kind of thing…

Posted by George James Malik from South Lyon, MI on 12/07/07 at 07:53 AM ET

Oh man, poutine, now you’re taking me back.  When I was a teenager and I used to spend hours on a VIA Ontario train to go up and see my girlfriend in Kingston for the weekend...homemade butter tarts ready when I came through the door, nights spent drinking whiskey at The Wellington or The Royal Oak, long strolls along the water, Sunday mornings at Chez Piggy, Pan Chancho or the Chinese Laundry, and always the same poutine van on the way back to her apartment.  Lovely crisp hot fries, chewy curds and gooey gravy.  Piping hot from a styrofoam cup on a cold night with the wind blowing bitter off the lake.  Steaming poutine and the warmth of young love.

Of course, it later turned out that both Melodie and the poutine were bad for my heart.  But I’ll always have the ephemeral taste of both in my moutn and my memory.

Posted by AndrewFromAnnArbor from a runaway train of thought on 12/07/07 at 08:46 AM ET

Less maudlin story about coming back through the tunnel after a vacation on the Bruce-- I was eight, my little sister was five, and we had the remnants of a case of Coca-Cola we’d bought in Tobermory sitting in the trunk.

As we passed through Customs, they asked us if we had anything to declare.  My father said no, as usual, and as we were pulling away, my little sister yells, “What about the Coke?”

They didn’t hear her.  Otherwise, the old man probably would have floored it.

And that one, Probie, was for you.

Posted by AndrewFromAnnArbor from the land of boring stories on 12/07/07 at 08:52 AM ET

“What about the Coke?”

Ah, Coke and young love; memories made and forgotten.

I’m brown, so crossing the border is to be avoided at all costs, unless I want to find out why Dive-Garcia does what she does.

p.s. never have and never will do coke; just a glam drug that I like talking about for some unknown reason. ...anyone one else want to confess their various fetishes?? and, yea, go wings

Posted by srt on 12/07/07 at 12:34 PM ET

I’ll keep my fetishes to myself, but I do have a good border tale…

20-odd years ago, my cousin - a patchoulied, long-haired, VW Bus driving musician and avid pot smoker, was heading up to Windsor to see a band.

He was a pothead, but he wasn’t completely retarded, so he had absolutely nothing incriminating in his VW bus as they headed to Windsor via the Ambassador Bridge. When they stopped before crossing and were asked if they had anything illegal in the VW, my burner cousin sarcastically said, “Illegal? No. Well, unless you consider 20 pounds of H illegal.”

Har har.

The border guys, obviously not as amused as my cousin, instructed him to pull off to the side. They then proceeded to frisk everyone, search the van and detain them. They took the van to another area and cut the seats open, removed all the trim inside, cut the tires open and generally destroyed the VW. They found nothing, handed him his keys and told him he was free to go. Needless to say, my Uncle was NOT amused when called to come pick him AND his VW up.

Sometimes it pays to STFU, especially if you look like (and are) a damn dirty hippie.

Um, Go ‘Wings.

Posted by TeamDub from The gratch. on 12/07/07 at 12:50 PM ET

unless you consider 20 pounds of H illegal.

I like stories that make me feel smarter!!!

My sister, now retired from a major US airline, acquired more than a few stories over her career of hot shot self-important business people who thought it was hilarious to crack a joke about having a bomb while at the ticket counter… only to find out that the result, rather than uproarious laughter, was missing one’s flight while spending hour upon hour in an interrogation room.

Posted by BobTheZee on 12/07/07 at 02:19 PM ET

Geez, these stories are bringing back memories galore...My dearly departed dad was a probation officer, and back before he worked for “the man,” he was one of Southeastern Michigan’s larger potheads, and his best buddy had a place in Southwestern Ontario, so my dad had all sorts of wild stories, including one where he was able to smuggle an old-fashioned glove box full of weed through the Blue Water Bridge (a rather notorious place at the time) by claiming that it was pipe tobacco. 

Ol’ dad taught me the tricks of the border guard trade--always keep eye contact, give simple, “Yes-sir-no-sir” answers, give them the simple version of where you were and what you did, even if it sounds strange (Yes, sir, I went to the Harvey’s on Ouellette Avenue to have two hamburgers and some fries), and don’t declare anything unless they ask you if you have something to declare. 

Smart man.

Posted by George James Malik from South Lyon, MI on 12/07/07 at 02:53 PM ET

Stupid border story...many years ago before my daughter’s Dad and I got married (we are no longer married), he came to visit me at home in Ann Arbor over the holidays.  We went into Detroit and while we there I decided it would be a great idea to drive over to Canada and walk along the river.  We took the tunnel over and had no problems.  I wanted to change things up on the way back so we went over the bridge.  Right as we were pulling up to customs, I suddenly had an “Uh-Oh this is a bad idea” go through my head as he was born in Germany on an army base and I had forgotten about that in the haze of young love and wanting to show him the sights.  So as soon as he lets out that he was born in Germany I knew we were in for it.  We had to pull over and go into the interrogation center.  It seemed like forever but it probably was only a half hour or so, after they called his parents, they let us go.  Not one of my brighter moments.

Posted by hockeychic from Denver, CO on 12/07/07 at 05:11 PM ET

I have fond memories of getting pulled aside by the overzealous U.S. border guards at the International Bridge in Sault Ste. Marie for not declaring over $50 of souvenirs, seeing a gentleman who really looked like Mr. Clean get turned back after the guards discovered a trunk full of Canadian beer--and Mr. Clean in an acute state of inebriation--all sorts of quirky stories. 

It’s surprisingly easy to get into Canada compared to coming back home to the U.S., though I must admit that I was able to bring a certain cousin of mine back home after he over-celebrated his 19th birthday in Windsor to the point that he was 3/4ths out of his car’s sunroof (I was driving back, being allergic and all provides great opportunities for blackmail), screaming, “I CAN’T GO TO JAIL!  I’VE GOT A PRETTY MOUTH!” at the top of his lungs, so stick with me the next time you’ve got 50 kilos of Timbits in the trunk

Posted by George James Malik from South Lyon, MI on 12/07/07 at 05:24 PM ET

Someone say “Live Blog?”

Posted by TeamDub from The gratch. on 12/07/07 at 07:30 PM ET

Durn you guys and your time difference.  I remember sharing a cab back through the tunnel with a Canadian cab driver and a Bermudese (?)-- well, that’s what HE said-- student studying in Niles, and me without any real ID.  Didn’t get any hassle though, and got across just in time to watch the train I was supposed to catch pull out of the station.

And since we’re supposed to be discussing criminial activity (moi?), as Baroque mentioned in the next post, I’m also related to a guy who ran the blockades during Prohibition.  Family legend maintains he was exiled to Canada for 99 years and 1 day for bootlegging-- and hence the branch of my mother’s family in Amherstburg, but apparently the truth is much more mundane-- it was immigration violations.  The fact that he did run liquor across the river while The Purple Gang were around (who would have had his guts for muscling in on their turf) just speaks volumes about my family’s intelligence.  Of course, my grandfather made wine during Prohibition at home (being from a small town in Tuscany, he knew how to do it right) and was smart about it-- his main customers were cops, who called the stuff ‘Dago Red.’

George, you’d be surprised how easy it is to smuggle stuff into the US, especially through airports (USDA sniffer dogs and all).  I’m not admitting anything that can be proven in court, but I know people who’ve brought back loads of contraband from Europe-- Cuban cigars, OTC codeine, even meat and cheese.  Wasn’t me though.  I’m always law-abiding

Okay Sailor, that’s me done discussing villainy and dastardly deeds.  Clean and sober Boy Scout from now on, I promise.

Posted by AndrewFromAnnArbor from walking Spanish down the hall on 12/08/07 at 02:42 AM ET