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JULY 25, 1968 THE SPORTS BEAT By Glen May Prime Minister Trudeau, during a rare pre-election poli- cy speech, said in British Co- lumbia that he would -establish an investigative body to soul- search the reasons for Can- ada's lack of success in Olym- pic and international competi- tions. Well; Mr. Prime Minister, this is not necessary. You can save the taxpayers their mon- ey, and worry about other problems not pertaining to the area of amateur sports. If you kept the promise and sent an investigative team roaming the country the report would re- veal an wunconquerable prob- lem. Ninety-five percent of the blame can be placed on public apathy. Or if you like, parental apathy, but no matter how you word -it,- the meaning is the same. APATHY is defined as: a lack of interest in or desire for activity; indifference; a lack of feeling. And this Mr. prime Minister, and only this, is the major problem of our progressively shoddy showings on foreign soil. ' Our various national coun- cils can contribute money and coaching, but the results will not be considerably improved. National competitions can be arranged, but they won't be the answer. Belly-aching in the press will not help. Eshablish- ing ideal playing surfaces and conditions won't cure the sick- ness. If any of these channels are followed we're still going to be whipped by such "giants" of international sport as_ Italy, Yugoslavia, Turkey, Brazil and Ireland. Our outlook toward interna- tional competition today has reached such a low ebb that if one of our athletes struggles to a second place finish the. Cana- dian public begins to clamor for a national holiday. In the last. 20 years our athletes haven't won enough gold medals to make an old- | WANTED - Experienced I'll do the job, Pierre Hairdresser for Tony'* s Pe Salon. Phone Schreiber fashioned set of false teeth. Sure, we got our Harry Je- romes, Elaine Tanners and Nancy Greenes. However, we must be realistic and realize these superb athletes did it on their own and they were en- dowed with exceptional physi- cal ability and outstanding mental stamina, Every rule has 'its exception. Today our youngsters need to be prodded, babied, shoved and almost forced into "stay- ing with it." Undoubtedly there have been hundreds of fine athletes toss in the towel and forget about practice. They would rather learn about the opposite sex and have fun. Parental pride is missing. No longer will mom and dad take a couple of hours from their free time to encourage and watch their child participate in a sporting event. Apparently nobody has sufficient free time for this, although it is not un- common to watch a father take his boy to the arena and then hurry home to go back to bed. Mom has been known to take he: child to the school track meet in the afternoon and hur- ry away to join her friends for: a two-hour gossip session. Little wonder the kids final- ly say the hell with it. Sad that parents can find the time to even ask: "How did you do today?" : So, Mr. Trudeau, forget your idea. I doubt that you could solve this national dilemma even if you kissed every moth- er and shook every father's hand. . ' But if you're serious about forming an investigative body to give you a report, I've got an idea. Just give me the bare ex- penses to travel from coast to coast and I'll look after it. My plan is simple. I'll take about 78. pairs of hard-toed shoes and every parent I come across that has a child involved in sports I'll simply walk up to them and give them a swift .. . _ TERRACE BAY NEWS SUGAR PAGE 11 AND SPICE ae TLC) g This is being written from a little place that most of you know. I visit it quite often, especially in the summer. It's called Wit's End. And _ that's where I'm at. Just recovering from a three-day wedding. The cere- mony took only about 15 min- utes. But there were the preli- minaries. They were bad enough: the terrifying ordeal of buying my first new suit in eight years; getting lost on the way to the church, in a strange city. However, it's not the preli- 'minaries of a wedding that make you arrive at Wit's End. It's the post-liminaries. - One of them is kneeling on a stool beside me, watching as I peck away with those two worn-down old fingers. He's six years old, precocious as they come, and somebody else's grandson. He's not watching because I'm a dazzling typist. He's watching to make sure that I get this done, so that I can fulfill my obligations to. him. In a burst of post-wedding euphoria, I promised Mark I'd take him. to the park, to the beach, to the Indian village, to the old fort and a few other local hotspots. Like all kids, he has the memory of an elephant and the persistence of a penguin, what- ever that means. He arrived about his usual bed-time, so I thought I could stall him until tomorrow and then maybe get him to watch television. No dice. He demanded to see the park, at the very least. So I took him off to see the park, driving his Grammy's converti- ble. Yes. grandmothers drive convertibles these days. Just as we arrived at the park, a hell of a thunderstorm bust loose: lightning: great rolling cracks of terror; and rain like Noah's arc. Mark was a little scared, in a delighted sort of way. I was frightened to death. I couldn't find the windshield wipers and was flving blind. : Mark said, "Hey, Bill, we better scram outa here." I couldn't have agreed more. I kept twisting knobs and push- A memorable day ing buttons, trying to get the wipers working. I pushed what seemed to be the last button. Nothing hap- pened. Mark said, "Boy, you're lucky that's locked. That's the one that puts the top down." I nearly fainted. The back seat was loaded with Grammy's clothes, wedding gifts and as- sorted perishables. Well, we got home safely, as you have surmised, and it's now tomorrow. And it's pour- ing rain. And Mark has asked me 744 questions. Will the Indians let us into their vil- lage? Do they have rugs on the floor? Can we take away some bows and arrows? When are we going? The last one came about every fourth time. You know, I've secretly been looking forward to my grand- children for a few years, even though my own kids aren't married yet. Now, I'm begin- ning to wonder. Can I cope? They're so blase. I took Mark into the Wild Place. That's the corner of our garden where there's a big, hairy bush of some kind. You can almost get lost in there. I forced our way through the jungle into the secret heart of the Wild Place. Mark said, "I don't see what's so wild about this. When are we going to the In- dian village?" Well, I'm going to. fix that kid. As soon as I finish this column, we're going to the rud- dy Indian village and the blast- ed old fort in the pouring rain, and we're going to tromp around until he'll never want to hear the phrase Indian vil- lage again in his entire life. It'll probably be the end of me. But no six-year-old punk is going to push me_ around. We're going to see all the sights. We're going to climb and walk and stare until he's goggle-eyed. I don't care if he 'gets exhausted. I'm exhausted and we haven't even started yet. And if he starts to cry and wants to go home, Ill... probably buy him an ice cream cone. Any kid who knows what the word "scram" means in this day and age can't be all bad.