Classic cars from my childhood

I was in my early teens when my older brother came home with one of these beauties one day:

Somehow, it seemed even more beautiful back then to a wide-eyed boy who religiously read his brother's hand-me-down Car & Driver magazines. To me, the car represented awesome power, even if its looks didn't convey it. Only the hood work over the engine gave a hint of what was underneath. That and the diminutive emblem on the front fenders indicating 396 CID.

For the uninitiated, it was a 1967 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 396 (SS signifying "Super Sport", not Nazi). The 396 cubic inch displacement engine packed as much as 375 horsepower. This was the age of muscle cars and this was certainly one of them.

Here's a gallery of pix of that model immaculately restored/maintained: Click here.

As for my brother's car, I will never forget the first time my brother took me for a ride in this machine. We zipped along down Keele Street weaving in and out of traffic, laying rubber in any gear. He entered the circular ramp to the eastbound 401, and as we neared the end of the ramp, I was unprepared for the fury that was about to be unleashed.

Bro switched gears, stomped on the accelerator, and I was driven (literally) back against my seat with a G-force I had never experienced before in my young life, or for that matter, ever since. The front of the car seemed to lift up making me feel like we were headed skyward. There I sat glued for what seemed like an eternity, and feeling like I couldn't breathe as we screamed down the highway, the engine roaring like an angry lion.

That car was a harbinger of things to come. In 1970, the mother of all muscle cars rolled out of Detroit: The Chevelle SS 454. This monster delivered an unbelievable 450 horsepower--more than any other stock car in that era.

While looking for pix, I came across some sale prices for the '67 Chevelle SS396, the highest being an incredible $87,000.

Next, I will review another car my brother actually rebuilt around the same time he had the Chevelle: a '57 Chevy

To see all posts in this series click here.

Last Kiss music video.

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My town is a hotbed of our national sport

So, what's the big deal? Nothing, really. Except that what few people may know is that hockey is not Canada's national sport. At least not our national summer sport. Heck, it wasn't even our national winter sport until sometime in the 90's when somebody decided it should be. What has always been our national sport until it was relegated to our national summer sport to make room for hockey is that oh-so-popular sport you see being played by Canadian youngsters in the streets and every vacant lot available was, of course, lacrosse.

For those of you who may not be familiar with it, the game is sort of like hockey, but instead of using a puck and hockey stick, you use a very, very hard ball and a lacrosse stick. The ball is carried in webbing on the stick and tossed among players until a shot on goal is feasible. The only other major difference is that players use much less equipment. This is because there isn't much body checking in lacrosse--they just whack you in your bare arms and legs until you scream "uncle" and relinquish the ball.

The goalie is an exception in terms of the amount of equipment he wears. Remember the very hard ball? He's allowed to wear the padding of three full-sized sofas so as not to deter his attention from keeping the ball out of his net--a net that is much narrower than a hockey net. He also gets a special stick with a much larger "pocket" than a player's stick. The amazing thing about this game is that anyone ever scores at all. The goalies look like grizzly bears who accidentally wandered into the arena and took up positions at either end as if they were playing for The Salmon Cup.

Below we see a women's lacrosse match--a much milder version of the game. Here, the girl on the right is executing a "just-letting-you-know-I'm-here" tactic, where she extends her arm completely resulting in simultaneous blows to her opponent's arm and head, almost dislodging her mouth guard.

The team-mate of the girl under attack is wistfully wishing she were a majorette and is just dying to twirl her "baton".

Below is the aforementioned grizzly bear, always ready to scoop up a passing salmon with his fish net.

Oh--I almost forgot. My town is on the verge of a lacrosse championship.