This morning on Twitter, Don Cherry, The Seventh Greatest Canadian of All-Time, rolled up the sleeves of the circus tent he was wearing to tell us a tale of what it’s like to be The Seventh Greatest Canadian of All-Time.
It took eight tweets to relate this story — if you’re interested in primary sources, by all means, check his feed — but here it is all together and without the pesky ordinal numbers:
I was driving along in our neighbourhood and I see a white van and it’s an animal control guy and he gets out with a raccoon in a cage. He lets the raccoon out and the raccoon runs away. Evidently, he gets pad (sic) for removing the raccoon from one neighbourhood to let him find a new home in another. So I stop and say to the guy “hey don’t let that raccoon go in a neighbourhood. Take him to the woods. He’ll go into one of the houses.” He pays no attention to what I said but starts yelling “Don Cherry, Don Cherry, I see you on tv all the time. “Yeah, that’s great” I say “but don’t let anymore raccoons go in our neighbourhood.” Still he doesn’t pay attention yelling “Don Cherry, Don Cherry, I am getting a camera” He keeps hollering my name . Now a jerk in some Volvo pulls up behind me, stops and starts honking his horn at me. A tanker can get by, but no, he sits there and continues to honk the horn while the animal control guy is taking pictures shouting my name. How did I get myself into this situation? When will I lean (sic) to mind my own business?
Alright, cool story, Grapes, even though it’s a lot like that stupid ditch-digger story politicians tell that is more or less about how cool the teller of the story is.
But here’s the thing — the story isn’t about Don Cherry being inconvenienced in an improbable way.
This is a story about Conference III.