Oh, Canada. Who would have thought that a country with a reputation for politeness, levelheadedness and reason would be capable of producing such a ridiculous man as Rob Ford?
Maybe I shouldn’t be using his actual name, because most people outside of Canada don’t seem to recognize it. He’s better known as the crack-smokin’ mayor of Toronto, which you’d think would make him take a step back and reassess his life. At this point, the only way he could keep that dubious honorific from gracing his tombstone would be to stumble across a cure for some disease, like rickets or gonorrhea. You know, one of those ailments they make cautionary movies about on Lifetime.
Do I even need to recap the Rob Ford saga? In the entire “newsiverse” ”“ a totally awesome word I just made up ”“ I’m probably the last person to chime in with an opinion about this hapless little boob, so ubiquitous has his story become. In case you’ve spent the past several weeks frozen in a glacier, here’s the Reader’s Digest condensed story of Toronto’s mayor: He smokes lots of crack.
All right, all right. To be totally fair, he’s only admitted to smoking crack once (in one of his “drunken stupors,” no less). But in the crazy days since that revelation, he’s also admitted to entertaining prostitutes in the mayor’s office, made lewd comments in the press alluding to sexual acts with his wife, and accidentally knocked down a city councilor during a meeting while charging, bull-like, toward a heckler in the audience. So I don’t know if this whole crack thing is an ongoing issue, but clearly he’s got the judgment of a demented orangutan.
Already I’m having way too much fun at this guy’s expense, and I have a hard time feeling guilty about it. He’s clearly a buffoon for making such idiotic decisions while in office, and plus, there are few words in the English language that are more fun than “crack.”
But this isn’t a diatribe against Ford, necessarily. As much as I love an easy target ”“ and it doesn’t get much easier than a sloppy crack smoker who looks like an angry hot air balloon ”“ you can really only make fun of drug use to a certain point. It’s fun for now, because by most observations, Ford is a long way off from physical ruin; he could stand to lose some weight, but he has yet to develop the receding gums and gaunt face that’s commonly attributed to those who have serious drug problems. If he keeps throwing caution to the wind, though, then his follies will take on new gravity. So I’d implore him to get some professional help, not only for his own health and well-being, but for my continued ability to make fun of this decidedly weird saga. It would be a shame to feel guilt while ripping into a guy who brings to his work all the dignity of late wrestler Macho Man Randy Savage.
My real disappointment here is with the good people of Toronto. Somehow, I expected better.
Canadians, at least in my little circle, have a certain reputation. They’re supposed to be the sane, mature ones. Sensible, and polite to a fault, they act as a check against American hubris. If the United States is a frat boy doing keg stands and streaking through campus with a pair of underwear stuck on its head, then Canada is the student in the attic quietly studying for finals. And yet, in the aftermath of Ford’s exposure as a drug-addled goon, he experienced a surge in popularity, with a vocal contingent stepping forth to cheer him on with the breathless enthusiasm of Molson-guzzling hockey nuts. Crowds gathered in the streets to shout their approbation. He was given a local television show. And somewhere, outside City Hall, stands a bipedal moose, hooves crossed in front of his chest, sagely nodding his approval.
Seriously, Canada. What’s that all aboot?
That’s the kind of behavior I expect here in the States. Obligatory disclaimer: I take no pleasure in ripping on my homeland. I happily identify as American, and I root for America in most of its non-violent endeavors ”“ even the dumb and boring ones, like World Cup soccer. But worshipping an embarrassing schlub is a phenomenon I thought, and hoped, was unique to this country, one that’s obsessed with tales of celebrity self abuse and subsequent redemption. In our reality television, famous-for-nothing media culture, we cheer on shiftless punks like Charlie Sheen as they flout authority and brazenly wear their shortcomings on their sleeves. We praise their bravery instead of mocking their stupidity.
What’s alarming about the Rob Ford ordeal is that here is a man who, rather than doing something ultimately frivolous with his life, like starring in a tepid sitcom about a womanizing drunk, is charged with running a major metropolitan city. Television has blurred the line between celebrity and politician, but there’s a key difference: Celebrities don’t balance budgets. They don’t run things, or do important mayor-y stuff, like wear suits and use paperweights. When a mayor acts like Charlie Sheen, it’s cause for despair, not joy. The only people who stand to benefit are guys like me, who admittedly feel a twang of pleasure when they call a man like Ford a doped-up, mouth-breathing baboon.
Fortunately, that city’s council stripped Ford of virtually all of his powers. That’s a step in the right direction, although honestly, the last thing you want to give a crack smoker is a paycheck and tons of free time.
I’m just disappointed in my neighbors to the north. I don’t know if we’re a bad influence, what with our beer hats and “I’m With Stupid” T-shirts, or if goober worship is a broader pandemic. But it’s getting a little obnoxious.
Which, considering Ford’s own base level of maturity, is saying something.
— Jeff Lagasse is a staff writer and columnist for the Journal Tribune, and still has a soft spot for Canada, even if they enjoy crack and Celine Dion. He can be contacted at 282-1535, ext. 319 or jlagasse@journaltribune.com.
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