For what it's worth:
I was born in Hamilton in the late '50's and migrated to Vancouver in 1983 upon discovering the area by thumb the year before. Somehow my girlfriend and I lived undetected in the once wild, mid-summer grasses that dominated Jericho Park, just east of the hostel. One day my future wife pointed out the advantages of a roof. I recall that seeing her ever again was high on the list.
We moved into the Walton Accommodation on Alexander Street and took a room directly above The Anchor stage. It was there that I discovered the Canucks by radio. Prior to the rise of The Yale (and, for a time, The American), The Anchor was a majorly good blues room. Blues was REALLY important to me, and I sucked up that atmosphere like manna from heaven. And then one day the sign came down and it became Tijuana Tillies. You don't want to know, or, I would hazard to guess, remember. Suffice to say I got the blues real bad.
We moved to the third floor and befriended William Hoffer Bookseller, directly across the street from our windows. Literature was important to me and cranky Bill of the acerbic wit and heavily masked generosity became a tremendous friend. Directly beneath our window, three stories down, Mike Van Eyes would roll up his "street piano" and perform with GI Blues, tickling the hood fantastic. World class boogie woogie right under my nose and rockin my billy inside out. They could shut down The Anchor and turn it into a "first time I got hammered" joint, but they could not take the rock and roll out of Gastown.
Unfortunately I feared we might soon pop a third eye due to the amount of pesticides pumped into our little love nest in order to quell the diurnal tide of roaches. My baby was more than happy to move into a quaint red apartment building at Keefer and Hawks, which was said to be one of the oldest (if not cleanest) buildings in the city. After the great fire (1886?), the first building to go up, according to our landlord, was a brothel. Dave d'C manufactured potent wine in the brothel-come-apartment block basement and there were jazz musicians lurking. The rest, of course, was Chinatown. Mah jong clatter, friends sweet laughter, and the odd blood curdling scream splitting the night. Compared to Tillies at closing time, it was Tai Chi in the park.
I spent the next twenty-five years not amounting to much (as my bright friend Bill, R.I.P., predicted), but I did write a lot of songs, a few short stories, and played many of the scarier bars within hailing distance of Pigeon Park. My subject matter often dealt with things Lower Mainland. An early poetry reading at The Carnegie Center was eventually followed by a house gig at The Lonestar, playing Fabulous Thunderbird hits with my boys. It wasn't much to write home about, but I was grateful for every small gig that I got and the very cool people that put up with me. I got to know some outstanding musicians and amazing people in general. Drop by The Cottage Bistro on a jam night. You'll likely run into a few.
As the millennium turned, I managed to put together a skeletal label, fungopop records, and demo'd a few tunes in our converted dining room at W.13th and Oak. (Special thanks to Bob and Franny, Brent, Pat, Ben and Elbore.) Nothing you'd heard of, I'm sure, but there is the impetus of my CDC moniker.
Although I have been a dyed-in-the-wool hockey-nut for most my life, my first love was baseball. My father coached older age groups and he'd routinely enlist me to field the returned balls from the group in the outfield shagging his fungos. A fungopop is that joyous sound of the bat finding the sweet spot. "fungopop records: it's a hit!"
Once upon the distant past my CDC handle was Lightnin' Rivers. I recall being a big fan of WestCoaster and worked on a number of posts inspired by his ilk, but I consistently took too long to get them together. Inevitably another member would surface and make my point(s). After a dozen attempts seeing my thoughts preempted by the slicker fingered and quicker thinking crowd, I let the idea of posting go. I don't see much point in being redundant on this consistently redundant forum, though I do understand why so many good thinkers here become frustrated repeating themselves ad nauseam because some Bowser didn't take time to read through the thread and can't stop barking at what he thinks is a car! As for me, I'd rather read what you all have to say because I already know my own views. Sometimes you change them. There are far better hockey minds on this board than mine. After 50 some years of mainlining The Game, I am still learning quite a bit through your contributions. My thanks to those posters that show decorum, respect, and intellect for The Game, the players, and their fellow posters.
In late November 2006 we pulled stakes and returned to Ontario. It was heart wrenching leaving our friends and the city we loved behind, but home called and there was satisfaction in answering the bell. Today I teach music in a small town smack dab in the snow belt. (Other than the snow, it is very fulfilling!) Moving did nothing to dampen my following of the Canucks and I have probably heard as much or more TSN1040 than most people. I can't fathom hopping off any band wagon. The Canucks are my team. They are the rink I die on.
Not so for my wife. The moment Luongo landed in Florida so too did her allegiance. Gone in a flash. She'd been incensed by that nonsense Torts pulled at the Winter Classic and won't forgive the logo for the way it ended in Vancouver with her favourite player. She is collateral damage to the botching of Roberto, and likely represents a healthy swath of lost support. So now I have a second team to follow. They are in my time zone and as of this writing, still in the play-offs- all good, but the Panthers are not the Canucks. (Edit; May 29 2016: So yeah man, having followed both teams, I'm good with the Gudbranson trade as I believe Jim Benning made out like a bandit!)
Thanks for visiting. Please do support your local roots and rollers. Go Canucks Go!