T.O. the good-for-a-joke
Newfs sit back and enjoy their new status
As they say in St. John's: T'ings are arse foremost, b'y.
The sou'wester is on the other foot, so to speak. The cod cheek has turned.
Ontario is the New Newfoundland.
We, fellow Hogtowners, are the New Newfies.
Did you read Jonathan Jenkins' piece in the Sunday Sun? How Toronto has been cast aside as a big player in the election?
Who'd a thunk it, here in the Big Smoke, where condos grow like trees and we're world-class, if you please.
But, see, power and wealth has shifted to the oil barons of Calgary and, surprise, Newfoundland, perennial bottom-feeder of the Canadian sea.
'A SMALL TASTE'
The Rock is heading for "have" province status. Ontario will soon "have not." Even Premier McGuinty says so.
The Newfies can scarcely contain their glee.
"How are the mighty fallen," St. John's Telegram columnist Ed Smith opined this summer.
"Now they're mortally of -fended when they start getting back a small taste of what they've been dishing out."
(He means Newfie jokes.)
"Tough. We have a long way to go, brethren and sistern from Upalong, before we're even.
"A very long way."
Where Upalong might be, I don't know, but I'm guessing you take a right at Jerry's Nose and Blow Me Down.
Achoooo.
I always thought Newfie, or Newf, was endearing. If not those, what? Newfoundland and Labradorian?
Funny thing about folks on or from that glorious Rock: Half hate Newfie jokes. Half love them.
Soon, they say, we in T'rawna will be in the same dory. How will we like being the butt?
Up along I go to Danforth Rd. and Birchmount, a Little Come By Chance in our multi-megacity.
The Newfoundlander pub, to port of a Pizza Pizza, is owned by Macedonians. But it is among the last great Newfie bars in Greater Hogtown. The Eastern Passage in Brampton recently closed, as did another joint near The Newfoundlander.
The old Eton House on Danforth Ave. draws a Newfie crowd.
Elsewhere, slim pickings.
The patrons have gone to Fort Mc -Murray. Or, back to St. John's, Hibernia and Voisey's Bay.
Before I walk into the Newfoundlander, which seems a reasonable place to look for Newfies, I read a column by Bill Westcott, of the Compass. It's at Trinity Bay, maybe the most gorgeous, soulful place I have ever been.
Bill writes of how he got even with one of us "smart-ass Upper Canadians."
Bill asked him: "If a fellow from Toronto, another from Quebec and another from British Columbia leaped off the CN Tower, who'd hit the ground first?"
The smart-ass Upper Canadian scratched and shook his head.
"Who gives a damn?" Bill replied.
Billy, b'y, that's cruel.
The Newfoundlander is wide, loud and smells beery. The bar, I mean.
There's big John Benoit, 39, the doorman, out of St. John's. He met the comely Diane, out of Cornerbrook, in this very bar and married her.
"There's Newfies everywhere you go," says Big John, not the slightest offended by the term.
"Say," he says, "did you hear about the Newfies passing a vacant store on Yonge St., and they ask the two Torontonians sitting inside what they're selling.
" 'A------s!' the Hogtowners snap back (with the usual big-city sneer).
'THE SAME EVERYWHERES'
" 'Well, you're doin' good,' says a Newfie, brightly. "You only got two left.'"
Yeow.
"People's the same every wheres," says Big John. "If you're a good person, you're a good person.
"Difference between here and down there is here they don't stop if you're crossing the road."
Shane Rogers, 37, sidles up to the bar. On a nearby wall hangs a Republic of Newfoundland shirt.
Where you from, Mr. Rogers?
"Mawsbelly," he replies.
Where's that? Near Ha Ha Bay? Or Bumble Bee Bight? Or Bleak Joke Cove?
"Uh, ma's belly," he says again, looking at me like I'm from T'rawna.
Ha, ha, b'y. Where you from, really?
"Scarborough, born and raised."
Lawrd t'undrin jeezsus, let's not start with the Scarberian jokes
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