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The unseemly bickering that goes on between the various levels of government in Canada for greater slices of the taxpayers' pie has reached a point where few of us know how much we pay to whom for what purposes. How does the beleagured taxpayer-citizen choose within three jurisdictions? Surely the time has come for governments to co-operate rather than compete for the privilege of spending tax dollars and free the financial resources need- ed for one level to do things well. Three and sometimes four levels of government compete for the taxpayers' allegiance; control and regulate his life and tax his personal wealth. Yet the overlapping bureaucracies of federal; provincial and municipal administrations have so blurred the responsibilities of each that the taxpayer - who is also the voter - has little idea for what each level is responsible. For instance we have federal and provincial ministries of labor. natural resources, health, social security, environment, consumer protec- tion and business regulation. Add to this munici- pal involvement in health, social security. envi- ronmental protection, transportation and educa- tion and you find how the taxpayer Supports enor- mous bureacracies which overlap in dreadfully wasteful manner. Worse, the citizen-taxpayer no longer has any standard by which to judge priorities, or measure the effective use of his money. We are over- governed to coin a cliche. -trootromes.oghror.tetc-2mtntroroew-o_3_o- b-e-tttr-Ort-e-hr-att-tN-tet-r-os-e" cef-torfroo"'-or'ret"e""'t'""* “unwary-Inn. Granted that most of our money goes to provide services which the politicians would argue we have voted for, it would be refreshing if the var- ious levels of government would try to tackle their problems on a basis of need and efficiency. Instead we too often are treated to the tiresome display of each trying to grab the biggest share of the communal pot. 'tat"Uoraradyoorethere To the editor Waterloo chronicle Waterloo. fortunately-, Is showing an Interest in beautifying its "downtown" shopping district, It might be a nice idea for the persons involved in improvements of the aforementioned business area to effect removal of those horrid-looking flower- filled caskets which are clogging our sidewalks, Montreal solved the prob- lem by placmg artificial flowers "I attractive bask- ets which hang from ex- tended arms of lamp stand- ards Letters in the editor Too Much Government "ea-soothe-sos-SWA-ttGr ts. "" -r..de.eitesNrbrFatr-PtesB. IWdM-IWMMJUW. BFmM.£..m.0u. “WI-vim“. Um”. 'eatertt'oAhtrneheiM8t mum James " Boland Edam: Mary Slum 'ahseet.t'stms;8teayeartt'Ca_ 'tmtyearit"hriteotate_oreie"yrtttr"tes In that way. pedestrians can move freely without being tripped by the pres- ent obstacle course - unless we m Waterloo are all walkingonair, Norma Sangoi. Waterloo The Chronicle welcomes letters to the editor United Church Now that the hockey hysteria is over. we armchair ath- letes can settle into the football season. and lend our ex- pertise, so lately freely offered to Scotty Bowman and the Canadian team. to those who really need it, like the hap- less Russ Jackson and the hopeless Toronto Argos. When I was a kid. we lived not too far from Ottawa. and I saw some of the greats in action - Dave Sprague. Bum- mer Stirling, Tony Golab. ' When l was about 14, my big brother took me to a Grey Cup final. a classic between Winnipeg and Ottawa. with the great little Fritz Hanson. one of the first American imports, scampering around on the field like a waterbug on a pond until he was finally crushed by some huge home- brew, a behemoth like Bunny Wadsworth of the Rough Riders. Those were the days when people went to watch football games because they loved the game, not because it was a status symbol to have a ticket. and also a great occasion for a weekend binge. I must confess that I'm not as keen on football as I once was. When I was a young buck. I was crazy about it. I knew all the players in the big league. all the standings. all the Fecords. My first Grey Cup game was also my introduction to rye whiskey. I sat between two French Canadian gentlemen, knowledgable about football. They had a mickey of rye. After a particularly great play. they'd have a polite swig each, to keep out the bitter November chill. With Gallic grace, they offered me a slug. My Methodist background and teetotal parents made me exclaim with horror. But my 14-year-old spirit of adventure made me wet my lips, with one eye on my brother. I've had a warm spot for the combination of football, French Canadian gentlemen, and rye whiskey ever since. My mother would have killed me. if she'd seen. To the editor In 1983. The Boys' Bri- gade will celebrate 100 years of serVIce to boys around the world. In this connec- tron, The Boys' Brigade in Canada tS most anxious to Nowadays. a kid like that would probably have a mickey of his own, Or worse. he'd be bludgeoned to death by some f mu Smile! Therefore would anyone with any past connection with the Boys' Brigade in any part of the world. please write to me. _ Thank you for your assis- tance with this request. contact all former BB. officers, boys and friends of the Boys' Brigade. Yours sincerely, Robert Carr. Centennial Preparations Committee. The Boys' Brigade in Canada Inc.. 6 Angus Drive. Willowdale. Ontario M2d 2X1 Autumns were not school work. They were long months of crisp fall afternoons, tackling. running. throwing. pass- ing. Then the hot shower, and the painful limp a mile home through an October dark. with a sprained ankle or a loose tooth. And the occasional day of glory, when we stuck it to Smiths Falls or Carleton Place, and the cheers were like manna. I went to university, and I played there. And I watched Joe Krol and Royal Copeland and company, and it was still great. Another kid started walking off the field in the middle of a play. “Hey! Where you going?" the coach wanted to know, The kid said: “I'm gonna have a rest. ., In high school. I played junior. then senior football. My best friends were the jocks, on the football team, rather than the academic types, the boys in the school orchestra, the members of the students' council. In those days. there was no money for fancy uniforms and buses to out-of-town games. Most of us wore home-made pads with felt from the local felt mill. There were about half a dozen helmets for the two teams. When we played out of town. parents and teachers transported the team in their own cars. When we played a home game, every stu- dent and lots of townspeople were out to cheer. The coach was a volunteer. Times change. In the high school in which I teach, with a student population of 1,600 (my own high school had 400), it's impossible, this year, to muster two teams. senior and Junior. We'll be lucky to have one. Because of education cut-backs. there's no money for buses to transport the teams When we do have a home game. the students leave in hun- dreds to walk the streets, or just goof around. It's sort of sad. Football used to be character-building, even though you wound up with a tooth or two missing, and a gimpy knee. But if you weighed 140 and tackled some brute of I90, you knew you were on your way to being a man. In my day, the emphasis was on offense: running. pass- ing. trick plays. But with the massive influx of the Ameri- can game. the emphasis on defense. and television to show it all, the game has become almost dull, except for the odd brilliant outburst of speed by some guy who is being paid a phenomenal sum for his skill. And the main idea now is "hitting." That IS, the player tries to collide with an opponent with such force. and in such a way, that the latter will be injured, And if it re- quires breaking the rules deliberately. as I've seen it done, for example, on kick returns, then go ahead. Take the penalty, as long as you can "hit" and injure the kick re- turner when he's not set for a collision. It's dirty, dirty. But after the war. the Yanks took over. Now it's mech- anized. You have an "offensive and a defensive" team (we used to play 60 minutes, both ways), and the chief aim seems to be to disable the opposition. One of our high school coaches revealed the new attitude. When he remonstrated with one of his rookies, "Hit 'im! Hit 'im!" the kid retorted: "Why should I hit him? He's my friend, .. drunken woman behind him, pounding on his head and screaming: "Go, Stamps, Go! " even though she didn't know the difference between a wide end and a big bum. No wonder it's losing its popularity with today's students They are not so dumb. It may not be football, and it may make coaches grind their teeth to the jawbone, but it's sanity Football and . Sanity f "ioCi (Violent