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ANT A SS iJ (RL LA EONAR; up 24 BT Ra MILT RE [ 2780 CRN ER EE Ae RT A Wi RRR LY REL IRITY HAAR oX AS FR NE SEPF SACRE 2 HF) It's Over, Finally To almost no-one's surprise, the New York Islanders dispatched the Minnesota North Stars last Thursday night to win the Stanely Cup series four games to one, and in doing so brought the hockey season to a thankful conclusion. Aside from the fact that it is tough for even the staunchest hockey fan to keep a keen interest when . the game is played in 80 degree temperature in the middle of May, the Minnesota-New York series seemed to lack a certain something. It was a foregone conclusion that the well-oiled New York machine would win. The betting was on how many games. Much was written about the lack of emotion displayed by the Islanders, individually and as a unit. The team simply went about its business of winning in precision fashion, playing virtually flawless hockey with emphasis on the fundamentals like checking, skating, passing and shooting. The North Stars, also a rather unemotional group, put up a game battle, but really were well out of their league in this final. They are a young team, however, and the analysts say their future looks bright. But watching this series was almost like watching games between the Soviets and the Swedes. It was an excellent display of technical skills by both teams, but oh so predictable and lacking in that magical hockey ingredient supplied over the years by the likes of Rocket Richard, Bobby Orr, Bobby Hull, or the boy wonder Wayne Gretzky. The missing ingredient was flash, panache, temper, emotion, electricity, call it what you may. , °F It is hard to believe that Mike Bossy broke a play-off scoring record. He just appeared to be another cog in the well-oiled Islander team. Hockey in North America may be on the verge of coming full-circle. It has taken more than a page from the Soviet play-book, putting the emphasis on solid technical skills in all departments with each player functioning not as an individual, but as a part of the unit. The Soviets have proved numerous times that this can win hockey games, and so have the Islanders and North Stars. The purists will say that this is how the game should be played, and maybe they are right. But watching hockey without that super-charge of electricity, especially hockey in the middie of May, is kind of like watching a chess match between a master and his star pupil; technically proficient, but predictable and more than a trifle boring. ditoriol comments "You know, IF you b TAKE BETTER CARE OF YOURSELF WE WOULDN'T HAVE JO DO THIS I" HOSPITA [| 3 Municipal building In an editorial last week, the Star took a light-hearted yet serious nudge at the general exterior condition-of-the Township municipal buil- dings on Perry Street. We are pleased to note that the faded and tattered Canadian flag has been replaced with a bright new maple leaf. However, a report issued after publication of the Star last week, comes to the same conclusion about the need for a couple of coats of paint to the exterior of the building, the replacement of a dangerous set of wooden stairs leading from a rear exit door, and that some kind of a sign be put up at the front of the building to identify it as the municipal office for the general public. But the report by the Public Institutions Inspec- tion Panel goes on to point out that more than just a little paint and a new staircase may be needed. Stating that portable electric heating has to be used as a supplement on the lower level of the building, the report says that single pane glass windows and lack of weather stripping on exterior doors are probably contributing to an "excessive heat loss.' If that is the case, that's money in energy costs going out the window as well. Saving energy these days seems to be a priority for just about everyone. The report suggests that a heat loss study: be carried out by-an appropriate agency. We agree this should be done, and if it is found that the building is indeed using energy poorly, then obviously steps to correct the situation should be carried out imme- diately. . ~ "And also important, the report found that the furnace room did not have proper fire extinguishers, and exit signs were not illuminated.- The implication of course is that the building is a fire trap, and the inspection panel wants a check carried out by the local fire department or the Ontario Fire Marshall to 'ascertain whether fire fighting facilities are adequate." ~ In light of the report, we would suggest that Scugog council take a serious look at the building, and not only try to improve the exterior appearance, but also find out if the building is losing heat and if so, take steps to correct this. TIME CHANGE two hours ahead of what they'd beep last Sunday. Life is often confusing, occasionally amusing. If you can't cope with the con- fusion and enjoy the amusement, you're in bad shape. A couple of weeks ago, when we had to change the clocks, I managed to confuse and amuse myself at the same time. On the Sunday night, I dutifully moved the clocks ahead an hour, following that old aphorism about changing from Daylight to Standard and vice versa. I'll give it to my faithful readers, especially those who turn .the hands in the wrong direction and arrive at church an hour early or at work an hour late. It is: "Spring forward; fall back." And that has saved me many a muddle since the days when I used to do what I've described above. Well, that's what I did. At least I thought I did. On the Sunday night, I set my alarm clock an hour ahead, and was on time for work, with my usual four seconds to spare. But the next night, Monday, got confusing. I fell asleep after dinner, as us seniles so often do. I woke up. My wife had gone to bed, probably in disgust. I checked the clocks in the house. First call was my alarm clock. It had stopped at twelve noon, and it was pitch dark outside, so I knew that was wrong. I don't have a watch, so I couldn't check that. Then I checked the two electric clocks, one up, one downstairs. They were the same. A horrible suspicion lurked in my mind. Had I really moved those two ahead bill smile on Sunday night? Had my wife expected me to do it, and not done it herself, which she should have done? : I could have wakened her and asked her. She also has a watch. Does one waken a sleeping crocodile, even if it has a watch, to ask the true time and have it say, 'Hold out your wrist"? I decided to use that great gift of mankind - reason. I switched on the TV set, and there was Knowlton Nash blatting away about something or other. Mr. Nash, as you may remember, delivers the CBC News every night at eleven. Except in Newfoundland. : Bang on. Reason had once more prevailed over panic. I knew it was between 11 p.m. and 11:20, when they seem to run out of news. : Easy in my mind, rather proud of my logic, I set all the clocks for 11:15 p.m. which seemed safe and went to bed. When my alarm went off, it seemed rather dark out. "Oh, well, one of those gloomy days," I reckoned. Had my breakfast; read the paper. But something seemed strange and out of kilter. Checked my neighbours. No lights showing, and they're early risers. Checked the street outside. No cars streaming by, no reluctant students plodding off to school. Began to have a horrible inkling, whatever an inkling is. A few cars began to appear. Finally a school bus, either very early or very late. Still no students stolidly marching up that hill to the Big School at the Top. When it was 8:30 by my clocks, I decided to make a move. Put out the garbage. Not another garbage-putter-out in sight. Got out the car and drove to work. Nobody in sight. Either I was an hour late for work, or an hour early. I'm just terrified of losing my job, as you can imagine, so finally I arrived at the school. Three cars there, instead of 300. The night watchman let me in. It was five minutes to eight in the a.m. It was only then that I realized my inkling had been bang on. I had put myself on double-Daylight time. All the clocks were It wasn't so bad. Now I know what freaks those people are who get up early and get to work half an hour ahead of time. My assistant department head walked in at 8:30 and fainted dead away when she saw me sitting there, perfectly goomed, chafing to get started, indeed, already gnawing a bit. By 4 p.m. the ass of my pants was dragging on the ground, I could have used a cane, there was a special meeting I couldn't avoid, and they carried me out to an ambulance at 5:30. By the time I got home, my chest was heaving rhythmically, my eyes were tightly shut and I was sucking my thumb and searching around with the other hand for my security blanket. bi My wife was all out of kilter, because she, too, had been on super-Daylight Saving Time. She'd had lunch at 11 a.m., dinner at 5 p.m., wondering where I'd got to, and was ready for evening snack at 7 p.m. --The only thing that really me was that someone, in the general confusion, realized it was Column Day. They had to give my amphetamines to wake me up, hoist me into a chair with a block and tackle to write this, prop my eyelids open with broken toothpicks, and then give the Great News. "Tonight is the night we do the income tax, dear, because tomorrow is one day too late." I think I'll move the clocks one more hour ahead and do the income tax return tomorrow commencing at 5 a.m. And I'm going to strangle Knowlton Nash for appearing on a 10 p.m. show.