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HAR EEE SU RUE a LE 3 ERS FRR TPT AW IPA HAR YT TER Ba RR REAL EEE AR BONAR ATEN HA HONS HAY So S08 GREE L WATHERICHUATE AA 3 SEARS at Re er LOWER Wayne Who? There's not much that has not been said or written or about Wayne Gretzky, a young man who will reach just his 21st birthday on January 26. He is currently in the process of re-writing the NHL record book while leading the Edmonton Oilers to first place in the league standings. ; Just how many goals and points he will collect before the end of this season is anybody's guess, but hockey experts agree- that even at age 20, he is probably the best to ever don a pair of skates. And last week, The Sporting News, a prestigious sports publication, named him Man of the Year. This is the first time a hockey player has received this honour, and when one considers such headline- grabbing sports figures as John McEnroe, sugar Ray Leondard and Fernando Valenzuela, the significance of Gretzky's achievements on the ice is obvious. In short, he deserves it. And like the great hockey players of the past - Gordie Howe, Bobby Hull and Bobby Orr - Wayne Gretzky is a remarkable ambass- ador for the game itself and sports in particular. He is an example that nice guys can finish first. He is the kind of player and individual that youngsters can emulate; a young man with extraor- dinary ability who accepts the lime-light in stride. The Sporting News could not have made a better choice. Hollow Gestures American president Ronald Reagan must be dreaming if he thinks the "sanctions" against the Soviet Union are going to have any effect in altering the situation in Poland. Reagan last week announced that suspensions of American exports of high technology electronic equip- ment, oil and gas drilling gear, and equipment used in gas pipeline construction, would begin immediately. Critics quickly pointed out that the Soviets can buy this kind of equipment from the Japanese and the West Germans who want no part of 'sanctions' against Russia over the Polish crisis. And they rightly said the only people really hurt by the American announcement are workers in the United States who may find themselves out of a job because the exports have dried up. What Reagan did not do, however, in his attempts to get tough with the Soviet leaders, is tamper with the massive grain deals already in place between the United States and Russia which amount to more than $3 billion this year alone. "WELL ILL TELL YA, LADDIE, oa DON'T EXPECT ANY BIRTH ANNOUNCEMENT carps!" Taking rather feable measures like suspending Soviet air line flights to the United States, rather than grain shipments points out the horrendous dilemma faced by all western countries in dealing with the current Polish crisis. ) If sanctions are too severe, they may do more harm at home. And if the United States and Canada cut off all grain shipments to the Soviet Union, it is very likely that the Polish people would suffer greatly because part of that grain is being shipped by Russia to Poland to ease the food shortage there, which is at a crisis level. What Reagan has painfully discovered is that the United States and the western world are virtually powerless to alter the course of action taken by the Soviet Union and the military leaders in Poland. The same was true in Afghanistan two years ago, in Hungary in 1956, and Czechoslovakia in 1968. It may be cruel, but a fact of life nevertheless, that the Soviet Union can operate almost at will in countries it considers within its inner sphere of influence. And Poland has been one of these countries since the Second World War. Reagan, who won the Presidency partly on a "get tough with the Russians' campaign, had no choice politically but to take some kind of action over the Polish crisis. But that action will prove to be little more than an irritant to the Kremlin. The Russians are not about to be swayed by hollow threats and empty gestures. The crisis in Poland is nothing short of an atrocity in the denial of even basic democratic and human rights. And as much as the situation may be deplored, there are certain repugnant realities. in this era of super power politics; realities which Pierre Trudeau has alluded to recently and been hotly criticized for. Reagan's gestures may score him a few political points at home, hut the tactic is not going to deter the course of Soviet policy or do much to ease the plight of the average citizen of Poland. : CHRISTMAS CHEERS When I see Christmas looming up on the horizon, I must admit that my heart sinks a bit. : At such times, I almost wish I were a Ba-ha-i like the rest of my immediate family. Trouble is, though Christmas is not a Ba-ha-i celebration, they all act as though it were, and expect all the of the day; tree, turkey, gifts, being home with the family, and boys and toys, and toys and bill smiley out, tear out the innards, and put them on to boil for giblet gravy. Then I scatter dressing all over my self and. the kitchen. But the secret is to reach blindly into the cupboard, grasp whatever. is nearest, throw a dollop into the stuffing, stir vigorously and carry on until you can't stand the aroma or the sight of the stuffing. A shot of tabasco sauce, a whiff of celery powder, a dash of garlic, a sprinkle of onion, a little Worcester sauce, a handful of salt boys. Then I remember that the Ba-ha-i's have a month of fasting, when they don't eat between sunrise and sundown, and I decide to stick with my own religious background; Methodist, United, and nominal Anglican. At least the Methodists, or what's left of them after that terrible union, when they split into Uniteds and Presbyterians, still like to eat. The Uniteds, after years of temperance, take the odd snort now and then. And the good old Anglicans drink every Sunday. One good fast and they'd be carting me off in a gr plastic bag. The Catholics, have the t idea. They "fast" once a week, eating fish or eggs, which are good for them. And they take a belt, even the clergy, when the need is obvious. If it weren't for the confessional, I'd probably join them. But that's where I stick. Confession is good for the soul, someone said. True. But I'd rather belt it out with the Anglicans, where we all admit publicly and together, that we are sinners, and there is no health in us, than whisper my little venalities into the ear of a bored priest who has heard it all before, and much worse, and probably wants his dinner. If 1:told the priest the truth about my mutterings over Christmas exams, the atrocious spelling of the next generation of citizens, and the ideas of morality among them I'd probably be hit with eighteen Hail 'Mary's. I wouldn't know what to do with a Hail Mary if it came up and kicked me on the shins. My Latin is rusty, though not completely corroded. After Ave Marie, mater Dominis,"" I'd probably have to revert to French: 'Je suis un homme mauvais. J'ai fait des crimes horribles et fantastique ... and so on! And if my French is as rusty as my Latin, I'd probably wind up in jail on Christmas Day, despite the secrecy of the confessional. Well, now that we have that out of the way, 1still feel a bit gloomy with Christmas in the offering. It's not the religious significance that bothers me, it is the temporal. | How do you put up a Christmas tree with a crook in the trunk like your great uncles arthritic arm? Without, that is, breaking all the laws about taking the Lord's name in vain? I have never managed it yet. How do you buy toys for boys that cost less than thirty-five dollars (Batteries not included), when the little turkeys are so sophisticated they think Star Wars is out of date? And speaking of turkeys, what size do you buy? A neat little thirteen pounder, or, if the whole mob arrives, twenty-sixer? In the one case, you run short; in the other, you're eating turkey until your wattles carefully disguised if you hold your head high, become so obvious that you automatically qualify, in the, eyes of the young, for a permanent berth in Sunset Haven. Somehow, it has become a tradition that Grandad (that's me) stuffs the turkey, while Gran does all the hard stuff, like peeling the spuds and bashing the turnips. Hands, and forearms still tender from the prickling of Christmas tree needles. I am expected to plunge them to the elbows in turkey guts, margarine, dressing and assorted herbs, and come up with "the best dressing we've ever had." Oh, I don't disappoint, though my wife despairs of my methods. I wrestle the beast and pepper, a shot of rye, for the cook, the guts of a couple of loaves of bread, carefully staled, a smidgeon of everything else on the shelf, from bay leaf to marjoram, and any old peas or applesauce or cheese sitting around in the fridge, and you have dressing that people will want seconds of, if they get through the first helping. Then you stuff it by hand, truss the slippery corpse, drop it on the floor a couple of times, wipe it with the back of your sleeve, and slam it into the oven when nobody is looking. The rest is history; the best dressing we've ever had. One of these days I'm going to make the dressing without washing my: hands after putting up the tree. I think the flavour of spruce gum and an essence of spruce needles would give it a certain piquancy that might wind me up in a four star restaurant. or fo jail, accused of poisoning my entire y. AL Never mind. We'll get somehow. But somehow I wish Jesus had born on the first of July. I'd merely ts on the huge spruce in our wud pode on out the barbecue. : f