BT Calgary Blogs

  The title of this piece isn’t meant to convey the impression I’ll somehow connect David Letterman to Canadian politics to professional athletes, although come to think of it Letterman has admitted to a mode of athleticism involving a good deal of, um, nocturnal exercise.

  No, I have in mind instead a three-part offering which will first discuss the Late Night host’s apparent testosterone propulsion, and then turn to a couple of previous essays which in the one case proved my crystal ball is reasonably clear, and in the second entirely fogged. 

1.  Letterman:  Heh, heh, heh. 

  He got going a week ago on his CBS show with a question to the audience:  “Do you feel like a story?”  Excited rumblings of applause and laughter; yes indeed, a story would be very good.

  And so with sly and crafty wordsmithing David Letterman owned up to romping about in bed with women to whom he wasn’t married.  They were, however, his employees at CBS.   But it wasn’t as if Letterman had been suddenly afflicted with pangs of conscience.  Not at all.  It was a threat of blackmail, $2 million dollars worth, which forced him to go public on his very own show and confess to what he described as “creepy” behaviour. 

  The demand for money was placed in the back seat of Letterman’s car early one morning, and was presumably accompanied by photographs or videos, or both, of him thrashing around with his female employees.  The material was allegedly compiled by a CBS producer with whom one of Letterman’s sexual partners had had a prior relationship. 

  The artful humour, the amusing phrases continued.  Letterman explained how after examining the package-in-the-back-seat-of-the-car, he concluded “what this is, is a guy is going to write a screenplay about me.  And you know, that’s good news for anybody, isn’t it really?”

  More giggling and applause from the studio audience.  Oh yes, a screenplay.  No question.  No question at all that this would be good news for anybody.  And on it went:  in fact, Letterman was rewarded with sniggering and clapping no fewer than 28 times during his mea culpa, because what he did was neatly disguise an admission of infidelity in the language and innuendo of his craft:  standup, or in this case, sitdown comedy.   Funny guy, this Letterman.

  I wasn’t born yesterday and I’ve never been on a turnip truck so can’t be accused of falling off one, but I don’t find anything in the least funny about this because for one thing, David Letterman has had great sport, for years, slagging errant politicians who’ve done half gainers into sheets other than their own.  At one point, he actually posed the rhetorical question that if he were doing the same thing, “can you imagine how fast they (CBS) would have my ass out of here?” 

  Well, he was doing the same thing, but his ass remains firmly planted in the Late Night chair because his deft comedy routine/confession drove the ratings out of sight.  And that’s what it’s all about, is it not?

  No.  It’s about two other issues.  One, Letterman is the boss, in effect owns the broadcast, and is therefore in a position of immense power and influence.  Even if the sex was consensual, and evidently in one of the trysts eager, it was also  –  by definition  –  an exercise of that power and influence.  So far as we know, the women in question did not go to bed with the key grip or the lighting guy. 

  And second?  Laugh all you want, but then consider a woman named Regina Lasko.  She’s been Letterman’s companion for 23 years, she’s been his wife since March of this year, and she’s the mother of their five-year-old son, Harry. 

  Model/actress Rachel Hunter once said “having been on the receiving end of infidelity, I know how much it hurts.”  Now Regina Lasko knows, too. 

  “Do you feel like a story?”  Truth to tell, not much, because this one was written by a comedian who in recent days hasn’t been so much funny as devious  –  notwithstanding the appearance of heartfelt remorse.  (Letterman did, a day or two after his initial confession, apologize to his wife, but that was the sole display of genuine regret.  Otherwise, it was all heh, heh, heh). 

  At 62 years old, David Letterman is still unaware of the truism that if you screw around, you’re going to get caught.  Sooner or later.  Usually sooner. 

2.  Canadian Politics

  The brightest politician in Canada right now, although not holding elected office, is Laureen Harper, wife of the Prime Minister.  She was the inspiration behind the PM’s musical foray a few days ago onto the National Arts Centre stage in Ottawa.  Unannounced, Stephen Harper strode out to a grand piano, sat down, cleared his throat, and with the full NAC orchestra listening in, played and sang the Beatle classic “With a Little Help from My Friends.”

  A year ago, it seemed Harper needed all the help he could get from his friends, but the NAC musical interlude revealed he actually does have a bit of a personality.  There was some risk of bombing, to be sure, but the PM pulled it off, with the internationally acclaimed cellist Yo Yo Ma abandoning the bow and delightedly joining in, pizzicato.    

  And speaking of friends, a pair of recent polls suggest the Prime Minister may now have more than he thought.  Both surveys give the Conservatives 40 percent approval, give or take a point, and the Liberals  –under leader Michael Ignatieff  –  less than 30 percent.  That’s approaching the nearly universal disapproval bestowed upon the doleful and forgotten Stephane Dion, who just a year ago led the Grits to their worst electoral result, ever. 

  Can you say free fall?  With piano roll Harper seemingly impervious to threat these days, a lot of Liberals are saying exactly that, and their angst is lessened not one whit by a party leader who looks more and more as if he’s been freshly cast, crated, and shipped to Ottawa direct from Madame Tussaud’s wax museum in London.    

  I’ve said before, and say again:  Michael Ignatieff is going nowhere except down, at flank speed.   And now Laureen Harper, by prodding her husband to lighten up and sing us a song, has contributed mightily to the precipitous Iggy decline and fall.   

3.  Jocks

  I’ve decided I have to smarten up, and stop pretending to be a sports columnist.  A while back I forecast that Arland Bruce the Third, sulking and pouting around because the brain trust with the Toronto Argonauts had decided he was no longer on the first string, would never grow up.  I further predicted his attitude and arrogance wouldn’t change after his shipment, via trade, to the Hamilton Tiger Cats. 

  ERROR.  Bruce has rapidly returned to dominance as a CFL wide receiver, causes no trouble except for opposing teams, plays like a man possessed, has criticized no coach or teammate, and behaves as an adult.  Good for him, not so good for McCourt the sports expert.

  I was halfway right about Dany Heatley, the disaffected bellyacher whose $7.5 million dollar annual salary with the Ottawa Senators wasn’t enough to keep him from whining and complaining and demanding a trade.  I figured no team on the NHL earth would have this dork, so he’d be forced to remain with the Senators, and would thereafter lollygag and idle his way right out of the league.

  ERROR.  The Senators, according to everything one reads and hears, still regard Heatly as a royal pain in the neck, which is the part of the Heatley bio making me half right.  But it doesn’t matter now, because he was traded to the San Jose Sharks just before training camps opened, and on the evidence of the first three or four games, has returned to playing very, very good hockey without word one of complaint.  Half wrong. 

  So no more sports.  Except now I see Kerry Joseph, the Argonaut quarterback, has opened up about how the team has no consistency, it’s all dysfunctional, a mess.  By implication, the Joseph finger points at head coach Bart Andrus. 

  So on reflection, maybe I’ll do a piece about Andrus. 

  I can hear you out there now.  “For God’s sake, don’t.”:  Okay.  I won’t.