Darkness was falling over the yard at Jesse Ketchum Public School on a wet Monday evening in late April, but the four teams of players on the soccer pitch at Bay and Davenport seemed not to notice—they were too focused on the games, their spring season openers. “Come on! Look around you, guys! Defence!” shouted a red-shirted player on the sidelines, a member of the Short Tempahs. He swore loudly at another lapse as a member of the opposing team—Man And Woman United—drove the ball wide of the net and out of bounds. “Sorry,” he said to a teammate. “I’m just intense.”

Minutes later, his teammate Siniša Colic, a PhD candidate in electrical engineering, drove up the centre of the artificial turf, deking back and forth, before suddenly striking the ball hard, a bullet into the upper right corner that gave his team a 1-0 lead.

At the other end of the pitch, filling in for an absent Short Tempahs goaltender, was IT engineer Dejan Dusic, usually a defender, who grabbed a ball that’d been fired at him and stared at his teammates. “Really?” he demanded, gesturing to the opponents who had just broken down the field unchallenged. “Really?” Though he did not allow a goal all night—the one-goal lead held up—none of the Short Tempahs were happy with the team effort.

“People take it really seriously,” explains Tanya Doroslovac, a veteran Short Tempah defender who works as a theatre producer by day. “Every game is like the World Cup—there are all these mini-World Cups every night in all different parts of the city.”

Indeed there are, as you might notice if you pass a schoolyard or park any night of the week. People of Toronto, especially those in their 20s and 30s, are out in droves playing soccer, ultimate Frisbee, volleyball, floor hockey, ice hockey, dodge ball, and various other sports in adult recreational leagues like the Toronto Sport and Social Club (TSSC), Extreme Toronto Sports Club (XTSC), Not So Pro Sports, and the Toronto Recreational Sports League (TRSL). Over the past decade or so, these leagues have emerged as major players in the city’s social landscape, building small communities in every corner of Toronto around shared interests and common goals. Now, with more than 85,000 people actively playing in such a league—on any given evening, more than 3,000 people are participating in TSSC games alone—it’s safe to say that rec league sports have grown into at least a $20 million a year business in Toronto. This doesn’t represent anything close to a peak in demand—organizers have barely advertised, and almost any popular sport that’s announced books up immediately. But the leagues have proven so popular that they are at capacity—there is no more space to play and, as businesses, the organizations have nowhere left to grow.

“Finding available quality spaces is the biggest challenge,” says TRSL General Manager Jeff Lerner. “If more spaces became available, we could fill them up fairly quickly.”

“There’s no shortage of people,” says Rob Davies, the TSSC director of operations, of the 75,000 active members of his club. He says there are 50-60 teams each season on waiting lists that cannot be accommodated, and because new registrations for popular sports and time-slots fill up online in less than five minutes, the league now runs a registration lottery to ensure all teams have an equal chance at playing.

The lack of good spaces means that many games wind up being played on far-flung and sometimes poorly-maintained fields that can make games less fun and less safe—compacted turf that’s hard on the knees, for instance. And moreover, many other people are denied the chance to play at all. There are some possible solutions to the problem, and one would think that in Rob Ford’s customer-service and private-partnership-oriented city hall, serving this demand might be a priority. But the truth is the city isn’t making more parkland available in any kind of hurry.

When we talk about civic resources or community-building initiatives—the kind of things that help people discover the city and meet their neighbours—many of us first think of official government-run programs, or activist groups, or neighbourhood associations who lobby governments for or against various changes proposed at City Hall. But in Toronto, sports leagues serve similar social purposes. They help people find friends, lovers, and business connections, and learn about the city.

When Tanya Doroslovac, 28, first moved to Toronto from Waterloo in 2006 while completing a co-op for Wilfred Laurier University, she didn’t know many people. She had played soccer all her life in school intramural leagues, and was hoping to find a way to continue. “It was the first time I didn’t have a team to play for. So I signed up with the TRSL.” It introduced her to different parts of the city. “It’s a good way to find out about Toronto—travelling along the TTC to all these different places for games,” she says. One game might be downtown, the next at Downsview, the next at Jane and Eglinton or Sunnyside Park. “It’s definitely a good way to meet new friends—I signed up as an individual, and I was put on a team of other individuals, and we wound up becoming friends—we formed a team that played together for a few years.” She once joined a team full of advertising executives on her friend’s suggestion that it could lead to romance. “That was a most awful plan,” she says. “I’m all sweaty and running around, shouting, competing.” However, she says there are people on one of her teams now who are dating after playing together.

It’s a story I heard from almost everyone I interviewed—the TSSC has even begun tracking marriages of people who met playing in their leagues. (They’ve counted at least a dozen so far.) Rob Davies is one of them. He joined a team of individuals called The Shaggers when he moved here from Kingston after university. Three years later, he married a woman who played on an opposing squad.

Davies also found a job on the field—with the TSSC. He was looking to make a change from his consulting work in 1999 when, at a game, he heard from a convener that the league was hiring. “It was exactly what I was looking for. I almost demanded to be interviewed.”

Because the demographic profile of the league’s players skews to young professionals, a lot of people see it as a networking opportunity—although not all the benefits are as straightforward as Davies’ direct hiring. Xtreme Labs, one of the city’s premier software development shops, has long had a soccer team that plays in the TSSC. “Our company sponsored the team as one of the perks for our employees,” says Boris Chan, Xtreme’s director of engineering, who has played a few years for the company side. He says it’s been a team-building experience for those who work and play together, and an especially great opportunity for interns and more junior employees to connect with the company’s executives. “You’ve got a lot of different people who do different things inside the company—this weird mix of people get to know each other and bond, go through the playoffs together, travel to games all over the city together.”

“It definitely makes the city a better place for me,” says Doroslovac, who now plays on teams in two different leagues at the same time. “Playing is one of the best parts of my week.”

When Kristi Herold founded the Toronto Sport and Social Club in 1996, the entrepreneurial sports nut was looking to start a business that served her own needs: “intramurals for adults,” she says. In the early-internet era, just getting organized was a struggle. “I called everyone in my address book—people didn’t really have email yet—and I remember saying, Can you fax me your address book, and I’ll call everyone in it? People were faxing me pages and pages of contacts.” She recruited Wilson Sports Equipment as a sponsor, then spent some months trying to find places for teams to play. At the time, she was surprised to find there was no central database of any kind listing venues available to rent from the city or the school board. She and soon-to-be co-founder Rolston Miller took turns piloting a used Dodge Caravan and a bicycle around the city until they found enough fields available for their original 13 teams.

In its first year, the league saw 100 per cent growth, then 50 per cent in the second year, and then 10–20 per cent growth each year for five years after that, all through word of mouth. Sitting in her Yorkdale office today, near the “Can You Imagine Wall” where her 12 full-time and 70 part-time staff suggest goals (“Can you imagine having 5,000 teams in one year,” reads one item that is stamped “DONE”), Herold says the league has 1,800 teams each season made up of 75,000 registrants annually. (There are four seasons played each year.) “We’re the largest sport and social club in North America,” she says.

This has inspired competition, of course, from rival leagues. Sam Selim, founder of the Extreme Toronto Sports Club, says he started the XTSC in 2004 because he was frustrated with some of the elements of the TSSC. At the time the league provided no nets, and all games were self-refereed by the players. He tried switching to another rival league, but found some of the same problems, and after a playoff soccer game ended in a rock-paper-scissors tie-breaker, he broke out on his own. From 16 initial teams, the XTSC has grown to 275—and about 3,000 players—this season.

For Selim and Herold and the other leagues, though, the search for spaces to play remains the biggest obstacle to their growth.

“There are more facilities now than when we started,” says Herold, “and whenever something new comes up, we snap it up,” she says. She also notes that the “pent up demand” for more leagues means that whenever a private facility plans to open, she can confidently guarantee them they will fill the space.

But the city isn’t really building new recreational spaces very quickly—something councillor Norm Kelly, chair of the city’s Parks and Environment Committee, says is directly related to fact that “land is very expensive.” He says the department will soon be reviewing its land acquisition policy but, as his parks committee colleague councillor Sarah Doucette notes, the city is simply running out of large open spaces. “One problem is just finding a new place to put a playing field,” she says.

Two new city sports fields opened up at Cherry Beach in 2008, and some private entities—U of T’s Varsity Centre, BMO Field, Lamport Stadium, and City Sports Centre—have been constructed or opened to rentals, allowing leagues such as the TSSC and XTSC limited access to field space. But it’s still not nearly enough to meet the demand of the adult rec leagues’ hunger for evening and weekend space.

The Toronto District School Board has pioneered one possible solution: At a couple of schools, public-private partnerships have resulted in the construction of all-weather domes that allow the fields to be used through the winter. The schools get use of the space all day until 5 p.m., and leagues like the TSSC rent them out in the evening and play right up until midnight. One such field at Monarch Park Collegiate will have eight simultaneous league games—frisbee, soccer, flag football, and indoor softball—playing at the same time every weeknight. Similar arrangements could open up the use of public parks year-round (through the installation of domes), later into the night (by adding lights), or just making currently unplayable places nicer (through more active maintenance).

There are some obstacles to doing many of those things on a larger scale, though. Kelly says that local residents often object to the domes because “they’re ugly”—and further notes that in most cases, parks planning will prioritize the needs of neighbourhood children over adult leagues. Doucette points out that when you put a dome on a field, whether it’s owned by the city or the school board, you restrict its use so local children can’t just come by for pick-up games at times when the space is vacant.

Similarly, objections from neighbours about noise and light pollution restricts the installation of lights on some city parks that would allow leagues like the TSSC to run late-evening programs as it currently does in the covered domes. Yet these kinds of concerns wouldn’t seem to be a problem at fields in massive parks like Sunnybrook, Riverdale, or High Park.

Both Doucette and Kelly say the city may begin looking more aggressively into those kind of solutions to the space shortage, and is otherwise open to innovative ideas. One change Doucette expects might provide more immediate permit space is that last year the city started charging for permits on parks that used to be free. Children’s leagues and other long-time tenants have been in the habit of “block booking” huge amounts of space they don’t need in order to have it available for practices at their leisure. Putting a price on that time may mean space is now available to serve the growing demand for adult rec league fields.

Regardless of whether the obstacles to growth can be addressed by the city or the private market, it strikes me—and both Doucette and Kelly agreed—that this is the kind of private initiative the city ought to encourage. In addition to the obvious fitness benefits of keeping people active in their adult years, the leagues get people out into the city to meet their fellow citizens, where they have fun and work together towards a common goal. It really is a kind of community building—the sort of civic function that in past years was served by bowling leagues, church groups, and member’s lodges. Only now, if you want to play in a league you’ve got to act fast to even field a team.

And that’s a shame, because playing on a team is an experience that can, as it has for Doroslovac, become a big part of what makes Toronto a great place to live. “That’s the social function for many people,” says Herold. “Just being on a team.”

This week, city council adopted a new Parks and Recreation strategy that Kelly characterized, as seeking to “pro-actively” get as many people using parks as possible. Reaching out to find ways to ensure more people get to participate in recreation leagues would seem to be a good place to start.

Hooking up with a rec league teammate: good or bad idea?

@George Brown College, waterfront campus. Photos: Christie Vuong/The Grid.

Aidan, 25, systems administrator

It’s a good thing. Isn’t that what  people go there for? It’s good to meet people with common interests.

Jessica, 27, salesperson

It’s good because there’s a sense of belonging, which is a part of the Needs Pyramid.

Sean, 26, musician

You’d have a conflict of interest issue. Just like how couples face issues every day. But if the characters can handle it, sure.

Tracy, 38, counsellor

I’m fine with it. Toronto’s a hard place to meet people, and if you meet good people, I say, “Why not?”

Steve, 21, mechanic

It’s a good thing because you get to meet new people. I can’t see why it’s bad.

Coralie, 24, student

It’s not a big deal. Everybody’s free to do what they want whether or not you’re on a team.

Mark, 45, art director

It’s not good for the team. It’s not being a team player. You’re supposed to be a team of 30, not a team of 2.

If you’re a hockey fan in Toronto searching for the true heart and soul of Leafs Nation, you’ll find it on a small street just off the main thoroughfare of Weston Village.

Peter’s Barber Shop is a long way from the quiet, corporate-owned seats of the Air Canada Centre’s platinum section, but it’s known to a certain hardcore group of Leafs enthusiasts as “Toronto’s other Hockey Hall of Fame.” On the front door, before you can even reach for the skate blade–shaped handle, you encounter a sign that reads, “Sorry…Ottawa Senators fans will NOT be served here.”

After you stride through the vintage Maple Leaf Gardens turnstile by the door, your eyes are drawn to the regulation-size hockey net along the back wall, the blue and red lines painted on the floor, and the long rows of pucks and photos autographed by the many NHL legends who’ve stopped in over the years. Lining the ceiling are pennants from every team in the NHL’s modern era, both current and defunct (with the exception of those hated Senators, of course).

It’s a Saturday afternoon, and owner Peter Kalamaris is in his element, discussing the matchup later that night against the Montreal Canadiens, not only with the customer in the big red barber’s chair, but with the guys waiting their turn in the arena-style seats a few feet away.

The 41-year-old was indoctrinated into Leafs fandom by his late father, a Greek immigrant who officially licensed the shop in 1961. Kalamaris says his dad took to the game as a means of assimilation. “You’re in the barbershop, and everyone else is talking hockey,” he says. “Montreal was heavily favoured to win in 1967, and when the Leafs won, my uncle and father were smashing plates all over the place in the Old World, Greek style. My mother thought they were going crazy—they were just embracing the new tradition of following hockey.”

1967. That’s 46 years ago, for those millions of us counting: the longest current championship drought in the NHL. Combine that with the team’s just-ended nine-year exile from the playoffs—when we were forced to sit back and watch fans from places like Carolina and Anaheim celebrate Cup wins—and it’s no wonder Leafs fans get a bit irrational. A half-century of failure will do that to you.

The Leafs’ wretched track-record has led Kalamaris and his loved ones to indulge in numerous superstitions over the years. “Someone called in to my father in 1968 and asked him what the haircut price was. Any time someone phones and asks us how much the haircut price is, we say, ‘We’re sorry, but we did that in 1968 and the Leafs never won the Stanley Cup again.’ So we never quote a price over the phone.”

The first and only NHL team to be valued by Forbes at a billion dollars, the Maple Leafs are at the centre of the world’s biggest hockey market. In a just world, the team’s fortunes would mirror that of the New York Yankees or Manchester United: running out of space in the rafters to hang championship banners while continuing to rake in the cash.

After their last Stanley Cup win, the Maple Leafs had 37 years to put that financial clout to their advantage, until the NHL salary cap levelled the fiscal playing field in the 2005-06 season. That’s exactly when the Leafs went into freefall.

As Kalamaris recounts his personal Leaf-watching history, you realize that he’s wrestling with the quintessential internal conflict faced by every true, blue, Toronto hockey devotee. He’s well-versed in the game, and knowledgeable enough to astutely express his endless frustrations with the team’s poor decisions. But he’s also unflinchingly loyal, almost against his will. This innate inability to separate reason from emotion is the grief that unites fans everywhere.

While plying his craft on the tresses of Leafs Nation, Kalamaris spends every day trying to reconcile the opposing sides of this collective sob story. On one hand, the logical understanding that the current squad likely lacks what it takes to win it all, and on the other, the inescapable temptation that this might just be the year Leafs fans get what they so sorely deserve. Head versus heart. Reason versus passion. He’s trapped in the vortex of inflated expectations.

“This is the funny thing about Leafs Nation,” he says. “When we’re out of the playoffs, just get us in the first round and we’re happy. But when we’re actually in, we want more. We want the Stanley Cup.”

With the team having started its first-round playoff series this week against the feared Boston Bruins, Leafs fans’ psyches are being put to the test once again. Given the team’s near-decade at the bottom of the standings, this year’s post-season odyssey is far more loaded than usual. Across Leafs Nation, the die-hards are bracing themselves for drama, increased blood pressure, and, of course, the crushing heartache that comes with the team’s almost-inevitable defeat.

Kalamaris says his customers are so excited they can hardly contain themselves. “We haven’t been in the playoffs for nine years. The buzz is there. Everyone is excited. They’re waiting, impatiently, trying to think of how they’re gonna afford the tickets from scalpers, because they’ll be so expensive.”

But what about the pain, the inevitable trauma? “Where there’s a will, there’s a way,” he says. Spoken like a true obsessive.

Infinitely more important to our self-image than condo construction, City Hall squabbles, or transit debates, the Maple Leafs are unquestionably Toronto’s longest-running and foremost civic psychodrama. What was once a matter of municipal pride has become a deep-rooted shame to fans of a team that, prior to this recent drought, had never spent more than two straight years out of the playoff dance since they ditched the St. Patricks moniker and became the Maple Leafs back in 1927.

Leafs Nation hasn’t had a whiff of the post-season since May 4, 2004, when Jeremy Roenick’s goal at 7:39 of game-six overtime sent their heroes crashing out of the second round. What we’ve endured since then has been a well-documented revolving door of patchwork solutions: two sets of corporate owners, four general managers (one interim), four head coaches, 16 goalies, and a regrettable stretch where the roster was so thin, they couldn’t even decide upon a captain.

Sports fandom is meant to be a joyful pursuit, so it’s only natural that supporters of sad-sack franchises are left to wonder why they put themselves through it. With their beloved team languishing in mediocrity, Leafs fans have been afforded nearly a decade of soul searching. Yet hope springs, if not eternally, then intermittently.

If Peter’s Barber Shop resembles the ultimate public shrine to obsessive Leafs fandom, Steve Dangle’s bedroom looks like the idealized, teen-movie version: four blue walls littered with signed jerseys and player figurines. This sacred space in his parents’ East Scarborough home is where the character of Steve Dangle (his real last name is Glynn) has spent the past six years affirming his Leafs affection and airing his online grievances on a nightly basis.

A dedicated Leafs booster since the team’s magical run to the semi-finals in 1993, Dangle started a video blog on YouTube immediately after the first game of the Leafs’ 2007–08 season. He did it simply because he wanted to weigh in on the result, a 4–3 loss to the Senators. Since then, he’s filmed a post-game wrap-up after each regular-season match. In doing so, he’s chronicled some of the most frustrating years in Maple Leafs history.

“I’ve been doing videos for almost the whole playoff-less streak, but the end of last season was definitely a low,” he says. “I wondered, Who is this team? What are they? They suck, and they’re just gonna suck again.”

Along the way, the 25-year-old has fashioned himself into the Don Cherry of the YouTube generation, racking up nearly three million views on the strength of his animated, blustery style and trademark rapid-fire editing.

Having waited six years for the chance to post a playoff game post-mortem, Dangle’s sign off in the final video of the regular season included three quick cuts and a stern warning to all potential adversaries.

“You can’t tell ’cause my camera sucks, but I’m literally vibrating with excitement. And to whoever the Leafs play in the first round…”

Dangle pauses, then punctuates his sentence by slapping himself across the face.

“…GET SOME!”

The brash formula has done wonders for Dangle’s media career. (He currently works at CBC Sports, the NHL network, and also manages a video blog for Russia’s KHL.) But even as a rising internet celebrity, Dangle still bears all the obvious attributes of the scarred Leafs fan.

“There’s a running gag in my videos this year that I’m a jinx, because I absolutely am,” he says. “Every time I mention the word ‘playoffs’—which I hope you censor in your article—they’ve lost. The first time I mentioned it, they immediately went on to lose five in a row. What broke the curse was that I proposed to my girlfriend.”

Dangle’s trenchant criticisms reflect the love-hate tone of another of the Leafs’ significant supporter voices on the internet—Julian Sanchez, who founded his popular Leafs blog, Pension Plan Puppets (a cheeky nod to the team’s former owners, the Ontario Teachers’ Pension Plan), in 2006.

The 29-year-old Sanchez is notable in fan circles for nabbing his Twitter handle, @mlse, before the team’s owners, Maple Leaf Sports & Entertainment, could get their hands on it. The account’s bio lists Pension Plan Puppets as “a Toronto Maple Leafs Blog and Group Therapy Site,” but it’s also an exceedingly informed and frequently profane take on every element of the team’s existence. When the Leafs finally clinched their long-awaited playoff berth on April 20, Sanchez’s response to the team’s haters was gleeful: “ROSES ARE RED, VIOLETS ARE BLUE, IF YOU’RE BEING A JERK TONIGHT THEN FUCK YOU #PLAYOFFS!!1” [sic]

Sanchez balances his own opinions with those of other fans, tweeting and retweeting different points of view hundreds of times a day (he’s published over 155,000 tweets). As a result, his feed has become both a prime aggregator for hyper-specific analysis (the kind that’s often glossed-over by TV talking heads) and a pesky irritant to fans of opposing teams.

When this year’s playoff schedule was set, Sanchez referenced the Leafs’ famous victories over the Senators  in the first half of the 2000s by pointing out that two of their former franchise players, Zdeno Chara and Wade Redden, now play for Boston. “The Bruins have Chara and Redden eh?” he wrote. “I think there may be something in the Leafs DNA that knows how to beat teams that feature them.”

Much like Kalamaris, Sanchez was introduced to Leafs fandom by his immigrant father. “My parents came from Colombia in the ’70s,” he says. “What’s the easiest way to fit in? In Toronto, it’s the Leafs. So I grew up watching them from as young as I can remember. I’ve been a fan from birth, through all the ups and downs.”

Like most devotees, Sanchez has a huge list of things that frustrate him about the Maple Leafs, but he’s able to sum them all up quite neatly. “It all boils down to this: They do so many things that make it so they don’t win enough.”

In scouring the Twitterverse for the most positive and negative Leafs-related opinions, Sanchez gets an accurate take on Leafs Nation’s collective psyche. As he sees it, the fans are “really happy the Leafs are back in the playoffs, really bothered by some of the things they’re doing, and maybe cautiously optimistic about the future.”

Sanchez recalls the fans’ mental state as being very different before this recent drought. Thinking back to the heyday of those Leafs teams that repeatedly eliminated the Senators with gusto, he notes, “Back then, we’d be [talking] about which team we’re going to roll over in the first round. We’ve gotten out of practice dealing with the playoffs—we’ve lost some of that confidence. I think everyone’s waiting to see when the trap door will open.”

Apart from a streak of uninspired play in mid-April, the 2012-13 season has been one of renewed hope for the Maple Leafs. It began in January, with the end of the NHL lockout and the sudden dismissal of GM Brian Burke, who had by then become the principal emblem of the team’s failure to rebuild. Throughout the lockout—and even up until the trade deadline—a franchise-altering swap for Vancouver netminder Roberto Luongo seemed inevitable. It never happened.

But over this shortened, 48-game season, the Maple Leafs have stayed the course, and managed to summon the skill and determination they’ve lacked for so long. Between the increased offensive firepower from recently acquired forward James van Riemsdyk, the long-awaited emergence of scorer Nazem Kadri, and flashes of brilliance in the net from James Reimer, the Leafs have clawed their way back to respectability. Oh, and they’ve finally demonstrated a fair amount of the truculence that Burke always ranted about.

The fans have been watching this transformation in a state of subdued euphoria. Make no mistake: In some sections of Leafs Nation, the sombre tide is beginning to turn.

If the six blue-and-white jerseys hanging in the closet of Barrie native Paige Chwojka aren’t enough to prove her dedication, she’ll gladly tell you about the semester she spent in Ireland, routinely staying up past 3 a.m. to catch every minute of her favourite team’s on-ice action.

Like so many others, she comes from a family that bleeds blue. “I was born into it, and I’m probably gonna die with it,” she says. “My father and uncle are crazy Leafs fans. Completely psychotic. My uncle once broke drywall over his head when they were losing—that’s how crazy they are.”

But having just turned 21, she can’t clearly remember a time when the team was really good. Her playoff memories are vague at best: “Everyone would get together, they’d all be swearing at the TV. But I had to go to bed at 8 p.m.”

Consequently, Chwojka’s all-time favourite Leafs moments seem a tad anti-climactic, not least because most of them revolve around underachieving stay-at-home defenseman Luke Schenn, who was traded to the Flyers last year. “I’ll always remember his first goal,” she says. “February 7, 2009 at the Bell Centre, first period, first goal of the game. I went wild and started crying…which is kind of embarrassing to admit.”

Chwojka recently celebrated her birthday by spending hundreds of dollars on a pair of Leafs tickets. The view was spectacular, but she says she was taken aback by the famously muted reaction of the fans in the expensive seats. Not that they did anything to quell her optimism.

“This city is pretty cruel to that team when they’re not doing so well,” Chwojka says. “But it’ll make it that much better when they win the Stanley Cup one day. Gotta get through the hard times to celebrate the good times.”

Chwojka’s perspective might seem unusual, but it reveals a new, growing side of Leafs Nation: a generation of fans who are actually too young to have been scarred by the team’s history of playoff disasters. This demographic is so accustomed to failure they can hardly be faulted for thinking the team has nowhere to go but up. And with this return to the post-season, expectations are running high.

“The [Eastern Conference] is wide open, and the Leafs thrive on being underdogs,” she says. “So I was [initially] expecting a first-round exit, but anything’s possible—they might surprise everybody.”

Fans like Chwojka are living proof that even in a city where the best hockey tickets set you back a week’s wages, dreaming is still free. With the Leafs back in contention, she’s certain the team’s fretful faithful will be out in droves.

“This is my team, but the bandwagon is going to get full again.”

Back at the barbershop, five o’clock has come and gone. Kalamaris’s customers have finished breaking down how the Leafs’ hoped-for victory against Montreal will happen later that night, and Hockey Night in Canada is gearing up for its pre-game show. Game time is imminent, which means it’s closing time.

But before I can get back through the turnstile and head for the door, Kalamaris says he has one more element of his Maple Leafs obsession that he’s willing to share: his passion for table hockey.

Within seconds, he’s wheeled an old-school table-hockey game out from the barbershop’s back room and set the standard five minutes on an egg-timer that functions as the official game clock.

I’m forced to rep the Canadiens, because unsurprisingly, Kalamaris always plays as the Leafs. He’s skilled enough to confidently vow that he’ll provide a free haircut to anyone who can beat him.

Our brief game is a whirlwind of action, with Kalamaris putting on his best Bob Cole impression to provide the play-by-play.

When the buzzer sounds, the Leafs have scored a decisive 8-1 victory. All seems right in Leafs Nation, for the moment, at least.

THE FLAG GUYS FLY AGAIN

“If you bought a Leafs car flag in 2004 at any gas station in Toronto, it came from The Flag Guys,” boasts Andrew Applebaum. During the 2004 NHL playoffs—the last time the Leafs made the postseason—Applebaum and his college buddy Paul Arbus began selling 12-by-18-inch car flags emblazoned with the Toronto Maple Leafs logo at the Esso gas station that Applebaum owned at Don Mills and Finch. They initially bought a box of 100 flags from a local manufacturer, but as the flags flew off the shelves, they started selling them wholesale to gas stations and convenience stores across the GTA under the company name The Flag Guys. Applebaum estimates they sold 10,000 flags during that playoff period.

Then came May 4, 2004, the last night of the Leafs’ series against the Philadelphia Flyers. Because the flags came to the manufacturer from overseas, Applebaum and Arbus either had to order 1,000 flags in advance, or delay the decision until they knew the outcome of the game and wait weeks for the shipment to arrive. They took a chance and put in the order. “I was on my honeymoon in Germany,” Applebaum says. “Because of the time difference, it must have been four in the morning, and I’m watching this Leafs game on satellite.” You know what happened next: Jeremy Roenick of the Flyers scored the final goal, eliminating the Leafs from the playoffs. “We thought, No problem,” says Applebaum. “It’s the Toronto Maple Leafs. They’re not going to change their logo. We’ll put them in my basement and sell them next year.”

Nine years later, the Leafs are finally back in the playoffs, and Applebaum and Arbus (the former now owns a moving-box rental company called CityBoxes; the latter is a Toronto police officer) are back in business, selling the flags at wholesale price through Craigslist and Kijiji. But they’ve learned their lesson. “I can safely tell you I will not advance order any more. My wife will kick me out of the house.”—Lara Zarum

LES MISERABLES: RECENT LOW POINTS IN LEAF FANDOM

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“The hens are a little bit more curvaceous, and they stand a little better. It’s almost like they’re modelling. You see her? See how she’s standing?” Manny De Medeiros pointed out the finer attributes of a tan-coloured giant runt pigeon, who regarded him dispassionately. “She” was one of 70 chicken-sized pigeons that stood in their pens, shook their feathers, and mostly ignored the men who filled the Ontario Giant Runt Pigeon Club’s Bloor West clubhouse on a drizzly Saturday morning for an annual competition.

Canadian, Portuguese, and Azores flags dangled from the walls. Stacks of cages atop milk crates lined the floor, which was littered with corn kernels and fresh pigeon droppings. Golden pigeon-topped trophies filled the shelves. An enormous pig hung from the ceiling to be auctioned off later. “We’re raising money to put in an escalator,” joked one man, as he descended the basement stairs to bring up another contestant.

The crowd was predominantly older men in toques and boots, trade-union badges and jean jackets. They greeted each other in Portuguese, slapped backs, and sipped bottles of beer. “There are people [here] that I’ve known all my life,” said De Medeiros, who founded the Giant Runt Club of Canada (this chapter has been around since 1993). He grew up in the Bloordale Village neighbourhood, and the club’s legacy extends even farther than that. “Our dads had birds back in the Azores,” he says of the Portuguese islands.

“Everything okay? Young males! White young males!” hollered Duarte Correia, the club’s president, as he announced the first category. “White cocks!” The judge plucked the first bird from the cage, felt its musculature and fanned out a wing to see the feathers. He pulled on the runt’s feet and scrutinized its gait. They’re judged for their shape, stance, and colour. Some birds protested, skittering to the backs of their cages, but for the most part, the docile breed tolerated being held.

The judge spent a few seconds mulling over his decision, then said, curtly, “One, two,” pointing at the winner and runner up, respectively. Most of these show pigeons don’t have names, and are instead identified by a number stamped on their leg bands. The judge’s decision is final. “Whatever he decides, this is good. You have to respect it,” said Correia. Onlookers applauded each judgment.

While the club was bustling this particular Saturday, its social function is usually more low-key: “To sit around, talk pigeons, have a few beers.” For this club, it remains to be seen what will transpire in the next decade. In the United States, special prizes have been instated as incentives to attract young people to giant runt breeding. That is not the case here. “When all these old guys are gone, [the club] will be a lot smaller than it is now,” said De Medeiros. “Hopefully, some of these guys that have kids will get them involved and try to keep it going, you know?”

By-law restrictions have also made it increasingly difficult to keep birds in the city. They must be kept in a coop at least 15 feet from residential property. Encroaching gentrification brings new neighbours who don’t always see the value in breeding the birds; they assume these “filthy rats of the sky” will be slaughtered and eaten. “And I’m trying to tell them ‘No, it’s a show bird,’” said De Medeiros. “We are crazy about this. I spend thousands of dollars a year to go to shows all over North America. I’ve been to Europe. I’ve been all over the place, just because of friggin’ pigeons.”

The free weights and universal machines had been shoved aside, and a proper boxing ring erected on the lower level of the swanky Adelaide Club fitness centre. Dubbed simply “The Pit,” the area typically used by personal trainers pushing their clients through drills had been effectively transformed into an underground fight club. And last Friday night, 14 pairs of amateur boxers, including club members, trainers, sales managers, and administrative assistants, prepared to throw down for the third annual Rumble at the Adelaide Club.

Hundreds of noisy fans poured into the lobby of the 44,000-square-foot, 4,000-member club—one of the oldest in the area. The crowd sipped beer from tall cans  and shouted over the deafening music, clamouring for good seats once the announcer, Olympic bronze-medalist boxer Chris Johnson, danced in the centre of the ring and hollered, “WHOO! It’s almost showtime! Showtime is comin’, baby!”

Johnson spat out Muhammad Ali–esque one-liners throughout the night, as he announced each set of contenders, including the main draw: Adelaide Club’s general manager, Blair Lyon, taking on club member Nigel Fox.

The initial Rumble event was Lyon’s idea. “One night we were all drinking and I challenged another guy here named Blair [Adelaide’s personal training director] to fight at a boxing event. So it was Blair vs. Blair, to see who the best Blair was.” Since then, the fight nights have been wildly popular in the club. (There’s even a post-fight afterparty with a DJ and drinks in the lounge.)

The event is meant to be a fun way to give back to the members, but Lyon still insists on a level of quality to the fights. “All the boxers do four months of boxing instruction before going into the event,” he says. “It’s mandatory just to make sure you have skills. And you gotta look good, too. If every fight is a wailing fight, it just doesn’t look good.”

Tanned ring girls in leopard-print bikini tops and stiletto heels paraded along the ropes between rounds. The fight was filmed and broadcast live in the opulent lounge, where the overflow crowd watched the action on a big-screen television.

Dennys Van Fleet, a 66-year-old broker, was pumped. “I’ve been preparing for this fight for three months. I feel good,” he said. “I’ve lost some weight, I’m not drinking, and just trying to play by all the rules.” His friend, Mark Lemieux, added, “He’s ready, he’s tough. I haven’t seen him fight before, but I know he’s gonna take it all away.”

About a dozen people wearing matching “Heavy Hands Dennys” t-shirts cheered him on as he pummelled his opponent, 63-year-old Adam Love. “This is excitement personified!” roared Johnson, when the ref declared Van Fleet the victor. The crowd leapt to their feet and applauded—a night at fight club that’ll be worth talking about.

Forget that nasty little Stanley Cup drought (you know, that 46-year-old elephant in the room?)—it’s ancient news. The Leafs need to master the baby steps first, and with the NHL returning to action on Saturday, we’re reminded that they’re the only team (out of 30) that hasn’t made the playoffs at least once since the previous league lockout in 2004–2005. Yes, optimism reigns, but don’t pull your finger too far away from the panic button; their seven-season string of non-qualifying is the longest in team history. A lot has happened—both on and off the ice—since they last hit the post-season. Here’s the breakdown.

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Nobody seems to believe me when I say that Monster Jam (formerly, I think, Monster Truck Jam, and now actually/alternately the Maple Leaf Monster Jam Tour and USHRA Advance Auto Parts Monster Jam, but I digress) is amazing. It is. How could huge trucks crushing piles of cars not be amazing?

The annual event takes place this year on Jan. 19 (7 p.m.) and Jan. 20 at (2 p.m.) at the Rogers Centre; it costs $15 to $50ish, unless you want a $130 total-access pass for Saturday (that includes a private meet-and-greet with the drivers), or to go in on some confusing Pizza Pizza Monster Jam Meal Deal. (Call me?)

This kind of event is maybe unappealing to people more used to traditional city events like baseball or rock shows or the symphony, and surely part of the reason that I get so much static around Monster Jam is because a monster-truck rally is synonymous with a sort of base maleness (and it’s true that the Rogers Centre will inevitably smell like some horrible cauldron of stadium nachos and exhaust fumes and “boy”), with lowbrow culture, with Homer Simpson-ism. And maybe, from the perspectives of some of those baseball/rock-show/symphony-goers, it reeks of class tourism. I get it: One girl recently tweeted me that she goes to Monster Jam dressed up in “white trash costumes,” which is truly noxious.

But, here is what’s up, why it’s so good, and why I go every year: I don’t like or understand sports; I’m not sure if I want to, either. I don’t know the rules, and the reasons to like or not like particular teams or players seem arbitrary and bizarrely, counter-intuitively emotional, and all within a foreign context of stats and playbooks, winners and losers. Monster-truck rallies and their similars have their own rules and stats and winners and losers, of course, but are far more welcoming in their conception to outsiders. Monster Jam requires that you cheer only for action, only for smashing, only for trucks, and only for the action of trucks smashing into each other and track obstacles and line-ups of busted cars.

As with any sport or sport-adjacent event, there’s an art and a science to it, a historical sportsy context available if you want it, but unlike a smooth, elegant dunk or catch or touchdown that byzantinely changes who goes to what championship and who is ranked whatever, the stakes of monster trucks are much more visible and viable. It is an absurd and guttural and fun spectacle that doesn’t need you to know anything in order to participate, other than how to scream, for the crushings. (Quick primer: There are two truck events at Monster Jam, Racing and Freestyle, and there are winners. But there has also been “Truckasaurus,” which breathes fire. And the “trucks” are not “trucks” so much as enormous tires with scaffolding on top.) Other motorsports are boring: circles, revving, whatever. Monster Jam is both competition and a legit lose-your-mind carnival scream-fest.

You’ve probably heard of Grave Digger, the green-on-black-on-purple truck (or, trucks: there are multiple “Grave Diggers”) with heavy-metal aethetics, created by a sweet-voiced Virginian named Dennis Anderson. Hats shaped like Grave Digger are popular merch at the Jam; it is the crowd favourite. Last year saw the debut of a Canadian truck—named “Northern Nightmare”—driven by a Calgarian. And in-between the trucks, there will be other events, like my personal favourite, the demolition derby. Bring your own screaming.

Toronto Maple Leafs fans expect a circus whenever major personnel moves are made. Though the timing of Brian Burke’s dismissal as general manager on Wednesday may be questioned, it isn’t anywhere near as embarrassing as the moment the axe fell on two of his predecessors.

Hap Day bled blue and white. One of the few players owner Conn Smythe kept when the Toronto St. Patricks became the Maple Leafs in the mid-1920s, Day went on to win five Stanley Cups during a 10-year coaching stint. Though Smythe was general manager on paper during the early 1950s, Day unofficially ran the Leafs, as the lingering effects of injuries sustained during World War II affected Smythe’s health. When Smythe handed the team’s full managerial duties to Day in 1955, their business relationship extended beyond hockey—Day managed and was a major shareholder of Smythe’s gravel and sand business north of the city.

As the 1956-57 season ended, the Leafs were in turmoil. Missing the playoffs confirmed the decline of a team which hadn’t seen a Stanley Cup final since Bill Barilko’s heroics in 1951. Waiting in the wings was Smythe’s son Stafford, who awaited the day he would be appointed to run the club.

At the same time, Smythe was battling the formation of an NHL players union, which he viewed as an act of disloyalty. He ordered Day to bench one of the union’s most vocal advocates, defenceman Jimmy Thomson.

Click here for a close-up view of this article from the Toronto Star

On March 17, 1957, Smythe left his Florida home and called a press conference at New York’s Hotel Commodore. He booked a train to bring Toronto sportswriters to the Big Apple, where he apologized for the team’s play and criticized Thomson’s union activity. While he didn’t explicitly acknowledge his discontent with Day and coach Howie Meeker, Star columnist Milt Dunnell found it telling that Smythe referred to his GM as “Mr. Day” instead of “Hap.” Dunnell looked at Day and Meeker’s grim faces and observed that the “targets are not even sure they’ve been hit.”

While Smythe hoped Day would understand it was time for Stafford to run the club, the GM believed the two men should have discussed the matter privately. “My legs have been cut out from under me,” Day said, as he began to ponder his options. During a March 23 “Hot Stove League” session on Hockey Night in Canada, Smythe claimed he was waiting to hear if Day was “available” to continue running the club. Two days later, a furious Day confronted Smythe. When Smythe confirmed his recent statement, Day’s response was blunt: “It’s strange that I should be asked if I was available, after 30 years. But since I have been asked, I don’t want the job anymore.” Day cleared his desk and moved to St. Thomas, Ontario to run a tool handle factory.

Smythe soon felt guilty about his handling of the situation. Offered a chance to return, Day replied, “There’s no chance of that happening.” Thankfully, time healed the rift between the old friends. Day admitted to Dunnell in a 1975 interview, “As it turned out, I left at the right time. It was the luckiest thing that ever happened to me.”

After a year’s interregnum, Punch Imlach became the Leafs’ GM. While his first tenure ended in a straightforward firing after an early playoff exit in 1969, his second tour of duty a decade later ended rather messily.

The controversy during Imlach’s second stint involved him feuding with or trading away popular players as the team sank in the standings. During rookie training camp in St. Catharines in September 1981, Imlach suffered his second heart attack in a year. While recovering at Toronto General Hospital, a nurse asked if he was losing his job, as she saw a Sun story claiming Harold Ballard wanted to let him go. Imlach reassured the nurse that the egotistical Leafs owner constantly “fired” employees in the press.

Click here for a close-up view of this page from the Toronto Star

Imlach underwent triple bypass surgery and soon received a clean bill of health to return to the Gardens. Ballard told the press he was worried about Imlach’s health and preferred employing him as an advisor, in order to avoid “[being] the guy who puts him in the box.” During Imlach’s hospitalization, Ballard opted not to send get well cards and even forbade employees from visiting. Ballard then dodged several scheduled meetings with Imlach to determine his future, which fit perfectly with Ballard’s dislike of firing anyone in person.

Imlach confronted Ballard on November 17, 1981. When asked about the press rumours, Ballard replied, “Ah-h-h, don’t believe half of what you read in the paper.” When Imlach inquired about the other half, Ballard asked him to stay on as an advisor. Imlach refused, noting, “If I’m going to be your advisor, the first thing I advise you to do is put me back as general manager.” Ballard noted, “I won’t accept your resignation,” then smiled slightly as Imlach replied, “I never offered my resignation!” Imlach insisted on remaining GM while he was under contract, and Ballard soon attempted to force Imlach’s resignation by telling the media that he had quit. When a CFRB caller asked Ballard why Punch couldn’t return to work like others who had similar heart surgery, he replied, “I don’t want to have someone that’s a cripple here.”

Imlach continued to show up for work, but he was effectively removed from the position. To make the point crystal clear, Ballard removed Imlach’s parking spot in early December. While Imlach was paid for the rest of his contract, chief scout Gerry McNamara assumed acting GM responsibilities and was given the reins full-time at season’s end.

Additional material from Maple Leaf Blues by William Houston (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1990), Heaven and Hell In the NHL by Punch Imlach with Scott Young (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1983), The Lives of Conn Smythe by Kelly McParland (Toronto: Fenn/McClelland & Stewart, 2011), If You Can’t Beat ‘Em in the Alley by Conn Smythe with Scott Young (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1981), the March 25, 1957 edition of The Globe and Mail, and the March 18, 1957, January 31, 1975, and December 3, 1981 editions of the Toronto Star.

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Toronto’s primo sledding spots

Christie Pits 750 Bloor St. W.

Difficulty level: Intermediate

Three different hills at three levels of difficulty mean this park has something for all skill sets. Bickford Park is just across Bloor if you need a change of sledding scenery.

Withrow Park 725 Logan Ave.

Difficulty level: Beginner

A steep and short hill creates the perfect high-speed ride for tobogganing beginners. There are also stairs to the left of the slope, helpful for short legs.

Riverdale Park 550 Broadview Ave.

Difficulty level: Advanced

The demographic of this hill tends to skew more “young adult,” with steeper slopes and excellent views of the city.

Trinity Bellwoods 790 Queen St. W.

Difficulty level: Beginner

The perks of this park are location, location, location. Squeeze in a quick run pre-brunch or after a night of barhopping—when you sled at your  own risk, of course.

Lithuania Park 155 Oakmount Rd.

Difficulty level: Intermediate

While all the families flock to nearby High Park, you’ll be a block away, coasting down the slightly-curved, speed-enhancing hill alongside in-the-know locals.

Everyone loves to gripe about Toronto’s sub-par sports teams, but there was no complaining today as the CFL champion Toronto Argonauts paraded the Grey Cup through downtown.

Beginning at Yonge and Wellington at 11:30 a.m., the parade wound its way over to Bay Street and up to Nathan Phillips Square, where the Argos were greeted by Toronto’s biggest sports fan, Rob Ford.

Click on the gallery above for a look at today’s celebration.

He’s either the most devoted member of Leafs Nation, or just a guy with a lot of extra cash and a great sense of humour. After he paid $5,300 for the Buds’ old Maple Leaf Gardens dressing-room toilet—the most bid-upon item from Frozen Pond’s recent memorabilia auction—The Grid spoke to 55-year-old Barrie lawyer Jim Vigmond (pictured below) about his plans for the porcelain prize.

How did you first hear about the auction and why did you decide to bid on the toilet?

I think I first heard about the auction on The FAN 590. The first thing that I looked at was the 1967 Stanley Cup Banner. Then I saw some other interesting things, and I actually was successful in getting three items.

What are you going to do with this $5,000 toilet?

Well, that depends on who wins: my wife Sharon or I. Sharon suggested that it be buried in the backyard. But I’ve got a better place for it. I’ve got sort of a combination cigar-smoking/sport- memorabilia room. I might put it in there with The Gardens’ washroom directional sign [another prize up for auction]. I’ve got to make certain that some of my drunken friends that come in there know that it’s not hooked up to plumbing.

Do you think you’ll have it elevated as like a shrine to the Leafs? Do you have a vision for it yet?

I don’t have a vision, but I like your idea about it being elevated—I hadn’t thought of that.

I’m just picturing this worshiping room with a porcelain throne.

Yes, a porcelain throne. The other Leafs thing I’ve got in there is a signed jersey of Luke Schenn, which may go up in value, given his recent departure, and a signed Phil Kessel stick. But I really don’t have very much yet, so this is a great start.

Is it just those three items that you bid on?

Four things: those and the banner. The banner went for $34,000, and I stopped at $30,000.

So you had a limit set when you started this?

I had a wife-imposed limit.

What did she say was the most you could spend on the toilet?

She didn’t give me a limit on the toilet; she just said I was effing crazy and, similarly, she wasn’t very pleased that I went as high as I did on the banner. But I thought it was underpriced by a long-shot; I thought it would have gone into six figures.

How much did you spent in total on your prizes from the auction?

I think I spent about $8,000.

I guess that means the toilet was the most expensive item?

It was. I had set a limit of $5,000, but it was a soft limit. My son’s an ardent Leafs fan; he and I really bleed blue-and-white. My son has the Maple Leafs logo tattooed on his back. He said to me, “Dad, just think of all the stories on that toilet.”

Why do you find the toilet so interesting?

How many people have a toilet as a piece of memorabilia of something? It’s got to be a one-in-a-million thing, and I really thought The Gardens was an icon of its time. Anything that can come out of the Leafs dressing room has got nostalgia associated with it.

So, your son approves, and your wife disapproves. What do some of your other friends say about it?

They say I’m crazy—“shit-for-brains.” There doesn’t appear to be much support for my sanity. But I always like to have fun, and I think it’s going to start lots of conversations. It was probably a crazy thing to do, but I enjoyed talking to people about it and being the brunt of everybody’s jokes. And who knows, down the road, maybe it will be worth a million bucks.

It’s true: Everyone wants to know “that guy” who bought the Leafs toilet.

I saw sports writers tweeting about it, wanting to know the idiot who paid $5,300 bucks for a toilet, and I’m that idiot.

But soon you can set it all up, and have your room decorated.

That’s right. I’ve never looked forward so much to seeing a toilet in my life.

Is any part of you considering sitting on the toilet, just because of how many famous bare bums have been on there?

Absolutely. It’s going to be the first thing I do.

Are you going to sit on it while you smoke a cigar?

Now there’s an idea. I’m going to go into my room, open a bottle of 30-year-old single-malt in a glass with an ice cube. Get a Cuban cigar out, and hopefully, watch a Leaf game.

Pants, or no pants?

That’s only for me to know.

Has the toilet, or the other memorabilia helped to take your mind off of the NHL lockout?

No, it’s making it worse. It was a nice diversion for a bit, but now it’s time for us to get back to watching hockey.

The toilet’s last owner had it for 10 years before auctioning it off, again. What future do you foresee for yourself and the toilet?

This toilet will remain a member of the Vigmond family indefinitely.