Vasco da Gama, episode #16 (or, “Vasco 16, Audience none”)

     Congratulations, Dick Irvin. And, if you ever happen to listen to this episode of Vasco, my apologies.

     Okay, so what does that all mean? Let me tell you. (Non-Canadians take note: none of this is likely to make any more sense to you when I’m done explaining it. Canadians under the age of 30 may have their troubles with it as well. Bear with me.) Dick Irvin is a retired hockey broadcaster, honoured for his efforts in covering the exploits of the Montreal Canadiens (not to be confused with the team that currently masquerades under that name) with a place in the Hockey Hall of Fame, and, as of a week or two ago, an Order of Canada. (This is a good year to get one, since an Order of Canada is now available with a side order of onion rings or poutine.) Over the years, I’d come to appreciate two things about Dick Irvin: 1. the way his droll sense of humour provided an all-too-necessary counterpoint to the tedious hyperbole that characterises the broadcasting of what are essentially scaled-up children’s games; and 2. the way he began to resemble Bela Lugosi as he got older.

     And this is why I’ll never get invited to Dick Irvin’s house for dinner. Stuff like this is why I never get invited to anybody’s house for dinner. Would you want to pass the mashed potatoes to a wiseacre who thanks you by saying “hope there’s no garlic in ‘em, Count Dickula”?  Okay, I do get invited to dinner, but only when my wife is invited, and then only on condition that she sit within ankle-kicking range in case something like “hope there’s no garlic in ‘em, Count Dickula” should slip out of my mouth.

     The fact I don’t have a filter for thoughts like this means that ideas like a vampire hockey broadcaster are just too good to pass up. In the cable-access TV station that operates in my subconscious, there’s a show called Count Dickula’s Hockey Crypt, where guests talk about things like why zombies are vulnerable to a two-man forecheck, and how you can tell whether a werewolf is growing a playoff beard. When it came time to do an episode of Vasco about legendary curses, it was inevitable that Count Dickula found his way into it. Because I’m no more in control of my fictional characters than I am of the impulse to call non-fictional people things like “Count Dickula”, I really wasn’t expecting The Curse of Dickula to dominate the episode.

     I’m lying: yes, I was. You need a little running time to let anything like what you’ll hear starting at about the halfway point of this episode spin out of control. By that, I really mean that it starts out of control, and spins even further out of control from there. Usually, I’d try to spoil something like this by describing it, but I think that the best thing is for you to grab a crucifix and a stake, click on the link, and listen (if you dare) to…

Vasco da Gama, episode #16

     My only regret is that, if he ever hears it, Dick Irvin will hate me. He'll curse my name, and wish me dead. In fact, he’ll probably wait until both of us are dead and curse me then, to avoid getting stuck with long-distance charges for cursing me from beyond the grave. That’s unfortunate. I’m pretty sure imagining him as a vampire means that, on one of my deeper and more disturbed mental levels, I’m hoping that Dick Irvin will live forever. Based on the quality of what I’ve heard from the broadcast booth since he’s retired, I could think of worse things to wish for.