From The L.A. Times To McLeans To Le Journal de Montreal: A Personal Journey

As the greatest love song, like, in the history of the universe plays in the background, I attest the following story, which in a way is a love story, is true.

The song? 'Tupelo Honey' by Van Morrison.

As I read this story, carefully crafted - methinks the truth hurts the LA Times too much - it reminded me of two stories of my experiences with the media.

A couple of years back I got a call from a Alexandra Shuma (Schumi? I can't remember) who wrote for McLeans magazine. I was helping to operatie findprivateclinics.ca at the time, a site that garnered enough media attention, and she called asking for information. Starving for exposure, we gladly gave her information. I trusted her blunt coldness (and I did catch the flare but I wanted us to get mentioned in the article) was just about a journalist gathering facts for a story. Alas, they basically used our site to publish their "in-depth" report on private clinics in Canada.

It was all cool to us but it would have been a touching display of class had they mentioned us. Of course, we couldn't prove it but the way the article was structured, to me anyway, they were using FPC as a base for information.

Lesson one: Journalists don't always look for the truth and give credit where it's due.

Even further back, a few to be exact, a friend of mine got into an altercation with a couple who were being physically abusive with a dog in front of a bar I'd visit once in a while - my soccer buddies would go there. And so on. You know the rest. Maybe you don't.

Now, the person in question, let's call him "Donny," was one tough son of a bitch and connected if you get my drift. Humorous and shy, he didn't exactly lead a life of pristine beauty. To his credit, he was comfortable with it. He confessed to me outside a hockey arena once long ago he wasn't cut out for the mainstream world. I figured that much way back in grade three when he knew the difference between various gun and knife manufacturers. As far as I know, Donny never killed a man but he beat up a few, he's a big-time bookie backed by the right people, real good.

We were more sports buddies more than anything. We'd delve into each other's world and move on. In the summer, we used to meet at the center of a soccer pitch and we'd take a couple of secs to talk. One day he said to me, "Commentator, I want to do good but I'm afraid what karma will do to me." I kinda knew what he meant but could only muster a meek chuckle and told him to "try it and see if the wrath of God comes down hard."

Little did we know, his chance came later that week.

The aforementioned couple was hitting their dog in the parking lot of an outside strip mall. Slapping and kicking it to be precise. It was a surreal scene to be honest. At one point, the man even turned on the lady and verbally assaulted her. We all stood in schock. Donny observed it quietly. I prayed he wouldn't go and just start beating the guy up. Instead, he was quite diplomatic. He walked up to the couple and asked them to stop hurting the dog. He also suggested to the man he stop cursing at woman. The man got in his face but still Donny kept calm. We knew this wasn't going to end well, because, well, I've never seen Donny turn and walk away from anything.

From what I recall, he asked THREE times for the man to chill. Then it happened. He swung at Donny. That was it. Donny ducked and proceeded to do his business. Which was beat the crap out of the asshole. Then, he, unfortunately, slapped the lady who jumped him from behind and was scratching and clawing at him viciously. He had, in my opinion, no choice. A few of us, including one guy who wouldn't stop giggling, moved in to try and stop it but a cardinal rule in life is never get involved while a fight is in progress. Once an opening to step in came up, we moved in like hockey linesmen breaking up a fight.

Later, Le journal de Monreal (Montreal's largest French language paper) along with the cops showed up. Yup. They did. Well, get this. The cops took no witness account and the journalist ONLY interviewed the couple. He told one guy, who suggeested he speak with other witnesses, he'd "get to them."

He never did.

It doesn't take a genius a hack job was about to be done on Donny. And it was the next day. Apparently, the couple were "quietly walking along when they were attacked for no reason."

Or something to that effect.

On and on it went with utter bull shit. But the journalist got his pay.

The following Sunday Donny and I met at the center of the pitch and he said, "See? Karma got me. I try to do one thing and I take it in the chin." Donny lived in a world that was far more real than mine. He lived inside the ropes of where vices thrive. He knew what he was talking about. He made his bed and he had to lie in it come hell or high water.

For me, it stunned me a so-called major paper would be so abjectively deceiving.

And that's why I don't believe a damn word they're reporting about the townhall meetings. I don't believe the White House either.

Is it fair to paint all journalists this way? No. But...

Lesson 2: Keep your guard and always ask 'Qui bono?'