Mayor Kelly’s latest ‘Christmas gift’ to HRM has stirred up heated debate between two keen political observers—Monica and Mike Bobbsey. The 26-year-old twins have sharply opposing views on the SuperCity’s successful Canadian bid for the 2014 Commonwealth Games. “Imagine blowing a million bucks just to compete for the friggin’ Games,” says Monica, referring to the cost of the failed bid for the 2010 Games, as well as the $750,000 price tag for the latest one. “It’s worth a try,” Mike answers. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” It will be two years before Commonwealth officials finally decide where the 2014 Games will be held. HRM will now compete internationally against Glasgow, Scotland, and Abuja, the capital city of Nigeria.
“Look Mike, we’re talking about a hell of a lot of money here,” says Monica, taking a swig from her dirty martini as she perches on a stool in a classy fern bar overlooking the harbour. “For one thing, it’ll cost another four million or so for the next round of bidding. And then, if we’re unlucky enough to win, we’ll be on the hook for Christ knows how much. The city says $500 million at least, but I’m betting we’ll end up spending twice that.” Mike shrugs and grins. “You know how these things work, Sis,” he says. “The feds will kick in at least half. The province another big chunk. There’ll be some corporate money and we’ll end up getting thousands of jobs plus a new stadium in Dartmouth, a big gym, swimming pools, all kinds of stuff.” Mike takes a gulp from his dirty martini. “Yeah, I do know how these things work,” Monica responds grimly. “Taxpayers will end up paying the shot, and you know as well as I do that there’s lots of other things we could do with that money.”
“Jesus, Monica, you sound just like Mother,” Mike says frowning. “Why don’t you drive across the harbour and ask people in north-end Dartmouth what they think? They’ve got sweet fuck-all when it comes to athletic facilities. Ask them how they feel about turning Shannon Park into a world-class rec centre.” Monica scowls. “What do you mean I sound just like Mother? At least Mother’s practical. You sound just like Dad. You know, always glued to TSN, a can of Ten Penny in one fist and the zapper in the other, dreaming about getting his own goddamned major-league sports team to root for. Man, I hate men!” Mike bursts out laughing. “Well, what do you think the new stadium’s for?” he asks. “Once the 2014 Games are over, maybe Dad’s prediction will come true and we’ll finally get our own CFL team.” “CFL football!” Monica shrieks. “A bunch of helmeted assholes with bulging crotches running around jumping on each other. Is that why we’re willing to shell out hundreds of millions for these stupid Games?”
The twins fall silent as a mustachioed waiter appears with another round of martinis. Down below, a ferry plies its steady way across the harbour from Dartmouth. A huge red and white container ship slips silently under the Macdonald Bridge. “All I know,” says Monica when the waiter disappears, “is that if anyone suggested spending $500 million on a 10-day cultural event for poets and painters, every right-winger in the province would be up in arms. And Kelly wouldn’t touch it with a 10-foot pole.” Mike chews thoughtfully on an olive. “Well sis,” he says, “that’s not much of a comparison, is it?” Monica suddenly turns to me. “You’re awfully quiet,” she says. “You’re the big Coast editorial writer. What do you think? Should we be going for these stupid Games or not?” I stir the crushed ice in my drink. (I hate ice in martinis!) “I have only one thing to say to you and Mike—and to Coast readers,” I answer solemnly. “Merry Christmas. Joyeux Noel.”
Contest the commonwealth games in halifax? email: bwark@accesswave.ca or bid at my homepage: www.accesswave.ca/~bwark.
This article appears in Dec 22-28, 2005.