This is the column that started the war of words between Hags and I after it ran in the Reporter in March of 2002.
The Hespeler Minor Hockey Association should resist at all costs joining with the Cambridge Minor Hockey Association. Hespeler should consider leaving Cambridge all together.
We are fed up with being under the thumbs of the snobbish Galt elite; don’t even ask how I feel about the citizens of Preston. We beat them without mercy at all sports, it goes without saying.
Hespeler is just coming into its own; it realizes that it is superior to Galt in all ways, except for snobbery. I worked in downtown Galt for 18 years and have witnessed its demise with a mixture of angst and delight. Last year I swear I saw tumbleweed crossing Water Street at Main while I was waiting for the traffic light to change. Galt will soon be a ghost town.
Hespeler, in contrast, is booming again in its downtown core. There is no way that Galt can compete with the big three that dominate our downtown: Ernie’s RoadHouse, Sadies Sex Shop and Bagel Emporium, and, of course, Art the Barber.
All Galt has left that is any good is the Little Theatre. It is, of course, run by people from the west side of Galt, who sport hyphenated surnames.
Hespeler, of course, has its own “theatre of the street.” You can look in whenever Ernie’s or Ye Old Hespeler empties on the weekend. You cannot get more real than our theatre of the absurd, and it’s free.
Galt is also unsafe to walk around in. You never see a cop in downtown Galt, leaving the wretches from the east side free to terrorize the poor artistic types from the west side who venture out for a bite to eat and the theatre on weekends. Their wives made them go to the theatre, of course.
The street toughs chase them because they love to see the men of Galt running in their knock-kneed girlish way.
In Hespeler, we have free security thanks to the motorcycle gangs who own most of our downtown.
I do feel for the women of Galt, however. It is hard to find a real manly man in Galt, if you get my drift. Many Galt girls have to travel north of the 401 to find the kind of man they are looking for, as was the case for my wife.
We Hespeler men have a quiet self-confidence that comes from our higher education (Grade 8), our sense of humour, and an ability to whip Galt’s sorry ass at anything we choose. No wonder we steal their women !
Our nicknames also make us interesting and unique. We have Weenie, Mighty Thor, Alfie, Nobby, and the little Nob, Motor-Mouth . . . and of course the ultimate in nicknames: Sea-Weed. Galt is stuck with, Basil, Cecil and Heathcliffe. Big deal.
No country clubs in Hespeler either. We choose to play golf with no rules. We hack, slice and dice up Puslinch every chance we get. I can admit know that the geese that crap up the river holes at Galt Country Club come from Hespeler. It’s just our little way of trying to bring the aristocratic prigs of the GCC back down to earth.
The only option for we Hespelerites is to cede from the phony City of Cambridge. What’s that? My wife has just informed me that our taxes will go up if we cede from Cambridge. OK, then I’ll stay. I was only joking about all of those nasty things I said about Galt . . . NOT!
P.S. My 86-year-old mother wants the Christmas lights back that Galt stole from Hespeler when the city was first formed. You are on notice, Galtonians, give back our lights or suffer the consequences!
CambridgeTags: Galt Country Club