O Canada

 Happy Monday, Blobophiles, and here's your name to remember for today: Stephen Eustaquio.

He became, I don't know, the Wayne Gretzky of Canadian soccer or something yesterday, when he knocked an attempted clear smartly into the goal in extra time to give Canada a 1-0 victory over South Africa in the knockout round of the World Cup.

It was Canada's first knockout round victory, like, ever. Thousands of young Canadians will now forsake hockey and start kicking soccer balls around, on account of they're bigger than hockey pucks and you don't have to learn to skate.

OK. So I jest.

But imagine -- just imagine -- what would happen if Canada were to jack around and win a second knockout game, in which case Les Rouges (the Reds) would advance to the quarterfinals of the whole shootin' match. Now imagine if you're a kid growing up in Toronto with a throwback Dave Keon Maple Leafs jersey. Or a kid in Montreal, Edmonton, Calgary or Vancouver who's never seen a Canadian team in the Stanley Cup Final in his or her lifetime.

Canadian Dad: Come on, son, strap on the blades, grab the lumber and let's head out to the rink!

Canadian Kid: Aw, geez, Pop. I was gonna go kick a soccer ball around with the guys.

Dad: WHAT?! You mean you don't want to be the next Gretzky or Lemieux or, goodness gracious, Gordie Howe?

Kid: Nah, hockey's for losers. I want to be the next Stephen Eustaquio.

(Dad clutches his heart and immediately expires. They bury him in his throwback Yvan Cournoyer jersey.)

(Les Rouges send flowers and offer his son a spot on their developmental team. Word is he's such a dazzling striker he's started going by one name, like Pele. Everyone just calls him Jacques.)