Decline of the Canadian Sporting Goods Establishment

By: Fiorenzo Arcadi, Toronto Hockey Repair

He wasn't drunk yet, but he was working on it. My American colleague, who like me, owns a sporting goods store, seemed to be itching to re-launch the War of 1812.

"There's something about you Canadians that troubles me." The fact that his face was flushed, he had both paws wrapped around a double bourbon (American whiskey), clued me in to the fact that maybe I was in for some trouble.

I must admit that I was feeling the effects of the beers I had con- sumed, but in my mind, my faculties were still sharp. I was also a: tad belligerent. "Come on, if you've got something to say, spit it out. Skating and pussy footing around an issue is almost un-American. But of course, you don't need a Canadian to tell you that do you?"

He smiled, ordered himself another double, me a beer, cocked his head and said "that the only thing worse than a Canadian is an arrogant Canadian and worse than that is an arrogant Candaian who is trying to be smart."

We clinked glasses and he continued. "Even more galling is the fact that you Canadians think you have the divine right to the wealth you create in your own country and no one else can have it." I started to interrupt, but he silenced me with a wave of his hand. "You whine and you whine the big box stores coming in. You want a level playing field. Yet when it comes time to pay your bills, you whine about being poor and the American store stealing all of your business and then you don't want to pay. You want a level playing field without paying your bills. You guys are a desgrace to capitalism. Maybe its because you got to many commies in Ottawa, handing out this and that to those and them."

Sure you and me are small in comparison to the box stores. But, can you imagine stocking a store and then asking the trade to accept 30 cents on the dollar because you can't afford to pay them. But please continue to keep shipping. If they don't keep shipping you can't afford to pay them anything."

Remember I'm rich. If I go down, the suppliers will never get paid. Remember I've been in business a long time. You owe it to me and my family. My name has been synonymous with sporting goods for a long time. All I ask is that the trade consider me a Canadian with some degree of nobility which ranks me far above the rest. If you want the market to plummet, I have the unpaid stock to do it." He paused, looked at my empty beer bottle and ordered another with a wave of his hand.

All he was doing was coming up for air. I did- n't get a chance to respond. "look, you probably think I am giving your eulogy with American Virtues. You know in America the pop singers are rocking and rolling in money. Rich baseball stars symbolize wealth to millions often end up deep in debt, with nothing solid to show for their efforts while the poorest family can often succeed in sav- ing enough to start profitable businesses. The per- petuity of wealth in America is to unseat the wealthy. New developments almost never emerge from an industry leader. Kodak failed to pioneer the instant camera. IBM lagged behind in adapt- ing copiers to word processors. Even the silicone valley has developed the mind frame to destroy Microsoft. Do you know a guy named Burton Klein? He shows a pattern of corporate leadership lagging, in varying degrees, to all of the key 20th century breakthroughs. You see? If you want wealth by gentry, look at Canada. You sit there with a beer bottle in your mouth and you assume you are smarter than us. Sure, it's okay for your banks to come into America, but our banking institutions aren't good enough to come into Canada? Ain't that right kid?"

I mumbled something about Canadians not lik- ing their banks in construction trailers on mall parking lots. He didn't even realize I had inter- rupted him. He continued on his roll.

"You Canadians pride yourselves on a stable banking institution. Perhaps the best in North America. But what happened in the 70's when they lost billions in foreign investment. Have you ever asked who picked up the tab? In the 90's, with the real estate debacle, ask yourself who picked up the tab? Kid, in Amenca three strikes and your out. If there is a stock market collapse, who will pick up the tab? Will it be like the Japanese who asked the public to pick up the tab?"

I put my beer down and grinned at him, which slowed him for a second. I asked "do the words savings and loans mean anything to you." He glared. I had questioned his authority, his divine American right to be right and uninterrupted. He chose just to ignore me, as if I had never spoken. Good Canadians should be seen and not heard.

"But kid, did you know that small firms begun by enterprising men can rise quickly to play important roles in the national economy? God help us if our financial institutions become like yours."

"Stable?" l asked. That comment was met with another glare and the continuation of a born in the USA tirade.

"I don't want a system that frowns upon the essential resources of men and ideals. In America we believe in a technological future that springs from human creativity that consists of surprise. Business is not only the best route to wealth, it is the only route for those without education. I lived and worked in Canada for two years. What made me sick was the attitude of the Canadian upper class who were taught to disdain the poor who go into business. The upper class choose secure and uninspiring jobs in bureaucracy. They chose to disregard the great opportunities of building busi- ness in favour of work in govemment, or as a bank teller. They gave up their real prospects of great wealth. They made a deal with society, exchanging the possibility of great achievement for the assurance of security, leisure and limited demands. Then they were faced with an influx of new Canadians, commanding great access to the Canadian economy. They arrived with no heritage or great inherited wealth. Rich people who inher- ited saw their wealth whither away in a few decades. In Canada it is always the declining rich that shout the loudest against the new successful business class. But in America, families of zero wealth built our nation. Your Canadian banks don't understand that old money does not create new money."

His pitch was now approaching a near evan- gelical zeal. "Little do you realize that America is built on set backs which lead to innovation and new achievement."

He stopped, looked at me, ordered another round. "You know what kid? You make me sick. You thought you could come here and persuade me to help you. You want to take on the big stores head on. Look at you. You're a beer swilling Canuck. You must be a dreamer from a different planet. You know I am an old man. I lost my wife to cancer. It took me 35 years to build what I have. I started with nothing and I will die with nothing. Sure my kids are spoiled, never visit me and can't wait for me to kick off so they can pick my car- cass clean." He paused, looked at me again and said "Are you willing to give up everything you built for this cause?"

I nodded in the affimmative. "You told me you have six dealers, including an ex-alcoholic com- bining to keep small sporting goods stores afloat. I am just one, trying to fight this battle alone."

He smiled, shook his head. "Not six anymore. It is now seven. You're in kid. We will meet in Montreal."

We shook hands. I looked him square in the eye. "You have to admit though, You told me once before the thing you missed about this country was the beer. Let me buy you one."

He put his arm around my shoulder and we headed for the bar. Under his breath I could hear him mumble "Canadian. No matter what, they can always put things in the proper perspective.