I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, so I suppose I should have got this off my chest before Ken Taylor passed on, but the day we called somebody a hero because he played a role in some chickenshit hiding caper was the day Canada went off the rails.
A real hero would’ve come out guns blazin’!
And not havin’ guns is no excuse. They made up a story about a science fiction movie, didn’t they?
So they could have stuck out their fingers in their jacket pockets. Sure, no one would fall for that here, but maybe the ayatollah hadn’t seen it before.
I’m not sayin’ they’d have all made it out alive, but nobody gets out of here alive, and Iran should be no exception.
It would have been like the Aesop’s fable of the 300 Greeks against the Persians – which was what we used to call Iranians when we could still call ’em whatever we damn please – except without all the oiled-up gladiator bullcrap.
What a legacy; what a story to pass on to the kids!
And tell me, how have we acquitted ourselves since?
Our Airborne boys taught some Somali punks a harsh but valuable lesson about stealin’ our stuff, and our pussy government sold ’em out so fast to the human rights huggers it made my bed spin.
Sure, we may bomb suspicious wedding parties here and there – well, alright; perhaps not here – but that’s nothin’ to write home about, least not if you grew up in a home like mine.
And of course it’s not just us.
Even the Germans seem to have forgot that a people go soft if they don’t kick around a wiener country every generation or so.
It’s like heritage means squat these days.