I’m sure the Olympic closing ceremonies were meant with a wink and a nod to Canadian humour, but the thing was tacky beyond belief and came off as a big dose of, well, self-referential Canadian humour.

When I saw the inflatable Mounties, the Fred-Flintstone canoe people (with their feet sticking out the bottom) and the beaver blow ups, thought I would die.

It had the look of a pizza joint in a suburban strip-mall at around 2 am on a Friday night.

What must Neil Young have thought?

Then I remembered. Most of Canada would be out on the streets celebrating the hockey win.

And the show would be on too late for the rest of the world, assuming they didn’t DVR it. Don’t DVR it people.

I’m glad for the hockey win and even gladder that Sidney Crosby scored the winning goal.

I’m also glad that Canada’s insecure national identity has been restored somewhat by this hockey win.

Because if we were pegging our national self-esteem on our ability to orchestrate a tasteful and eye-pleasing ceremony like the Chinese and the English are known for, we’d crying in our soup today.

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