Few crime cases in Canada have earned the notoriety of the Bandido massacre.

From the time the bodies of eight bikers were discovered in rural southwestern Ontario, to the moment six of their "brothers" were convicted of the slaying, the Bandidos captured Canada's attention - and Canoe's audience was captivated by the coverage.

It was an event that shocked the nation - but what was it really about?

According to Peter Edwards, the author of "The Bandido Massacre: A True Story of Bikers, Brotherhood and Betrayal," perhaps the most shocking thing is that the killing wasn't about anything at all.

In a gripping account of the rise and fall of the Bandidos in Canada, Edwards reveals that the Canadian chapters of the Bandidos Motorcycle Club had formally ceased to exist by the time of the massacre. They were feuding over control of a non-entity.

Even before they'd been stripped of their status by central command in the U.S., the Bandidos in Canada were hardly deserving of the term "bikers" - few of their members even had bikes on the road.

The Bandidos purported to be about brotherhood - but that brotherhood was betrayed when six "bikers" killed eight others in a bizarre and drawn-out murder sequence on the farm of self-styled kingpin Wayne Kellestine.

The ultimate irony is the book's climax. Edwards notes that Wayne Kellestine and his henchmen killed their "brothers," including Kellestine's close friend Boxer Muscadere, rather than be abandoned by them - but Boxer's last act on Earth was to laugh in Kellestine's face.

Peter Edwards's account is both spellbinding, and eye-opening. In this video excerpt from an extensive interview, he gives his own opinion on the tragic events that will forever be known as The Bandido Massacre.

Twenty years ago, the National Gallery of Canada displayed a painting that enflamed a nation.

As an art student, I traveled to Ottawa to see Barnett Newman's "Voice of Fire", and loved it.

But all across the country there were fiery voices of anger and disbelief...

As arts commentator Greg Buium notes in a recent article in The Walrus, the purchase of "Voice of Fire" from the late Barnett Newman's widow was a watershed moment for Canadian culture. It represented a clash of values between those who felt the Gallery should reflect the hearts and minds of ordinary Canadians, and those who felt it had a higher mission. Each side thought the other was nuts.

The popular sentiment was that 1.8 million of the tax payer's dollars was a colossal waste of money for a painting widely dismissed as three stripes of colour. "My kid could have painted that" about sums it up, with a fair sprinkling of "He's not even Canadian!"

But supporters of the acquisition held that fine art shouldn't have to be accessible; it's there to challenge, and to push the boundaries. Newman's work did that, especially when on display in the Gallery, where its enormous size and bold colours really were quite startling to behold. Plus, it was a work of some relevance to Canadians, even if Newman was an American painter: it had hung in the geodesic dome American Pavilion at Expo67 in Montreal.

I remember discussing the painting in the Gallery with a Canadian curmudgeon who cared about none of that. His idea of art was limited to Robert Bateman prints of loons and the like, and the Group of Seven. I stood up for the curator. He stood up for Common Sense. And we hooted at each other like a couple of loons.

Telling him the Group of Seven had been just as controversial as Newman for their radical way of depicting nature did no good.

So I tried to justify the purchase of "Voice of Fire" by noting that government money had also supported the building of the Skydome, home to his beloved Toronto Blue Jays. That held no water either.

Finally, I marshaled my financial facts: Newman's widow had sold the painting to the National Gallery at a bargain basement price, to ensure it went to a public collection. It was already worth twice what they'd paid for it. "At least," I said, "you have to admit they made a smart investment." No dice.

But that was a bad move on my part anyway. The value of art isn't financial, and when you reduce it to monetary terms you strip it of its inherent worth. That goes for expensive abstract paintings, and loon prints alike. What art means is what it's worth, not the other way around.

Twenty years after its purchase, "Voice of Fire" may be worth upwards of ten million bucks. Now, I wouldn't want to see it cashed in to buy Bateman prints. But the curator and the curmudgeon can probably agree on one thing: for better or worse, Voice of Fire represents a whole lot of loonies in a nation of lovable loons.

People protesting against The Who's Pete Townshend playing at the Super Bowl should give their heads a shake.

Townshend admitted to downloading child porn using his credit card to access a child pornography site, on a single occasion, while researching his autobiography. He believes he may have experienced sexual abuse as a child.

But that doesn't make him a danger to the community, and anyway - since when is the Super Bowl about morality?

True, Townshend was registered as a sex offender in Britain in 2003. He spent five years on that list, despite being cleared of child-porn related charges. That doesn't mean he poses any danger to children, which makes the efforts of a group called Protect Our Children to keep Townshend out of the Super Bowl a little hysterical.

Nobody wants sex predators in their community. But does an elderly British man who's been off the sex offender list for two years, who was never charged with any offense against a child, and who was cleared of charges related to child pornography, constitute a threat?

Florida-based Protect Our Children thinks so. They've asked the NFL to ban Townshend's band, The Who, from playing the Super Bowl half-time show in Miami. They've also distributed 1,500 "warning pamphlets" featuring a picture of Townshend to neighbouring homes and schools.

It's ridiculous. Townshend certainly doesn't pose a threat to anyone in the neighbourhood of the Superbowl. It's not like he's going to sneak away and grope someone's child while visiting the US under the massive media attention accorded to a rock star of his status.

Then there's Evin Daly, CEO of Child AbuseWatch.net, who said, "inviting Townshend to play is a blatant disregard to the values of American families and a slap in the face to victims of child sexual abuse."

Oh, really? The values of American families? The sad fact is that most sex abuse occurs WITHIN families. As for those values: the number of NFL football players who have committed heinous acts - from drug use to spousal abuse to armed robbery - is beyond counting. And that's only the guys on the gridiron. Comb the locker rooms and the boardrooms and you'll find plenty more scandal.

But don't stop there. If those who would ban The Who on such terms are serious, they should subject everyone in the stands to serious scrutiny as well. Pete Townshend's being closely monitored, but any one of the ordinary people in the bleachers could sneak into a stall in the public washrooms to prey on someone's kid.

Then there are the public drunkenness, the property damage, the racist insults and the assaults that are common at major sporting matches. Not to focus on any one of these threats to family values is plainly hypocritical.

Pete Townshend may not be an angel. But picking him as an easy target takes attention away from where most sexual abuse really happens: not on a stage, but in the home, where hypocrisy is the greatest luxury.

Steve Fonyo is the Canadian Icarus: a youth who soared to close to the sun, and paid the price.

Now the amputee athlete who once inspired has lost the Order of Canada to complete his public fall from grace.

That's the convenient story arc. But does it have to be so simple, or so sad?

From the moment he set out to imitate - and finish - Terry Fox's iconic but incomplete Marathon of Hope run across Canada, fellow cancer survivor Steve Fonyo rubbed a lot of people the wrong way. On the one hand, you had to admire his courage and determination. On the other hand, for many Canadians, Fox's legendary run had become sacred, and Fonyo came off looking like a copycat.

But then Fonyo managed to do what Terry Fox hadn't: he actually ran all the way across the country, and lived to tell the tale. For those who hadn't seen the Marathon of Hope up close, Fonyo was a more attractive figure. His Journey for Lives earned generous donations west of Thunder Bay, where Terry Fox had been forced to stop.

While he never earned the status Terry Fox had achieved, Fonyo did raise $15 million for cancer research, and a significant public profile as a result. Steve Fonyo Drive in Kingston, Fonyo Road in Saskatchewan, and Steve Fonyo Beach in Victoria all bear his name. At 18 years of age, he received the Order of Canada - an honour that reflected his extraordinary endurance.

Sadly, depression, alcohol and bad choices tarnished Fonyo's legacy almost from the get-go. "He's no Terry Fox" was the grim refrain as Fonyo racked up a slew of drinking-and-driving offenses and convictions for fraud, possession of a stolen vehicle, and assault with a deadly weapon.

Over the years since he received the Order of Canada in 1985, Steve Fonyo's name has almost always come up in the press for the wrong reasons. Today, the media trumpeted another sad story: Canadian hero loses his Order of Canada. "Hero to zero" is the easy headline.

But Steve Fonyo is no better cast as a zero than he was as a hero. What kind of loser has a track record of raising $15 million bucks for cancer? What kind of loser has crossed the country on an artificial leg?

Steve Fonyo is neither hero, nor zero. He's closer to an anti-hero: the character who compels because his flaws compete with his virtues. The anti-hero makes a far more interesting study, because he's a lot like you and me.

Unlike Terry Fox, who has been virtually canonized in death, Fonyo's still here on planet earth, limping along with the burdens of drink and depression in the shadow of his own success and that of his saintly predecessor. That's a hard highway to run.

On the other hand, Steve Fonyo's alive, and only 44 years old. Maybe his greatness is behind him, but there's the potential for much goodness ahead: down the middle road between hero, and zero.

CP PHOTO

This morning as I was walking to work, a postal worker, driving a mail truck while talking on his cell phone, ran a red light as I was just about to cross on a walk signal. He could have killed me. When I approached his window to bawl him out, he kept the phone to his ear, grinning like a merry fool.

I arrived at work to find a picture of a Toronto subway ticket agent napping on duty as the top story on our home page.

Well, none of us are perfect, right? Let he who's without sin throw the first stone. That would not be me. I'm as greedy and inefficient and casually sinful as the next person, I suppose.

The difference, of course, is that my boss has my fate in his hands. If he doesn't like the job I do, he can, and will send me kicking stones down the road. That's his job. If he wasn't willing to make the tough calls, his boss would do the same to him.

I guess it's a different deal with the guy who naps in the ticket booth, or the guy who drives the postal van while chatting on his cell.

Now, I'm not going to tar everyone with the same brush. There are some great TTC agents out there - cheerful folk who take pride in their jobs and do them well. They frequently make my day.

The same goes for posties - like the man who delivers mail, on foot, to my house every weekday. He's a friendly fellow who always puts a little light in my morning, even when he's handing me a handful of bills.

I wonder how these folks feel about their lesser colleagues. If you're a TTC agent you're surely used to taking abuse from the occasional rider; how does it feel knowing that you're now in for heaps of scorn, because someone else was sleeping on the job?

I bet my mailman would be hopping mad knowing there's a wiseguy driving around in a Canada Post uniform, breaking multiple traffic laws and endangering the lives of others. It just reflects badly on everyone.

Plus, public money's at play here. The Toronto Transit Commission just raised its fares to $3 a ride, and here's a guy clocking hours while sleeping. Canada Post is a Crown corporation. The dangerous driver at the wheel of that van this morning nearly ran me over with my own money.

I know where the buck stops around here. Is it too much that these workers on the public purse should be held to a higher standard than total impunity?

This just in: Amalagamated Transit Union ATU 113 is disappointed in TTC riders. Apparently no one bothered to knock on the window to see if the ticket-taker was unconscious or dead! Maybe they should post a notice: "What to do if a worker appears to be napping on the job." That way WE won't forget OUR responsibilities.