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The Secrets of Successful People Posting Date: Dec 16 2007 12:04AM So let me get this straight. If you’re the leader of a G-8 nation, it’s actually not a problem for you to take envelopes filled with cash from would-be arms dealers. I mean, it’s not like they’re actual arms dealers. They’re just getting started. And remember, getting into weapons dealing is a tough enough game without the help of higher powers. It’s a profession dominated by rogue Soviet generals, terrorist nations and the CIA. And here’s little Karlheinz Schreiber simply trying to get his toe in the door. Former Prime Minister Brian Mulroney was just giving a boost to the underdog.
I don’t know Mr. Mulroney personally, but I know people who do and they assure me that he is wicked smart and always sends you birthday cards to riding association presidents. I also believe that Mr. Mulroney has probably watched The Godfather and at least one episode of The Sopranos. Therefore, he should know that any financial transaction that involves an envelope stuffed with cash is a deal that involves at least one very bad man.
Maybe if you’re in charge of a country, and you’re not an angry colonel, a crazy general or someone with the nickname “Butcher” or “Baby,” you should try to avoid envelope-based cash transactions of any kind. For example, if you’re Stephen Harper and you want to sell your home to buy something closer to the Alberta tar sands so you can enjoy the full benefits of global warming, you should probably pass on the envelope of cash slipped to you in a folded National Post and instead, have your lawyer handle things via bank transfer. But maybe that’s just me. Maybe the envelope is the way things really get done.
I always wondered, for example, why Mr. Mulroney left his then-powerful Progressive Conservative Party in the hands of Kim Campbell, sort of like leaving the keys to your Volkswagen with Evel Knievel. Perhaps there was cash involved. Perhaps John Turner, another person who should never have access to your car keys, slipped Mr. Mulroney a number 10 envelope filled with pictures of the Queen and suggested that Ms. Campbell would make a fantastic prime minister some day. Crazier things have happened.
Gerard Kennedy’s breast pocket seemed robustly stuffed with something envelope-ish when he aimed his Liberal Party delegates at Stéphane Dion instead of at someone who could, you know, actually win an election in a country where a lot of people speak English.
John Tory was riding high in the Ontario pre-election polls when he may – or may not – have been cleaning out his pants pocket at the dry cleaner and found a little enveloped jammed with filthy lucre. Suddenly, Mr. Tory was promising to fund religious schools all over the countryside and Dalton McGuinty found himself returned to the Preimer’s Office where he sits today, wondering when European arms dealers will find his phone number in the black market directory of influential Canadians.
Of course, it’s easy to sit back and criticize when I have never had to make the decision – take the envelope, or refuse it? Is refusing the envelope even an option? The people who take the money from Tony Soprano or the Corleone family always seem happy to do it, but eventually they get shot in the back of the head, so you have to wonder.
It’s not all that different from our various scandals involving steroids, which are basically the athletic equivalent of the envelope of cash. If you’re a neighbourhood bookie, a New Jersey construction contractor or a politician in Ottawa, it has to be hard to refuse someone with an envelope of cash and a small favour to ask. It has to be just as hard when the sprinter, the cyclist or the homerun hitter agrees to take a few “vitamin” shots to boost the odds of securing that next big contract extension or endorsement deal.
Ultimately, whether it’s steroids or envelopes, the result is the same … if you take it, you end up with a big head, shrunken balls and a date to testify in front of a gang of empanelled inquisitors. It’s probably not worth it. Now, if your balls stayed the same size, we could talk. |
