Shatner Rules

William Shatner, one of 35 million Canadians, and we dream big!
     
    My speech, my love letter to the nation I adore, was a beautiful, big dream. Amid the cheers, my platform lowered. Triumphantly.
    I looked down at the teleprompter, the mother’s teat ready for my suckle of safety, flickering lightly.
    I never needed it.
    I was so thrilled, I almost jumped for joy. But . . . I’m Canadian. We don’t do that sort of thing.

CHAPTER 18
RULE: If You Look a Gift Horse in the Mouth, You Might Find More Gifts!
    C an a negotiation ever go too far? Sometimes. Sometimes, you can push too far and drive the deal off a cliff.
    But, if you manage to stop just short of driving off a cliff, you’ll have a pretty nice view. Or at least really good seats to a very important event.
    Performing at the closing ceremony of the Vancouver Olympics certainly had its perks. Team Shatner runs thirteen deep—me, my wife Elizabeth, my three beloved daughters, my three beloved sons-in-law, and my assorted and beloved grandkids. The organizers of the ceremony were good enough to fly all of us up to enjoy the event. It was a real celebration of family togetherness, and one I will cherish forever.
    The scenery in Vancouver is amazing, especially if you also have a great view of the people you love.
    Seriously, you can’t put a price on such things. So let’s talk freebies!
    We were offered hockey tickets—rinkside! To watch the United States take on Canada. It was
the
hottest ticket of the entire Olympics. No one is crazier about hockey than Canadians. It’s the one place where we can be aggressive without shame or guilt or fear of being too showy.
    This was a matchup against America! Our neighbors to the south, who don’t know we exist. What better way to get the attention of Americans than to beat their team at hockey!
RULE: If You Are a Canadian and Want America’s Attention—Beat Them at Hockey. Or, If You Can’t Do That, Offer Them a Canadian Beer. Our Beer Is Good. Americans Like Beer.
    What a thrill. What an honor. What a conundrum for me.
    They were offering four tickets. There are thirteen of us, more than a few of whom are rabid hockey fans.
    As the patriarch of the clan, and the man whose face would be needed to gain entry to the event, I had to reserve one ticket for myself. Elizabeth, being my wife, is traditionally my plus one, so she would be going, too. Doling out the others would be a bit of a challenge.
    We were all gathered at a dinner table in a restaurant. I explained that I had these free tickets, and I could see my sons-in-law Joel and Andrew sit bolt upright with anticipation. The two of them are huge hockey fans. I know they’re hockey fans, they know I know they’re hockey fans. Who else could I possibly take along for this historic sporting event?
    “I thought I would take along Joel and Andrew, since they are such huge fans. They are the biggest hockey fans in the family, correct?”
    Everyone nodded, and Joel and Andrew did everything in their power not to stand up, high-five one another, and shout “
In your face!
” at their respective wives and children. But they conducted themselves with quiet dignity and grace.
    I had begun to dig in to dinner when my daughter Leslie piped up and said, “You know, Dad, Eric and Grant really like hockey.”
    Eric and Grant are two of my teenaged grandkids, who were both eagerly wolfing down their dinners. Joel and Andrew swallowed hard and stared at their plates, drumming their fingers nervously.
    “Oh, really?” I said. “I didn’t know that. Well . . .”
    It was time to negotiate. My first move?
    I excused myself.
RULE: When You Need to Stall, Hit the Stall
    I went to the restroom, and paced back and forth. Joel and Andrew love hockey more than anything! Eric and Grant? Well, they liked hockey okay, but did they like it as much as Joel and Andrew? Probably not. For one thing, Joel and Andrew had about fifty years’ worth of fandom between them over my grandkids. Eric and Grant needed a few more years to develop their own typically unhealthy adult relationship with the sport.
    I splashed some water on my face and looked in the mirror. What was the negotiation endgame? Would I be a bad dad to my sons-in-law, or a bad grandpa to Eric and Grant? I needed a solution.
    I returned to the table and tucked my napkin under my chin, armed with the weapon that solves everything.
    Bribery.
    “Eric, Grant, instead of going to the hockey game, what do you say I