The 30-second Leonard Cohen Concert Review

What James Reaney said in today's London Free Press. It was awesome, man. Awesome, alliterationely AWESOME!

But as for before last night's concert ...

I don't like to brag, but 'Lenerd Cohn' (as he was known in our old neighbourhood in Moanrealle,) has been a life-long friend of mine. We first met in our early teens when we attended Sisters of Mercy Junior-High and Hebrew School and along with Moses Namer became the core of that school's tennis team.

Today me and Len get together whenever he comes to town for one of his rare performances - or just to take in a poetry 'slam' at one of our hipster hangouts downtown.

So, it's understandable that everytime he does visit, what we really like to do is a different kind of slammin' - namely bangin' that ol' ball around on my backyard table-tennis court.

Moses has moved on to other diversions, but for Lenerd and I, aggressive back-and-forth volleying remains our passion. All of which bloomed during the mid-1960s when both of us were trying to make a living doing the '9-to-5' thing as stuggling poets in the more bohemian centres of New York City, then spending our weekends working the then-new professional ping-pong circuit which at the time only included Downtown, the Bronx - and of course, the Village.

Prior to that we had been big rivals on the tennis courts of Moanrealle, but ping-pong was a whole brand-new phenomenon in the 1960s. Both of us were reluctant virgins to the game but soon became willing players.

I hadn't seen Len since high-school, hadn't even thought about him in years - but will never forget running into him that time in '68.

I remember it well. He was giving me hell after skunking me three games straight in the rec-room of the Chelsea Hotel.

"I prefer more skilled competition, but for you I will make an exception," he said immediately afterwards. ... And that's when I suggested we increase the wager to double-or-nothing and then proceeded to beat him in a three-game match.

That's right - I was a ping-pong hustler. That's why I let him beat me in the second game by four points. Just the same, after shaking hands, I told Lenerd - "I need you. ... I need you. ... I need you to pay me that $20 bucks I just won."

Always the gent, Len opened his wallet and handed me a lonely and only bill in his bill-fold.

Feeling bad about taking his last dollar, I invited him for beers down at the corner gin-joint/coffee-house. After three Buds and two expresso's, Len started in on what has become one of his favorite subjects - about how it is possible to find beauty and angels and the index finger of The Divine right there in New York City. Indeed, right there in our own neighbourhood of Hell's Kitchen.

I'm a patient man but after my second beer and third cup o' tar, I'd heard about enough. "Ah, cut the crap, Len," I shouted. "Everybody knows. Everybody knows this is nowhere."

As it turns out, the entire membership of Buffalo Springfield were sitting in the booth right behind us. All of them were on the nod - except for one. The rest, of course, is history - but it also explains why both Len and Neil will still let me occassionally win at ping-pong.

There's your proof as to what a classy gent that Lenerd Cohn truly is. And I don't think it's just an act. He's always the first after a game to jump up on the table, step over the net, get on one knee to shake hands and tell me (again) how I was the best paddler he'd ever encountered.

Then again, maybe he was just jivin' around.