Saturday, July 4, 2009

Reflections...

Good day folks. After a very entertaining playoff, an ownership clusterfuck, a shockingly sensible draft day, free agent frenzy and the “Nikki – you’re addicted to liquor!”-esque soap opera that is Dany Heatley, a lot of shit has gone down since our last post. I’ll try to summarize neatly here before I get into more detail in later posts.

In the spirit of entertainment then, a reflection on the events of the past few months reflected through the words of… other fucking people.

Nuke LaLoosh’s stream of consciousness from Bull Durham:

Clubhouse reporter:So how does it feel to get your first professional win?
Nuke LaLoosh: It feels out there. I mean, it's a major rush. I mean, it feels radical in kind of a tubular sort of way, but most of all, it feels out there.

Why, it’s the Stanley Cup champion Pittsburgh Penguins! It was damn refreshing to see a winner celebrate with the reckless abandon of a college freshman tearing into his first kegger. Despite Sid the Kid’s animatronic delivery, canned responses and Degrassi Junior High (and not the Next Generation) facial growth, the exuberance and determination shown by the Pens made for a very satisfying conclusion to a mostly entertaining playoff year.

EMT assessment of Ted following the zipper incident from There’s Something About Mary

We’ve got a bleeder!

Hello Nicklas Lidstrom in particular and the Detroit Red Wings in general! I’m not entirely convinced the best team won the Stanley Cup, but I’m absolutely convinced the healthiest team did. The seven game war of attrition with Anaheim was just the start; the attempted Patrick Sharp pube trim of Nicklas Lidstrom with a sharpened stick blade was probably the biggest blow to Detroit’s hopes. Kudos to Lidstrom here; knowing he played in a game days after surgery on his damaged ball puts him in the all-time “Are You Fucking Serious?!?” list of unheralded sports tough guys.

An exchange from Caddyshack

Judge Smails: Ty, what did you shoot today?
Ty Webb: Oh, Judge, I don't keep score.
Judge Smails: Then how do you measure yourself with other golfers?
Ty Webb: By height.

Bonjour Les Canadiens! Bob Gainey had more cap space to play with than any other GM this off-season, and early returns are about as robust as a Richard Simmons squat thrust. Montreal’s new and horribly overpriced forward corps includes such Mini-Pops as Scott Gomez, Brian Gionta, Mike Cammalleri and Tomas Plekanec. These dudes make the Edmonton Oilers look like the 1970s Philadelphia Flyers. Have fun getting sand kicked in your face. I can’t believe some stole Kevin Lowe’s blueprint…

Lloyd Christmas assessing his chances in Dumb and Dumber

Lloyd: What do you think the chances are of a guy like you and a girl like me... ending up together?
Mary: Well, Lloyd, that's difficult to say. I mean, we don't really...
Lloyd: Hit me with it! Just give it to me straight! I came a long way just to see you, Mary. The least you can do is level with me. What are my chances?
Mary: Not good.
Lloyd: You mean, not good like one out of a hundred?
Mary: I'd say more like one out of a million. [pause]
Lloyd: So you're telling me there's a chance... *YEAH!*

Sigh… my hometown Edmonton Oilers! The courtship of Dany Heatley looks and sounds like about a million rejection analogies presented in the sports equivalent of The Young and the Restless. Without getting mired in the details, my summation is this: Ottawa is fucked; Dany Heatley is the very personification of today’s rich, selfish, spoiled athlete (although unlike most he has actually killed someone, albeit accidentally); and the Edmonton Oilers once again (see Comrie, Mike and Pronger, Chris) end up looking both bush-league and desperate. This whole thing is more tired than Brian Burke’s courtship of Toronto media.

And finally… a moment of realization from The Ref

Lloyd: She's my mother.
Gus: She's a fucking Bitch, Lloyd.
Lloyd: You're not supposed to take sides.
Caroline: No, no, no, thank you so much Gus. Finally somebody else sees.
Gus: You'd have to be blind not to see.

Good bye Craig MacTavish! My last post was a rage-inspired tirade that was equal parts vile and crude; eight years of watching your team struggle to compete while the coach maintains absolute job security will do that to you. As flawed as Kevin Lowe’s player personnel decisions have been, MacT’s coaching, as documented in previous posts, negatively affected my mental health. It took a new GM to basically capture the spirit of Gus in the exchange above, recognize the obvious and cut MacT loose. Bon chance Mact; I will miss your bewildered in-game ape gape.
JB

Sunday, March 29, 2009

The Beginning of the End… With Any Luck

HockeySmack has been quiet the last 3 months. There’s been babies, new jobs and other bits in the lives of myself and the Hac, but there’s also been a shitload of one intangible that’s made it difficult to write: fucked up fucking mother-fucking rage. I should explain: I’m an Edmonton Oilers fan. This is not a healthy choice for anyone’s emotional and/or mental well-being, but I live in this fucking shithole of a city, and hockey’s the only game in town, so there you have it. The Oilers are operated like a family-run business, but one characterized by inbreeding, mild retardation, and a total lack of any dissension. They’re like the English Royal Family, except that people actually care about them (with the only thing interesting about the Royals being which slags or racial slurs the two youngest genetically challenged offspring are dropping). In other words, every time I’ve sat in front of my keyboard the last few months the only thing that’s sprung out of my mind has been a huge string of variations of the word "fuck." Funny once or twice, but engaging over the long term? Not so much.

After watching this heartless, confused and leadership-free team drop another crucial game to the unwatchable Minnesota Wild, and begin their inevitable march out of the playoffs I’ve had my fill of silence. It’s time to let loose and express my feelings about this organization, coaching staff, and players. Fuck these fucking cunts. Enough of taking small bites of the soggy shit sandwich these mother fuckers serve up to their fan base: it’s time to go back to elementary school and make a wish list for Santa, with the role of Santa played by the enigmatic Darryl Katz. This must mean that Kevin Lowe and Craig MacFuckwit are the rough equivalent of the cock-sucking relative who gives you a wool sweater with a pine tree on it for Christmas. Good call fuckers. That’s why you’re getting a second-hand vibrator this year. Fuckers.

My off-season wishlist (Yay):

1) Fire fucking Cunt MacCuntish. I’ve had it watching fucking MacToolbag handle the reins the last 8 years. He had a built-in excuse for failure when the club couldn’t compete financially, but now that the team spends money like a coked-up 19-year-old Fort McMurray rigpig on his weeks off, where’s the fucking beef? His over reliance on marginally talented veterans (Pisani, Moreau, Staios), his inability to hold those same players accountable, his seeming hate hard-on for a select few young players, and his inability to generate any sense of urgency in the club should signal the end for this fucking jackass. The team was a clusterfuck from day one, and MacFailure couldn’t get the most out of his players. Enough said. Despite this, he won’t be fired as long as he and K-Lowe are still sword-fighting and re-enacting Brokeback Mountain together. But as this is a wishlist, sayonara fucktard.

2) Goodbye veteran core! I’ve read online speculation that Gilbert or Grebashkov could be traded in the hopes of landing that elusive top 6 forward that will cure cancer, make cats and dogs play together, and lead to an elusive eight place finish for the Oil. Well color me unconvinced. Instead of losing the puck-moving, smooth skating d-man with upside, how about losing the old, over-worked, predictable, can’t fucking skate motherfucker named Steve Staios instead? If you keep Gilbert and Grebs, the top four d-men (including Souray and Visnovsky) look good. Trade Staios for some lube for K-Lowe and MacTaint, or a bag of pucks, or some A535 for Rollie. Give him away! Same goes for Horcoff, Moreau, and Pisani – they are overpaid, and for “leadership” guys, they don’t really provide much, you know, leadership. So, fuck these four guys: off you go you overpaid cunts. I know: you’d need to throw in half the Oiler wives to trade Horcoff and his supersized contract, but it’s worth a shot.

3) Fire Kevin Lowe. This organization is a fucking disaster. The NHL club is a mess. The AHL affiliate has already apologized to their fans for their fucking pathetic play (I don’t’ see the NHL club making a similar gesture to their fans). The scouting staff has a very spotty record assessing talent in the draft. Unworthy, but familiar individuals are rewarded with jobs (Kelly Buchberger) and cap-clogging contracts (see wish #2). The Penner signing was an unmitigated fucking disaster. In short, as much as it pains me to agree with Brian Burke, Kevin Lowe has behaved with short-sighted desperation, eager to make a splash at the expense of making sound hockey decisions. For all of these reasons, he’s got to go. Enough is enough.

That’s all my rage in a nutshell. I’ve fucking had it; bring on the playoffs so the teams with heart and determination get the stage. I’ve had my fill of the pretenders in the local market. Time for some real hockey.