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.