I take full responsibility for our ineptitude as of late: Thanks to various members of the Wings' family Twitterati (I'm looking at you, Baroque and Andy), a burgeoning sense of shame and colossal failure resides in my soul. In fact, to quote one Baroque, "Allegedly you have a blog. It's been staring out of cyberspace with sad neglected puppy eyes lately." Combine that with Andy's, "Yeah I seem to remember you used to have a blog that used to be my favourite.." Also worth noting are the various "You're alive?!" exclamations we receive when we roll out of our burrows and surface on Twitter--kinda like varmint.
Maybe this is what deadbeat parents feel when a judge throws the book at them for failure to care for those whom they have brought into the world.
On second thought, maybe this is reason #9,246,821 why I should never procreate.
And now, because we still aren't completely at terms with Wings-less hockey continuing in June, we present you the following:
1. Naked dance around the maypole to celebrate the triumphant returns of Lidstrom and Homer, and in Homer's honor, a night bonfire, complete with singing odes of joy into the night wind.
2. Tune in to the remainder of the SCF and cheer wholeheartedly for anyone who does anything vile to anybody on Chicago's roster. A-ny-one. The tag "I fucking hate the Chicago Blackhawks" has existed on this site practically from the start, and it overshadows any other grain of relative hate we typically feel for Pronger and semi-hate for Carcillo.
3. Start a Facebook movement: "Ville for Conn Smythe." We're so proud of the fact that we supported him from day one.
4. After the SCF have concluded, pass our time in various ways, most notably attempting great feats we've never had the time nor the inclination to do before, such as picking up Finnegans Wake...
5. ...and promptly putting it back down after half a page.
6. Finding a new go-to hairstyle for humor's sake now that fecal loaf Patrick Kane has ruined the mullet for all of us. My suggestion? The pompadour. Because what's more amusing than a hairstyle worn by Elvis that kinda looks like an asscheek? I don't know the answer to that.
7. Further my foray into the quotidian by becoming more of a gardening boss than I already am, releasing my rage one clump of topsoil at a time. In related news, the other half of TSO will probably commence searching for a new significant other whose true-age is not 75, whereas yours truly will be looking into retirement as a snowbird. Anybody know of a great condo in Tampa?
8. Finally get to clean out that TSO spam folder, which means learning of the inheritance owed to TSO, from when TSO's older, scrappier cephalopod ancestors found sunken treasure. Also, ascertain if the guy who promises, "I will pay you for clicking your mouse" knows what he's in for. Oh, and get that TSO bank account in Dubai straighted out.
In all seriousness, thank you to every single person we've met, conversed with, celebrated with, had a beer with, and hung out with, be it in person or online. Hanging with y'all on Twitter, conversing with everybody on TSO and other blogs, not to mention the H2H experience--it's made this season truly unforgettable. It's one thing to be a fan of the greatest franchise in professional sports. It's another thing to be friends with the greatest fans in the world. Thanks for everything you've given us over the past season and have a great summer. I mean, we'll talk lots over the summer and everything...if when we emerge before October.
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