Doing the Grownup.

Wow, this is the first Wednesday that's come along where we haven't been completely inebriated (see: St. Patrick's Day) or completely limp-dick useless (see: H2H week).

So, here it is, Wednesday, and we actually have two questions for you today. First things first:

Which former Red Wing would you give a solid 5 years off your life to return to the team?

Without a doubt, I choose Aaron Fucking Downey.

Ever since I started this site, I wanted to do a tribute to Downey, and after bonding with Chris from NOHS at H2H about our mutual love for the guy, I decided now's as good a time as any to do it.

Downey is one of the most ridiculously entertaining fighters ever. Look at the way he just straight up wails on his opponents. I dare you to start watching clips of his fights and be able to turn away any time within the next two hours. In fact, I'm only posting two of them here:





Also, he is obviously the best ever at conversating for a few:



Finally, did we mention he's a phenomenal dancer?



I miss Aaron's scrapiness on the team; he was one of those old-school players who stand up for their teammates when they're victims of questionable hits. Can you imagine what he would have done to Laraque that time that bastard took out Kronner? And, you know, he actually won fights, even ones that weren't premeditated. (I'm looking at you, Brad May.) I was devastated when the Wings didn't resign him. I'm always looking forward to the day when he comes back. I know, I, for one, will gladly pitch in $10/day to make this happen.

And now, to commemorate the very real fire that burns in my heart for Downey (seriously, Aaron, if you're reading this, hit us up at TheScrappyOctopus@gmail.com to discuss dancing with some real pros), here's a long-distance dedication:

You mean to tell me it's a Wednesday and it's acceptable to drink and write?

(Puh-leeze. Like we're deterred from drinking and writing any other day.)

Happy St. Patrick's Day, heathens! May the road rise up to meet you, at least enough to catch your vomit so it doesn't splatter all over your shoes.

Anybody got any good plans for the day's festivities? If you're still looking for something to do, you're totally welcome to come to our haunt tonight. As a matter of fact, I've drawn up a little invitation:

So, what we have on the agenda is me presenting a shamrock to Homer, who's totally attending our shenanigans, then the three of us (plus you) are going to get drunk off some Jameson, then we're going to steal a Guinness truck, then we're going to get rich from selling the Guinness we don't drink (and we're totally cashing it in for golden medallions, hence the image of Ballin' B doing a pot-o-gold dance), and then we're going to wrap it up by eating some Irish stew and drinking some leftover Guinness.

Anyway, the Wings are off until Friday after winning thrice. (Love that word--doesn't it just sound dirty, like thrust? Thrice thrust? Thrust thrice? I promise I was going somewhere with that.)

I was typing something to my pal saraneuie the other day, and I was talking about H2H, and I typed, "...next week at H2H", and I got giddily excited. Next week, y'all! If we're excited, imagine how Herm feels.

So, it got me to thinking: So many of us are descending upon Hockeytown from all over the place--perhaps not as exotic and faraway of a place as Brazil, but it's fascinating nonetheless to think of how spread out the community of Wings-based friends is.

So, in honor of all the special places we individually hail from, as well as all the togetherness and other warm and fuzzy feelings we'll be experiencing at H2H, I present you with today's question demand:

Tell us something awesome about your hometown and/or current locale.
Brian and I hail from a very small town, the population of which is 653, according to the 2000 Census. Neither of us have ever lived within the town limits, but for the record, the county proper has a grand total of four stoplights.

Our town is known for being the country's first spa; George Washington and various other colonial VIPs used to chillax in the constantly 74-degree mineral waters that still draw visitors from the DC area. I guess you could say that to our Founding Fathers, this area was the Champagne Room for ballers only.

We also have a WWII-era movie theater with one screen, typically showing new-ish releases about eight weeks after they first hit normal theaters, a mom-and-pop gas station where high schoolers exchange bullshit and blowjays, a coffeeshop where most of the coffee flavors taste like pee, a bar out in the sticks with a built-in Patsy Cline museum, one newspaper serving the entire county that's only published on Wednesdays (current headline: "Sheriff & commission clash over staff duties"), and a tiny church on just about every mile-long stretch of highway in the countryside.

But the thing that makes our town unique from other small towns in our region is that we have a castle.

It was built sometime in the 1800s by a rich old dude who'd married a young hottie, and of course, he wanted to impress her. In true dramatic fashion, he constructed the castle on a ridge high atop the town, so from the castle's turret she could look directly down upon the town park and see the outlying areas of the town at large. The wife lives on in legend as the host of the grandest and most debauched parties (and no, for the record, TSO does not trace its lineage back to her, although it would be kickass).


What about you guys? What's the deal with where you live? What puts your location on the map?

And one more time, happy St. Patrick's Day:

It's Wednesday.

We don't have one of our normal questions today.

Why? (Shit, does that count?)

Because today is the day immediately following last night's shitshow. My brain is fried. I can't think straight. I don't want to talk about actual hockey, even something as gratuitous as our typical Wednesday questions.

But we have to do something today. We can't just sit around and wallow in our own misery and hopelessness.

While talking to our bud Petrella earlier, he suggested going in a completely un-hockey-related route. He then proceeded to propose a question of two movies I've never seen before (subsequently, he no longer believes me when I state that I hail from Planet Awesome). My neurons wouldn't even allow me to come up with two other films worth discussing. Crap.

So, here's what we're going to do:

Describe your ideal dinner party of five guests, real or fictional, and elaborate on why you chose each guest.

Fun times, right?

My dinner table would look something like this:


Around the table there, clockwise from the left, we have Andy Botwin, Charlie Kelly, Andy Bernard, yours truly, George Oscar Bluth (G.O.B.), and Tomas Holmstrom. (Please note that--myself excluded--there is only one nonfictional character at my table.)

A. Andy Botwin

I recently started getting into Weeds. I'm almost done with the second season, and seriously--this guy took his 12-year-old uncool nephew to a happy ending "massage parlor" when said nephew complained about no one wanting to give him an HJ in school. Class act, all the way. More relatives should take a proactive role in this regard. His tagline should be: "Uncles: Preventing Loserdom in Adolescents Since 2005."

Oh, and did I mention he gave the single greatest speech on self-pleasure since, well, ever?



B. Charlie Kelly

I'm a little hesitant to invite the best character from It's Always Sunny over to a dinner party since the show makes it clear that he almost always smells like poo. But really, how could I omit the guy who brought us the fine art of "going American all over everyone's ass"?

Also, let's not forget that time Charlie and Mac were working in a mailroom and Charlie had a straight-up meltdown. Anybody else working in the professional world ever feel like pulling one of those? Oh, say, every single fucking day? Teach us your ways, Mr. Kelly.



C. Andy Bernard

Everyone's favorite sycophant, the "Nard-Dog." Another example of someone who had a meltdown at work, only he sprung back with great success. I choose Mr. Bernard, though, because he is by far my favorite character of The Office, dressing like a U.Va. undergrad and always dropping insights on his peers like the following:



D. G.O.B.

Oh, where do I even begin with this zany Bluth brother? He may not be the brother I have a real, actual crush on (hi, Jason Bateman), but I can't imagine the most well-known character of Arrested Development being played by anyone other than Will Arnett. Anyone ever experienced the feeling of immense disappointment upon discovering that your probable soulmate is a fictional character? It's not for nothing that I've long since adopted "I've made a huge mistake" as my personal anthem.



E. Tomas Holmstrom

Enough said, really. For the record, I am inviting the semi-fictional version of Homer that we've all crafted here at TSO: you know, the one with the Viking swords, and the crazy caveman relationship with his wife, and the night-howling...wait, why are we still pretending this is fictional?



(Whoever made that video, you are now my new best friend.)

Humpty Dance Hump Day.

BULLETIN ALERT NUMBER ONE: If you're attending the Herm 2 Hockeytown pregame party at Hockeytown Cafe and haven't paid Jen, do so NOW. You have until this Friday, March 5th, unless you simply want us to pour one out for you in your absence.

BULLETIN ALERT NUMBER TWO: If you haven't seen this already, hop on over to The Production Line, where our pals have encouraged us all to open our wallets one more time to give to the kiddies. Go ahead and pledge $2 per goal for a game or two--or pledge to pay up if your favorite player succeeds. Or, come up with a complicated combination of both and drive Petrella crazy like someone who will not be mentioned did. I'm...ashamed...

A change of pace, eh? We're well on our way to exhausting the alliterative "W", so why not give hump day a try? (That's what we said.)

Today's question:

Which in-person hockey experience has the most meaning for you, and why?
This can be a game you attended, a game you played, or, if you've never been to a live hockey game, it can be your hopes and dreams for your first in-person experience (and we hope it'll be when you join us for some H2H magic).

I didn't have to think long about my answer. I've been to three games at the Joe, and while each was a special experience, I have to choose my very first hockey game as the memory that means the most to me.

It was February 16, 2007, a Friday night, during my first, epic trip to visit Brian in Omaha. I did not follow hockey at the time, nor did I know much about it beyond what I saw in passing during the Olympics. Brian, meanwhile, had been a fan since childhood, so while we were planning my first trip out there, he tentatively mentioned catching a University of Nebraska at Omaha game. I say "tentatively" because Brian had made a tremendously sweet effort to plan things that would be special for me, as it was my first time visiting Nebraska, and he wanted to make sure I enjoyed everything on our agenda.

My thought process for deciding whether I wanted to go was simple:

1. Do I get to act a fool via cheering?
2. Subsequently, do you embarrass easily?

Number two was necessary because we were still in the wee days of our relationship, and we didn't have a breadth of in-person experience with one another (read: we'd been on exactly two dates and a handful of group outings before he moved to another time zone).

Needless to say, I opted to go to the game.

The UNO Mavericks took on the Ohio State Buckeyes that night. The first thing that comes to mind when I remember this night is falling in love with the game on the spot. The raucous, electric atmosphere that accompanies most college sports was palpable, only imagine taking an enthusiastic Saturday afternoon at a college football stadium (say, 'Hoos v. the motherfucking Hokies, and I sure am looking at you, Mr. Norris Trophy) and multiplying it by a hundred because the fans are so much closer to the action and to one another. The excitement of what was happening on the ice, combined with the crowd's energy, the mix of gracefulness and aggressiveness, and the sheer beauty of seeing a goal scored: How could I resist falling in love with hockey?

Furthermore, I discovered that night that hockey fans are awesome. During the second intermission, I made friends with the gentlemen sitting to my left; recognizing my hillfolk twang as not exactly being Nebraskan, they asked where I was from, to which I replied, "West Virginia." They then proceeded to tell me about the time thirty years ago when they went to "Reston, Virginia," a suburb of DC, for job training and how their training hadn't allowed enough time for them to tour the capital itself. Normally, the failure of my conversation companions to recognize the Dub-Vee as its own state irreversibly shrivels a portion of my soul; this time, however, I recognized something important about my hockey brethren: They will talk to anyone about anything. Why? Because we instantly recognize one another as kickass human beings, simply from the preliminary knowledge that we prioritize our life as follows:

1. Sex
2. Hockey
3. Food
4. Interpersonal relationships
5. Kids
6. Gainful employment
7. Sanitary awareness of one's own person

And you know, it really works out well: For example, if a hockey game is on, but you've missed dinner, you tough it out until intermission. If a hockey game is on and you realize you haven't showered in four days, tough shit. Go big or go the fuck home. If your children don't understand the value of getting the fuck out of the way of the TV during overtime, guess who's going to stay at Grandma's for a week or ten? That's right: Unless it's hot, rabid sex which warrants DVR-ing the game for later viewing, nothing gets between hockey fans and the game.

Bottom line: That game changed my life. It started the course that brought me to this point, presenting you with blather and sharing the Red Wings love. Not to mention it brought the relationship between the other half of TSO and myself to another dimension--since my conversion, we enjoy the sport together, as fans. (Obviously, we're not encouraging the merging of all hobbies/interests with those of your significant other; the After-School Special Department of TSO encourages us to remind you to maintain your own identity for the duration of all romantic endeavors. For fuck's sake, do you really think I make myself suffer through Ballin' B's horrible audio compilation of the Shins' greatest hits?)

Warrant Wednesday.

Per loyal TSO BFF Dena, we present you the following Wednesday question. Dena, I hope you approve of the song choice; the epiphany happened to me today while I was munching down on a yummy Filet-o-Fish (yep, Brian, I sure was singing the song to myself).

What superstitious and/or lucky game rituals do you have to ensure a Wings' victory?

Several of us were discussing this in the comments when Dena suggested we hash it out on here, so here goes.

Compared to the feats of several of our scrappy readers, I'm super lame; the only real in-person lucky article of clothing I've worn to the Joe two out of three times I've been, thus far, are a lucky pair of socks, which happen to be covered in shamrocks. I tried wearing a lucky pair of underwear, but we lost the second time I wore them--and, incidentally, I was NOT wearing the socks--so I guess those will just have to remain lucky in non-athletic endeavors.

That being said, I do have various superstitions regarding the process for watching a game at Buffalo Wild Wings. If it's boneless Thursday (boneless WINGS, sickos, sheesh), I'll order eight medium-hot Wings with ranch dressing. I have to order this every time if it's a Thursday. Also, I have to drink Blue Moon in succession until the end of the second intermission, at which point I order a Molson Canadian to enjoy during the third period. I get really nervous if our server doesn't come back in time for me to have this beer by the beginning of the third.

Further, I will not wear Brian's Yzerman jersey to BWW unless the team is in a secure position. It has nothing to do with the jersey itself; Brian has worn it plenty of times during games and with great success. He even wore it the first time we were at the Joe, which resulted in a bombardment of the Wild. But I wore it on those consecutive Saturdays last year when the Wings lost to the Predators, and then the Blue Jackets, 8-0 and 8-2, respectively. I've worn it out once since, and it resulted in a Wings' victory over the aforesaid BJs in Game 4 of the first round last year...but I remember rationalizing that it was ok to wear it because even if we lost, we'd still won three games already. So now I'm convinced that this jersey is, in fact, to be employed only in clutch situations; that's when I can harness the true power of its awesomeness.

Finally, I had a couple of rubber bracelets (you know, the sex kind) that had 2008 Stanley Cup champions on them, and I wore the red and white ones ALL THE TIME, including to a wedding. I never took them off. In fact, I proclaimed I would take them off only when the Wings won the Cup again, which, obviously they did not in 2009. Well, on New Year's Eve, I reevaluated the state of affairs this season and took a long look at the state of the bracelets. The writing had pretty much worn off, and the white one was actually looking kinda grody; because I'd never taken it off, it even had hair dye on it. So not cool. So, I made the painful decision to remove them...and the Wings won that night against Colorado. (Also, it's not for nothing that that was the night my bonercrush Ville scored his final goal scored for the Wings.)

Alas, I do still miss them, but part of loving something is letting it go, right?


And yeah, to answer the obvious subsequent question: This blog is being written by somebody who is, in fact, just a hand.

Walk It Out Wednesday.

Today's question it brought to you by my cohort, Ballin' B:

Which current non-Red Wing forward would you love to see wearing the Winged Wheel?

Purely hypothetical. No salary cap issues attached because that makes it less fun. The only stipulation is that your selection has never played in Detroit, but really, if you want to choose someone who's played here before, go ahead. Just like Hockeytown itself, TSO has no limits. Or morals. But that's another issue.

My choices:

First choice: Jarome Iginla. I've always loved him. He's a consistently strong player, capable of fantastic offensive tricks, but at the same time, he's not afraid to drop the gloves and scrap a little. He's a solid leader and an all-around class act. Last night, after scoring a hat trick against Team Norway, he spent most of his NBC interview praising his linemate Sid the Kid. Sure, I vomited a little bit in my mouth, but what else do you expect from this guy? Humility all the way. Also, he has the longest name ever known to mankind: Jarome Arthur-Leigh Adekunle Tig Junior Elvis Iginla. I especially love that there's a "Junior" thrown in there, just for good measure.

Runners-up: Nicklas Backstrom, who's just scary talented (and Brian has a great big freakin' mancrush on him--I suspect the flowing golden locks), Zach Parise, who has amazing puck-handling skills and speed, and Rick Nash, who brings a lot of the same qualities to the table as Iginla. I feel it goes without saying that I would have no problem if the Great #8 rocked our red, too.

Runner-up/player who's been here before: Mike Knuble. He's had a stellar year with Washington, notching 42 points so far, and he's not afraid to scrap, either. Can we kidnap him? Also, if we could get Jiri Hudler back for $5/game and a chicken farm so he can cluck in a group setting, that would be fantastic.

Players I'd rather NOT see in the Winged Wheel: Marian Gaborik, only because I don't want Al Sobotka and his colleagues to have to clean up his limbs from the ice. Also applicable here are all the usual suspects.

And now, because it's Wednesday and we really have no (new) reasons to be pissed off at the world, let's dance:

"Recap" & Waylon Wednesday.

So, there was a game last night. Against the St. Louis Blues. No, we didn't watch it. Versus + dial-up internet at home = no dice for such games. But here's what we learned from monitoring the game summary and reading other people's recaps:

1. We earned a point last night because the game went to OT, and, eventually, a shootout. Commence celebrations in the form of nipple clamping and bukkake sandwiches.

2. According to The Triple Deke and The Production Line, Johan Franzen rocked a sweet mustache. And in addition to feeling distraught over missing the Mule's first game back since his 1,247-year-long stint on IR (no, seriously, doesn't it feel like it's been that long?), we're equally disturbed we missed out on that, as well. After all, TSO is your one-stop shop for all things mustache rides and dirty Sanchezes, which are a form of mustache, if you think about it. (Go ahead and think about it. You know you want to.)

3. Further according to TPL (in a guest post written by Chris Hollis of Motown Wings and The Obstructed View fame), Henrik Zetterberg should not be allowed in a shootout ever again. Not seeing the game last night, I can't judge his effort; however, he has not had a particularly strong year when it comes to shootouts. Ballin' B and I talked about this yesterday while we awaited the results of the riveting game summary during the shootout (refreshes every 30 seconds for your convenience). The last time I saw, his shootout success rate hovered somewhere in the early 30% range. Far be it for me to question seriously Babcock's judgment in selecting his shooters (oh, puh-leeze, like anybody takes this site seriously, anyway), but it does get frustrating to watch the same players fail to convert time and time again (ahem, Dan Cleary, during all the injuries, way back about 3+ weeks ago). Then again, how shitty would it be if Babcock replaced his star players with under-the-radar guys and still came up short? Six in one hand, half a dozen in the other. Shootouts suck; I have no problem watching other teams participate in them, but when it comes to the Wings, my heart sinks every time the OT clock winds down.

4. Jimmy Howard stopped 42 of 45 shots on goal last night, including the 5:00 of OT. Twenty of those shots were in the first period. The mind fucking reels.

5. Kris Draper's persistence as of late paid off last night in the form of scoring the first goal of the game.

Questions I have for people who caught the game:

1. How the fuck did Todd Bertuzzi manage to commit a penalty only 0:28 into the game? Did somebody urinate on his skates? Threaten to force him into a glass-bottom boat scenario? Taunt him with accusations of his mom smelling like cheese?

2. Brad May got into a fight. How did that work out?

And that's all I really want to know. No, seriously. We're going to adopt the motto of the drag queen/transvestite in Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil: "Two tears in a bucket, motherfuck it." The Wings take on the Sharks on Thursday. Go big or go...home? How does that work if they're already at home? I guess it's go big or leave home, in that case? Whatev. Our satellite is still jacked up (SNOWPOCALYPSE!--no, really, we now have 4+ feet of snow and counting...I'm 99% sure I'm going to build an igloo and live in it for free or else charge someone for all my construction labor), so you may get another fantastic recap like this one or one of our oh-so-awesome real recaps when we watch it and still have nothing productive to say. Gear down!

***

Let's get to the point with our Wednesday question. This one's been asked all over the blogosphere, plus we delved into it the other week in our Wednesday comments, but it's hard not to bring it up formally since we're only two days away from the Opening Ceremony:

Which men's ice hockey team do you hope wins Olympic gold?

This is a toughie for me; I've been all over the place with my loyalties. Obviously, I'm an American and would be proud of my home country for winning the gold, despite Patrick Kane's craterfaced presence on the team. (No, seriously, there are no cab rides involved in ferrying the players about Vancouver, right? Just checking. Don't embarrass the stars and stripes, assfuck, or you'll have a lot to answer for 'round these parts.) We've got Rafalski on the roster, plus players TSO likes in the form of Ryan Miller, Tim Thomas, Jonathan Quick, and Jack Johnson. On the other hand, we also have Brooks Orpik, who annoys us only because he plays for Pittsburgh, and Ryan Whitney, who plays for the Ducks and has a girl's last name. I'll be happy enough if Team USA nabs the gold, but I won't be surprised if they don't because the competition is stiff.

Like many of you, the only thing I care about regarding Team Canada is Stevie Y and Babcock. Other than that, the team at large makes me ralph. Sidney Crosby, Ryan Getzlaf (who may return from his injury for some of the games), Scott Niedermayer, Chris Pronger, Duncan Keith, Brent Seabrook, Corey Perry, and Dany Heatley? Words fail me. How are Canadians dealing with this level of code red douchiness? I know Olympic gold is more important to our neighbors to the north than sex, air, or water but...blehhhhhhhh.

Team Sweden is stacked with winners, never mind the controversial snub of one Johan Franzen. Despite the annoying Sedins' presence on the roster, it's damn near impossible to find any reason to dislike the blue-and-yellow rascals, considering how many Wings made the cut. The only thing is...they've already won the gold.

Other than being inherently biased toward Team USA, I'm rooting for Team Russia. Their roster is stacked with fantastic NHL-ers: Our own Pavel Datsyuk, plus Ovie, Semin, Kovalchuk, SNB, Nabokov, and Bryzgalov. The only downer is that Russian gold means Malkin and Gonchar benefit, which is a bonafide tragedy, but really, I would love to see Pasha with a gold medal.

In any event, there's obviously a lot to root for--and against--each particular "powerhouse" team. Any of the aforesaid four countries taking home top honors will bring some sort of happiness, as well as a teeny, tiny iota of strife, to our lives. One thing I think we can all agree on is hoping that Team Slovakia is a wash; Marian Hossa, Marian Gaborik, and Tomas Kopecky with a gold medal in their hands? I'd rather watch somebody sign my own death certificate.

And now, a little mood music...because nothing gets me fired up for Team America (fuck, yeah!) quite like Waylon:

Whitesnake Wednesday.

Another day. Another nut-bustin' day in which you learn one of the best players on your team is out...again, due to a tweak. No, seriously, I really did think that verb only applied to a specific act that may or may not occur during sexual congress. Not trying to be the moral police, but really, "tweaking" has no place on the ice.

Thanks to Petrella, via George Malik, we now know that Kronner's "tweaked" ankle makes him doubtful for tonight's game in Anaheim. Fuck a bunch.

So, on we go. What else can we do? Well, we could answer Wednesday's question (kudos to Brian for coming up with this one):

Who's your favorite "under the radar"* Wing (past or present) and why?

*We're defining "under the radar" pretty loosely here; you don't have to resort between choosing between Ville Leino or Mikael Samuelsson. Under the radar in this case means the player can have (or have had) success with the team, but he's not one of those players whose jerseys you see gajillions of at the Joe, nor is he one at whom all the ladies throw their unmentionables. In other words, your favorite non-superstar.

My answer's easy. Click here, here, or even here if you're not sure. I know it may be a stretch to call the guy leading the team in goals "under the radar," but I've never seen anyone wear a Homer jersey in person, nor do you hear anybody chattering about how hot he is, so that fits my definition, at least.

What about you guys?



Welcome back, Homer.

Winger. Wednesday.

As Brian mentioned in his (non-)recap last night, I had today's post all planned out yesterday. I had my question ready, along with my own answers. I even had some of it worded in my head already. And, after learning the result of last night's game, I had chosen an angry, alliterative song to include in the post; with the questions at hand and the raging music as a background, I thought for sure it would help us get the anger and disappointment from last night out of our systems.

Then Brian sent me a link from Deadspin (via Canucks' blog Orland Kurtenblog). And I busted a nut laughing over it. (Well, if I had nuts. I mean, I don't...oh, Jesus, explaining my genitalia to strangers is awkward. I'm a chick. What am I going to say, I ruptured an ovary? Just not as funny.) Anyway, I decided to change the tone of the post, as the link in question was completely apropos of the question I had in mind.

Today's magical question is another two-parter:

(A) Which current NHL player do you straight up hate the most?

(B) Which current NHL player do you hate, despite not having a tangible, legitimate reason to hate said player?

My answers:

(A) Patrick Kane.

Yep, this guy:



Why do I hate Kane so much? I mean, I could have chosen a softball: Sidney Crosby. I could have picked a well-known agitator, like Chris Pronger or Sean Avery.

The obvious answer is that I have an unadulterated, unapologetic hatred of all things Chicago Blackhawks. (I feel the need here to point out, parenthetically, that we have exactly one known Hawks fan in our readership. She comments on here occasionally, and really, I have no idea why she reads our site, although we find it to be awesome. A bit sadomasochistic, perhaps, but awesome nonetheless.)

You're right, though. I fucking hate the Chicago Blackhawks. We have a tag as such on here, and according to my kickass tag cloud, it's in the middle tier of our most-discussed subjects.

But I hate Kane for reasons other than that.

I hate him because he's a good player who is inherently unlikeable because he's a douchebag. Despite playing for the Hawks, there are--brace yourself; this is a big admission, coming from me--players on their roster I can admire for their hard work and lack of asshole-ish-ness. Jonathan Toews and Patrick Sharp come to mind immediately. Despite the rivalry between Detroit and Chicago fans, you'd be hard pressed to find a Wings' fan who could form a legitimate argument for Toews and Sharp sucking at life (Sharp's accidental spearing of Lidstrom's nad aside). Moreover, despite being a hardcore fan of one team, of course there are players we admire from afar. For example, Brian has a raging guycrush on Nicklas Backstrom. I love watching Ryan Miller do his thing (unless he's playing against us).

But I can't admire Kane. I don't care how many amazing shootout goals he scores. I don't care that he won the Calder. I don't care that he is one-third of one of the best top lines in the League right now. It doesn't matter. At the end of the day, I'll always remember him as the guy who (allegedly) beat up a cabbie in his hometown. Period.

His apologists chalk up his behavior to being young and stupid. Hey, nobody knows the definition of "young and stupid" better than us over here. Vomiting on someone you're hooking up with because you're lights-out drunk? Check. Dancing on a bar and almost killing yourself in the process? Check. Not recalling--until someone painfully reminds you--the horrible confessions you made to people you hardly know, or, worse yet, to people you know too well? Check. We've all been there. But how many of us have physically assaulted someone and gotten arrested? (Jersey Shore aficionados, feel free to raise your hands now.)

Bottom line? In my book, he's a dick. And, barring him curing cancer, negotiating a peace settlement between Israel and Palestine, successfully encouraging nuclear disarmament, and convincing all nations to follow the Kyoto Protocol, he always will be.

(B) Ryan Getzlaf

I'll keep this short and sweet. Other than his playing for the Anaheim Ducks, I have no legitimate reason to hate Ryan Getzlaf. He's a great player. He's not even the most irritating person on his roster. But honestly, he just looks like a jackass:



Also, he always seems to throw a bitchfit (mouthing off, throwing water bottles) when he gets sent to the penalty box, particularly if the Ducks are trailing. Maybe he's just a hothead, or maybe it's misplaced passion, but really, it just comes across as lame.

Runner-up?



I had to do it. Mostly because I'm a little confused about why someone is teaching the Steegmeister how to do self breast exams. (Man, that girl in the red flannel really got around, eh?)

Thoughts, anyone?

While you ponder, here's a little mood music for you to celebrate the lasciviousness. Don't act like you don't love this.

Wild Thing Wednesday.

I challenge you NOT to have this song in your head for the rest of the day. For the record, I always get this and "Funky Cold Medina" confused.

So, we're desperately in need of distraction today, right? This is our third installment of the Wednesday question, and on each of the past three Wednesdays, we at TSO have been dying for something completely superfluous and largely irrelevant to take our minds off the bitter struggles of our team.

Today, we're discussing something completely superficial: team logos. I picked up this book recently called The Final Four of Everything, which--you guessed it--uses bracketology to determine playoff scenarios for random pop culture, ranging from Clint Eastwood movies to breakfast cereals to American beers to...NFL logos. The championship round for the NFL logos finds the Dallas Cowboys' star versus the Cleveland Browns'...nothing. The book crowned the Browns the winners for refusing to cave to commercialization and for being unique. (To that, I say, BAH! You can't award a prize for best logo to a team with no logo; I don't care what message it sends. For my money, I choose the kickass Oakland Raiders' logo.)

On a related note, today's question:

With the exception of the Winged Wheel, what is the best NHL logo, and, conversely, what is the worst NHL logo?

Me? I'm a classic kind of girl, who tends to gravitate toward old-school block lettering and logos as opposed to modern design. I choose the Toronto Maple Leafs--it's simple, it's traditional, and it hasn't strayed far from its original model. It's location-specific, another factor I value in team design.



A close second is the Montreal Canadiens' old-school C, with the tiny H inscribed in the middle. Another example of a team refusing to fix what isn't broken and maintaining their identity over the course of decades. Easy choices in that both of my selections are Original Six teams? Maybe. But you don't see me choosing the Blackhawks or the Rangers, do you?



For worst logo, I nominate the Minnesota Wild, just in time to get riled up for the game on Thursday (as if we needed another reason). But seriously--what the hell is going on with their logo? The "Wild Animal" is a vomity combination of colors, featuring a Northwoods landscape enclosed in an outline of some rabid woodland creature in heat. Horrible. And really a disgrace, too, because the hockey-happy people of Minnesota really do deserve something a little more tasteful (with the exception of A2Y's foe, Pinky).



A (dis)honorable mention goes out to the Colorado Avalanche, who escape my primary nomination because my complaint is not really geared toward their snow-sash A as it is with the goofy foot they use as an alternate logo. Come on, it's a fucking foot on their jerseys. Unacceptable.



Agree/disagree with the above? Have any others you'd like to praise or abuse? Feel free to chime in below. We'll put it to a vote. Meanwhile, snack on this jam:

Wham! Wednesday.

Remember last Wednesday, when we were so distraught over the loss to the Ducks that we created our own fantasy fantasy hockey team and made ourselves feel 0.3% better?

Despite the Wings' road wins in Los Angeles and San Jose, due to the team's performance last night, today feels like a complete clusterfuck. So, true to the promise I sorta made, of making this a recurring feature, I am going to posit another question to you today:

What is your favorite memory of your early days as a Wings' fan?

As a relative newcomer, the first thing that comes to mind is watching the Wings win the 2008 Stanley Cup. The actual Cup celebration--I'd never seen anything like it. I grew up in a football-obsessed household, and for as much hype and commercialization that encompass the Super Bowl experience, there is something much more genuine and special about the way hockey teams celebrate championships. Each player has his own turn skating around the ice with the Cup, displaying it for the fans, and there is always so much camaraderie among the team and their coaches, trainers, and so on. As my hockey obsession progressed, I learned about the traditions rooted in the Stanley Cup presentation and celebration and am still awe-struck by it--no, I didn't actually watch the presentation of the Cup to Sidney Crosby; unfortunately, there isn't enough shielding oneself that one can do to avoid subsequent replays of it on Gary Bettman's Summer-Long Boner: 2009 the NHL Network.

I'm a big fan of traditions. The Stanley Cup tradition is undoubtedly the most kickass in all of sports. One day, I hope to drink out of the Cup while partying with some members of the team. Aim for the stars.

What about you guys?

Also, let's all do ourselves a favor and cheer the fuck up:

Work It Wednesdays.

Sure, it's nicknamed Hump Day, but how much humping can you really do at a time like this?

Chin up, scrappy readers. Because we're all reasonably upset about what happened last night, we at TSO are introducing a new segment today that may run weekly (eh, if we feel like it) titled "Work It Wednesdays". I literally just came up with the title 3.5 seconds ago based on (A) an upbeat Missy Elliott song that, when combined with Wednesday, creates a 2/3 alliterative title, and (B) I think we should get our minds off last night's shitshow. Because this plan is now only approximately 17 seconds old, you'll have to give us a lot latitude in figuring out what we do with it.

Today's question to you: If you were a professional hockey player (or you have played/are playing/will play professional hockey), which stereotypical role would you fill and why? Feel free to describe in detail the magnificent feats you would accomplish in fulfilling your designated role. Anything ranging from Datsyukian dekes to Homerian soul-squashing is accepted.

Bonus TSO points (oooooh!) for everybody who guesses my response.