If I know what love is, it is because of you. - Hermann Hesse
As mentioned in the game recap last night, I actually cried when I learned of Homer's injury. This is officially my breaking point. Naturally, I'm worried about our team's offensive production and ability to hang in there (Howard's and Helm's superhuman performances last night aside), but perhaps even more than that, I'm just very sad. Reports indicate he'll be gone for three to four weeks. This would put him back in time for the Olympics with a week to spare, barring any setbacks. Homer will be 41 years old in 2014; missing the Olympics this year could be the last chance he'll have to skate for Team Sweden. Considering how hard Homer has worked this year and how much he's accomplished, particularly in light of so many anti-Detroit naysayers insisting during the off-season that he was over the hill and incapable of demolition any longer, this is a very glum possibility for TSO's second-favorite Red Wing (really, it's more of a 1[a] and 1[b] situation).
When Hank injured his shoulder, I tweeted that a Zetterberg-less world is a world I do not want to inhabit. I guess now I'll have to up the ante to this being a universe I no longer want to inhabit.
So, in order to raise our spirits and to make sure Homer feels the love, we've made a greeting card to send to Homer. From our hearts to yours:
If you listen closely, in that video--and mind you, I'm no expert in Swenglish/Swedegian, yet--I'm pretty sure he says, "Wow, signing these autographs for kids is so much fun, but it would be even more kickass if that silly girl from The Scrappy Octopus was here!" Maybe we can get a confirmation on my translation, Andy?
And finally, a long-distance dedication. Until you return, Homer:
What else do you expect me to write when the Wings get outshot 52-24 and still win 2-1? Making 51 saves during a not-so-hot performance by the Wings' defense and offense, Jimmy should have earned his second career shutout tonight.
The only other thing to add: Holy shit, Darren Helm and his game-winning goal, scored with 18.2 seconds left in the third period following the Kings' tying goal on a power play. Wow.
Hey, at least we were the beneficiaries of one of these ridiculously lopsided games.
That's all I'm writing tonight. I don't have the courage to discuss Homer...yet. Let's just say there were tears tonight, and I'm not ready to go into detail.
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.
The good news from last night? Team USA won the Gold Medal in the World Juniors Championship game against Canada, triumphing 6-5 in an overtime thriller. Truth be told, we watched the end of regulation and the approximately four minutes of overtime instead of watching most of the first period of the Wings game. Coincidentally, we switched back to the Wings game just in time to witness both of the Ducks' first period goals. Sigh.
A note on Team USA's victory: What a game. Seriously, I haven't seen that fast-paced and competitive of a game in...I'm not sure how long. Both team's defenses played extremely tightly, and play intensified during the third period, with little stoppage until the Americans got called with one of those irritating penalties resulting from a player being shoved into the opposing goaltender by another member of the opposing team. The Canadians scored two goals within a minute of one another late in the third period to force an uber exciting overtime.
A small taste of Olympic fever next month? Sign me up for being super excited.
Now, on to the Wings/Ducks game. We've seen the Wings put forth apathetic efforts in their recent losses; we've also seen them look tired and lethargic. But it's been a while since we've witnessed a game this utterly sloppy. My thoughts, as categorized thusly, in an attempt to begin formulating some sort of logical recap format:
The bright light at the end of the tunnel turned out not to be a train...at first.
In a game in which your team loses 4-1, you've gotta give the best moment of the night to the goalscorer, Valtteri Filppula. Filppula is still "getting back into the groove", as I dubbed his New Year's resolution; it was apparent tonight in his sometimes uneasy skating and handling. His goal, however, on an errant rebound from Jonas Hiller, was a temporary momentum-changer; it's too bad the Ducks scored shortly thereafter to distance the score by two points. This was Fil's first goal since his return five games ago.
I've hit rock bottom. Where's the whiskey?
Choose your own adventure:
1. Saku Koivu notches career goal #200...shorthanded...against us.
2. Brian Rafalski is on the ice and is in some way culpable for all of the Ducks' goals tonight.
3. Corey Perry (bleh) scores a goal after every player ever piles in front of Jimmy Howard.
4. James Wisniewski graces us with his presence with John Keating on FSD+. His day-glo hair singes my retinas.
5. Wings achieve their first loss to the Anaheim Ducks this year in a shitshow of a game.
Scrappiest moment of the night:
When Todd Bertuzzi straight up body-slammed Bobby Ryan. Worth at least 500 points in my book.
Players who didn't piss me off:
1. Valtteri Filppula because he scored the lone goal.
2. Nicklas Lidstrom, who notched an assist on Fil's goal and made crucial defensive moves.
3. Patrick Eaves, who was thisclose to burying a nice breakaway chance.
4. Mattias Ritola, who also created a decent scoring chance.
5. Ville Leino, who watched the game from the rafters.
Players who need to wake the fuck up:
1. Pavel Datsyuk. Although he also earned an assist tonight on Fil's goal, he was largely invisible for most of the game.
2. Brian Rafalski, for the abovesaid.
3. All other defensemen not named Nicklas Lidstrom or Brad Stuart.
Pearls of wisdom from your scrappy grandma:
How do you expect your team to win when they spend 99.9% of the time getting dry humped through the neutral zone?
Once you know, you can never go back.
Well, well. There is something both Derek Meech and Doug Janik excel at, and it's called getting their asses handed to them.
Also, ice melts in Southern California. I know, right? I was as shocked as you are.
Finally, it's nice to see we can still slip into the old patterns of giving a shit for the final 10 minutes of regulation. Because, you know, it would be a shame to squander the game in its entirety.
And now, please join The Scrappy Octopus for our fantabulous first-half-of-the-season review, to be told the only way we know how: through an inane blurb describing what happened during the first half of the season, which shall be reinterpreted through what we imagine to be the individual players' New Year's resolutions, which shall also double as our predictions/previously unspoken hopes for the latter half of this season.
(Note: I made an effort to focus on players who had received a decent amount of ice time during the first half of the season and/or will be returning soon, so no discussing the likes of Johan Franzen or Jakub Kindl or Mattias Ritola. The Mule, a.k.a. my second-favorite redhead after my partner-in-crime here, will have his own celebratory post upon his return.)
Nicklas Lidstrom
It's no secret that Nick hasn't had the most stellar season offensively. He hasn't scored a goal since...well, let's just say that Brian was sporting parachute pants, and I probably had a chin-length bob that I rocked with my Girl Power platforms (I'm nodding at you, Metal Spice) when we saw it last. We give him a pass to some extent because he's had to elevate his defensive play (wait, is that even possible?) due to injuries, which have managed to core the roster since October. Also, Nick has stayed busy earning assists left and right, so how much can we actually slight him for lack of goals scored of late? Still, as Chris over at Motown Wings pointed out yesterday in his fantastic recap of the first 41 games, Lidstrom and typical linemate Brian Rafalski have managed to earn the best plus/minus of the defensive pairings; conversely, Nick and Derek Meech are tied for the worst of all blueline partners. But really, do we ever actually blame anyone for anything when it involves Derek Meech? I'm pretty sure if you were on trial for the most heinous crime--I'm imagining genocide on the scale of hundreds of thousands of victims--and you could somehow insinuate on even the most circumstantial level that Mr. Meech made you do it or that he was simply present at one of your meetings calculating the megalomania, you would be issued the grandest pardon by the world's superpowers for not only accusing you inappropriately of such a disgusting crime, but, even more insultingly, for wasting your time with the judicial process. (Seriously, guys, keep that one in your back pocket--I know at least a couple of you out there are sketchy derelicts. If it works, here's an advance on an exploding fist bump, directed right your way.)
Resolution: To get over this scoring drought (duh) and to celebrate by making the sweetest form of cyborg love to his beautiful Valkyrie princess (seriously, have you seen his wife?!). Oh, and to look forward to the day when he can throw away his countdown calendar enigmatically labeled, "Days 'Til D.M. and D.J. Get the Fuck Out of My House and Return to G.R." Hmm...
Tomas HolmSTROM
I give Homer the next spot because I love him. Yeah, I say a lot of that on here, mostly sarcastically (do you really think I'd let Georges Laraque anywhere near my goods?!), but when I say I love Homer, I mean I love Homer, in the way that I imagine adoring a slightly older relative who is just really kickass, maybe the way Cody on Step by Step was adored by the denizens of the top two floors of the Duffy/Somers domain. (Dude-sy!)
This guy has had an incredible 41 games. He's the team leader in goals, and, despite the constant shuffling and reshuffling of line combinations, he's managed to maintain his role as official Boss of Net Disturbance (look it up). What makes this even more amazing--and I'm saying this with all the love in my heart that bubbles over whenever I do so much as even type his name--is that night after night, we watch him attempt to chase loose pucks and to outskate opponents, which just doesn't happen very often. We all know Homer is best when he's standing still, preferably in his "office", but an overall lack of chemistry and coherence due to iffy line combinations and a depleted lineup doesn't offer this as often as we'd like. Nevertheless, Homer works his ass off. During the last game, we were sitting at the bar watching the game, and I looked at Brian and said, "Homer is always straight up working his ass off." This isn't to suggest the guy hasn't had off nights--we remember several instances when all he had to do was tip the puck and bury it because his ass was on the receiving end of a mustache ride proffered by the opposing goaltender. But it doesn't matter. When you lead the team in goals and you continue to work hard, such transgressions are easily forgiven and (mostly) forgotten.
Resolution: To continue being such a badass at everything ever and to one day, be able to retire to his favorite new BFF, The Scrappy Octopi, who have generously offered him a per diem of $50, plus living expenses and a holiday stipend, to be our personal companion and guy-Friday. I'm looking forward to many years of him explaining to me how mean Swedish Santa Claus is.
I don't know how to feel about Pavs right now. I make it clear on here that he and Homer are my favorite players, so there's no way of getting around that, but he has had a sucky first half of the year. To put it into perspective, I have a dry erase board on which, prior to the beginning of the year, I had written a couple of pointless, mostly hyperbolic predictions ("Tomas Holmstrom will eat the souls of everyone who wrongs him between whistles and will urinate in their ashes!"), but one I thought actually achievable was Pavel notching 107 points this season, ten more than each of the individual, previous two seasons. Sigh. Those 107 points aren't going to score themselves, buddy.
On the other hand, it's hard to be overly critical of Datsyuk considering (A) the circumstances and (B) the fact that watching most games, he works hard, too. More often than not, he is attempting to make plays happen. The problem is they don't always...happen.
Resolution: To remind everyone why he was nominated for the Hart Trophy...oh, just a little more than six months ago. In other words: More shoot, Pasha. You still need more shoot.
Henrik Zetterberg
Prior to his Ohlund-inspired injury, Zetterberg, in true future-captain style, had made a role of doing that thing he always does during crucial, difficult times (think last year's playoffs): Taking on the role of offensive and defensive everything ever, basically attempting to be everywhere on the ice at all times, doing whatever necessary to keep the points on our side. He's simultaneously a playmaker and a strong defensive forward. And he does most of this quietly--of course, we all know how awesome Z is, but god knows he doesn't get the attention from the outside world that he deserves (or--sigh--that he may receive if he played for another team). Also worth remembering: Hank was the procurer of curly fries to the masses, something that hasn't been achieved again by anyone this season.
Resolution: To return to the ice in a blaze of glory so marvelous, we'll feel as if we have all been enveloped in one big, thick Hank sandwich. (Brian made me write that. He has such a huge man-crush. Do you think I really blame him?)
Todd Bertuzzi
It's difficult to write this without giggling. Who would have thought?
Resolution: You're in for a treat, heathens. I actually got a hand-written (with crayons...or, wait, I think he upgraded to pastels this time) note from Bert with his resolution. To wit:
To invest in a nice set of clippers, to make nice with the fans of Detroit once and for all by continuing to put his best face forward [giggle] on the ice, and to RSVP "affirmative" to this invite I got from one M. Petrella to a Brothers from Another Mother symposium this summer. Question: Is there swimming? Because you'll have to tell me if I can pack my mankini or if it's more of a strict bro-seph sitch where anything other than trunks is frowned upon.
Sounds like fun. Let us know how it goes, TPL?
Dan Cleary
Dan Cleary had frustrated the living fuck out of me prior to his injury (ugh, that we saw in person). This guy was white-hot during the playoffs last year, but came back with a fraction of the energy and grittiness we saw months ago. Most nights, he was invisible on the ice, especially as one of the veterans on the second power-play unit (Cleary-Bertuzzi-Leino) that made me want to reach for the nearest bottle of toxic substance and call the game right then and there.
Resolution: To drive the net more and to get the lead out while chasing pucks. You can't show us you have the ability to be practically superhuman in the spring and expect a free pass now, amigo.
Valtteri Filppula
The first of the long-term injured guys to return to the lineup, Fil made his presence known by notching an assist on countryman Ville Leino’s once-in-a-lifetime goal on New Year’s Eve. Prior to his injury, he had really gotten down to work, benefiting from more ice time due to the absence of Johan Franzen.
Resolution: Get back in the groove, V-Fil. (Sounds like an evil European villain, a la Simon Gruber, doesn’t it?)
Ville Leino
Oh, Ville, Ville, Ville. How you confound me, which is why I developed this pseudo-bonercrush to try to deal with my conflicted feelings toward you. (I mean...that's how you deal with confusion, right? You expel it via sexual congress? Right? Right?!) I want Ville to succeed, I really do; I'd rather the team be successful with him than me be right about him...while the team is still stuck with him. But really, how is it possible not to feel completely baffled by Leino? As we often note, he said last year it was Detroit or bust, then he got his chance in spades due to the lineup issues, and he has failed to succeed. Then, after getting benched by Babcock, he mumblefucked some nonsense about not being good at working hard on the fourth line. Jesus Christ, this guy has more identity issues than a country singer striving for an outlet via shitty alter ego.
(And another thing: Is anybody as troubled as I am by the fact that there is no good nickname to be derived from the name "Ville Leino"? I type Villster to be cute, but that secretly annoys me because if there's one thing I can't stand, it's nicknames that are longer than the actual formal name.)
Resolution: To stop toying with the hearts of the good people of Hockeytown and make a decision either to handle the responsibility he's been given accordingly or to release his Chris Gaines-esque studio album. Reach for the stars, Villster.
Darren Helm, Patrick Eaves, Drew Miller, and Justin Abdelkader
I group these cats together for obvious reasons: They're all young; it's their first regular season with the Wings (Helmer almost doesn't count, but whatever). And, most importantly, they are all achieving in a fantastic, albeit surprising, way. Truthfully, Helm's success is never a surprise, but who among us was really stoked at first about the signings of either Eaves or Miller?
How many times during the average game do you find yourself holding your breath and then releasing, thinking, thank god one or more of the above four names was on the ice to (A) score a goal or (B) make a major defensive play to prevent opposition scoring? Helm and Eaves were absolutely electric against the Coyotes on Saturday; they single-handedly prevented the Coyotes from capitalizing on power plays or sustaining momentum during particularly strong rushes. Abdelkader hasn't always been the most noticeable playmaker on the ice, but he continues to work hard, delivering hard hits, and his play has improved tenfold since his sloppy beginning this season. And Drew Miller, who came over from the Lightning on waivers? Yeah, the guy you never paid attention to beforehand, and maybe hadn't even heard of, but now can you honestly imagine our roster without him, considering the circumstances?
Resolution: To maintain the speed and energy that many of our players feed off of and to continue creating scoring chances and breaking up the momentum of our opponents. And yeah, I'd like to see these guys continue playing as if they know they'll all have a chance to stay in Detroit once the dust clears. Why? Because I like all four of them, and with the way they're playing, especially in light of certain other players sucking ass (ahem, Ville), who gives a fuck who it is who's showing up, as long as it works? It's like being forced to watch The Young and Restless on CBS when you're used to watching Days of Our Lives on NBC. Yeah, it's not exactly your cup of tea at first, but hey, it's still a soap opera, and it was once good enough for Eva Longoria-Parker to grace, and for Christ's sakes, at least it isn't one of those horrid show-your-hooha reality shows those youngsters are watching nowadays.
Kris Draper and Kirk Maltby
Likewise, I group these two together because they have a few more rings around the old tree and because they've both had unsurprisingly average first halves. Both began the season strong, and I think at one point, Maltby had the second- or third-most goals, but to be honest, I don't notice when they're on the ice anymore, unless I happen to see Draper flying around after someone (goddamn, he's still so fast) or Maltby telling someone to "fuck off" between whistles. I like both of them a lot. I guess that's all I really have to say.
Resolution: To put points on the board? I don't know. I read somewhere once that Malts is a big fan of Caribou Coffee. Maybe he'll take me for a Caramel Highrise sometime. Much love, #18.
Brian Rafalski, Brad Stuart, Niklas Kronwall, Jonathan Ericsson
Also known as..."Blueliners Not Named Nicklas Lidstrom Who Don't Suck." Creative, yes?
So, yeah, they don't suck. Stuart started off in a sluggish, sloppy manner for the first handful of games, but has since elevated his game to a pitch worthy of a true force of nature. He's hitting harder and moving faster and providing more offensive presence than any of his defensive counterparts. Rafalski's had kind of a weird season, vascillating between awesome offensive moves (passing 2/3 of the way up the ice and earning an assist) and creating un-Raf-like major defensive blunders, resulting in goals by the opposition. Kronwall was being Kronwall before his injury sidelined him; likewise with Ericsson, although it seemed that for every whistle blown, an angel lost his/her wings, and Big Rig earned 1.7 billion dumbass penalties.
Resolution: To play tighter games and to generate more offensive presence; this should be easier once Kronwall and Ericsson return to the lineup. Lidstrom, Rafalski, and Stuart have had their ice times lengthened considerably since their cohorts' respective depatures; their imminent returns should ease much of the pressure that's been placed on the non-injured defensemen.
Brett Lebda
Also known as..."Blueliner Who Sorta Kinda Sucks."
Brett's the Ville of the defensive squad. I just don't know what to think of him. He's still usually unimpressive. He still gets caught pinching (who is he, Mike Green?). But every now and then, he's come up big in crucial moments and actually...played defense. The mind reels.
Resolution: To...play defense, right? Isn't that his position?
Derek Meech and Doug Janik
Also known as..."Blueliners Who Almost Always Suck."
Before Saturday's game, I probably would have paired Meech with Lebda above, but I just can't handle him. I really can't. To be fair, he hasn't pissed me off nearly as many times as I initially imagined; however, he still sucks. He's the defensive Toby Flenderson to my Michael Scott (yep, Ville's still the offensive Toby, thanks for checking). Besides, didn't I already talk about Meech earlier? You can't possibly expect me to write more than one thing about him per decade. I guess this is it for the twenty-teens.
And Doug Janik? Not ready for primetime, but what, is he like 47 years old? Mr. Janik caused me to impulsively shout at the bar on Saturday (after his ridiculous turnover right in front of the net), "I'm going to kill you, Doug Janik!" at which point several groups of people turned to look at me, then they noticed I was watching hockey, and they all breathed a collective sigh of relief/understanding.
Resolution: Whatever. Return from whence you came.
Chris Osgood
Oh, Ozzie. We have a ridiculous soft spot for Ozzie, along the same lines of my adoration for Pasha and Homer. So many of us feel that way about him, no matter how infuriating he can be during the regular season. Andy over at Fight Night at the Joe observed in his first-half recap that Ozzie hasn't played as poorly of a regular season as he did last year; still, when the number of games he's played out of the last 20 can be counted on one hand, I'm not sure it makes me feel any better.
Resolution: To perfect his time machine prototype to set worldwide clocks forward to approximately April 15. Oh, and to totally razz Jimmah by replacing all the numbers on the speedometer on his helmet with "69". He fucking hates that.
Jimmy Howard
Jimmy has been absolute lightning as of late, making insane stops and even adding his first NHL shutout to his resume. Where would we be without Jimmy right now?
Resolution: To keep up the good work. And to punk that Osgood bastard by interrupting his Zen naps before games he starts with a foghorn blast to the ears. That'll show him.
Andy over at the fantastic Fight Night at the Joe has uploaded the single greatest thing ever recorded in the history of mankind. Seriously, once the world ends, and the next dominant life form emerges in, say, 6.7 billion years, along with the Great Pyramids, Machu Picchu, the Great Wall, and Twitter, archaeologists and anthropologists will be studying this very sound clip to figure out what made us homo sapiens tick.
It began as a bit of banter between us, and before long, Andy became TSO's go-to guy for all things European. If he keeps up being this reliable, we may have to consult him for all our major life decisions, including, but not limited to, filling out our tax returns, contemplating a career change, and deciphering the meanings in our tea leaves.
Without further adieu, please click here now to be forever transformed from a world of ignorance into a world of knowledge.
This holiday season, beginning with our epic trip to Detroit, now feels like I've experienced the biggest, longest, most uncut (?) hangover of my entire life. I feel like I haven't been caught up on reading--or writing, for that matter--in light years, and just the "hockey" category of my Google Reader feeds has been sitting at 1000+ unread items for a dangerously uncomfortable period of time.
Despite my absence from reality and despite the fact that anybody still reading this blog has probably already heard of--and is actually more aware of--the following two items, we wanted to write a little bit about each because they are totally and completely kickass, and they deserve as much praise and attention as possible.
1. Herm to Hockeytown. The Chief and the 19 at Abel to Yzerman have created this amazing, larger-than-life apparatus, which has not only raised enough money to get Guilherme from Red Wings Brasil to Hockeytown to see his first in-person Wings game ever, but in the meantime, it's raised enough cash to donate the surplus to the Children's Hospital of Michigan. Truly incredible. According to A2Y's latest post, over $2K has already been donated, including funds given by non-Wings-related readers. Interested in reading more? Shuffle on over to A2Y (or follow Herm to Hockeytown on Twitter @H2Hockeytown) for more info or to learn how to donate.
2. The Obstructed View. I mentioned this after the first episode had been put out there; since then, TOV has released two new podcasts. If you haven't had a chance to check it out, please do so now. IMMEDIATELY. Wait, what's that? You're too busy working? Snack on it for lunch. Oh, you have a doctor's appointment? Well, TOV has been proven to prevent cancer in 99.9% of laboratory tests. I hear a phone ringing...oh, you say it's your husband on the phone, and it's an emergency? Get a divorce.
That's how awesome these podcasts are. You will be willing to alter your life's trajectory just to listen to them asap. Don't be afraid. Just close your eyes and go with it.
We at The Scrappy Octopus turned over the calendar yesterday and, after getting over our epic but much-deserved hangovers, performed an ancient, spiritual ceremony to cleanse both our physical and mental selves of the toxins of the year past. In other words, we collected the following items, grabbed the closest metal barrel, and lit the motherfucker ablaze:
1. Our Owl City CD. (Just kidding. There's no way we'd torch this. We're getting into this all-natural trend and trying to avoid ingesting excessive chemicals, so we use "Fireflies" as our own panacea for impacted bowels. Works like a charm.)
2. Our first-aid kit--because we're fucking sick of injuries, and we're outlawing them. I'm not going to try to make a joke here because this isn't funny.
3. Our stalker-esque diary we've maintained, chronicling our unrequited correspondence between ourselves and Georges Laraque. Ever since we stumbled upon this website and realized that the love of our lives had been so close, and yet so far, for so long, we've been unable to sleep at nights. So many restless evenings, I've found myself pacing in a dreamlike state on my widow's walk, wearing my very best prairie cult frock, performing an interpretive dance of the fury that rages both in my heart and in my loins for Mr. Laraque. I've written him many times, setting my words of passion and truth onto parchment with my finest quill pen set, only to get in return, at first, mere silence, then a stern warning from Mr. Laraque's alleged "legal counsel", and, finally, a formal writ to cease and desist from the proper authorities. Sigh. Such is the rollercoaster that is love. Alas, we're moving onward and upward, the details of which shall be discussed anon. Now that I've set afire the record of my blunders of the heart, maybe I will be able to achieve a peaceful state of mind once more.
4. Our Stanley Cup Finals 2009 gear. Yeah, it qualifies, even though it feels like a lifetime ago. Gone in the fire--now it officially never happened.
5. All whistles have been sent to the furnace. Got a problem with it? Intend to blow me.
6. The memory of Tomas Kopecky ever playing for the team. Why now, of all times, to choose to forget about him? Because he hasn't done shit for Chicago. I know, it seems counterintuitive, but trust me: The way my petty brain works, if he had been succeeding under Q-Factor's tutelage, I would vow never to back down and never to get scared.
7. Wait, Claude Lemieux was on a figure skating show? And he almost won? HilARious. Balls, I must have forgotten that already. Thank Christ for my lame but apparently crucial "Octopus Ink" to remind me of all the things that have pissed me off in my time writing here. To the fire!
9. I once posted a photo of Finn the Whale on here. I apologize profusely. Never again.
Tonight, the Wings play their first game of the new year in Phoenix; most recently, they trumped the Avs at home with a 4-2 win on New Year's Eve. Mr. Leino himself netted a goal, and while I don't want to toot my own horn, I would like to say that I got a direct Tweet from him after the fact saying that he credits his good luck with wearing his lady's favors beneath his armor (read: he totally had the panties that I sent him on his person).
A few New Year's resolutions on TSO's part:
1. To write more consistently than we have over the past month or so. The fact that we won't be tripping off candy cane highs and eggnog lows should help.
2. To figure out finally how to pronounce Mattias Rittola's name. For shame, I never know if I have it correct.
3. To reenact this with Vilster (Did...did they just say what I think they did? It couldn't be...):
4. To live to see Nicklas Lidstrom score a goal. I'm beginning to believe Johan FranzenHalley's Comet Jesus Christ will return sooner.
Hope everybody had a fantastic Christmas. Me? Mine sucked balls, royally. Without going into too much detail, let's just say that by 9 p.m., we had trucked over to the nearest bar that was open, where I downed the first of several double Jack-and-Cokes. A couple of drinks deep, a wave of nostalgia washed over me; I remembered that as a little girl going shopping with her dad on Christmas Eve (our annual tradition, to this day), we'd drive by bars that were open, and I'd tell my dad how sad it was that people patronized bars on holidays when they should be enjoying time with their family and friends. Ha! I wonder how my dad slept at night, knowing he had spawned such a smarmy and losery seven-year-old. Now, as an awesomely fabulous 24-year-old, I am making a vow never to approach another family-oriented holiday in a sober fashion.
Now, in an effort to forget that Christmas 2009 ever happened, we're reviewing the wish list we sent to Santa to see what came true. Here goes:
1. Pavel Datsyuk scores a hat trick in every game ever for the rest of time.
Well. This clearly hasn't happened. He's notched some assists here and there in the month of December, but I'm at least 57% sure he hasn't scored a goal since 1932. B.C. Where'd you go, Pasha? I miss you so. Seems like it's been forever...
It actually hasn't been forever. It's been since December 19 against Dallas. But he only scored one other goal during the month of December, on the 6th, against the Rangers. And it just makes my heart...weep or something. Fuck it, y'all know I can't trash my Pasha too much. This is a ridiculously biased blog with very staunch positions on individual players, and I'd rather have someone pull out my eyelids with a toenail clipper than badmouth Datsyuk or Homer for an extended period of time. In fact, I'm pretty sure Datsyuk could rape my boyfriend, torch my residence, sell my dog on the black market for heroin, and defecate on my grave, and I (or my ghost) would still feel my heart flutter at the mere sight of him on the ice.
2. Because you've already married off Scarlett Johansson, can you please arrange for Henrik Zetterberg to tickle me with his whiskers for just one night of enchantment? (For Brian.)
Man, I totally forgot all about this! So that's why I've been seeing various, little, foreign hairs on the exterior of Brian's shirts, particularly around the neckline and...er, the crotchal region. I'm not even mad. Just relieved that there's a logical solution.
3. Because I'm in love with him and have really thought this through, can you send me Aaron Downey to be my live-in BFF, etc. (For Natalie.)
Done. Thanks, Santa. I owe you a million. Next Christmas, can you bring me a copy of Zen and the Art of Potato Farming? I just want him to accept me.
4. If Ville Leino keeps pissing us off, can you call INS and ask them to revoke his green card and/or visa?
A week after posting our letter to Santa, I had to send follow-up correspondence to the North Pole via overnight courier in order to axe this request. No way, Jose. Ville's staying. TSO's official stance on Leino is that we have the biggest bonercrush in the history of the world on him, and that's not changing any time soon. The fact that Babcock is currently depriving us of him doesn't negate or weaken the flame--consider it smoldering. (And if anybody's wondering about the obvious dichotomy between what I just expressed and what Brian wrote yesterday in his game recap--well, just consider Brian one jealous and conflicted S.O.B.)
5. Fix Johan Franzen's knee. Immediately.
This obviously hasn't happened yet. Sigh. During FSD's pregame before the Stars game on the 19th, however, they did air a segment featuring the Mule's rehabilitation and workouts, so it was nice to see (A) that he's doing well and (B) my second-favorite redhead. It's how I imagine travelers on the Oregon Trail feeling as they approached the Willamette Valley. (I wish I could hire an Indian guide to get me through this shiteous Franzen-less season. Christ on a stick.)
6. A lifetime supply of the products Valtteri Filppula uses to achieve that bedhead/sex-hair magic.
Check. Although I'll never be as gorgeous as Valtteri, I figure I can strive to be the Miss Congeniality (read: sweet but subpar) to his beauty queen. So ridiculously glad to see this guy back in action, though.
7. Crabs to the Anaheim Ducks' locker room.
Done. I, uh, can't tell you guys how I know this, but believe me, it happened. In spades. Mwahaha.
8. A hobby horse for Antoine Vermette so he can get his groove on while off the ice.
Isn't this how he's now traveling to games?
9. Can you ban Sidney Crosby for wearing lipstick? It just grosses us out.
Haven't seen him lately, but I can tell you one thing. I sure am sick of seeing this shit on the NHL Network:
10. A set of Red Wings thongs. Also for Brian. He's been practicing his runway walk in anticipation of sporting these.
What do you think was the inspiration for this?
11. A black Am Ex for Ken Hitchcock, to be used only at Tim Hortons.
To provide a salty and sardonic take on the hockey world and to share the love with other Wingnuts.
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Enjoy! And remember: LET'S GO, WINGS.
Love always, The Scrappy Octopus
Leftovers in the Fridge (Check the Expiration Date)
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