Shit. Show.
Showing posts with label general bullshit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label general bullshit. Show all posts
28 January 2010
Minnesota wild out against Wings, 5-2.
We're sick of using brain power to say the same shit, so we're recapping it in two words, one picture:
Shit. Show.
Shit. Show.
26 January 2010
This tastes like a glued up dickhole.
Sorry, no recap of a game I didn't see tonight, which sucks, because I like reading those. What I can give you though is a quick story about how I came up with that little nugget of a title.
Here's how TSO spent their night - Watching the French film Amelie, which if you've never seen it before...definitely worth a watch if you don't mind subtitles. Anyway, as you know, we couldn't catch the game because we have Direct TV. Throughout the game we caught score updates. Well, movie is done, and we look at the score guide......4-2 Wings, with about two minutes left. What could possibly go wrong? We break out a big fat bag of candy and have a few pieces. Then......
....4-3. We can't blow a two-goal lead in under two minutes, can we?
WE CAN!!!! Never doubt kids, never doubt, not this year anyway. Not even watching the game we knew what would happen. So the always lovely Natalie breaks out this squarish piece of candy. It states on the clear wrapper it's called "Jelly Nougat", but what it probably ACTUALLY was is a small brick of caulk. She's eating it and asks me if I'd like a bite. Suspect, yes, but I'm brave. I say yes and take a small bite....
The first thing I can think of upon tasting this rejected tube of JB Weld or whatever the fuck it was is of course the first thing I say, as I sometimes have no verbal filter - "This tastes like a glued up dick hole".
What I MEANT was caulk because that's what it looked and actually tasted like, but I think this was WAY funnier. It tasted worse than a bukkake sandwich. And it's also a lovely metaphor for the game itself! Immediately after the game was over we see the highlights pop up on NHL Network. Hmmmmmm. Interesting.
So blog land will tell us soon enough how truly shiteous this loss was. Describe it in detail for us, folks, because without having seen it, it SEEMS like this game was a shitshow.
Nat has a great Wednesday question in store for you, but my initial thought this evening: This is probably the second or third most frustrating Wings squad to watch in my lifetime. Thoughts? The cup is for closers, as A2Y so eloquently put it (forgive me if I'm incorrectly attributing that quote). This team isn't that, at least not right now.
Here's how TSO spent their night - Watching the French film Amelie, which if you've never seen it before...definitely worth a watch if you don't mind subtitles. Anyway, as you know, we couldn't catch the game because we have Direct TV. Throughout the game we caught score updates. Well, movie is done, and we look at the score guide......4-2 Wings, with about two minutes left. What could possibly go wrong? We break out a big fat bag of candy and have a few pieces. Then......
....4-3. We can't blow a two-goal lead in under two minutes, can we?
WE CAN!!!! Never doubt kids, never doubt, not this year anyway. Not even watching the game we knew what would happen. So the always lovely Natalie breaks out this squarish piece of candy. It states on the clear wrapper it's called "Jelly Nougat", but what it probably ACTUALLY was is a small brick of caulk. She's eating it and asks me if I'd like a bite. Suspect, yes, but I'm brave. I say yes and take a small bite....
The first thing I can think of upon tasting this rejected tube of JB Weld or whatever the fuck it was is of course the first thing I say, as I sometimes have no verbal filter - "This tastes like a glued up dick hole".
What I MEANT was caulk because that's what it looked and actually tasted like, but I think this was WAY funnier. It tasted worse than a bukkake sandwich. And it's also a lovely metaphor for the game itself! Immediately after the game was over we see the highlights pop up on NHL Network. Hmmmmmm. Interesting.
So blog land will tell us soon enough how truly shiteous this loss was. Describe it in detail for us, folks, because without having seen it, it SEEMS like this game was a shitshow.
Nat has a great Wednesday question in store for you, but my initial thought this evening: This is probably the second or third most frustrating Wings squad to watch in my lifetime. Thoughts? The cup is for closers, as A2Y so eloquently put it (forgive me if I'm incorrectly attributing that quote). This team isn't that, at least not right now.
15 December 2009
TSO Keeps It Real
All right, boys and girls: We've been in each other's lives for the better part of three months now. To celebrate our quarter-year anniversary together, I think we should make a vow to be truthful with one another always, to refrain from lying outright or even tepidly misrepresenting the truth by refusing to own up to difficult realities.
To kick off this new phase of our relationship, The Scrappy Octopus is debuting a new segment calling "Keeping It Real". We're scheduling publications of this segment to occur, oh, whenever we feel like it, so stay tuned for further editions.
The topic we'll cover today: Proper attire to sport at a hockey game.
First, we'll pick on the gentlemen. I have a huge problem with the following:
1. Emoloser likes hockey? But...there are no tears at the Joe.
Saw a guy wearing jeans identical to these, only he paired them with an Yzerman jersey. Yep, you read that right: Dude actually had the balls to wear his #19 with his girlfriend's stonewash.
To be fair, I don't understand the guys-in-girls'-jeans phenomenon in the first place. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, maybe I'm just oblivious, but seriously, what is the deal? I hardly find my gender's jeans comfortable; how can those possibly be comfortable on the ol' 'nads? And, perhaps more importantly, if you're a heterosexual girl, why go for a guy who's probably less interested in taking your clothes off your body than he is in adorning his own body with your threads?
Going back to the guy at hand, though: In addition to wearing jeans a bajillion sizes too tight, his jersey itself was a woman's jersey. There was no way it was even a carryover from his childhood; the jersey was cut in a woman's style. Meanwhile, he was walking hand-in-hand and being all kissy-face with his cute female companion. The mind reels.
2. I mean, really?
Actually saw a guy sporting an authentic Wings #81 Hossa jersey before the Anaheim game. Could not believe it. Thought maybe somebody slipped some peyote into my pre-game quesadilla or something.
I really shouldn't have to elaborate on this, but apparently, some people don't get it. It's kind of like being in the military--if you retire or are honorably discharged, you can keep wearing your gear, and nobody will say a word about it. But if you leave dishonorably, you're going to have a hard time justifying your attire to the people who know the deal.
I've been racking my brain since Friday to try to come up with a scenario in which this could be considered acceptable by any stretch of the imagination. The best I could think of is if someone wore it ironically, like if a 'Hawks fan wore it to a Wings v. Hawks game, but even then, no one knows that you're actually a 'Hawks fan, so it's still an epic fail. I kinda half-heartedly hoped upon seeing the jersey at first (because I first noticed the #) that the bastard had put something at least mildly clever as the name (i.e., "Cat Shit", "Roofie Dealer", or even just the standard "Benedict"), but no dice.
3. Coonskin caps are necessary because...?
Saw a guy wearing one of these at the game. For some weird reason, kinda liked it, but still don't get why it's hockey game apparel. But I guess if you're not going to wear it to a hockey game, where WOULD you wear such a thing?
***
We at The Scrappy Octopus are equal-opportunity offenders, so now on to the ladies. (And yes, I am going more in depth with these examples, and no, I'm not being sexist--I'm a chick, and I like us to represent ourselves appropriately in our hockey fandom endeavors.)
1. Could you at least make a little effort to look like you give a shit?
You are not going to your BFF's house for a High School Musical slumber party. Nick Jonas is not anywhere on the ice, nor are we going to be listening to Selena Gomez's new joint at any point during the game.
Ladies, I get it. I like dressing up and wearing awesome clothes as much as the next slightly shallow person; I don't roll out of bed and stay in my sweatpants 24/7...anymore (the doctors convinced me it's not good for my well-being). But for fuck's sake, you're at a hockey game.
In my book, nothing short of a jersey is acceptable attire to wear to the Joe. But I make exceptions for others--jerseys are a pricey investment, and maybe you're just not that big into the team. Try wearing a T-shirt or even snagging your boyfriend's hat. Or sweet Jesus, try wearing the color RED. It's not hard; I have yet to meet a girl who doesn't own a red shirt.
Not participating in a show of team pride in any way furthers the image that female hockey fans aren't on the same playing field as our male counterparts; it propagates the boneheaded notion that we're too bubble-headed to understand fancy terms like "icing" and "power play" without having our oh-so-smart boyfriends and husbands explain it to us. Further, showing up to a game, arm in arm with a male companion who's dressed in his favorite player's gear, while dressing like an extra in the "Party in the U.S.A." video just makes you look foolish. Male fans show up in droves in jerseys, sweatshirts, and so forth; I'd say the percentage of women who dress accordingly versus women who don't is 50%-50%. What causes women to feel as if they can't don team apparel? Are they really that afraid of everyone not being able to stare at their ta-tas for a couple of hours? Get over yourselves.
2. I judge you when you wear leopard print to a hockey game.
Meooooooooooooow! VOMIT .
3. Holy shit, don't drink and paint.
Like the aforesaid men's item #1, this is one of those that apply to everyday life, but stick out like a sore thumb especially at a hockey game. This one goes out to you, person in front of me in the bathroom line who assaulted my senses with her French whorehouse warpaint and perfume. Whenever I see someone like that, I think they either need to be in a 12-step program to get over the problem, or they're flirting with serious disaster:
Not good. Not ever.
I feel pretty good about TSO taking a stand here to correct an important social problem by drawing attention to it, but why, oh, why don't these poor girls' loved ones step in and intervene? There are no innocent bystanders in the cycle of addiction!
***
I know, I know: Women, especially, are under a lot of pressure to be aesthetically pleasing. But I'm really fucking sick of getting the stinkeye from Pussycat Dolls wannabes when I roll up wearing my #13 sweater; it's happened each time I've been to the Joe, not to mention at bars, both here and in Michigan, during games. Yeah, I know the jersey is billowing and not conventionally "cute", but guess what? I feel like the biggest boss in the world when I don it. So kiss my ass, haters. (But try not to leave any clownpaint stains, ok?)
To kick off this new phase of our relationship, The Scrappy Octopus is debuting a new segment calling "Keeping It Real". We're scheduling publications of this segment to occur, oh, whenever we feel like it, so stay tuned for further editions.
The topic we'll cover today: Proper attire to sport at a hockey game.
First, we'll pick on the gentlemen. I have a huge problem with the following:
1. Emoloser likes hockey? But...there are no tears at the Joe.
Saw a guy wearing jeans identical to these, only he paired them with an Yzerman jersey. Yep, you read that right: Dude actually had the balls to wear his #19 with his girlfriend's stonewash.
To be fair, I don't understand the guys-in-girls'-jeans phenomenon in the first place. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, maybe I'm just oblivious, but seriously, what is the deal? I hardly find my gender's jeans comfortable; how can those possibly be comfortable on the ol' 'nads? And, perhaps more importantly, if you're a heterosexual girl, why go for a guy who's probably less interested in taking your clothes off your body than he is in adorning his own body with your threads?
Going back to the guy at hand, though: In addition to wearing jeans a bajillion sizes too tight, his jersey itself was a woman's jersey. There was no way it was even a carryover from his childhood; the jersey was cut in a woman's style. Meanwhile, he was walking hand-in-hand and being all kissy-face with his cute female companion. The mind reels.
2. I mean, really?
Actually saw a guy sporting an authentic Wings #81 Hossa jersey before the Anaheim game. Could not believe it. Thought maybe somebody slipped some peyote into my pre-game quesadilla or something.
I really shouldn't have to elaborate on this, but apparently, some people don't get it. It's kind of like being in the military--if you retire or are honorably discharged, you can keep wearing your gear, and nobody will say a word about it. But if you leave dishonorably, you're going to have a hard time justifying your attire to the people who know the deal.
I've been racking my brain since Friday to try to come up with a scenario in which this could be considered acceptable by any stretch of the imagination. The best I could think of is if someone wore it ironically, like if a 'Hawks fan wore it to a Wings v. Hawks game, but even then, no one knows that you're actually a 'Hawks fan, so it's still an epic fail. I kinda half-heartedly hoped upon seeing the jersey at first (because I first noticed the #) that the bastard had put something at least mildly clever as the name (i.e., "Cat Shit", "Roofie Dealer", or even just the standard "Benedict"), but no dice.
3. Coonskin caps are necessary because...?
Saw a guy wearing one of these at the game. For some weird reason, kinda liked it, but still don't get why it's hockey game apparel. But I guess if you're not going to wear it to a hockey game, where WOULD you wear such a thing?
***
We at The Scrappy Octopus are equal-opportunity offenders, so now on to the ladies. (And yes, I am going more in depth with these examples, and no, I'm not being sexist--I'm a chick, and I like us to represent ourselves appropriately in our hockey fandom endeavors.)
1. Could you at least make a little effort to look like you give a shit?
You are not going to your BFF's house for a High School Musical slumber party. Nick Jonas is not anywhere on the ice, nor are we going to be listening to Selena Gomez's new joint at any point during the game.
Ladies, I get it. I like dressing up and wearing awesome clothes as much as the next slightly shallow person; I don't roll out of bed and stay in my sweatpants 24/7...anymore (the doctors convinced me it's not good for my well-being). But for fuck's sake, you're at a hockey game.
In my book, nothing short of a jersey is acceptable attire to wear to the Joe. But I make exceptions for others--jerseys are a pricey investment, and maybe you're just not that big into the team. Try wearing a T-shirt or even snagging your boyfriend's hat. Or sweet Jesus, try wearing the color RED. It's not hard; I have yet to meet a girl who doesn't own a red shirt.
Not participating in a show of team pride in any way furthers the image that female hockey fans aren't on the same playing field as our male counterparts; it propagates the boneheaded notion that we're too bubble-headed to understand fancy terms like "icing" and "power play" without having our oh-so-smart boyfriends and husbands explain it to us. Further, showing up to a game, arm in arm with a male companion who's dressed in his favorite player's gear, while dressing like an extra in the "Party in the U.S.A." video just makes you look foolish. Male fans show up in droves in jerseys, sweatshirts, and so forth; I'd say the percentage of women who dress accordingly versus women who don't is 50%-50%. What causes women to feel as if they can't don team apparel? Are they really that afraid of everyone not being able to stare at their ta-tas for a couple of hours? Get over yourselves.
2. I judge you when you wear leopard print to a hockey game.
Meooooooooooooow! VOMIT .
3. Holy shit, don't drink and paint.
Like the aforesaid men's item #1, this is one of those that apply to everyday life, but stick out like a sore thumb especially at a hockey game. This one goes out to you, person in front of me in the bathroom line who assaulted my senses with her French whorehouse warpaint and perfume. Whenever I see someone like that, I think they either need to be in a 12-step program to get over the problem, or they're flirting with serious disaster:
Not good. Not ever.
I feel pretty good about TSO taking a stand here to correct an important social problem by drawing attention to it, but why, oh, why don't these poor girls' loved ones step in and intervene? There are no innocent bystanders in the cycle of addiction!
***
I know, I know: Women, especially, are under a lot of pressure to be aesthetically pleasing. But I'm really fucking sick of getting the stinkeye from Pussycat Dolls wannabes when I roll up wearing my #13 sweater; it's happened each time I've been to the Joe, not to mention at bars, both here and in Michigan, during games. Yeah, I know the jersey is billowing and not conventionally "cute", but guess what? I feel like the biggest boss in the world when I don it. So kiss my ass, haters. (But try not to leave any clownpaint stains, ok?)
10 December 2009
The other side of the coin...
So, we finally got the room situation worked out; thanks for your concerns, everybody. I did have a scrappy word brawl with the lady at the front desk, who didn't particularly care that we were out approximately $650 for the time being. The manager walked up just as I told the person that there was no way it was our problem that the hotel and Travelocity couldn't get their act together. Brian and I both work in customer-service-esque jobs, and there's no way either one of us would ever be allowed to double-charge a customer simply because our respective places of employment didn't receive payment from a third party. Ridiculous. Even more absurdly, this woman started yelling at us in the middle of the lobby. If I did that at my job, I would most likely be shit-canned.
The manager was super nice, though, and upgraded our room to a suite and gave us free lunch and dinner, so I'm pleased with the way it turned out on that end. She handled things very well once it all got out of hand. All in all, I guess what I learned for this experience is not to trust the people checking you in at hotels, even when you ask them specifically if your debit card is being swiped only for incidentals. Also, I learned that some people just suck at life. It was super cute--the woman who had the major attitude with us called our room after lunch (at 3:30) and said that she was supposed to get off work at 3:00, but she wanted to make sure we were settled in to our new room and that everything had worked out, and ordinarily, I would have felt bad putting someone out like that, but considering this entire ordeal wasted essentially our entire day, I didn't really give a fuck. We made sure to fold our clothes extra slowly.
***
The face transplant lady is on Oprah right now. I just upchucked my nachos.
***
And because this post is serving as the yin to my other post's angry yang, here are some things I did enjoy about the game last night:
1. Getting to see Jimmy Howard do what Brian and I call the "Beyonce Running Man" exercise in person. It's one thing that loses a little bit of its luster on television. We also have this really awesomely annoying habit of singing, "All the married Jimmys, all the married Jimmys" when he does it. Don't you feel just a teensy bit saddened that you didn't get to sit with us?
2. Dropping F-bombs ad nauseum and initiating all the children around me into the rough underworld of being scrappy. Hey, what can I say? Those little bastards got the Zamboni toys; maybe they should consider the evening a twofer: free gift AND free important life lesson. (Speaking of the Zamboni toy, I'm pleased that I was on so many people's minds last night; I really thought about snagging one, especially since the game was a wash. To be honest, I didn't see a lot of kids with them, which leads me to believe that maybe Mickey Redmond stole 2,497 of them to build a protective armada. Shhh, don't tell him they're not operative machines...)
3. Best moment ever: Brian and I left the game a little later, as we sat in our seats and waited for the crowd to dissipate a little bit before fighting our way out. Anyway, as we were leaving, we saw Murph up on his perch above the exit, so we yelled "Hey, Muuuuurph!" and he turned around and waved/pointed at us. I totally did the "We-Heart-You" (complete with the heart hand motion. Yes, TSO has mad love for Murph. And no, I am not in seventh grade.). It's in my top three most magical moments ever.
4. Second-best moment ever: Getting to chant, "Bullshit! Bullshit" after the non-goal. MUCH more cathartic than screaming it at my TV/dog/each other.
5. Henrik Zetterberg is amazing. We had really good seats last night, so it was awesome getting to watch him sorta up close. There's just no comparison between watching it in person and watching it on television. I'm not sure I'll be able to leave the Joe tomorrow night. They'll have to pry my cold, dead body away.
6. Todd Bertuzzi shaved, and it made me laugh when I saw him because I thought about how our buddies over at The Production Line prefer to call him Voldemort. Without the weird facial hair, he looks even more like someone from the otherworld.
7. I ran into a crazy St. Louis fan in the bathroom and told her I was in love with her blue wig. I need a red one.
8. I spent all my cash on beer at the game, and you would think that would be sad, but it's really not. It's the fulfillment of a goal: Last week, when I got part of my paycheck cashed, I said to my boss,"This is the money I'm going to get wasted on at the game next week." It really felt special, like all the hours and effort I had put into my job had finally amount to something. I think this is what some people may call "ambition".
9. I don't care that he's in St. Louis. I still love Ty Conklin, and I'm glad I got to see him play last night, although obviously, I'm unhappy with the outcome, and I wish he hadn't played nearly as well. I kept calling him "Conk Block", as I got drunker and drunker as the evening progressed, it kinda morphed into "Conk Blonck", which made me think of a conch shell, which made me wonder why I was talking about seashells, and then I got really confused and thought we were going to the beach.
10. We couldn't find anything to watch when we returned to the hotel room, so we turned FSD on and caught the replay of the game at the beginning of the third period. Here is a real conversation that transpired between Brian and me:
Me: "Wow, I can't believe I missed Kenny Rogers!"
[Moment of silence.]
Brian: "Ummm...you didn't miss it. You started singing it at the game. And you even put it a weird way, like, 'Oh, here's KennyRogersTheGambler,' like it was all one word."
Yiiiiiikes.
So, last night's game was not the best. I'm still stoked for tomorrow night and the craziness that will ensue due to the Ducks coming to town. You know how I feel about the Ducks. Gross. It's going to be so fucking fun!
P.S. I'm kinda surprised: I thought for sure that this guy or that guy would pin the shutout and/or Cleary injury on TSO's presence at the game or in the city of Detroit in general. Whew, dodged a bullet on that one...
The manager was super nice, though, and upgraded our room to a suite and gave us free lunch and dinner, so I'm pleased with the way it turned out on that end. She handled things very well once it all got out of hand. All in all, I guess what I learned for this experience is not to trust the people checking you in at hotels, even when you ask them specifically if your debit card is being swiped only for incidentals. Also, I learned that some people just suck at life. It was super cute--the woman who had the major attitude with us called our room after lunch (at 3:30) and said that she was supposed to get off work at 3:00, but she wanted to make sure we were settled in to our new room and that everything had worked out, and ordinarily, I would have felt bad putting someone out like that, but considering this entire ordeal wasted essentially our entire day, I didn't really give a fuck. We made sure to fold our clothes extra slowly.
***
The face transplant lady is on Oprah right now. I just upchucked my nachos.
***
And because this post is serving as the yin to my other post's angry yang, here are some things I did enjoy about the game last night:
1. Getting to see Jimmy Howard do what Brian and I call the "Beyonce Running Man" exercise in person. It's one thing that loses a little bit of its luster on television. We also have this really awesomely annoying habit of singing, "All the married Jimmys, all the married Jimmys" when he does it. Don't you feel just a teensy bit saddened that you didn't get to sit with us?
2. Dropping F-bombs ad nauseum and initiating all the children around me into the rough underworld of being scrappy. Hey, what can I say? Those little bastards got the Zamboni toys; maybe they should consider the evening a twofer: free gift AND free important life lesson. (Speaking of the Zamboni toy, I'm pleased that I was on so many people's minds last night; I really thought about snagging one, especially since the game was a wash. To be honest, I didn't see a lot of kids with them, which leads me to believe that maybe Mickey Redmond stole 2,497 of them to build a protective armada. Shhh, don't tell him they're not operative machines...)
3. Best moment ever: Brian and I left the game a little later, as we sat in our seats and waited for the crowd to dissipate a little bit before fighting our way out. Anyway, as we were leaving, we saw Murph up on his perch above the exit, so we yelled "Hey, Muuuuurph!" and he turned around and waved/pointed at us. I totally did the "We-Heart-You" (complete with the heart hand motion. Yes, TSO has mad love for Murph. And no, I am not in seventh grade.). It's in my top three most magical moments ever.
4. Second-best moment ever: Getting to chant, "Bullshit! Bullshit" after the non-goal. MUCH more cathartic than screaming it at my TV/dog/each other.
5. Henrik Zetterberg is amazing. We had really good seats last night, so it was awesome getting to watch him sorta up close. There's just no comparison between watching it in person and watching it on television. I'm not sure I'll be able to leave the Joe tomorrow night. They'll have to pry my cold, dead body away.
6. Todd Bertuzzi shaved, and it made me laugh when I saw him because I thought about how our buddies over at The Production Line prefer to call him Voldemort. Without the weird facial hair, he looks even more like someone from the otherworld.
7. I ran into a crazy St. Louis fan in the bathroom and told her I was in love with her blue wig. I need a red one.
8. I spent all my cash on beer at the game, and you would think that would be sad, but it's really not. It's the fulfillment of a goal: Last week, when I got part of my paycheck cashed, I said to my boss,"This is the money I'm going to get wasted on at the game next week." It really felt special, like all the hours and effort I had put into my job had finally amount to something. I think this is what some people may call "ambition".
9. I don't care that he's in St. Louis. I still love Ty Conklin, and I'm glad I got to see him play last night, although obviously, I'm unhappy with the outcome, and I wish he hadn't played nearly as well. I kept calling him "Conk Block", as I got drunker and drunker as the evening progressed, it kinda morphed into "Conk Blonck", which made me think of a conch shell, which made me wonder why I was talking about seashells, and then I got really confused and thought we were going to the beach.
10. We couldn't find anything to watch when we returned to the hotel room, so we turned FSD on and caught the replay of the game at the beginning of the third period. Here is a real conversation that transpired between Brian and me:
Me: "Wow, I can't believe I missed Kenny Rogers!"
[Moment of silence.]
Brian: "Ummm...you didn't miss it. You started singing it at the game. And you even put it a weird way, like, 'Oh, here's KennyRogersTheGambler,' like it was all one word."
Yiiiiiikes.
So, last night's game was not the best. I'm still stoked for tomorrow night and the craziness that will ensue due to the Ducks coming to town. You know how I feel about the Ducks. Gross. It's going to be so fucking fun!
P.S. I'm kinda surprised: I thought for sure that this guy or that guy would pin the shutout and/or Cleary injury on TSO's presence at the game or in the city of Detroit in general. Whew, dodged a bullet on that one...
I am ready to murder something.
There is so much I'm pissed off about right now:
1. What's worse than seeing the Wings lose? Seeing them get shut out in person.
2. What's worse than seeing the Wings get shut out in person? Seeing Dan Cleary get injured in person and finding out the day after that he'll be out for up to four weeks with a separated shoulder (via Bruce MacLeod's Twitter). What. The. Fuck. This, of course, means that The Scrappy Octopus's new bonercrush, Ville Leino, returns gallantly to the lineup tomorrow night against the Anaheim Ducks. At least the booing of the opposing team will drown out my booing of Mr. Leino himself. Just kidding. I'll probably just throw my panties at him or something since I'm now so in love with him. (Ah, it really is just a distraction, typing this bullshit, from what really blows ass: Dan Cleary is the 927th Red Wing to be injured this season. At this rate, I expect to walk away from the game tomorrow night with a pickaxe shoved up my ass or something.)
3. This isn't necessarily worse than Items 1 and 2, but we're getting fucked over by our hotel; as of 11 a.m. today, when we were getting ready to leave to grab some lunch, we discovered that the hotel had charged us approximately 133% of the cost of our stay here, in addition to the charge we'd already incurred by Travelocity for booking the stay in the first place. The person at the front desk explained that the hotel hadn't gotten paid by Travelocity; how this is our fucking problem, I do not know. But it really is a great policy, isn't it? You can imagine that being double-charged for a six-night stay at a hotel in Detroit is not an inexpensive affair. Needless to say, we pitched a fit, and the person at the front desk has been "on the phone" with Travelocity, attempting to sort out the ordeal, for approximately two hours now. Fuck. This.
Oh, and if anybody's curious, we're staying at the Omni Riverfront. Would have highly recommended it until now.
1. What's worse than seeing the Wings lose? Seeing them get shut out in person.
2. What's worse than seeing the Wings get shut out in person? Seeing Dan Cleary get injured in person and finding out the day after that he'll be out for up to four weeks with a separated shoulder (via Bruce MacLeod's Twitter). What. The. Fuck. This, of course, means that The Scrappy Octopus's new bonercrush, Ville Leino, returns gallantly to the lineup tomorrow night against the Anaheim Ducks. At least the booing of the opposing team will drown out my booing of Mr. Leino himself. Just kidding. I'll probably just throw my panties at him or something since I'm now so in love with him. (Ah, it really is just a distraction, typing this bullshit, from what really blows ass: Dan Cleary is the 927th Red Wing to be injured this season. At this rate, I expect to walk away from the game tomorrow night with a pickaxe shoved up my ass or something.)
3. This isn't necessarily worse than Items 1 and 2, but we're getting fucked over by our hotel; as of 11 a.m. today, when we were getting ready to leave to grab some lunch, we discovered that the hotel had charged us approximately 133% of the cost of our stay here, in addition to the charge we'd already incurred by Travelocity for booking the stay in the first place. The person at the front desk explained that the hotel hadn't gotten paid by Travelocity; how this is our fucking problem, I do not know. But it really is a great policy, isn't it? You can imagine that being double-charged for a six-night stay at a hotel in Detroit is not an inexpensive affair. Needless to say, we pitched a fit, and the person at the front desk has been "on the phone" with Travelocity, attempting to sort out the ordeal, for approximately two hours now. Fuck. This.
Oh, and if anybody's curious, we're staying at the Omni Riverfront. Would have highly recommended it until now.
30 November 2009
Stars @ Wings tonight.
So, since your Scrappy Octopi were tripping off quaaludes, tryptophan and bourbon, we were too lazy to write a recap for Saturday night's game. First things first:
1. Woo! We won!
2. Homer broke the scoring drought with the first goal of the game.
3. Fucking Todd Bertuzzi! He done went and won us a shootout. That old so-and-so...
4. What in the hell is this universe coming to?
5. And, most importantly, why doesn't Bert still rock this hair? (Dibs for-ev-a.)
***
Wings take on the Dallas Stars at home tonight. Let's hope this meeting goes better than the last.
***
I hope everyone's holiday weekend was spectacular. Mine was ok. I know I am quite possibly the only Wings fan who also cares about U.Va. football (whatever, I went there), but since The Scrappy Octopus is a promoter of all things ridiculous, I have to share this. My Hoos went 3-9 this year, colossally losing the most important game of the season to the fucking horrible team from Blacksburg on Saturday (I'm still crying; I should be used to it, but I'm not, so shut up). Anyway, as predicted (and hoped for, by fans such as myself), coach Al Groh was fired yesterday.
Anyway, at his press conference announcing his getting canned, Groh reads a poem called "The Guy in the Glass." He then goes on to add his own coda: "When I visited the guy in the glass, I saw that he's a guy of commitment, of integrity, of dependability and accountability. He's loyal. His spirit is indomitable. And he is caring and loving. I'm sure I will always call the guy in the glass a friend."
Can you imagine how you would feel if that was your school's head coach, reciting some bullshit like that following his abysmal performance over the last nine years? If that wouldn't make you want to fly, head first, into a gas oven, I'm not sure you're really a true fan.
***
GO WINGS.
1. Woo! We won!
2. Homer broke the scoring drought with the first goal of the game.
3. Fucking Todd Bertuzzi! He done went and won us a shootout. That old so-and-so...
4. What in the hell is this universe coming to?
5. And, most importantly, why doesn't Bert still rock this hair? (Dibs for-ev-a.)
***
Wings take on the Dallas Stars at home tonight. Let's hope this meeting goes better than the last.
***
I hope everyone's holiday weekend was spectacular. Mine was ok. I know I am quite possibly the only Wings fan who also cares about U.Va. football (whatever, I went there), but since The Scrappy Octopus is a promoter of all things ridiculous, I have to share this. My Hoos went 3-9 this year, colossally losing the most important game of the season to the fucking horrible team from Blacksburg on Saturday (I'm still crying; I should be used to it, but I'm not, so shut up). Anyway, as predicted (and hoped for, by fans such as myself), coach Al Groh was fired yesterday.
Anyway, at his press conference announcing his getting canned, Groh reads a poem called "The Guy in the Glass." He then goes on to add his own coda: "When I visited the guy in the glass, I saw that he's a guy of commitment, of integrity, of dependability and accountability. He's loyal. His spirit is indomitable. And he is caring and loving. I'm sure I will always call the guy in the glass a friend."
Can you imagine how you would feel if that was your school's head coach, reciting some bullshit like that following his abysmal performance over the last nine years? If that wouldn't make you want to fly, head first, into a gas oven, I'm not sure you're really a true fan.
***
GO WINGS.
28 November 2009
About last night
Watching that game sucked. And no, I don't want to talk about it.
Let's hope things turn around in St. Louis tonight. A few brief notes (I guess I do want to talk about it):
1. Ozzie played fine, but playing in front of this team, Ozzie needs to be super-human playoff Ozzie. And thats unfortunate.
2. Ville Leino does nothing well. At all. Unless you count not skating fast a skill. If so, sign me up.
3. Sure, you can get 40 shots on goal, but if 35 of them are harmless, does it really matter?
Bleh. Here come the Blues. Let's turn it around tonight, eh?
Let's hope things turn around in St. Louis tonight. A few brief notes (I guess I do want to talk about it):
1. Ozzie played fine, but playing in front of this team, Ozzie needs to be super-human playoff Ozzie. And thats unfortunate.
2. Ville Leino does nothing well. At all. Unless you count not skating fast a skill. If so, sign me up.
3. Sure, you can get 40 shots on goal, but if 35 of them are harmless, does it really matter?
Bleh. Here come the Blues. Let's turn it around tonight, eh?
27 November 2009
Did that first period really just happen?
Did the Flames just score 30 seconds into the game, while Zetterberg, Leino, Lidstrom, and Rafalski were all just standing by, leaving half the net unguarded and essentially screening Ozzie from viewing the play?
Did Homer really just get a penalty for "retaliating" against bullshit from Giordano? The entire audience at Joe Louis Arena saw what happened, as evidenced from the booing. The Scrappy Octopi certainly saw what happened, as evidenced by the fact that we both screamed obscenties and/or barfed blood.
Did Brad Stuart's power play goal really just get disallowed because Dan Cleary was "preventing the goaltender from moving inside the crease" because the fucking heel of his left skate was inside the crease? The fucking left heel?! Did that really just fucking happen? I mean, I'm pretty sure that the laws of physics aren't suspended to the point at which Kiprusoff cannot move to his left if Cleary is standing directly in front of him. I feel like I'm huffing fucking paint here. Since when are we calling this rule into practice for screening in front of the goaltender? I'm at a fucking loss.
Did the referee, standing directly behind the fucking net, really not just call a penatly on Kiprusoff for slashing the back of Homer's calf, causing him to fall down? Again, the entire chorus of spectators saw this go down. We saw it go down on TV. What is happening?!
Did Pavel Datsyuk just inadvertedly redirect the puck into our own net?
Is Todd Bertuzzi trying to set a record for how many times one can go offsides during one period of play? Thanks a mil for breaking up that great rush midway through the first, Bert.
I will give 15 years off my life for the following to happen:
1. The Wings have to get back in this game. They simply have to. This is insanity. They had some decent chances during the power plays, but what happened during the first is just some crazy bullshit. They cannot let this prevent them from coming out swinging in the 2nd.
2. Sometime very soon, can Babcock please break up the abysmal 2nd power play unit of Cleary/Leino/Bertuzzi?! How is this a good idea? Dan Cleary, I get it. He's gritty, and he's the replacement Homer for screening. But Todd Bertuzzi and Ville Leino out there with him at the same time? Leino has the speed of an Amazonian three-toed sloth, and Bert just does absolutely nothing on the power play; the most he's ever going to do is be the 3rd best person on the team for doing what Homer does and Cleary kinda does, which is be the boss at disturbance in the crease. Leino and Bert have no business being on the ice together; the only time this should be allowed is if the Wings win a grueling game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals. Then they can come out and celebrate together. I'll be ok with that. I'm not even comfortable with them coming out on the ice at the same time to congratulate the goalie after an ordinary win. It's just too much of a recipe for disaster. This unit needs speed and playmakers. Put another one of the youngsters out there and sit Leino and Bert. Jesus Christ, replace everyone with Helm/Draper/anybody young not named Ville Leino. Just give someone else another chance. I'm sick of seeing these three fumblefuck around out there on the power play; every time Datsyuk and Zetterberg vacate the ice, I give up all hope that something's going to get done, unless it comes from the blueline. Speaking of the blueline, why in the fuck is Derek Meech on the 2nd unit?!
Anybody game for taking some double shots?
Did Homer really just get a penalty for "retaliating" against bullshit from Giordano? The entire audience at Joe Louis Arena saw what happened, as evidenced from the booing. The Scrappy Octopi certainly saw what happened, as evidenced by the fact that we both screamed obscenties and/or barfed blood.
Did Brad Stuart's power play goal really just get disallowed because Dan Cleary was "preventing the goaltender from moving inside the crease" because the fucking heel of his left skate was inside the crease? The fucking left heel?! Did that really just fucking happen? I mean, I'm pretty sure that the laws of physics aren't suspended to the point at which Kiprusoff cannot move to his left if Cleary is standing directly in front of him. I feel like I'm huffing fucking paint here. Since when are we calling this rule into practice for screening in front of the goaltender? I'm at a fucking loss.
Did the referee, standing directly behind the fucking net, really not just call a penatly on Kiprusoff for slashing the back of Homer's calf, causing him to fall down? Again, the entire chorus of spectators saw this go down. We saw it go down on TV. What is happening?!
Did Pavel Datsyuk just inadvertedly redirect the puck into our own net?
Is Todd Bertuzzi trying to set a record for how many times one can go offsides during one period of play? Thanks a mil for breaking up that great rush midway through the first, Bert.
I will give 15 years off my life for the following to happen:
1. The Wings have to get back in this game. They simply have to. This is insanity. They had some decent chances during the power plays, but what happened during the first is just some crazy bullshit. They cannot let this prevent them from coming out swinging in the 2nd.
2. Sometime very soon, can Babcock please break up the abysmal 2nd power play unit of Cleary/Leino/Bertuzzi?! How is this a good idea? Dan Cleary, I get it. He's gritty, and he's the replacement Homer for screening. But Todd Bertuzzi and Ville Leino out there with him at the same time? Leino has the speed of an Amazonian three-toed sloth, and Bert just does absolutely nothing on the power play; the most he's ever going to do is be the 3rd best person on the team for doing what Homer does and Cleary kinda does, which is be the boss at disturbance in the crease. Leino and Bert have no business being on the ice together; the only time this should be allowed is if the Wings win a grueling game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals. Then they can come out and celebrate together. I'll be ok with that. I'm not even comfortable with them coming out on the ice at the same time to congratulate the goalie after an ordinary win. It's just too much of a recipe for disaster. This unit needs speed and playmakers. Put another one of the youngsters out there and sit Leino and Bert. Jesus Christ, replace everyone with Helm/Draper/anybody young not named Ville Leino. Just give someone else another chance. I'm sick of seeing these three fumblefuck around out there on the power play; every time Datsyuk and Zetterberg vacate the ice, I give up all hope that something's going to get done, unless it comes from the blueline. Speaking of the blueline, why in the fuck is Derek Meech on the 2nd unit?!
Anybody game for taking some double shots?
20 November 2009
Wings contract cat scratch fever; lose 2-1
That subject is an homage to the Scrappy Octopus; I know she would've wanted it that way. She isn't so scrappy tonight; more like the "sick/drowsy/drugged up/dysentery ridden" Octopus tonight, so once again, the B team is here.
Tonight's game recap is tough. I had this post planned out in my head all throughout the first two periods, so lets start there. At no point did I ever once feel the game was in jeopardy. The Wings came out of the gate dominating the game in a most absurd manner; when I saw the kitty cats had two shots at the end of one I was surprised; I swore I only counted one. Through the second period, I was going to add to the post that the cute little kittens from Florida were the worst team I'd ever seen and demand to start a letter writing campaign to have then contracted. Then, a funny little thing happened....
The Wings, as they are liable to do from time to time, eased the foot off the gas, gave up a goal, went to OT.....and then a loss.
What can you say about that really? This is a meaningless game in November; however, you'd hate to see this continue later, and I think we all worry about that a little.
In an effort to be slightly less wordy, a few random observations:
1. Pavel Datsyuk played well tonight. I'm sorry I doubted you. Except I'm not, because you were invisible the other day.
2.Clemmensen played a great game. He also has a sweet helmet.
3. The Big Rig kinda looked like maybe he had a flat or something. Seeing him this season is so very different from watching him in the playoffs last year. I hope he figures it out. Maybe he needs a tune-up? Can someone direct that man to the nearest Pep Boys?
4. One of my favorite scapegoats, Brett Lebda, was adequate tonight. This may seem bad, however, generally I would rate him somewhere between "complete dumpster fire" and "man, someone needs to take him out behind the woodshed". So this is complementary. A game not spent pining for Derek Meech is almost as good as a victory. Almost.
5. The good folks over at Nightmare on Helm Street made a great point in their preview today; stating that they could name maybe 4 Florida Panthers (number not exact; I'm too lazy for fact-checking). Prior to tonight's game, I could've named:
Tomas Vokoun
Scott Clemmensen
Stephen Weiss
Nathan Hoton
That Olesz guy
The guy that got killed by Brad Richards
My knowledge base did not expand much. Corey Stillman is still alive, so that's good. And their coach has a sort of creepy molester vibe. Whatever.
Canadiens tomorrow night. Go Wings.
Tonight's game recap is tough. I had this post planned out in my head all throughout the first two periods, so lets start there. At no point did I ever once feel the game was in jeopardy. The Wings came out of the gate dominating the game in a most absurd manner; when I saw the kitty cats had two shots at the end of one I was surprised; I swore I only counted one. Through the second period, I was going to add to the post that the cute little kittens from Florida were the worst team I'd ever seen and demand to start a letter writing campaign to have then contracted. Then, a funny little thing happened....
The Wings, as they are liable to do from time to time, eased the foot off the gas, gave up a goal, went to OT.....and then a loss.
What can you say about that really? This is a meaningless game in November; however, you'd hate to see this continue later, and I think we all worry about that a little.
In an effort to be slightly less wordy, a few random observations:
1. Pavel Datsyuk played well tonight. I'm sorry I doubted you. Except I'm not, because you were invisible the other day.
2.Clemmensen played a great game. He also has a sweet helmet.
3. The Big Rig kinda looked like maybe he had a flat or something. Seeing him this season is so very different from watching him in the playoffs last year. I hope he figures it out. Maybe he needs a tune-up? Can someone direct that man to the nearest Pep Boys?
4. One of my favorite scapegoats, Brett Lebda, was adequate tonight. This may seem bad, however, generally I would rate him somewhere between "complete dumpster fire" and "man, someone needs to take him out behind the woodshed". So this is complementary. A game not spent pining for Derek Meech is almost as good as a victory. Almost.
5. The good folks over at Nightmare on Helm Street made a great point in their preview today; stating that they could name maybe 4 Florida Panthers (number not exact; I'm too lazy for fact-checking). Prior to tonight's game, I could've named:
Tomas Vokoun
Scott Clemmensen
Stephen Weiss
Nathan Hoton
That Olesz guy
The guy that got killed by Brad Richards
My knowledge base did not expand much. Corey Stillman is still alive, so that's good. And their coach has a sort of creepy molester vibe. Whatever.
Canadiens tomorrow night. Go Wings.
18 November 2009
Stars shoot down Wings 3-1
The Scrappy Octopus is feeling under the weather tonight so her not so better half will be taking the reigns for tonight’s game recap. I promise to try to keep the dick jokes, swearing, toilet humor, and general inappropriateness at a high enough level that maybe you won‘t notice a difference. A guy can dream. What a game to recap…
Oh, there will be one thing on Wings fans minds tonight I’m sure, but lets talk about the game itself before we get to officiating. In order:
1. This game was sort of a huge turd all around wasn’t it? The Wings were outplayed tonight. Both goalies faced 32 shots tonight, however, Alex Auld wasn’t really challenged that much. It kind of felt like Dallas dominated play for the most part and had more scoring chances. Which leads me to…
2. JIMMY! Great game by Jimmy in the loss. Lots of key saves to keep the Wings in the game during the times where the team looked relatively uninterested (which is to say the majority of the game). The Wings had a chance to win tonight thanks to Jimmy.
3. Henrik Zetterberg - what can you say? He played a great game. The Wings future captain was once again the best player on the ice. No one can touch this cat right now. Conversely…
4. Pavel Datsyuk looked like he couldn’t have given less of a shit throughout the first two and a half periods of this game. 16:27 in ice time tonight and I couldn’t tell you one fucking thing he did tonight aside from fair well in the face-off circle. That’s certainly SOMETHING, but it doesn’t really seem like enough does it?
5. Jonathan Ericsson can eat a dick.
6. Seriously, is it legally possible to file a restraining order to keep that dick hole 100 yards from frozen surfaces until he figures it out? I speak harshly, but I don’t actually hate him. I just don’t have to like him right now.
And now on to officiating….
I’m notoriously absent minded, so perhaps I’m forgetting a game somewhere, but that was one of the worst overall officiated games I can remember seeing. I can’t say that for the most part it wasn’t officiated evenly, because it was. The hooking call on Rafalski was borderline ridiculous; May’s “slash” on Auld WAS ridiculous. Daley’s goaltender interference, Auld’s delay of game, Homer’s hooking….all absurd. Drunk Mickey Redmond referred to the officiating this evening as “a circus”, and for once that drunken bastard said something lucid. For all of the bad officiating I cannot seem to wrap my mind around May’s no-goal. In the playoffs last year we ALL remember Brad Watson’s intended whistle. You can argue all you like about “intended whistles” and such (and I will in a second), but the rule, as written, was interpreted correctly then. Ok. Gotcha. Tonight though? What is happening there? I’m trying to picture how the conversation went while analyzing this and every time I do it makes brain goo seep out of my ears. Why? Because my brain literally melts when I try to imagine things that fucking stupid. If I, on my 15 inch (size approximated, but its small), can plainly see that the GOD DAMN PUCK IS SITTING IN THE FUCKING NET, maybe it oughta be a goal.
Ok, I grant you that there is a rule regarding intended whistles (which is stupid on its face, being that we are in the day in age with TV’s and VIDEO and SOUND that can be rewound and what not. Fancy!). I once again refer to drunk Mickey when he said the save was never made! The puck went straight into the net after it was shot, barely glancing off the goaltenders pad. So, unless you INTENDED to blow the whistle before he shot the puck, that’s a goal and that call was ridiculous.
Enough about officiating. It would’ve been interesting to see the rest of the game play out. Again, we got outplayed, so its not like we deserved to win the game; and the call disallowed the tying goal, not a go-ahead goal. You could argue that if we’re tied the defense doesn’t pinch up as much, which doesn’t leave the Big Rig stranded to take a dumb penalty, which eliminates the power play……
What if’s. I guess it could’ve been summed up with one word:
Whatever. We got outplayed and lost the game. Tomorrow the Scrappy Octopus returns to its regularly scheduled (and higher quality) programming. Appreciate you folks stopping by.
Oh, there will be one thing on Wings fans minds tonight I’m sure, but lets talk about the game itself before we get to officiating. In order:
1. This game was sort of a huge turd all around wasn’t it? The Wings were outplayed tonight. Both goalies faced 32 shots tonight, however, Alex Auld wasn’t really challenged that much. It kind of felt like Dallas dominated play for the most part and had more scoring chances. Which leads me to…
2. JIMMY! Great game by Jimmy in the loss. Lots of key saves to keep the Wings in the game during the times where the team looked relatively uninterested (which is to say the majority of the game). The Wings had a chance to win tonight thanks to Jimmy.
3. Henrik Zetterberg - what can you say? He played a great game. The Wings future captain was once again the best player on the ice. No one can touch this cat right now. Conversely…
4. Pavel Datsyuk looked like he couldn’t have given less of a shit throughout the first two and a half periods of this game. 16:27 in ice time tonight and I couldn’t tell you one fucking thing he did tonight aside from fair well in the face-off circle. That’s certainly SOMETHING, but it doesn’t really seem like enough does it?
5. Jonathan Ericsson can eat a dick.
6. Seriously, is it legally possible to file a restraining order to keep that dick hole 100 yards from frozen surfaces until he figures it out? I speak harshly, but I don’t actually hate him. I just don’t have to like him right now.
And now on to officiating….
I’m notoriously absent minded, so perhaps I’m forgetting a game somewhere, but that was one of the worst overall officiated games I can remember seeing. I can’t say that for the most part it wasn’t officiated evenly, because it was. The hooking call on Rafalski was borderline ridiculous; May’s “slash” on Auld WAS ridiculous. Daley’s goaltender interference, Auld’s delay of game, Homer’s hooking….all absurd. Drunk Mickey Redmond referred to the officiating this evening as “a circus”, and for once that drunken bastard said something lucid. For all of the bad officiating I cannot seem to wrap my mind around May’s no-goal. In the playoffs last year we ALL remember Brad Watson’s intended whistle. You can argue all you like about “intended whistles” and such (and I will in a second), but the rule, as written, was interpreted correctly then. Ok. Gotcha. Tonight though? What is happening there? I’m trying to picture how the conversation went while analyzing this and every time I do it makes brain goo seep out of my ears. Why? Because my brain literally melts when I try to imagine things that fucking stupid. If I, on my 15 inch (size approximated, but its small), can plainly see that the GOD DAMN PUCK IS SITTING IN THE FUCKING NET, maybe it oughta be a goal.
Ok, I grant you that there is a rule regarding intended whistles (which is stupid on its face, being that we are in the day in age with TV’s and VIDEO and SOUND that can be rewound and what not. Fancy!). I once again refer to drunk Mickey when he said the save was never made! The puck went straight into the net after it was shot, barely glancing off the goaltenders pad. So, unless you INTENDED to blow the whistle before he shot the puck, that’s a goal and that call was ridiculous.
Enough about officiating. It would’ve been interesting to see the rest of the game play out. Again, we got outplayed, so its not like we deserved to win the game; and the call disallowed the tying goal, not a go-ahead goal. You could argue that if we’re tied the defense doesn’t pinch up as much, which doesn’t leave the Big Rig stranded to take a dumb penalty, which eliminates the power play……
What if’s. I guess it could’ve been summed up with one word:
Whatever. We got outplayed and lost the game. Tomorrow the Scrappy Octopus returns to its regularly scheduled (and higher quality) programming. Appreciate you folks stopping by.
Chicago fans (of any sport) are the worst people in the world.
The Scrappy Octopus's own part-time investigative journalist/full-time door-to-door electric fence salesperson Brian unearthed this little ditty from Deadspin. I think you guys are really going to enjoy this. You may have even heard this one before.
So, a Steelers fan walks into a bar. The bar happens to be in Chicago. It also happens to be a day when the Steelers are playing the Bears. The Steelers lose the game, good-hearted trash-talking ensues, and then a Bears fan ends up sending the Steelers fan a "peace offering"--a drink laced with toxic grain alcohol. And the Pittsburgh fan has nothing to show for his troubles because he's blind.
So, a Steelers fan walks into a bar. The bar happens to be in Chicago. It also happens to be a day when the Steelers are playing the Bears. The Steelers lose the game, good-hearted trash-talking ensues, and then a Bears fan ends up sending the Steelers fan a "peace offering"--a drink laced with toxic grain alcohol. And the Pittsburgh fan has nothing to show for his troubles because he's blind.
See, I would have suspected something a little more creative from these cats, maybe a "foie gras"-topped hot dog (and by "foie gras", I mean rat poison).Heddidger's family even flew to Chicago because they thought he was going to die. He says his vision has still not returned and he may have suffered permanent brain damage. According to the report, doctors now say he might have been poisoned by "toxic grain alcohol"...Not long after taking the drink, Heddinger passed out and was rushed to a nearby hospital, his heart stopping four times. At first, doctors thought he had too much to drink, but realized there was more to it.
"They thought it was antifreeze or something like that …because it was so strong," said Heddinger.
17 November 2009
Slow Day Hijinks (Disgusting).
I just ralphed all over my desk.
Catching up on the 1,000+ items my oh-so-demanding Google Reader expects me to read, I came across this gem, courtesy of Puck Daddy: Claude Lemieux is one of three finalists for Canada's Battle of the Blades. (Go there and watch the video of him dancing AND singing. I dare you. I'm not defiling this sacred blog by embedding it, though.)
That just makes me want to do a triple salchow right into an abyss of steaming lava.
I wonder if he gets a 10 for intentionally boarding his lovely partner.
Catching up on the 1,000+ items my oh-so-demanding Google Reader expects me to read, I came across this gem, courtesy of Puck Daddy: Claude Lemieux is one of three finalists for Canada's Battle of the Blades. (Go there and watch the video of him dancing AND singing. I dare you. I'm not defiling this sacred blog by embedding it, though.)
That just makes me want to do a triple salchow right into an abyss of steaming lava.
I wonder if he gets a 10 for intentionally boarding his lovely partner.
06 November 2009
Wings sink Sharks in shootout, 2-1.
I've been blogging for a little over a month now, and one of the most fun parts of these recaps is to devise a new subject/verb combo to describe what happened. "Sinking" Sharks just makes me happy. And yes, I am a hopeless nerd.
***
So, holy shit, how awesome was it that Pavel Datsyuk and Henrik Zetterberg suddenly remembered how to deke during a shootout?! I've said on this blog that I love shootouts, as long as they don't involve the Wings. The Twins' work, combined with Ozzie's prowess in goal, could make me reconsider.
Speaking of Zetterberg, how about that super-sneaky move to slide the puck in, tying the game during regulation? Nice work, Z.
Darren Helm also stood out for me, having two huge breakaways. I'm 99% sure this kid could give Usain Bolt a run for his money (no pun intended).
***
And now, on to some more happy news. I know my loyal readers, being the conscientious people you are, have been losing sleep over this one for the past week or so. Rest assured, kiddies. Nobody's going to jail:
On the other hand: What the fuck is going on in Boise? Sure, these kids are off the hook, but let me tell you, mooning your pals is just the first step on a very slippery slope to a life of dereliction and debauchery. Just go talk to your math teacher, Kyle Dennis, the one who got caught getting slaphappy with his dong in Costco--in BOISE. Exposing himself to his classmates was just a gateway act in the long line of lasciviousness. Sigh.
***
And now, because it's Friday, and the sun is shining, and because the Avs can go suck a big one, I present you the following, courtesy of James Mirtle's From the Rink:
Yeah. That's what I'm talking about. Fuckers.
***
So, holy shit, how awesome was it that Pavel Datsyuk and Henrik Zetterberg suddenly remembered how to deke during a shootout?! I've said on this blog that I love shootouts, as long as they don't involve the Wings. The Twins' work, combined with Ozzie's prowess in goal, could make me reconsider.
Speaking of Zetterberg, how about that super-sneaky move to slide the puck in, tying the game during regulation? Nice work, Z.
Darren Helm also stood out for me, having two huge breakaways. I'm 99% sure this kid could give Usain Bolt a run for his money (no pun intended).
***
And now, on to some more happy news. I know my loyal readers, being the conscientious people you are, have been losing sleep over this one for the past week or so. Rest assured, kiddies. Nobody's going to jail:
Police in Idaho's capital won't pursue charges against a junior hockey team whose members held a strip shootout at a city-owned rink two weeks ago.Huge collective sigh of relief: Breathe in, breathe out.Boise Police spokeswoman Lynn Hightower told the Idaho Statesman that officers concluded a 17-year-old member of the Idaho Junior Steelheads who mooned a teammate didn't intentionally violate the city's decency laws.
The Idaho Junior Steelheads had already been forbidden from using Idaho Ice World for four days, and the player who dropped his drawers briefly also served a 3-game suspension.
On the other hand: What the fuck is going on in Boise? Sure, these kids are off the hook, but let me tell you, mooning your pals is just the first step on a very slippery slope to a life of dereliction and debauchery. Just go talk to your math teacher, Kyle Dennis, the one who got caught getting slaphappy with his dong in Costco--in BOISE. Exposing himself to his classmates was just a gateway act in the long line of lasciviousness. Sigh.
***
And now, because it's Friday, and the sun is shining, and because the Avs can go suck a big one, I present you the following, courtesy of James Mirtle's From the Rink:
And to that, I say:There was not a single person in sections 330 and 334 a few minutes into the game tonight. Not one. I think a couple souls showed up a while later and sat there, but that was…it.
You definitely did not dissuade critics who say Denver is just a bandwagon hockey town tonight, folks. The announced attendance was definitely not the actual number in the building either. I’d say the real number was about 8,500, maybe a bit less actually.
Yeah. That's what I'm talking about. Fuckers.
01 November 2009
Wings extinguish Flames; off-day suck-o-tash
The Wings doused the Flames last night in Calgary, with a final score of 3-1.
The Scrappy Octopi are split on our feelings during the game itself; Brian felt exuberantly confident that the Wings would win and at no point during the game did he question what the final outcome would be, while I, adopting a horrible veil of pessimism, remained nervous until Kirk Maltby rang a beautiful empty-netter between the pipes during the final minute of play.
Either way, how great did it feel that the Wings ended this horrendous, odd, complicated road trip on a positive note? Let's hope the momentum follows them back to the Motor City for their next game on home ice against Boston on Tuesday.
The atmosphere during most of the game was eerily tranquil, a stark contrast from the utter chaos of the Vancouver and Edmonton games. This proved to be a good thing for the Wings--the team only took two minor penalties, and the Flames' sole goal did not occur during either of their two power plays, allowing the Wings' PK to escape us fans' wrath for another day.
Henrik Zetterberg skated more fluidly and consistently than at any other point during this young season. Chris Osgood's break seemed to do him some good; however, he didn't face the most daunting of shots from the Flames, in terms of both quantity or quality (the Flames' total shots on goal = 21).
Also worth noting is Brad Stuart, who I felt also had his best game of the season thus far. He scored his first goal of the season and managed to keep himself in position when it counted, checking hard against Calgary, due to, I suppose, him finally removing his head from his sphincter before taking the ice. Good for him. If he keeps this up, he'll find himself permanently off my shit list.
Darren Helm had a HUGE breakaway in the second period due to his lightning-fast speed, reminiscent of his performance during last year's playoffs, and although he couldn't make the shot due to Jay Bouwmeester'sinterference slashing, it's great to see this guy do what he does best. More, please.
My main criticism of the Wings' performance last night is the power play showed signs of shittiness, a la last year, which is too bad, considering the signs of improvement it has shown of late. The Wings looked disorganized during much of the four power play chances they had last night. It's hard to understand how the Wings' power play can be so wildly inconsistent from game to game.
***
On a miscellaneous note, I hope everybody had a happy Halloween; I actually meant to post that on Halloween, but alas, the Scrappy Octopus was charged with ensuring thather six-year-old nephew Megatron had a fantabulous night. The collective Scrappy Octopi participated sparsely in Halloween festivities: I donned my standard cat ears and whiskers for like the millionth year in a row (me = abjectly, miserably, fucking lazy when it comes to Halloween), while Brian, far surpassing me in awesomeness, adorned himself in his Winter Classic jersey. Touche.
***
Now on to the above-referenced suck-o-tash: George Malik had this, and you may want to take a deep breath and/or a handful of quaaludes before proceeding. In said story, everybody's favorite hemorrhoid, Mike Milbury, claims the following (hit of ether, please):
The Scrappy Octopi are split on our feelings during the game itself; Brian felt exuberantly confident that the Wings would win and at no point during the game did he question what the final outcome would be, while I, adopting a horrible veil of pessimism, remained nervous until Kirk Maltby rang a beautiful empty-netter between the pipes during the final minute of play.
Either way, how great did it feel that the Wings ended this horrendous, odd, complicated road trip on a positive note? Let's hope the momentum follows them back to the Motor City for their next game on home ice against Boston on Tuesday.
The atmosphere during most of the game was eerily tranquil, a stark contrast from the utter chaos of the Vancouver and Edmonton games. This proved to be a good thing for the Wings--the team only took two minor penalties, and the Flames' sole goal did not occur during either of their two power plays, allowing the Wings' PK to escape us fans' wrath for another day.
Henrik Zetterberg skated more fluidly and consistently than at any other point during this young season. Chris Osgood's break seemed to do him some good; however, he didn't face the most daunting of shots from the Flames, in terms of both quantity or quality (the Flames' total shots on goal = 21).
Also worth noting is Brad Stuart, who I felt also had his best game of the season thus far. He scored his first goal of the season and managed to keep himself in position when it counted, checking hard against Calgary, due to, I suppose, him finally removing his head from his sphincter before taking the ice. Good for him. If he keeps this up, he'll find himself permanently off my shit list.
Darren Helm had a HUGE breakaway in the second period due to his lightning-fast speed, reminiscent of his performance during last year's playoffs, and although he couldn't make the shot due to Jay Bouwmeester's
My main criticism of the Wings' performance last night is the power play showed signs of shittiness, a la last year, which is too bad, considering the signs of improvement it has shown of late. The Wings looked disorganized during much of the four power play chances they had last night. It's hard to understand how the Wings' power play can be so wildly inconsistent from game to game.
***
On a miscellaneous note, I hope everybody had a happy Halloween; I actually meant to post that on Halloween, but alas, the Scrappy Octopus was charged with ensuring that
***
Now on to the above-referenced suck-o-tash: George Malik had this, and you may want to take a deep breath and/or a handful of quaaludes before proceeding. In said story, everybody's favorite hemorrhoid, Mike Milbury, claims the following (hit of ether, please):
October 30, CBC Sports: Please don't wax poetic about Hull and Howe and Shore. Today's players are bigger, stronger, faster, better conditioned, better coached and with better equipment. The players of the 50s couldn't keep up. And there’s so many of them that you don't need to consult the standings to name a bunch of them. Kopitar in LA. Bobby Ryan in Anaheim. Duchene and O'Reilly in Colorado. Toews and Kane in Chicago. Stamkos in Tampa. Kovalchuk in Atlanta. Gaborik in New York. Parise in New Jersey. Crosby and Malkin and Fleury in Pittsburgh. And on and on.But it is in Washington where the new generation’s poster boy resides. Hey, Alex Semin, Nick Backstrom and Mike Green are all stars in their own right, but the lightning rod is Alex Ovechkin.
The attraction? He is the next Mr. Hockey, the newly-defined Mr. Hockey. The computerized, twittered, facebooked, instantly gratified and accessible Mr. Hockey.
That just happened.
Look, I would be remiss--and totally full of shit--to try to downplay the kind of superstar that Alexander Ovechkin already is, not to mention the capacity of his star power to grow as his accomplishments continue to increase.
But I hate, hate, HATE this need that our culture feels to try to (A) hastingly proclaim the next big thing, the next prodigy, the next legend, combined with (B) the uber-annoying effort to rewrite history in a lameass attempt to substantiate the predictions and proclamations we've prematurely projected in an attempt to convey our genius in being the first to spot the next legend of our time.
Ovie has accomplished much in his young career, to be sure. He puts forth tremendous, sometimes seemingly un-human effort, game after game, and his ice work is beautiful and awe-inspiring. His capacity is the kind of once-in-a-lifetime talent that forces hockey fans of all teams to pause and take notice because we all love the game, and above all else, Ovie exudes unfettered passion on the ice, reminding us of why we fell in love with hockey in the first place.
Conversely...
...when a full-tilt dumbass like Mike Milbury thinks he can anoint Gordie Howe's long-deserved and long-acknowledged title onto the world's current superstar, two simple thoughts immediately enter my mind: (A) Who in the fuck does he think he is? and (B) Kiss my ass.
Mr. Howe lives and breathes hockey. Not only is his professional career the longest-spanning of any other hockey player in the history of the League, his work off the ice, along with his late wife, has helped so many young people explore their dreams.
I understand that Mr. Milbury, despite being middle-aged, may not have the appreciation for Mr. Howe that we die-hard Wings' fans have. I, for one, am 23 years old, so I never had the opportunity to watch Howe play during his prime.
But just because something is in the supposedly far-away past does not negate its importance or its significance. Mr. Howe was also a once-in-a-lifetime player, stacking up records that no one even dreamed could be touched until the arrival of Wayne Gretzky.
Perhaps equally as important as his athletic accomplishments is his very un-celebrity demeanor. Howe is classy. He is unassuming. He exemplifies quiet grace. Countless times, I have watched documentaries on the NHL Network about Gretzky, which, ultimately, show Gretzky surpassing Howe's record for career goals, and Mr. Howe graciously appearing with him at a press conference and praising Gretzky's accomplishments while understating his own.
The Red Wings organization's aura of unpretentious, quiet accomplishment begins and ends with Gordie Howe; the ego-free stars who have emerged in the time since Howe's departure have all followed in his footsteps, maintaining unassuming dignity despite the Wings' dynastic run over much of the past two decades.
I suppose it's because the stock footage of Howe's talent exists solely on black-and-white reels that Mike Milbury doesn't understand why the generations since Howe's heyday haven't snatched the title of Mr. Hockey away from him and capriciously offered it to any handful of newcomers who have shown extraordinary promise.
Because we know better. And anybody with more than two functioning braincells knows better.
Those of us who understand this can add this latest goodie from Mike Milbury into the fat stack of ridiculousness that comprises the Milbury experience, including, but not limited to, being too much of a dolt to manage Charlie Wang's faltering Long Island enterprise, being best known during his playing career for assaulting a fan with the fan's own footwear, and making my ears bleed with his mindless blather each and every time I'm forced to watch a hockey broadcast on NBC.
Mr. Howe will always be Mr. Hockey. End. Of. Story. Perhaps it would do Milbury some good to lay off the peyote before coming to work.
30 October 2009
I got nothing.
How can you possibly expect me to come up with a title at this time? How could I possibly choose just a few succinct words to describe how I'm feeling right now, at this very moment?
The Wings lost 6-5 in a shootout tonight.
This was after the Oilers scored the first goal of the game 0:42 into the first period. And after they scored the second goal of the game before the first half of the first period was up. And after they converted a Wings penalty to make the game 3-0 before the first buzzer. And after the Oilers took to the ice at the beginning of the second and made the game 4-0 within the first minute of the second period. And after the Wings rebounded from a 5-1 deficit to tie up the game, forcing overtime, after the Oilers shat themselves for the duration of the third period.
It was after the Wings fired off forty-five shots.
It was after Darren Helm and Patrick Eaves each scored their first goals of the season--Mr. Helm with his first career regular-season goal ever, despite being a postseason phenomenon last spring.
It was after Todd Bertuzzi finally had some luck with the net.
It was after a disgusting number of shots by the likes of Kris Draper, Henrik Zetterberg, Pavel Datsyuk, Nicklas Lidstrom, et al., bounced off the post or somehow off Nikolai Khabibulin (bleh).
It was after the Wings rebounded during the latter part of the game, controlling play, keeping the puck out of their own zone for the most part, after being dry humped by the Oilers all throughout the neutral zone and in their own territory during the early portion of the game.
And then it all came down to a shootout, in which, apparently, Datsyuk and Zetterberg had given up the idea of trying to put some stank on their shots. I love shootouts, as long as they don't involve my team.
I kinda don't feel anything. Maybe frustrated due to the loss after all that? Maybe weirdly optimistic due to the comeback (i.e., the Wings deciding to give a shit for at least 1/3 of the game tonight)? Maybe just kinda bleh. Super bleh. Super fuck.
***
Brian was correct on a comment he left on the Tuesday recap: Jimmy Howard scares the shit outta me with his rebounds. He made some spectacular saves tonight; conversely, how much did my heart skip a beat when a loose rebound squeaked toward the slot? Howard has fast reflexes and is obviously a quick-thinking goaltender, but his puck-handling has got to improve.
***
Yeah. So, guess who has two thumbs and felt like a total jackass. Of all the songs that could have possibly played during the game tonight, and of all the songs that could have been chosen by the Rexall Place maestro to pump up the crowd for one of Edmonton's power plays (one of the ones they ended up converting), of course "Cat Scratch Fever" was it. I can't believe that rat bastard Ted Nugent betrayed me. My permanent dibs are officially off.
***
Is this the end of the world? Aside from my breakup with Ted Nugent, no. I'm just extremely frustrated right now. This is a horrible way to lose. On top of wanting my team to win for obvious reasons, winning this game tonight would have made an amazing statement that the team is on the right track. Tonight's play was horribly inconsistent and maddening. What else is there to say?
***
Holy fuck on a stick: I just checked the news to see if there were any updates on Valtteri Filppula since he left the ice mid-game with an undisclosed injury. Per the Detroit Free Press, Filppula will be out for 6-8 weeks due to a broken wrist. Sigh.
The Wings lost 6-5 in a shootout tonight.
This was after the Oilers scored the first goal of the game 0:42 into the first period. And after they scored the second goal of the game before the first half of the first period was up. And after they converted a Wings penalty to make the game 3-0 before the first buzzer. And after the Oilers took to the ice at the beginning of the second and made the game 4-0 within the first minute of the second period. And after the Wings rebounded from a 5-1 deficit to tie up the game, forcing overtime, after the Oilers shat themselves for the duration of the third period.
It was after the Wings fired off forty-five shots.
It was after Darren Helm and Patrick Eaves each scored their first goals of the season--Mr. Helm with his first career regular-season goal ever, despite being a postseason phenomenon last spring.
It was after Todd Bertuzzi finally had some luck with the net.
It was after a disgusting number of shots by the likes of Kris Draper, Henrik Zetterberg, Pavel Datsyuk, Nicklas Lidstrom, et al., bounced off the post or somehow off Nikolai Khabibulin (bleh).
It was after the Wings rebounded during the latter part of the game, controlling play, keeping the puck out of their own zone for the most part, after being dry humped by the Oilers all throughout the neutral zone and in their own territory during the early portion of the game.
And then it all came down to a shootout, in which, apparently, Datsyuk and Zetterberg had given up the idea of trying to put some stank on their shots. I love shootouts, as long as they don't involve my team.
I kinda don't feel anything. Maybe frustrated due to the loss after all that? Maybe weirdly optimistic due to the comeback (i.e., the Wings deciding to give a shit for at least 1/3 of the game tonight)? Maybe just kinda bleh. Super bleh. Super fuck.
***
Brian was correct on a comment he left on the Tuesday recap: Jimmy Howard scares the shit outta me with his rebounds. He made some spectacular saves tonight; conversely, how much did my heart skip a beat when a loose rebound squeaked toward the slot? Howard has fast reflexes and is obviously a quick-thinking goaltender, but his puck-handling has got to improve.
***
Yeah. So, guess who has two thumbs and felt like a total jackass. Of all the songs that could have possibly played during the game tonight, and of all the songs that could have been chosen by the Rexall Place maestro to pump up the crowd for one of Edmonton's power plays (one of the ones they ended up converting), of course "Cat Scratch Fever" was it. I can't believe that rat bastard Ted Nugent betrayed me. My permanent dibs are officially off.
***
Is this the end of the world? Aside from my breakup with Ted Nugent, no. I'm just extremely frustrated right now. This is a horrible way to lose. On top of wanting my team to win for obvious reasons, winning this game tonight would have made an amazing statement that the team is on the right track. Tonight's play was horribly inconsistent and maddening. What else is there to say?
***
Holy fuck on a stick: I just checked the news to see if there were any updates on Valtteri Filppula since he left the ice mid-game with an undisclosed injury. Per the Detroit Free Press, Filppula will be out for 6-8 weeks due to a broken wrist. Sigh.
26 October 2009
Wings lose to Avalanche, 3-1.
So, since I got over my hangover yesterday, and since I finally brought myself to watch the game last night, I can share some thoughts on Saturday night's experience v. the Avalanche:
1. Jimmy Howard is not on my shit list. The 2nd goal he allowed was flukey and weird, but he otherwise played a solid game.
2. Todd Bertuzzi impressed the hell outta me with his 1,437 scoring chances. I especially love that he accomplished this in front of a crowd of booing Avs fans because, you know, I heart animosity.
3. I can't believe Adam Foote took another puck to the face from Nicklas Lidstrom. Ouch.
4. Regarding the first goal for the Avs, Brian Rafalski should not have attempted that pass to Jonathan Ericsson. I love that Big E smashed his stick on the net immediately after the goal; I'm not sure whether he was mad at himself or mad at his teammates, but all signs of temper tantrums make me happy.
5. The top line, currently Datsyuk/Zetterberg/Holmstrom, needs to score now. Is the sky blue? They had some decent chances, especially Datsyuk, doing his thing, but they need to find the back of the net. I feel like I write this exact same thing after every single game we lose.
6. Officially joining the chorus of angry Wings bloggers with this one: Brad Watson should go fuck himself. Maybe it would help him do his job better.*
That's really all I have right now. I'm super disappointed, but when I watched the game last night, I didn't walk away with the same sense of abject failure as I did following other recent games. The game the other night against Phoenix? I'm pretty sure I barfed blood for the rest of the night. Maybe the difference here is that I saw the score while drunk, blogged about it when I was drunk, then finally got around to watching the game, so my emotional state kind of went from, "OMFG, how-could-they-have-lost-again-this-is-horseshit-i-need-another-beer" to "Wait, what was the score again? WHAAAT, we lost?!" to "..." Therefore, maybe this is a sign. A sign that alcohol needs to be present in all viewing situations in order to invert my emotional reactions to disappointing games.
*Actually, at this point, I'm willing to buy this guy a prostitute. He needs to get laid. It would help him relax with this whole whistle-blowing thing and get over himself. I mean, think about it: What do you really think is on his mind with the entire "intent to blow" thing? Anybody in for splitting the costs with me?
1. Jimmy Howard is not on my shit list. The 2nd goal he allowed was flukey and weird, but he otherwise played a solid game.
2. Todd Bertuzzi impressed the hell outta me with his 1,437 scoring chances. I especially love that he accomplished this in front of a crowd of booing Avs fans because, you know, I heart animosity.
3. I can't believe Adam Foote took another puck to the face from Nicklas Lidstrom. Ouch.
4. Regarding the first goal for the Avs, Brian Rafalski should not have attempted that pass to Jonathan Ericsson. I love that Big E smashed his stick on the net immediately after the goal; I'm not sure whether he was mad at himself or mad at his teammates, but all signs of temper tantrums make me happy.
5. The top line, currently Datsyuk/Zetterberg/Holmstrom, needs to score now. Is the sky blue? They had some decent chances, especially Datsyuk, doing his thing, but they need to find the back of the net. I feel like I write this exact same thing after every single game we lose.
6. Officially joining the chorus of angry Wings bloggers with this one: Brad Watson should go fuck himself. Maybe it would help him do his job better.*
That's really all I have right now. I'm super disappointed, but when I watched the game last night, I didn't walk away with the same sense of abject failure as I did following other recent games. The game the other night against Phoenix? I'm pretty sure I barfed blood for the rest of the night. Maybe the difference here is that I saw the score while drunk, blogged about it when I was drunk, then finally got around to watching the game, so my emotional state kind of went from, "OMFG, how-could-they-have-lost-again-this-is-horseshit-i-need-another-beer" to "Wait, what was the score again? WHAAAT, we lost?!" to "..." Therefore, maybe this is a sign. A sign that alcohol needs to be present in all viewing situations in order to invert my emotional reactions to disappointing games.
*Actually, at this point, I'm willing to buy this guy a prostitute. He needs to get laid. It would help him relax with this whole whistle-blowing thing and get over himself. I mean, think about it: What do you really think is on his mind with the entire "intent to blow" thing? Anybody in for splitting the costs with me?
25 October 2009
What should I call this, anyway?
A) I swore I wouldn't watch NHL scores tonight because I'm out and about, and I Tivo-ed the Wings game.
B) My Wahoos lost--and lost royally--after sitting atop the ACC standings for an entire week. Come on, it was a great 7 days...
C) Yeah, so I saw the score, somewhat inadvertedly, on a Blackberry, and I haven't watched the game yet, and it's taken me 6324 minutes to write this, and I'm drunk and pissed off and I hope there's a good reason for this bullshit. Sorry, guys, but I don't know what else to say right now.
D) Why the fuck is Sheryl Crow playing at Sheetz right now? Is this the big JC's way of telling me Armageddon is nigh? Or maybe I'm already in hell? Sigh...
E). I am royally concerned. And frustrated. Ugh...
B) My Wahoos lost--and lost royally--after sitting atop the ACC standings for an entire week. Come on, it was a great 7 days...
C) Yeah, so I saw the score, somewhat inadvertedly, on a Blackberry, and I haven't watched the game yet, and it's taken me 6324 minutes to write this, and I'm drunk and pissed off and I hope there's a good reason for this bullshit. Sorry, guys, but I don't know what else to say right now.
D) Why the fuck is Sheryl Crow playing at Sheetz right now? Is this the big JC's way of telling me Armageddon is nigh? Or maybe I'm already in hell? Sigh...
E). I am royally concerned. And frustrated. Ugh...
23 October 2009
Bleh.
I am having the worst day of my life.
Today at work, a guy came in and the following transpired:
He asked me how many powers I've given away to the federal government. I don't remember signing over a power of attorney to Uncle Sam or anything, but I didn't want to piss him off, so I just said I didn't know.
Next, he proceeded to open his briefcase and hand me a pocket version of the U.S. Constitution. (Be honest, sickos--you were hoping I said pocket penis, weren't you?)
Then--I swear to god--he told me to go home and read it so I was better educated about the things my federal government could do to me.
Then he said, "The answer is seventeen. There are seventeen things the federal government has the power to do to you," but he wouldn't tell me what any of them were.
Before he peaced out, his parting words were, "The domain of the states is the only thing we have that's sacred. It's the only thing keeping us free and safe."
I just died.
***
The Wings take on the Avs again tomorrow night, and if they don't win, I am seriously considering parking myself in oncoming traffic.
You're welcome.
Today at work, a guy came in and the following transpired:
He asked me how many powers I've given away to the federal government. I don't remember signing over a power of attorney to Uncle Sam or anything, but I didn't want to piss him off, so I just said I didn't know.
Next, he proceeded to open his briefcase and hand me a pocket version of the U.S. Constitution. (Be honest, sickos--you were hoping I said pocket penis, weren't you?)
Then--I swear to god--he told me to go home and read it so I was better educated about the things my federal government could do to me.
Then he said, "The answer is seventeen. There are seventeen things the federal government has the power to do to you," but he wouldn't tell me what any of them were.
Before he peaced out, his parting words were, "The domain of the states is the only thing we have that's sacred. It's the only thing keeping us free and safe."
I just died.
***
The Wings take on the Avs again tomorrow night, and if they don't win, I am seriously considering parking myself in oncoming traffic.
You're welcome.
Nope, doesn't feel better.
It really doesn't. I don't know if it makes it better or worse to read everyone else's similar takes on the game last night. I think it's safe to say that the Wings' blogosphere has come to the consensus that last night was exhibit # 1,247,039 of the Wings playing schizophrenically--solid and consistent for so much of the game, then turning it off and struggling to maintain their composure and giving up crucial scoring opportunities. What else can you really say? It sucks.
***
Friday is here, and it's also a morning immediately after a gut-wrenching game experience (and LATE! Holy shit, where is my coffee?), so it's time to post something totally stupid in a feeble attempt to cheer the fuck up.
Via Deadspin, I present you:
The Don Cherry jersey.
I know, I know: You're immensely jealous. Don't fret--you can actually place your orders* on this very website. Don't everyone sign up at once.
*Offer not extended to everybody. Dirty Europeans and/or non-English speaking peoples need not apply.
***
Friday is here, and it's also a morning immediately after a gut-wrenching game experience (and LATE! Holy shit, where is my coffee?), so it's time to post something totally stupid in a feeble attempt to cheer the fuck up.
Via Deadspin, I present you:
The Don Cherry jersey.
I know, I know: You're immensely jealous. Don't fret--you can actually place your orders* on this very website. Don't everyone sign up at once.
*Offer not extended to everybody. Dirty Europeans and/or non-English speaking peoples need not apply.
B.S. -- Part 2
Actually, I did feel like writing a little bit more:
It is so fucking frustrating to watch the Wings dominate the play throughout the first part of the game, only to lose the game in the end. Play throughout the game was solid and consistent; Datsyuk, Zetterberg, Filppula, Osgood, Leino--they all had great nights. Hell, even Brett Lebda scored a goal.
But toward the middle of the third period, when they were up only by a goal, the Wings switched from maintaining a strong offensive presence to facing down the Coyotes in their own zone and struggling to clear the puck; it would have been great if there had been a cushion separating the two teams. With each rush, the Coyotes inched closer and closer to having a solid scoring chance, and the Wings struggled to barely get it out of their zone, until finally, the bullshit goal resulting from a pileup on Chris Osgood happened.
And THAT'S frustrating.
I write this because I don't want to blame the entire thing on the bullshit that I believe should have been considered goaltender interference. Rather, just like losing in OT in general--it sucks ass, without a doubt, but you shouldn't have put yourself there in the first place.
So, that's why I'm so pissed off right now.
As a postscript, I don't even want to talk about the GWG in OT. Yeah, it totally and completely sucked ass, but that's like saying the sky is blue.
It is so fucking frustrating to watch the Wings dominate the play throughout the first part of the game, only to lose the game in the end. Play throughout the game was solid and consistent; Datsyuk, Zetterberg, Filppula, Osgood, Leino--they all had great nights. Hell, even Brett Lebda scored a goal.
But toward the middle of the third period, when they were up only by a goal, the Wings switched from maintaining a strong offensive presence to facing down the Coyotes in their own zone and struggling to clear the puck; it would have been great if there had been a cushion separating the two teams. With each rush, the Coyotes inched closer and closer to having a solid scoring chance, and the Wings struggled to barely get it out of their zone, until finally, the bullshit goal resulting from a pileup on Chris Osgood happened.
And THAT'S frustrating.
I write this because I don't want to blame the entire thing on the bullshit that I believe should have been considered goaltender interference. Rather, just like losing in OT in general--it sucks ass, without a doubt, but you shouldn't have put yourself there in the first place.
So, that's why I'm so pissed off right now.
As a postscript, I don't even want to talk about the GWG in OT. Yeah, it totally and completely sucked ass, but that's like saying the sky is blue.
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