The Kitchen Sink

So, just a little while ago, I was tooling around on Twitter, dazzling my followers with ever-deep insights ("Sometimes, when I write 'Nat' too quickly, it looks like 'Nut.' This makes me happy.") while counting down the minutes until I'm reunited with my distant lova/BFF and we can catch up the way we always do (updating each other on numbers of surprise rimjobs attempted on our persons and debating the merits of boning in a car that also includes children's booster seats) when Drew from Nightmare on Helm Street requested that I post something for his perusal today. Never one to turn down a friendly request from a fellow blogger, here goes: The Kitchen Sink.

That's what we're hereby proclaiming the final 19 games, the homestretch, the jumbo-loaded, four-cheese burrito, if you will. Because that is precisely what the Wings are going to have to throw at their opponents, night after night, to make this playoff thing happen.

Now, before you wonder if TSO is doubting the ability of the Wings to finish the race to the postseason, let us present you with the newly minted TSO creed:

The Newly Minted TSO Creed

1. We believe the Wings have all the pieces necessary not only to make the playoffs, but also to generate a strong playoff run, right through to the very end.

2. We believe Pavel Datsyuk is straight up country-pissed after Russia's disappointing Olympic run, not to mention frustrated with the Wings' current situation (have you ever seen him straight up punch a guy in the face before?!), and he will use "more shoot" to exact vengeance over the next 19.

3. We believe Nicklas Lidstrom is far too perfect to miss out on any postseason.

4. We believe Henrik Zetterberg was put on this earth not simply to make little girls (and boys--hi, Brian) lust after his silky whiskers, but to wreak playoff havoc by dry-humping the opposition's top forwards all over the ice.

5. We believe in Mike Babcock. Period.

6. We believe in the unmatched power of the Mule.

7. We believe the universe doesn't want to exist in a universe in which there's no postseason redux of the Darren Helm kill .

8. We believe that if there is a God, he/she doesn't want to witness the debacle that would inevitably occur if #96 is irked: Homer getting his hands on authentic Viking artillery and destroying the shit out of his mortal enemies.

9. We believe in dancing with Lord Stanley in June. Period.

So, that's it. That's our game plan. We're just going to repeat this to ourselves at every juncture along the next several weeks and wait for the best. Got anything you'd like to add? I intentionally stopped at #9 for obvious reasons, but add away at the bottom of the post till we get to another benchmark number, and we'll tack on a codicil to the creed.

And now--because The Kitchen Sink applies not just to the Wings but also to TSO--we're pulling out all the stops, mixing some old favorites with some new jointz. Let's go, Wings:

Ready for a neuie perspective?

One of our most favorite friends, saraneuie, has started her very own blog. We've been fortunate over the past couple of months to have her grace our blog with photos taken at the Joe by her and her cousin, Nurse Nitz. The title of the blog just might be the most kickass name yet: A Neuie Perspective. Check it out asap!

At least we got rid of Andy Delmore right? A game recap.

As we all saw tonight, the game was absolute shit. The Wings, a team SUPPOSEDLY wanting to make the playoffs, came out and laid down in front of the Canucks. Bam. Loss. This kind of shit can’t happen this late in the season in this spot. It just can’t.

If you read Babcock’s post game comments I think it summarizes well how things went. That having been said, I’d like to present you with Brian’s “You were terrible at hockey tonight and I REALLY wish you’d given a shit, therefore I‘d like to take a shit on your head” list. Similar to a shit list, but less clichéd.

1. Niklas Kronwall. I know you folks love him, and I do as well….but what the fuck tonight, sir?

2. TSN’s announcers. Since the game was on NHL Network we were officially banned from the FSD feed, and TSN’s announcers suck my shit. I hate how they refer to Henrik and Daniel Sedin as “Henrik” or “Daniel”. They have last names, fuck-o. I know it would be difficult to tell apart if you did that, but INCLUDE the first name. It's not that hard.

3. Gary Bettman. Permanent inclusion on any biggest villian/needs to be on the business end of my runs list.

4. Jonathan Ericsson. Has he played hockey before?

5. Todd Bertuzzi. I’ll turn coat this quick - I’m not extremely con-Tuzzi. But he could not have been a bigger sack of useless out there. If he had tried to just do something simple, like...be a table tonight...he would’ve found a way to fuck that up, too. I’m convinced he should not be paid more than $12.75 an hour. For anything.

Having mentioned what a fuckwad Bert was tonight, and the trade deadline having just passed, I’d like to present my SECOND LIST-- things I would take in return in a trade for Todd Bertuzzi:

1. Any draft pick
2. 8 hockey sticks
3. Subway coupons
4. Pulled pork BBQ sandwich
5. Postage to mail him wherever he gets sent
6. Mange
7. Scabies
8. George W. Bush
9. Tim Cheveldae
10. A copy of Mariah Carey’s movie Glitter

The list could go on. A quick note of clarification about the pulled pork BBQ sandwich--it doesn’t even have to be a good one. A microwave one is fine. We’re desperate.

Humpty Dance Hump Day.

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

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

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

Today's question:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I bought $15 worth of lottery tickets yesterday.

No shit.

Yesterday was the best/oddest day I can remember in a LONG time.

Brian and I began our afternoon by traveling about various malls and stores in our area, searching for a Team USA jersey. We're headed to BWW today to watch the game (and pouring one out for Team America is quintessentially American, yes?).

We didn't really have high expectations for our quest. As I've written before, our area of the world has only started paying attention to hockey with the advent of the Pens' success, little girls' (and boys') crushes on Sid the Kid, and people having wet dreams imagining themselves capable of Ovechkian feats on the ice.

So, what did we find?

1. A Team Russia Ovechkin jersey
2. A Team Canada Crosby jersey
3. A Team USA Orpik T-shirt

Now, I will fully concur with the guys over at TPL that Orpik, as one of a handful of "relative enemies" (isn't that terminology oh-so-appropriate?), has worked his ass off and deserves our admiration.

But going so far as to wear a T-shirt with his name on it? Sorry, no dice. I have many levels of hatred, and while Orpik doesn't incur the full-tilt wrath that others receive, I'd still rather wear a shirt composed of bat barf and possum pubes. That's just how I roll.

Defeated, we had run out of places to look in and around our shopping nucleus until it dawned on Brian: We should check out this souvenir store in Breezewood, Pennsylvania.

Now, let me tell you a little bit about Breezewood, PA. It's about a half hour from where we live, and it's the point at which Interstate 70 merges with the Pennsylvania Turnpike. There is absolutely nothing there, no legitimate center of town or neighborhoods; it's nestled in the Southern Alleghenies, surrounded, most likely, by moonshiners and people who don't wait for deer season to show a 10-point buck who's boss. But because Breezewood is at a much-traveled crossroads, it looks like this:



And there, in that very picture, right behind the McDonald's sign, you see the place that will forever be known in TSO circles as The Greatest Store In The History Of Mankind.

We'd visited said store before when we were in the area; it's a hell of a place to go if you're a sports fan. You can definitely get your fill of Steelers' paraphernalia: drop $20, walk out with a mug that has the greatest hits of your local dialect, which consist of 50,000 different ways to drop "Yinz" and "nyeeeeat" into everyday conversation; a T-shirt with Big Ben's face enclosed in a heart; and a hat with long, flowing curls attached so you, too, can be Polamalu-gorgeous. The only things I haven't seen there that disappointed me a little are actual steel curtains, but I'm quite certain if you asked the owners about them, they'd probably pull some out of their basement or out of their own bathroom or something. In addition to Steelers' gear, they have various throwback jerseys from practically every NFL team ever over the last 40 years or so.

In recent times, they, too, have gotten into the spirit of the Pens' victory by building an extensive collection of merchandise, including an old-school Lemieux jersey and purses made to look like Crosby's and Fleury's jerseys. They even had a lineup of bobbleheads of each person from last year's roster holding the Stanley Cup. I thought about how awesome it would be to see this for the Wings and became intensely, almost violently, jealous.

We were about to leave disappointed and empty-handed because they had no Team USA merchandise whatsoever when Brian left me to go in another room of the store. He came back a few minutes later and said, "I have to see you right now." Confused, I offered, "I'm...here?" to which he replied, "No, you need to come with me right now."

Back in the other room, which, it turns out, is the clearance room, were a couple of authentic Red Wings jerseys. For a disgustingly low fraction of the price typically attached to them. And these were the real deal, too. We combed them over to look for any defects or anything weird, like a missing "T" in Hank's name or some sloppy stitching. Nothing.

Turns out, according to the co-owner, that they had ordered a shipment of Wings' jerseys in anticipation of the Stanley Cup Finals last year, to appease Michiganders who had passed through and commented that they'd like to see some Wings' gear. These represented the remnants of the supply, which hadn't sold as well as they'd initially anticipated, so now they're just anxious to get rid of them.

To ballpark how lucky we felt at being the ones to find them, let me say this: To find these jerseys, at that price, in an area that barely acknowledges hockey exists, particularly outside of the white-hot Penguins, was just astoundingly lucky. We felt like Jonathan Rhys Meyers at the end of Match Point. What are the odds?

With that, we raided every Sheetz in the tri-state area to procure lottery tickets. You don't just pass up a day like that without going for broke, right? Go big or go the fuck home.

FYI: If anybody happens to be traveling through Breezewood, there is a size 50 Lidstrom jersey waiting with your name on it. Check it out.

Canada - America's Hat. Fuck Canada, today only!

usThe patriotism runs deep today at the Octopus, and we could not be happier to be watching the gold medal game today while getting shit housed at the local bar (TSO readers - we hope you can be counted on for bail-related issues).

Today's game is going to be intense. As Petrella noted on his lovely post regarding the game, you notice that the general theme so far in this game is how America doesn't really have a chance; Canada is going to roll, etc. Yes, Canada has found another gear, but we did beat them. In this tournament. Last week. It did happen, promise.

Team Canada is better in just about every way on paper. They're deeper, more star power, more aged veterans, better coaching (have you ever heard the words "Man, Ron Wilson just outcoached".....used in a sentence?), better just about everything. Team USA, however, is the epitome of scrappy. They're young and hungry. They play well together, and, gasp, Ron Wilson has been a good leader for this team. (During one game broadcast, Roenick stated Wilson was "perfect for a short tournament." Being that it's JR I immediately ignored it because he is a jackass. I guess he was right.) Rafalski has been great, I've developed a new appreciation for Brooks Orpik (which will last for about another day, at which point I will return to hoping he catches herpes). Jack Johnson has been sitting, waiting, wishing for this forever (ha!). There have been many, many surprises in this tournament, but for me personally, the biggest one is how incredibly likable this team is. I remember Nagano, when the USA men's team trashed their rooms at the Olympics. Disappointing finish, and certainly not a likeable team, highlighted by such jackasses as Bill Guerin and Jeremy Roenick (and seriously, is any team which houses Guy Herbert going anywhere?).

Look, TSO has been, and always will be, American. I'll support America in any international athletic endeavour. This game feels a bit more special. The potential to beat the Canadians on their own soil. Canada, the country who acts as if Olympic gold in hockey is their birthright. An arrogance I feel is maddening. I wish nothing but the best for Babs and Stevie. I will feel bad if they lose, as they may not make it out of GM Place alive. But this game, this time.......USA! USA!!!!!

And now, two housekeeping items.

1. If Team USA wins this game, you can expect a TSO Brian dance number. It will happen. I already have it drunkenly choreographed....IN MY MIND.

2. A little something to get you pumped for the game. There is no better way. Skip ahead to the 1:39 mark:

Hijinks on a random Thursday.

You know what blows goats?

Waking up on a Tuesday and excitedly thinking to yourself: "Yay, it's already Wednesday!" About ten seconds later comes the cold realization that it's not, in fact, already Wednesday, but just another shitass Tuesday.

Repeat the same for Wednesday...and again for Thursday.

It's been a looooooong week.

So, what better to do than to have another impromptu Reader Appreciation Day?

I had one once before, in my haste to thank the three new people who visited my blog and didn't live in the same ZIP code as me (back in those days, I'm pretty sure Brian didn't even read every post). For said Reader Appreciation Day, I promised various things, involving sexual innuendos and hallucinogens, to anybody who would listen.

Now I feel like we all just kinda deserve a little something to get us through this week. Fuck it, Sweden lost to the most horrible Slovaks last night, and Canada triumphed over the Russians, which makes me sad in my heart because I wanted Datsyuk to do well, but alas, it just wasn't in the cards.

So, here goes. I also promised this before, but promptly forgot, and thereby, failed to deliver. So, here goes. Levi Johnston and his, er, hockey stick:



(There's more out there that's NSFW, but I don't feel like posting it on here. Of course, you know we're the polar opposite of prudes, but I really don't want Levi's manass on the site. If you want to reward yourself with it, feel free to click here or here.)

Also, one more thing before you X out of this window and never return: Courtesy of my bestest, please click this to discover why an octopus is better than your mom. Your life will never be the same.

And finally, just because:

Warrant Wednesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Hijinks on an average Tuesday.

While dicking around the interwebs today, I realized we hadn't written a post in almost a week, so I shit my pants. Even for our self-proclaimed grade-A laziness, this is unacceptable. What kind of a sham is this site, anyway?

It got me to thinking. I'm too late to the party to write about Team USA's triumph over those dirty Canadians (although for awesome takes on said game, you should probably click here, here, and here).

I have absolutely nothing new to say about the Red Wings at large, mostly because I'm afraid any projections, whether optimistic or threatening, may jinx the team upon the return of NHL play.

It's not Wednesday, either, so I can't unleash one of our weekly questions on you. (Speaking of which, if any of you have any questions you'd like us to hash out on here, feel free to email them to us at TheScrappyOctopus@gmail.com, along with your wildest dreams and deepest, darkest secrets. You will get credit for your original thoughts, and if your dreams are wild enough and your secrets debauched enough, you may get an email response directly from Brian, who will, invariably, be typing pantslessly.)

So, what to do, what to do? Then, it hit me like a ton of scrotum-shaped bricks: Let's get back to basics by doing what we do best, shamelessly mocking others. Then I started pondering all the things I hate, and a couple of hours later, I remembered an old standby: the Scarlet Caps fan club. (You know, the Capitals-sponsored thingy in which we chicks are supposed to get our rocks off gazing at seductive pics of the roster, then we're supposed to enlighten our delicate minds with the intricacies of hockey terminology.)

Continuing my neurotic conversation with myself, I then wondered if I was being narrow-minded. After all, what kind of person am I if I can't be supportive of my sistren? I mean, what kind of hockey fan am I, anyway? How about you? Not sure? Well, grab your pencils and paper (even the fellas out there), and let's find out:

What kind of hockey fan am I?
...the tell-tale quiz

1. When I say icing, you think:

A. "What a cute name for a hockey term!"
B. "I'm going to cut that bitch who's staring at me right now."
C. "Oooh, Icing! I love that store in the mall. Wait, you thought I meant cake frosting? Oh, god, no; that would take me forever to purge."

2. The term five-hole conjures this thought:

A. "But...I don't get it. The goalie doesn't have five holes, does he?"
B. "No, seriously, I'm going to fucking cut that bitch who's staring at me right now."
C. "Five-hole? [Giggle.] OMG, that totally reminds me: Did I ever tell you about that time I got really wasted at a frat party?"

3. You're getting ready to go to a hockey game. Even though you're a casual fan, you peruse your wardrobe thoroughly for the perfect outfit:

A. You accidentally show up boasting the opposing team's dominant color. What, you're supposed to wear a certain color to support a specific team?
B. You can't remember what you wore, specifically, but it was guaranteed comfortable enough in case you had to throw down during intermission.
C. You approach the game the way you approach getting dressed each day of your life: mirroring your style icon, Mariah Carey. She really has a good eye for fashion appropriateness.

4. Your favorite player earns an assist on a goal. Your reaction:

A. "Oh, I didn't see him helping! He's such a cute little helper, though."
B. "Oh, shit, that bitch just heard me talking shit about her."
C. "Why are you not looking at me right now?"

5. You witness your first hat trick in person. How fun! Your thoughts:

A. "I'll only be able to remember this if I think of a magician with a rabbit in his hat."
B. "I can't believe I just got my face beaten in by some bitches."
C. "Hats? Yuck. I'd rather be drenched in stale ball sweat than wear one."

Now, calculate your totals...

Mostly As
Congratulations, you are...


Mostly Bs
Congratulations, you are...



(H/T to Rob, Snooki's biggest fan.)

Mostly Cs
Congratulations, you are...



Couldn't find any answers that suit you? Congratulations, my friend, you are...

TSO-approved! Go ahead--print this out, and wear it as a badge of pride. (Non-transferable. Do not pin this on unworthy peers.)

Walk It Out Wednesday.

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

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

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

My choices:

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

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

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

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

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