And who gives a shit?
-Chuk
Chris CollisionBlogroll
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Overlord, Underdog
Sunday, October 21, 2007
I’m getting sick of hearing about the Penguins-Capitals/Crosby-Ovechkin rivalry. Well, it’s not that I’m sick of hearing about it, it’s that I’m sick of the two separate, yet related, rivalries being treated as the same thing. Back in 2005, I declared what I thought to be the obvious:”Crosby is overrated. Ovechkin, that’s the guy.” Now, I may, possibly, have been a bit wrong on the Crosby side, but, Ovechkin is a fucking tank, with more natural goal scoring ability than anyone I have ever watched (possible exceptions: Pavel Bure (doesn’t count - dead to me) Wayne Gretzky (still think Ovechkin wins) Jaromir Jagr (loses on account of ever having that hair) Mario Lemieux (close one… Ovie)), and he has as many assists as he does goals. In terms of a personal rivalries it’s pretty close, probably gotta give it to Crosby though, as much as that fucking tears my balls off to say. Now on the team to team rivalry side, it is nowhere near as close, no matter how ESPN or TSN or whoever wants to portray it. The Penguins, in addition to Crosby, have Malkin, Staal, and Fleury (i.e. some of the best young players in hockey) and several seasoned vets. Now, as for the Caps, you’ve got Ovechkin, Semin (heh-heh), Backstrom, and a bunch of (sorry, Olie) fogies. Sure, they have some other young guys who might turn out, but none of them stand out yet Considering that Semin (heh-heh) is out, and Backstrom is not up to the level of Malkin or Staal (yet), and that the vets on the squad just don’t match up to the Pens vets, and, that, no matter how much I like Olie Kolzig, he is no Marc-Andre Fleury, you have yourself a one sided situation. Ovechkin is a straight up badass, no doubt. But under such lopsided circumstances, even he can’t put that team on his back and carry them over to the promised land (of fairly meaningless, regular season wins, over a manufactured rivalry. OK, all wins are meaningful, but it’s not the playoffs.). The Capitals have some work to do, and I hope, for Ovechkin’s, Semin’s (heh-heh), Backstrom’s and hockey in general’s sakes, that they get it done. The Ovechkin/Crosby rivalry? That’s real. Caps/Pens? Not yet.
jefcanukAtlanta Thrashers Fire the Wrong Guy. Surprise.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Okay. I admit it. I’m a Thrashers fan.
This may not go over well, as I’m supposed to be a Guy Who Knows Something About Hockey—and I DO know enough to be a little bit ashamed—but doggone it, I like the Thrashers. They were my home team for the three miserable years I spent in that horrible, humid, shitpile the world calls Atlanta, and now, in retrospect, with my NHL Centre Ice, and the more cosmopolitan worldview that comes from being able to cheer on anyone who stomps the Leafs or Wings, I STILL like to watch the world’s most defensively irresponsible team score pretty goal after pretty goal and get crushed anyway.
When I got the message from jefcanuck this morning that Atlanta Spirit, LLC had gone and fired coach Bob, I was of two minds about the whole thing. On one hand, my guys are in the basement—deep in the basement. On the other hand, they were much worse before Coach Bob rolled into town.
Could be that it wasn’t entirely Hartley’s fault?
Yeah, we rolled over in the first round and got raped by the Rangers, and played for shit along the way—but Hartley won us the Division title, and gave us a season over .500 with little-to-no goaltending, a half-decent defensive corps, and just one center worth his weight in used Tampax. That’s gotta count for something—especially when you take into consideration that the Thrasher’s megalomaniacal GM was dragging his dick through the sand all season, just waiting to fuck our guys for the foreseeable future.
Which brings us to the crux of the problem. Don Waddell is a hate criminal.
… and Hartley’s replacement as “interim coach” until they can find another sucker willing to take on a charity case. “Interim coach”. My ass.
Don Waddell is the idiot who let Marc Savard go cheap after a 98-point season, rested all of our goaltending hopes on an untested and fragile young goaltending prospect, sold the future of the Thrash for the short-lived and ill-fated rental of an (arguably) over-the-hill Keith Tkatchuk, built a solid foundation of nothing out of god-knows-what bullshit scouting reports to guarantee that there is Absolutely No Talent in the Thrashers system, and fired the coach that tried for five long years to pull his fat, flabby chestnuts out of the fire.
Hartley will survive. There’s another team out there for a cup-winning coach who almost managed to transform the Atlanta Thrashers from a trailer-park-escort-agency-on-ice into a cup contender.
If Waddell had a decent bone in his body, he’d be turning in his resignation 10 minutes ago—and if I wasn’t so goddamned lazy, I’d be burning his double-crossing ass in effigy.
So Fuck Him—I hope the Thrashers lose every game from now until he swallows a double-fistful of pills and joins Bill Wirtz on the Hale-Bopp Comet to hell.
Keep your head up.
pestBoul of Dicks
Friday, October 12, 2007
I am not at all shocked that Boulerice got 25 games for his crossfacecheck on Ryan Kesler. The way the league has been handing out suspensions lately, he was gonna get a big one. What I am surprised about is that I felt myself thinking it was too long. Every hockey fan who knows me knows that I am a raging homer (Pest and Collision insert ‘raging homo’ joke here) and that I will vilify every player who has wronged a Canuck, and give martyr status to any Canuck injured or slapped with a suspension. So, when Boulerice commits a suspension worthy offense against Kesler, it’s my time to shine, right? Well, yeah, a little, sure, take Boulerice out back behind GM place and shoot him in the face and all that. But, it’s a little half-hearted, knowing that Colin Campbell uses each of these stupid incidents to set tougher and tougher precedent so that, pretty fuckin’ soon, a good heads-up hip check will get you two years in the State Pen. Couple that with the fact that it’s the same number of games as Chris Simon got for slashing Ryan Hollweg in the face and only five more games than the much less fucked up Downie incident and you have one conflicted and confused Jefcanuk. I mean, fuck, if this is 25 games then the Simon slash is 30-35 and Downie is 5-10. How about a little consistency? But no, Campbell doesn’t care about consistency, he cares about handing out the longest suspensions he can get away with. He is Gary Bettman’s bulldog, pushing the players, teams and fans around, forcing them into a Family Fun Center NHL. Fuck that. I am glad Boulerice got 25 games, but I hate that it furthers a fucked up agenda.
jefcanukTard Wrangling
Monday, October 8, 2007
Kevin Lowe is an idiot, and by that I mean ‘having a mental age of less than three years old and an intelligence quotient under 25′, but by that I also mean, he is Mike Milbury and Bobby Clarke, rolled into one hateful, weasly, asinine ‘man’. Sure, he fields a playoff worthy team nearly half the time (wow), and he pulled off renting Chris Pronger (who almost single handedly
won the Oilers a cup), but he is on the road to alienating fans, players, and other GM’s to such an extent that the aforementioned Mike and Bobby show will have to admit that they’ve been out jackassed and kneel at his feet sopping up the pearly goo of his ‘wisdom’. So, I am a little intrigued by the news that the Oilers have given Lowe a four year contract extension . I tend to think that after such a monumental collapse last season, that you would let Lowe sweat and see if all his fucking around with restricted free agents pays off. But no, the Edmonton Investor Group decided to lock that big brain up! Way to go, guys! Mark my words, the Oilers will be in Portland, Oregon at the end of those four years…
In other news, well known moron Sean Avery has been sidelined by well known pest, and my new hero, Chris Neil. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t root for guys to get hurt. Ever. But I do root for guys to get their comeuppance. Avery talks a lot of shit and, to see him get dropped makes me feel somewhat satisfied. Plus, now Avery can hurl all sorts of bullshit at minorities that work at New York area hospitals during his regular visits…
jefcanukDiver Down: The Everett Sivertips Embellish Another Win
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Or: Boo-Hoo. We Lost Again, and I Need Someone to Blame
Things looked rosy for the clearthecrease crew last evening as we took our seats in Memorial Colliseum for what we hoped would be the Portland Winterhawks first home-ice win of the season. They looked rosier still at the end of the second period when our boys were up 3-1 over the filthy, cheating Silvertips. Imagine our surprise and chagrin when we were forced to sneak out of the MC after the game with throats raw from “hurling invective at the officials”, and bleeding from every inappropriate orofice from the savage fucking we’d taken in the ‘tips 4-goal third period.
First things first—I’m an official-hater. When the stripers skate out at the beginning of a game, I’m the first asshole in the cheap-seats to start slinging allegations of blindness—and I don’t just feel a little wrong, I know I’m pigeonholing the poor hard-working fuckers, but I simply Can Not Help Myself.
Second—Yeah, even when I feel justified, only a percentage of my perceived bullshit calls are actually bullshit. I’m aware of that.
Third—Last night’s officiating was bona-fide garbage. And;
Fourth—It appears that the Everett Silvertips have fielded a sales team instead of a hockey team—and what a bus-full of cheap, diving pussies they are. I’m surprised they found time to score with all the time they spent playing games like “throw my head back”, “check for blood”, and “triple-axel tripping sale”.
I know a dive when I see it. The Atlanta Thrashers were my home-team for nearly three years, and I’m fairly damn sure that Ilya Kovalchuk and Marc Savard are about the best yardsticks for “diver” in the NHL. I can also distinguish a lost edge behind the net from a legitimate trip, but so what?
You won’t get me out on the ice in stripes for any amount of money. They don’t allow beer out there, its cold, and I can see just fine from my seat, but goddammnit. Our Winterhawks have a high enough handicap to overcome as it is without getting fist-fucked at every turn by an officiating team who obviously bet heavily on the Visitors.
To paraphrase Chris Collision “I’m tired of rooting for a goalie to just keep his stats up—I’d like to get a win once in a while”
Good Glove, Mucha. .909 ain’t bad.
I saw more jump in the ‘Hawks than I’ve seen in a long time, and I have reason to believe that with a little more polish, and just a bit more time to adjust to Coach Kromm, they’ll be able to put together a double-fistful of wins by season’s-end. It ain’t 1998, and we may not win the Memorial Cup this season, but a day will come when the calls go our way. The ‘Hawks will learn when and where its okay to beat the snot out of some inadvertent pest like Silvertip No. 5—Rascal Flatts-fan Jonathan Harty, Or diving prick and WHL Rookie of the Year Kyle Beach—and I’ll be able to walk to the bar with my head up after the game for a change.
As a matter of fact, I’d even be okay with a close loss if I knew that one of those little fuckers had been righteously speared hard enough cause kidney-failure. But, like Mr. Collision, I would enjoy a win, and if the opposing team happens to leave toothless and pissing blood, I’m okay with that, too.
Keep your head up.
pest2 Minutes for Chirping
Thursday, October 4, 2007
or… Why Can’t Johnny Get a Day-Job: The Final Solution to the Colorful Language Problem
Reading JC’s last post, almost makes my blood boil. Almost—because, well, I value my linguistic freedom, and lets just say I that I’m not looking forward to the day when our “fairly” elected representatives trade their junkets for jackboots and stomp all over my beloved and much abused Bill O’ Rights. Almost—because I can understand why our collective patois here at clearthecrease Central might raise a few hackles. Will I change my evil ways? Not fuckin’ likely. Will jefcanuk learn to spell McAmmond? About as likely as the Kings in a Cup final. Will Chris Collision get a haircut? Never.
I’m not saying that a link-share denied is tantamount to facism, because it ain’t. I’m just a little sad.
I’m a dick when I’m sad. Ask anyone—but none of this has anything to do with hockey—yet.
Without a fully-salted vocabulary at my disposal, I find it awfully difficult to serenade you with a well-deserved limerick about Darcy Tucker.
If a kid is stone stupid, he might not be able to read Lindy Ruff’s lips when he’s tearing Bryan Murray a brand new asshole.
The way I figure it y’all just oughta start teaching your kids how to use those dirty words now, so they don’t embarass themselves later. You can’t use the word “fuck” in proper context at 5 years old without a primer—even though you’ve seen AND heard Pop let fly at a myopic linesman’s shitty call at least once a day from early October ’til Late May of every single one of your formative years.
When it really comes down to it, it seems to me that hockey is the only sport fast and savage enough to be indescribable without using a little “local color”—and I’ll stop watching when the fist-fuckers who keep trying to neuter the NHL finally manage to turn hockey into the empty puck-bag that will appeal to their squeaky-clean progeny. I reckon I could stick to flowery victorian prose to describe that nightmare—and with any luck, I’ll be long dead by the time that happens.
Anyone who has ever listened to a game on the radio knows that the play-by-play guy has it tough—the wear and tear on the stimulus-response portion of his brain must be obscene—and I’d have trouble strapping on my own goddamn dick in the morning if I had to make that many lightning-quick calls.
I’d rather drink smuggled bourbon in the cheap-seats and hurl invective at the (obviously) blind officials.
Enter the color guy. We all know and need the play-by-play guy, but without that extra oxygen the color guy provides in between the action, he’d be about as lively as the bloated corpse of Bill Wirtz.
Turns out that we count on you straight-and-narrow-type bloggers to bring us the play-by-play from the press box, so we can provide the color—from the bin.
Keep your head up.
pestFrom The Cheap Seats
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Yesterday, I asked a guy on another blog, a very good hockey blog, for a link share. He checked ours out said ‘thanks, but no thanks’ due to “colorful language”. That’s cool, to each their own, and I will continue reading his blog but, it got me thinking: I’m not sure I know how to talk about hockey without swearing. Up where I sit, so high eagles -and security- fear to tread, die-hards who live and die by their teams, full of passion and over-priced beer, spout forth with long streams of ‘colorful language’ towards the refs, the opposition, their own teams, their friends, the peanut guy, the kid kicking the back of your chair and that damn blimp that comes by and makes all the kids go wild for expired coupons. Sure parents might look at you a little cock-eyed, but only very infrequently would they say anything, they know where they brought their kids. When I was a kid my dad would take me to Canucks games, in those special years after Roger Nielson was fired and after Bill LaForge was able to destroy the Canucks future in only 22 games and when nobody wanted those sweet company tickets, cause the Canucks sucked. We sat at the blue line not even 20 rows up and even there almost everyone was drunk (perhaps because beer was more affordable, more likely because the Canucks sucked) and almost everyone swore alot. I remember one friend of my dad, after being admonished for his potty mouth by a guy in a suit, yelling back, “Go back to Montreal!” A roar of supportive laughter followed. My dad’s friend then realized I was there, saying, “Jeez, I’m sorry George.” “No big deal” my dad said, “I know where I brought him.” I long for those days again, when fans sitting close to the ice, scream long, hateful tirades towards anyone of their choosing with little or no repercussions. Possibly because I am a jerk. Meh. To each their own. Hey, I just got through talking about hockey without swearing! Fuckin’ A!
jefcanukDownie’s Syndrome
Friday, September 28, 2007
20 fucking games? Are you fucking kidding me? Downie’s hit on McAmmond was egregious, to be sure - at best it’s the work of an over-eager kid thinking he’s still trying to impress Bobby Clarke, at worst a pre-meditated attempt to injure (which I highly doubt) - but a 20 game suspension? That’s more actual regular season games than Bertuzzi served for trying to murder Steve Moore. In fact, Bertuzzi served a 13 regular season game suspension and was out 7 playoff games: 20 actual games. So, are Downie’s actions equal to those of Bertuzzi? I didn’t hear anything about Downie and a Brad May-like cohort plotting to ‘get’ McAmmond, I didn’t see McAmmond attempt to skate away from Downie, I saw a guy making a mistake that hockey coaches have been yelling at players about since the dawn of time: Skating with his head down. Now, just because D-Mc made a mistake doesn’t mean I think he should be hospitalized, but a good hitter will look for his opportunities and pounce on them. Seeing the hit I was reminded of a few Scott Stevens numbers: bone-crushing, tooth-rattling, concussion-inducing (and that was just the Lindros hits!). I went looking for, and found, some video of his top ten biggest hits. In nine of them, the hittee never sees Stevens Stevens coming (because they had their head down!), in at least six of them Stevens leaves his feet to catch the guy up high, (one of the no-nos mentioned about Downie’s hit) and, in seven of them, Stevens brings up an elbow. Stevens was lauded for these and many other hits, but, a guy like him probably served quite a few games suspended, right? I looked, and found that he served THREE different suspensions, totaling SIX games, not one of the suspensions for a hit. I just can’t help but think that if Stevens had made that hit, it would have been all McAmmond’s fault in the eyes of the league, the players and the press. Take these words to heart, kids, cuz I mean them: skating with your head down is dumb, trying to hurt a guy is mean and Downie’s suspension is bullshit.
jefcanukOut of My Fivehole. Vol. I
Thursday, September 27, 2007
With the 2007-08 Hockey season barreling down on us from the opposite blueline like Steve Downie screaming for vengance after being spanked like the uncouth cementhead that he is, the time has come to speak of the one thing that sends every true hockey fan into fits of snarling hatred.
Rule changes.
If my parents had ever taught me anything besides proper public-restroom vigilance, it was the stale old adage “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” And, with the exception of the thrice-cursed pussy Trapezoid, and the puck-over-glass delay of game—it ain’t—so why the fuck are the nutless fools at The Hockey News (Can you hear me Proteau? You desk-jockey fathead?) already talking about making the net bigger?
Roberto Luongo, easily one of the top-five goalies in the league (Yes, Jeff, probably top-three), has already marked his territory on the issue with a couldn’t-be-clearer threat to retire if the league fucks with the net—and I’m inclined to agree—THN, on the other hand, has taken the opportunity to take cheap shots at one of the most talented goaltenders in the NHL.
While we’re busy crippling the hardest-working players on the ice, why don’t we just stake the poor bastard down in the crease like a turd-eating yard-dog and tie his blocker hand to the pipes. It would create offensive opportunities. I guarantee it—but so would removing the goalie entirely, or allowing bionic wingers. You want a sport with training wheels? Watch baseball. The Hockey News. My ass.
When I hear that sad old refrain out of the mouths of morons that hockey isn’t high-scoring enough, I want to spit. How many public education dollars do you have to throw away before you produce the ultimate idiot? That (supposedly) rare fuckhead who can’t figure out the really tough math—the math that proves, and has proven, once and for all that a 4-3 hockey game CONTAINS AS MUCH SCORING in two hours as a tight 28-21 contest on the gridiron that eats up FOUR stultifyingly boring Coors-sponsored hours of your life that you will never get back. This is the same asshole who actually thinks that a) A train passing you while carrying a suitable volume of “The Silver Bullet” will lower the ambient temperature outside; b) Huge-titted valkyries fly out of my butthole; and c) 13 games a year is a “grueling” schedule.
More on the inherent superiority of hockey to any other sport later in the year—I promise.
And before those big-mag chumps get any more digs in, I’d also like to take exception to all those dicks who can’t seem to quit cracking their teeth about how “hockey will never appeal to a broader audience until the NHL curbs fighting”. Bullshit. Hockey doesn’t want your fandom, fucker. I don’t want to share my favorite sport with you. Go home. Curl up with your comfy-chair, masturbate to the shampoo ads on TLC, and keep your quisling crap to yourself.
Yes, the glove-dropping flash-mob “dates” that we’ve seen increasingly over the past couple of years are cheap and contrived slugfests that even a bloodthirsty jerk like myself might just watch from a sitting position (See Godard vs. Stortini, or Boogard or Brashear vs. Anyone). I’m here to say that I will be god-damned if I don’t slaver with anticipation every single time a good fourth-liner takes exception to that questionable high hit in the corner—and any “fan” who can keep their seat during a goalie fight isn’t just abnormal, he’s dead.
So kiss my ass, Proteau—and thank your lucky stars that jefcanuk didn’t see your blog before I did. Luongo is HIS goalie—and I think he might just have to retaliate.
Keep your head up.
pest