Fickle fucking fans

It had been a long winter for Vancouverites. Multiple snowfalls had made the cold season’s grip that much tighter on the city’s inhabitants. Coupled with the economic recession that the continent was smack dab in the middle of, old man winter had all but squeezed every last drop of ambition from the entire metropolitan mass.


Now that’s my kind of winter.

The spring burst forth with ferocity, people embracing its arrival as if it were summer herself knocking at the door. I was open to the change in weather. I was eager to hit the city’s parks and patios for liquid refreshments, though the patios held less appeal since the city’s smoking bylaws prevented patrons from carcinogenic imbibitions.

I was not; however, open to the coinciding emptiness that had thrust itself upon the streets that April. The Vancouver Canucks had made the NHL playoffs and a city of nonexistent fans had materialized. There were flags flown from automobiles, jerseys dusted off that hadn’t seen the light of day for years, even more jerseys bought a day earlier, the price tag still attached and blowing in the spring wind. All this accompanied by a general celebratory glow on the faces of imbeciles all around me.


I began searching for war paint immediately. I could not be asked to comport myself in a civil manner with all this tomfoolery going on in my midst.

Now, you see, it's important to understand, I am nothing if not an avid despiser of the Canucks. This despite the fact I grew up loving them, I went through the pain of '94 and stuck with them. The debacles thereafter? I was by their side.


Side note:That handle on the bottom right of the picture above is eerily similar to mine...

But the last few years, the team just lost me. They started playing "D" first, which may be a great idea when you have one of the best goalies in the league, but it doesn't translate into exciting hockey. And if I'm going to watch sports, I'm not in it to fall asleep. That's what I do after crushing 15 beers while watching the game.



But my hatred for the Canucks and what they did to the team I had loved the longest, pales in comparison to my hatred for the sports writers and fans in this city.

Now that the team that so many loved for all of two weeks has been ousted from the Stanley Cup Playoffs, the finger-pointing is at an all time high. The back of The Province screams out in bold block letters "TRADE LUONGO". Other writers say jettison the entire defense. Whispers of people glad the Sedins will not re-sign in the city. Let's blame the Game 6 loss on the refs!



In the few periods I did catch of Canucks hockey this post-season, I can tell you this much: trading Luongo would be huge mistake. The only reason they even made it into the playoffs was that man. They also swept the hottest team in hockey in the first series. They played well enough against Chicago, the 'Hawks just happen to have a linebacker they can stick in front of Luongo that none of the Canucks D-men cared to move or punish. I guess that would have been racist. And the Refs didn't lose that game for the Canucks, the lack of discipline by a bunch of hot-heads did. That and Hatrick Kane, with one of the best single efforts in a post-season game I can recall.



Actually, maybe it wasn't so much a single effort as an effort on the entire Canucks D letting him just walk in and coughing up pucks. Vancouver's defense was fucking horrendous in this series.

Here's what you do, and this is a better opinion than any you will find in the local papers, because I am actually an objective writer on the subject.

Re-sign the Sedins, they are the closest thing to a star that team has other than its captain. With their late first round pick, draft someone that Cody Hodgson has played with, or someone who grew up in BC. Dump Ohlund, dump Salo, lock up Edler to a multi-year deal. Tell Sundin to suck a fart out of my ass. Trade Kesler while his stock is high, he's not that good and that debacle at the end of the game where he came out of the penalty box is unforgivable. Tell Burrows to stop harassing goalies before someone takes his french-fried head off. Get Grabner to practice all off-season with the twinns. Tell Hodson he is the starting second line center in the fall so he better get fucking ready. Go after Cammaleri and Bouwmeester. Call Sakic and see if he would like to have a swan song with the 'Nucks, the Hodson can actually play 3rd line. Dump Labarbera and get Corey Schneider up all fucking ready. Sign Daniel Tjanqvist for more cheap swedish love in the dressing room.



I don't really know where I was going with this, other than to point out that a it's all just fucking speculation and trading Luongo isn't the answer, nor is not re-signing the twins unless you have a bona-fide all star or two to take their places.

Fuck this city, fuck the fans and fuck the sports writers. I am getting so fucking drunk for a real hockey game tonight. I don't have time for this shit.

Cheers, and enjoy the game tonight, I know everyone will be watching.

Bouwmeester is a selfish bitch.

Jay Bouwmeester signed a one year deal today worth a reported 4.something Million Bones, which saddened me to no end. I had high hopes that Jacques Martin would find a way to move him to a real team, allowing me to play my favorite game in the world,...

NAME A FLORIDA PANTHER!

My dream started 2 years ago when then GM Mike Keanen traded Luongo to the Canucks for Bertuzzi and a kick in the chops. Then earlier this summer they took another big stride by trading Olli Jokinen to the Phoenix Gretzkys for a hearty handshake and a half eaten sandwich. And I had really hoped that the last piece would fall, and Jay would be sent to packing and the fun would begin. It would have been marvelous. People would shout, "Name a Florida Panther!" and nothing but sweet silence would return. Sure, every once in a while someone would throw out a guess like Ray Sheppard, or Robert Svehla, but it would be in vain. You see, it's impossible. The Panthers are a team of nobodys that eat shit and like. Without them , the league may be mistaken for a Major Professional Sport, and who wants to live in a world like that? Not me. Oh, the times we could have had. It's a shame, but there is always next summer, there is always next summer.