Loooong Absense

So I was gone for awhile doing various things:

* having a nervous breakdown
* getting into Stargate
* recovering from the nervous breakdown
* planning a vacation
* staving off another nervous breakdown

Basically nervous breakdown... I have come to the conclusion that black people (oh, forgive me, my people) Black people who like hockey are crazy. In the spirit of craziness, let's pretend that I was away doing other various things:

* trying to break into SEL but my agent submitted the contract too late and we missed the deadline
* giving that guy

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Nose Kettles

Yes, I'm still sick. At least today is my payday so I can get one of those nifty Scandinavian nose kettles. And that makes me think of the Swedes playing for Detroit Red Wings. Which makes me think of octopi, which in turn leads to PIMp Mack Loud! And that makes me think of missing teeth and remember Jose Sakic's busted lips, which makes me think of veteran players. And that makes me think of Peter Forsberg, which reminds me of Scandinavia and those nifty nose kettles. Yep, I'm sick.

Ahhhh....

ps.
I've been refusing to watch the rest of the playoffs since the Avs are out. I did though watch some documentary about some youth team called "California Wave". Omigod, their coach was a black man! That was over the weekend so I think I'm in hockey withdraw now.

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A Directed, but Rather Open, Letter

Dear Peter,

We sort of know each other. I have read that a person in New York could get a letter to a stranger in Los Angeles using only 7 friends. They would form a chain with each person as a link to the next. How long have you been speaking English? Should I slow down?

Anyway, we sort of know each other because years ago, when you were first in Colorado, a friend of a friend stalked you one day. My friend was with her friend, who happened to be a huge Peter Forsberg, I mean "you" fan. So friend of a friend held my friend hostage and made her drive the car while FOAF took pictures. My friend said that FOAF forced her to follow you for like an hour. It wasn't until my friend convinced FOAF that you were calling the police on your cell, not Joe Sakic, that she let my friend stop following you.

There you go, we know each other! Practically family, right? So I say this as like a younger sister, a younger blacker sister: do you really have "Forsberg" shit all over your car? You know that's why you get crazy ass bitches following you, right? OK, that's not the main thing I wanted to say. The main thing is that I don't want to see anymore grown men cry. They managed to hide their tears, but I could tell that a lot of people were disappointed when we didn't get you in every game. Try to take care of yourself, okay?

Oh, and I know they whipped our asses, but could you help the Swedes on the Detroit Red Wings with their English? I don't know who these sports announcer guys are trying to impress with their fancy let's-pretend-I-went-to-a-good-college-and-could-have-been-a-real-journalist "talk", but it ain't working on me. I think it was the guy I've decided to hate, Kyle Keefe, interviewing a very huge, very pale, very very sweaty Swede who's name I totally forgot. Awkward!

I think this: If you know a dude just came here, use small words!

But you know me and my meddlesome attitude. And my rather ridiculous verbosity. Take care!

Love,
Your (and apparently everybody else's, too) Sister, Lexa

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Coffee and Donuts

Turns out that Tim Hortons, that place in Canada where I pretend that I'm one of them with a double-double, is named after a hockey guy. Now, poor Tim Horton didn't get a chance to retire from the NHL due to a car accident, but if he had then he would have probably just lived it up on the coffee and donuts money. John Elway has car dealerships and that commentator guy with the hair on Altitude, and now Versus, was apparently a hockey player. God, it's killing me: who is he? It's like a blond mullet and he look like he's had some cosmetic work done because I would have sworn that he retired in the 80s.

Anyway, I watched the final two games of the post-season on tv even though I'd been there. Peter McNab mentioned that a few players may have just played their last game since contracts aren't finalized and they're old farts. But Mr. McNab is classy enough not to call anybody an old fart on television. Mainly, he mentioned Joe Sakic. But then he also mentioned Peter Forsberg, which I didn't get because didn't we just acquire his ass?

The Avalanche will just deal with it if their captain, or Captain (if it's like a rank that I should capitalize), quits. But what he he do with himself? I can't find any sort of website that says as a big ole list what pro athletes do with themselves after they retire. They don't exactly get put out to pasture. I'm not being eaten alive with worry because I've only been a fan for least than half a season. I'm not going to mis him or nothing, but I am curious: what will Sakic do? Does he know what he's going to do?

If I may offer some suggestions, Mr. Sakic:

* start a country club that allows anyone with $150,000 to join (worked for Trump)
* start tanning weekly and hang with Johnny Rotten in Hollywood
* have a 5 year bender before cleaning up and joining the ranks of colour analysts
* run for political office
* get US citizenship and run for one of our political offices!

I like the last the best. That would be cool because I think Joe Sakic is tres classy.

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Those Guys with the Shovels

Sooo... remember when Jose Theodore let 4 of 16 shots get by him in Game 1 of Round 2? And why? I heard it was flu and that he completely left Joe Louis Arena to go puke in peace. Well, I understand how that might feel. My head is pounding, I'm honking like a goose and shit just keeps flying past me (although luckily not pucks). Only, I don't have a Budaj so I'm still on the job through all three periods.

I don't get professional athletes. I mean, everybody has a sick day at some point, right? Instead I keep reading about this crazy bastard who played on a broken foot or that crazy bastard who just immobilized his broken wrist or used the other hand. After all, he's got a spare. Maybe it's the money. I think if I earned a few hundred thousand or better yet a few million dollars a year, I'd work through my spleen popping out of a huge and seriously gross open wound in my chest. "I just need some tape and a little ice later on."

But, wouldn't it be awful if 18,007 people saw me vomit through the bars on my face mask right into the crease? And then those guys with the shovels would come running out to clean it up. Then again, I've thrown up in the lobby at work three times in three years and you just kind of deal with it.

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Book Review: Hockey for Dummies, 2nd Ed.

I wouldn't call myself a dummy, but what can you do? I struggled with wiki and bits and pieces from coworkers and the color analysts for about a month and a half before I admitted that I needed major help. Along came this book: Hockey for Dummies.

It's written by two sports guys that I, of course, do not know. They are John Davidson, who was a goalie for the New York Rangers, and John Steinbreder, who apparently writes and writes, but has not had a job with the potential to lose teeth. Combined they are pretty good writers. There are parts though, where I felt excluded because I'm an absolute beginner. I swear, do all y'all white folks actually go playing pond hockey as kids? That is crazy talk!

Okay, so maybe the title is somewhat justified, but I'd still prefer "Hockey for the Temporarily Ignorant".

The book explained a whole bunch of stuff so I can actually have a hockey conversation above the kindergarten (my favorite color is blue) level. It's a little like a foreign language phrase book in that it'll teach you how to communicate with this whole new group of people. The authors say you can skip around, but I recommend you don't if you are of the "Temporarily Ignorant" persuasion. Go cover to cover with a few jumpbacks (no jumps forward) if you must, so you make sure there aren't any gaps in your understanding of the game. That way you'll know what questions the book truly didn't answer for you rather than something you skipped over.

I bought it from a brick and mortar bookstore for around $20. I'd say it's worth it for that much if you consider yourself a fan desperate for information rather than in a phase or something. Otherwise, fuck capitalism and borrow it from the library. Either way, I totally recommend that people new to hockey read this book, even if your friends who already know hockey might think you're a loser for it.

The most satisfying thing happened less than halfway through the book, as I finished a chapter about the players' positions and formations. Avs were playing somebody or other and went on the power play (which Hockey for Dummies can explain). The other team got in formation to defend their goalie and I recognized it as "the box". I felt all bad-ass!



Support my local bookstore and buy it here.

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Mack Daddy McLeod in da House!

I do love hockey in part because of the sanctioned violence. Sorry, I work custonmer service so I have a lot of pent-up rage, okay? However, even hockey has rules so when you fight... or slash or stab or bite or tackle, you have to go to the penalty box. I still need to investigate as to whether hockey justice is as crazy on brothers as the US justice system so that'll be another post.

There's a player stat that tells you how long somebody has been in the box for any given period of time (game, season, lifetime). They call it PIM, and no I don't know why there's an I in it. Before I found the stat and deciphered it, with a fucking decoder ring practically, I noticed that the Avs have a "bad" player. There's a red-headed snaggled-toothed mofo who can behave himself about as long as a two year old with ADHD can follow directions. His name is Cody McLeod, and he's dreamy. (Le sigh.)

Some commentator was talking during one of the last few games (as they are paid to do) and mentioned that this kid leads all NHL rookies in PIM this season. I don't know if they give an award for that, but my guess is not. They probably don't want to encourage such reckless unsportsmanlike conduct. If I had the talent I'd make him an award, but I don't and I'm okay with that. However I am witty as allgetout, so I can title him. I propose that #55 Cody McLeod now be called "PIMp Mack Loud!" but everybody has to remember to say it in that really obnoxious crunk style.

Oh, and a note: I do think PIMp Mack Loud! might genuinely be a crazy off-his-meds mofo, so you might not want to say it to his face. Just a thought.

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