I had no choice. My soccer team had a game scheduled for 9:00 pm, an ungodly hour for physical activity. I couldn’t skip the game: I’m the captain of the team and, since our regular goaltender is recovering from an injury, I’m also our goalie right now. Also, we were already going to be short a number of players.
I’m not sure why our spring soccer league starts the season during the NHL playoffs (probably something to do with the start of spring), but it was unavoidable: we had a game scheduled and I wasn’t going to be able to watch the Vancouver Canucks play the San Jose Sharks in game one of their series.
I was going to have to record it and watch it later. There’s something that just doesn’t feel right about watching a playoff game out of sync with everyone else. It’s an odd feeling watching a playoff game hours after it’s already been completed.
Down Goes Brown tweeted it out this morning after @jisidore sent him a tweet with the text “Now that’s a Harlem Shake video I can tolerate.” DGB added “There’s a first time for everything.”
Yesterday’s Penguins/Flyers game featured possibly the most chaotic goal I’ve ever seen, which gave us the following still shots, at one point including every single Penguin but the goalie in, or touching their crease. Nicklas Grossman eventually got the goal. Read the rest of this entry »
Ah, Valentine’s Day. The day that separates the men from the people who don’t know how to use an apostrophe. Also the happy from the sad. It’s the day that we go home to our loved ones and spend some quality time with them for all they do for us year ’round (see you soon, bourbon). We’ve been having some fun at The Score this week with some sports themed cards but I am terrible at Photoshop so I had to change the game up a little bit. So, I bring you some sonnets of love for my three favorite NHL people.
Oh my dear God I hope I remember what a sonnet is. This could backfire horribly, so, for all you Shakespeare students out there and to attempt to seem like I paid attention in university…uh, these are modern sonnets. Yeah. Screw iambic pentameter. Deal with it.
Yes, I am aware this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. On the blog, anyway. I should probably just kill myself. (Editor’s note: Jake once wrote this.)
This may come as a shock to some of you, but I am a fan of the Toronto Maple Leafs. It’s been mentioned on the podcast once or twice. In the weird, twisted, nonsensical world of sports fandom, I am dug deep in my love of this team. However, this year I’ve started to feel something more for my team. Something kindred, if you will. Perhaps it’s just where I am at in my life but I’m starting to feel a connection with this Leafs team I’ve not felt for a sports team, well, ever. As I said on today’s show, this is a team for people who are bad at life. And that’s a good thing. This Maple Leafs team is pretty much everything I dislike about hockey – they play way too many goons for way too many minutes and said goons drum up fights and trouble for no real reason outside of the fact it’s all they know how to do – but I can’t help but love them. They’re losers. I am a loser. We lose together and, to steal a phrase from my favorite TV show, we lose well.
But what does that say about me? And what does that say about fandom in general? How do we justify cheering for teams that we know are bad but are forced to live with because of geographic predisposition? Cheering for a bad team is tough. So is life. Let’s get through both together. I am a disaster of a human being and I cheer for a disaster of a hockey team and it’s pretty helpful. (yeah, that probably doesn’t say great things about my mental health but it’s true). So, here are some steps for cheering for a team that should make you feel crazy but, instead, makes you feel sane.
His is the kind of story that hockey writers love. The underdog story of a player who never had a shot at the big leagues, toiling away in the minors, then finally getting their chance.
It’s hard not to love that kind of story. There’s a player in the Canucks organization, Steve Pinizzotto, who is 28 and has yet to play a single NHL game despite several solid AHL seasons thanks to a remarkable string of bad luck. From a story-telling perspective, I desperately want him to play just one game in the NHL, even just to play 8 minutes on the fourth line.
Mike Kostka, however, isn’t playing limited minutes in a minor role. The 27-year-old AHL veteran has stepped directly onto the top pairing in the biggest hockey market in the world. It’s a great story and the Toronto media has been quick to tell it. The only issue is that it doesn’t make much sense.
It doesn’t take long for even the most well-groomed man to go completely feral. Without any outside motivation to wash, shave, and dress properly, most men will do the absolute minimum necessary to survive from day-to-day. Given the opportunity, a man will lounge around the house in his underwear, drinking milk straight from the carton, while growing a gross neckbeard and averaging half a shower per week.
Consider, then, that the NHL was locked out for months, leaving hundreds of men jobless. While some outsourced themselves to Europe and kept themselves clean-cut for their new employers, others took the opportunity to completely let themselves go.
Why does this matter? Because training camp is when the official team pictures are taken; it’s the NHL equivalent of picture day at school. And not everyone took the time to clean themselves up after 6-8 jobless months. Here are the 5 most egregious examples.
Speaking as a hockey person, what I want more than anything right now is a little tranquillity. What with the Bettman and the Fehr and the Jacobs and the Hamrlik and the decertification and disclaimer and on and on and on, there’s no peace to be had anywhere in the public hockey conversation anymore. Everything is stress, worry, hate, and resentment, over and over and over again, and no matter how often the grievances are aired, they’re never let go. They just come back a week later, louder and sadder than before. Trying to think and write and talk about hockey has turned into a wheel of suffering, and man, I wish I could just get the hell off it.
You know who was tranquil? Buddha. Now there was a serene guy. Look at him, all excellent posture and meditative expression and being made of solid gold. That guy, he could be at peace with anything. It’s like his superpower. Could we, down here in lockout hell, borrow a little tranquillity from Buddhism? Could we maybe use it to get ourselves a little bit of room for deep breaths and calm acceptance? Let’s hang a Leafs jersey* and a whole lot of simplification on Siddhartha Gautama and find out.