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A Present from Me to You…
by Deb Beckers
‘Tis the season of brotherly (and sisterly) love and all that shite. Doing all my holiday shopping in the last week has filled me with a certain amount of bile and eggnog (not surprisingly, they taste very similar).
Out of what goodness is left in my black, black, heart, I wrote you, the faithless and beautiful readers of FTTW, a song to celebrate the joy that is the sport of hockey.
THE TWELVE RANTS OF CHRISTMAS
(Guess what melody you can hum this to – gold star!)
For the Twelve Days of Ranting Miss Debbie gave to me…
TWELVE Yes Men Yessing.
Bettman came into the league with a clear vision. A clear vision of Basketball. You think anyone in his organization dares to NOT be a Yes man? You think they’re still employed?
ELEVEN Hockey Moms Yelling.
I know it’s not just the Moms (ask Patrick O’Sullivan – he had to get a restraining order against his father), but for the love of the little baby HeyZeus STFU. If I can hear you in the “sealed for your own protection” Press Box – You are too fekking loud.
Merry Christmas my little Penguins, RIMs gift to you. Mario can now get his hair styled properly and they can maybe buy some players that don’t suck. Just kidding! The real reason the deal to buy the Pens fell through was Bettman not wanting to let the new owner move the team. He hates Canada. Why would he let us EVER get another team?
NINE Inches of Sludge.
At the bottom of my Hot Chocolate paper cup. You can’t even cut that shit with Baileys!
EIGHT Puck Bunnies Dancing.
Cheerleaders? For hockey? Eh, why not? We wouldn’t have to invest in new thermostats to know if it was cold enough at ice level.
SEVEN Rows of Stitches.
High Sticks? Boarding? Hand to hand combat? Hell yes. Some games have more blood that an UFC fight. Not that bouncing droplets of frozen blood amuses me or anything…
SIX Pounds of Cheap Crack.
What the Buffalo logo graphic designers were smoking. Apparently they shared, if the Vancouver logo is any indication.
FIVE Fekking Shoooooootouts.
My hate for this is WELL documented. Add excitement to the game my ass. It’s like when you wanted to play hockey but you could only find your little sister to play with you, so you stuck her in the net and just kept lobbing tennis balls at her head. BOOOOOOOOOORING. The only time I need a clear winner is when my horse comes in at the track.
FOUR Dying Dynasties (and one I’d like to kill).
Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here to say our goodbyes. Toronto, Philly, Pens, St Louis. *sigh* I will always hope that they’ll rebuild. In other news… Is it Duck hunting season yet?
THREE Helmet Heads.
Why do they send the dumbest sounding pucks to represent the team on national television? Seriously! Sure I like to look at a sweaty man as much as the next girl, but I certainly don’t need to hear the repetitive tripe that is agonizingly yanked out of these hose heads by an overeager announcer/reporter who is just dreaming of a desk job.
TWO Shots on Goal.
Here’s a tip for all you players and wannabe players out there. If you want to score you have to SHOOT AT THE FUCKING NET. Look, I’m happy that you have “perfected” your passing skills, but when you spend more than half the fekking power play passing, looking for the perfect fekking shot you don’t score. Hell – you usually end up losing the puck anyway. Put the GD puck to the net and see what happens. For the love of Dog!
AND A Goalie that Stays in the Crease.
I know that they leave the crease to come out and cut down the angles, fine – you better make DAMN good sure that you have more on your defense than a couple of pilons. I also know you come out to play the puck off to your fellow players, also fine – as long as there is one in your zone. The problem is that you all get caught out and it really makes you look bad it also a)pushes my blood pressure up and not in a GOOD Saturday night kind of way; and b)makes me want to wring your blade shield covered neck (the tying you to the goal thing is an entirely different story).
I wish you and yours a safe and happy holiday season, however you celebrate it. Cheers! Deb