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!
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Ya know what I always say. Fuck ‘em.
Someone complained about the “colorful language” on my blog, so I said…
http://wackymommy.org/blog/archive/2007/09/24/life_is_just_a_cocktail_party_on_the_street/
From another angle–an angle p’raps more congenial to such as we–I find this little nugget:
Tell your kid to shut. The fuck. Up. It’s a similar situation to airplanes. We’re stuck sitting near each other for the next couple of hours, so please don’t ruin my experience because I’m going to do my best to not ruin yours. Get your kid to stop crying, stop kicking my chair, and teach them something about hockey while you’re at it.
Now that is how you take a kid to a hockey game. And when the jackasses are hollering? Yer entitled, in public, to say “Hey, I got a kid here. You mind watching your mouth?” And when those jackasses are too hopped-up on smuggled bourbon, then you get to clue little Fucky in to the fact that there’s evil in the world.
-Chuk
At the Hawks season opener, after the first goal of the season, I looked up at the “replay” screen and said “Come on! Show the friggin’ replay!”
My wife says, You know, friggin’ is just like saying the real thing.
So I says, “Show the fuckin’ replay!”
Those screens… I missed the second and third goals, and the first fight, in line to buy some diet and a dog. “The screens: they do nothing!”
Looks like the CtC crew’s hitting the game tonight–come on, lads! First win of the season time!
-Chuk
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