Clear The Crease

Or: Boo-Hoo. We Lost Again, and I Need Someone to Blame

Things looked rosy for the clearthecrease crew last evening as we took our seats in Memorial Colliseum for what we hoped would be the Portland Winterhawks first home-ice win of the season. They looked rosier still at the end of the second period when our boys were up 3-1 over the filthy, cheating Silvertips. Imagine our surprise and chagrin when we were forced to sneak out of the MC after the game with throats raw from “hurling invective at the officials”, and bleeding from every inappropriate orofice from the savage fucking we’d taken in the ‘tips 4-goal third period.

First things first—I’m an official-hater. When the stripers skate out at the beginning of a game, I’m the first asshole in the cheap-seats to start slinging allegations of blindness—and I don’t just feel a little wrong, I know I’m pigeonholing the poor hard-working fuckers, but I simply Can Not Help Myself.

Second—Yeah, even when I feel justified, only a percentage of my perceived bullshit calls are actually bullshit. I’m aware of that.

Third—Last night’s officiating was bona-fide garbage. And;

Fourth—It appears that the Everett Silvertips have fielded a sales team instead of a hockey team—and what a bus-full of cheap, diving pussies they are. I’m surprised they found time to score with all the time they spent playing games like “throw my head back”, “check for blood”, and “triple-axel tripping sale”.

I know a dive when I see it. The Atlanta Thrashers were my home-team for nearly three years, and I’m fairly damn sure that Ilya Kovalchuk and Marc Savard are about the best yardsticks for “diver” in the NHL. I can also distinguish a lost edge behind the net from a legitimate trip, but so what?

You won’t get me out on the ice in stripes for any amount of money. They don’t allow beer out there, its cold, and I can see just fine from my seat, but goddammnit. Our Winterhawks have a high enough handicap to overcome as it is without getting fist-fucked at every turn by an officiating team who obviously bet heavily on the Visitors.

To paraphrase Chris Collision “I’m tired of rooting for a goalie to just keep his stats up—I’d like to get a win once in a while”

Good Glove, Mucha. .909 ain’t bad.

I saw more jump in the ‘Hawks than I’ve seen in a long time, and I have reason to believe that with a little more polish, and just a bit more time to adjust to Coach Kromm, they’ll be able to put together a double-fistful of wins by season’s-end. It ain’t 1998, and we may not win the Memorial Cup this season, but a day will come when the calls go our way. The ‘Hawks will learn when and where its okay to beat the snot out of some inadvertent pest like Silvertip No. 5—Rascal Flatts-fan Jonathan Harty, Or diving prick and WHL Rookie of the Year Kyle Beach—and I’ll be able to walk to the bar with my head up after the game for a change.

As a matter of fact, I’d even be okay with a close loss if I knew that one of those little fuckers had been righteously speared hard enough cause kidney-failure. But, like Mr. Collision, I would enjoy a win, and if the opposing team happens to leave toothless and pissing blood, I’m okay with that, too.

Keep your head up.