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Diver Down: The Everett Sivertips Embellish Another Win

Sunday, October 7, 2007

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.

pest
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2 Minutes for Chirping

Thursday, October 4, 2007

or… Why Can’t Johnny Get a Day-Job: The Final Solution to the Colorful Language Problem

Reading JC’s last post, almost makes my blood boil. Almost—because, well, I value my linguistic freedom, and lets just say I that I’m not looking forward to the day when our “fairly” elected representatives trade their junkets for jackboots and stomp all over my beloved and much abused Bill O’ Rights. Almost—because I can understand why our collective patois here at clearthecrease Central might raise a few hackles. Will I change my evil ways? Not fuckin’ likely. Will jefcanuk learn to spell McAmmond? About as likely as the Kings in a Cup final. Will Chris Collision get a haircut? Never.

I’m not saying that a link-share denied is tantamount to facism, because it ain’t. I’m just a little sad.

I’m a dick when I’m sad. Ask anyone—but none of this has anything to do with hockey—yet.

Without a fully-salted vocabulary at my disposal, I find it awfully difficult to serenade you with a well-deserved limerick about Darcy Tucker.

If a kid is stone stupid, he might not be able to read Lindy Ruff’s lips when he’s tearing Bryan Murray a brand new asshole.

The way I figure it y’all just oughta start teaching your kids how to use those dirty words now, so they don’t embarass themselves later. You can’t use the word “fuck” in proper context at 5 years old without a primer—even though you’ve seen AND heard Pop let fly at a myopic linesman’s shitty call at least once a day from early October ’til Late May of every single one of your formative years.

When it really comes down to it, it seems to me that hockey is the only sport fast and savage enough to be indescribable without using a little “local color”—and I’ll stop watching when the fist-fuckers who keep trying to neuter the NHL finally manage to turn hockey into the empty puck-bag that will appeal to their squeaky-clean progeny. I reckon I could stick to flowery victorian prose to describe that nightmare—and with any luck, I’ll be long dead by the time that happens.

Anyone who has ever listened to a game on the radio knows that the play-by-play guy has it tough—the wear and tear on the stimulus-response portion of his brain must be obscene—and I’d have trouble strapping on my own goddamn dick in the morning if I had to make that many lightning-quick calls.

I’d rather drink smuggled bourbon in the cheap-seats and hurl invective at the (obviously) blind officials.

Enter the color guy. We all know and need the play-by-play guy, but without that extra oxygen the color guy provides in between the action, he’d be about as lively as the bloated corpse of Bill Wirtz.

Turns out that we count on you straight-and-narrow-type bloggers to bring us the play-by-play from the press box, so we can provide the color—from the bin.

Keep your head up.

pest
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From The Cheap Seats

Tuesday, October 2, 2007

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!

jefcanuk
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Downie’s Syndrome

Friday, September 28, 2007

20 fucking games? Are you fucking kidding me? Downie’s hit on McAmmond was egregious, to be sure - at best it’s the work of an over-eager kid thinking he’s still trying to impress Bobby Clarke, at worst a pre-meditated attempt to injure (which I highly doubt) - but a 20 game suspension? That’s more actual regular season games than Bertuzzi served for trying to murder Steve Moore. In fact, Bertuzzi served a 13 regular season game suspension and was out 7 playoff games: 20 actual games. So, are Downie’s actions equal to those of Bertuzzi? I didn’t hear anything about Downie and a Brad May-like cohort plotting to ‘get’ McAmmond, I didn’t see McAmmond attempt to skate away from Downie, I saw a guy making a mistake that hockey coaches have been yelling at players about since the dawn of time: Skating with his head down. Now, just because D-Mc made a mistake doesn’t mean I think he should be hospitalized, but a good hitter will look for his opportunities and pounce on them. Seeing the hit I was reminded of a few Scott Stevens numbers: bone-crushing, tooth-rattling, concussion-inducing (and that was just the Lindros hits!). I went looking for, and found, some video of his top ten biggest hits. In nine of them, the hittee never sees Stevens Stevens coming (because they had their head down!), in at least six of them Stevens leaves his feet to catch the guy up high, (one of the no-nos mentioned about Downie’s hit) and, in seven of them, Stevens brings up an elbow. Stevens was lauded for these and many other hits, but, a guy like him probably served quite a few games suspended, right? I looked, and found that he served THREE different suspensions, totaling SIX games, not one of the suspensions for a hit. I just can’t help but think that if Stevens had made that hit, it would have been all McAmmond’s fault in the eyes of the league, the players and the press. Take these words to heart, kids, cuz I mean them: skating with your head down is dumb, trying to hurt a guy is mean and Downie’s suspension is bullshit.

jefcanuk
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Out of My Fivehole. Vol. I

Thursday, September 27, 2007

With the 2007-08 Hockey season barreling down on us from the opposite blueline like Steve Downie screaming for vengance after being spanked like the uncouth cementhead that he is, the time has come to speak of the one thing that sends every true hockey fan into fits of snarling hatred.

Rule changes.

If my parents had ever taught me anything besides proper public-restroom vigilance, it was the stale old adage “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” And, with the exception of the thrice-cursed pussy Trapezoid, and the puck-over-glass delay of game—it ain’t—so why the fuck are the nutless fools at The Hockey News (Can you hear me Proteau? You desk-jockey fathead?) already talking about making the net bigger?

Roberto Luongo, easily one of the top-five goalies in the league (Yes, Jeff, probably top-three), has already marked his territory on the issue with a couldn’t-be-clearer threat to retire if the league fucks with the net—and I’m inclined to agree—THN, on the other hand, has taken the opportunity to take cheap shots at one of the most talented goaltenders in the NHL.

While we’re busy crippling the hardest-working players on the ice, why don’t we just stake the poor bastard down in the crease like a turd-eating yard-dog and tie his blocker hand to the pipes. It would create offensive opportunities. I guarantee it—but so would removing the goalie entirely, or allowing bionic wingers. You want a sport with training wheels? Watch baseball. The Hockey News. My ass.

When I hear that sad old refrain out of the mouths of morons that hockey isn’t high-scoring enough, I want to spit. How many public education dollars do you have to throw away before you produce the ultimate idiot? That (supposedly) rare fuckhead who can’t figure out the really tough math—the math that proves, and has proven, once and for all that a 4-3 hockey game CONTAINS AS MUCH SCORING in two hours as a tight 28-21 contest on the gridiron that eats up FOUR stultifyingly boring Coors-sponsored hours of your life that you will never get back. This is the same asshole who actually thinks that a) A train passing you while carrying a suitable volume of “The Silver Bullet” will lower the ambient temperature outside; b) Huge-titted valkyries fly out of my butthole; and c) 13 games a year is a “grueling” schedule.

More on the inherent superiority of hockey to any other sport later in the year—I promise.

And before those big-mag chumps get any more digs in, I’d also like to take exception to all those dicks who can’t seem to quit cracking their teeth about how “hockey will never appeal to a broader audience until the NHL curbs fighting”. Bullshit. Hockey doesn’t want your fandom, fucker. I don’t want to share my favorite sport with you. Go home. Curl up with your comfy-chair, masturbate to the shampoo ads on TLC, and keep your quisling crap to yourself.

Yes, the glove-dropping flash-mob “dates” that we’ve seen increasingly over the past couple of years are cheap and contrived slugfests that even a bloodthirsty jerk like myself might just watch from a sitting position (See Godard vs. Stortini, or Boogard or Brashear vs. Anyone). I’m here to say that I will be god-damned if I don’t slaver with anticipation every single time a good fourth-liner takes exception to that questionable high hit in the corner—and any “fan” who can keep their seat during a goalie fight isn’t just abnormal, he’s dead.

So kiss my ass, Proteau—and thank your lucky stars that jefcanuk didn’t see your blog before I did. Luongo is HIS goalie—and I think he might just have to retaliate.

Keep your head up.

pest
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a view before

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Any reputable hockey blog will do a season preview. But so will we. And by “we”, I mean “me, after many beers and a short night paying money to look at naked women”. By hell, the time I spend on the ‘nets, plus the dough I drop on preview magazines, I swear to you all…I can write one relevant sentence about every team in the NHL!!

Everything below was done without recourse to the ‘nets or any other resource. This is why the team-order is wholly haphazard.

Atlanta Thrashers:
Bob Hartley shoulda been fired during the playoffs last year. That team quit on him and everybody knows it. Done. Done.

Chicago Blackhawks:
With Wirtz in the ground, perhaps this franchise can finally promote itself out of the minors and begin slouching toward relevance.

Colorado Avalanche:
Looking at the schedule, I think it’s fair to pencil them in for around 65-68 wins. Maybe more, if billionaire backup Theodore rebounds to the level of that one decent year he ever had. Sakic, Hejduk, Stasny, Wolski and Svatos ought to touch 50 goals apiece, and Smyth should chip in a couple-few dozen himself. Arnason and Brunette should pot better than forty goals each, and I haven’t even mentioned the 22 shutouts I think Budaj can notch. Any playoff loss would be a great surprise.

Vancouver Canucks:
I expect “Sweet Bobby Lou” to be the same goalie he’s always been. But I also expect the Canucks to be the same team he’s usually played behind–their defensemen, this year, should realize that they’re basically blowful, and the franchise’s thorough committment to not scoring goals should catch up with them this season. Zero wins, but Luongo snags the Vezina (and the Jennings!!) with a 1.09 GAA.

Calgary Flames:
Keenan. Neat!! The fourth-worst thing that ever happened to me was realizing that the Flames beat out the Avs for the playoffs last year…and that the Flames will almost certainly be better this year than last. Crimony. Kiprusoff is fantastic, Iginla’s a legitimate hero, Phaneuf might be Odin’s son, but there’s a small, dark, vicious part of me that hopes that they…I dunno. Retire? Elope? Whatever. Anything to get ‘em outta my goddamn’ division.

Edmonton Oilers:
Somebody said they’re at “Lowe tide”. Teehee!! Lowe’s the new Milbury, and Jeff sez they’ll be in Portland within five years. Whatever. Another small-market franchise addicted to bad ideas poorly executed. I hope they win every series in the Northwest, while tanking ‘gainst my Avs.

Minnesota Wild:
Holy cramp. They won like 8 billion games last year, while never looking like a worthwhile organization, and now that I understand a bit about who they are…I’m utterly terrified. Seriously, their forward corps are rapacious. My hope? Backstrom pulls a Theodore. If this happens, my Avs slide in just ahead of Calgary and Vancouver–both beset by horrible tragedies–while Minnesota’s fickle, worthless fans deal with their squalid squad getting contracted.

Toronto Maple Leafs:
Another unit praying for some Wirtz-level catastrophe to launch them on a neato trajectory towards mediocrity.

Boston Bruins:
You know…some cat went 30-28 for them last year in goal. Are you fucking kidding me? Over .500? Behind that fucking team? So what they do? Sign some proved-nothing dickwad to come in and man the pipes. Clearly, THAT was their problem. Bobby Orr, please call Cam Neely and go on a really, really photogenic road trip so at least we can get a decent Sideways-style flick out of this hockey nightmare.

New York Rangers:
Whohoo! Any sane American hockey fan craves the Rangers and the Kings finding a lil’ success! Rangers are the inverted Canucks: no defensemen, a metric ton of scoring forwards. Aging forwards. And a new douchebag from Jersey paired with a fresh scumbag from the Sabres. With any luck, Satan loves hockey, and the Rangers lose to the Avs in the finals.

New York Islanders:
Dag, yo. Every couple years, I try to give a flying fuck about this team. Often I fail. Like a bit ago, I tried to hang my hat offa Mr. DiPietro, but discovered his nickname is “Dippy”. Fuck’s sake, find me a motherfucker can root for a motherfucker named “Dippy”. Anyways, no more Milbury, GM’s a good Canadian cat named Garth…might be some hope? Nah. 8 wins, all against the Devils and Rangers.

New Jersey Devils:
Are vile bastards. 0-82, but St. Brodeur posts a .999 save percentage and a 1.20 GAA. And St. Elias puts up 49 goals before the trade deadline, then gets traded to Russia for 3 mobile, puck-moving defensemen who’ll never report to Jersey.

Buffalo Sabres:
I watch a lot of playoff games at Claudia’s. There’s this skinny chick with a huge nose and a sizeable loaf of black curls, always there, always busting out that asinine tribal tramp stamp. Huge Sabres fan. When they’re in the playoffs, anyways; never saw her before that. So at least this year I won’t have to deal with her shrill bullshit.

Montreal Canadiens:
Aw, jeez. Isn’t this town big enough to stop acting like a small market?

Carolina Hurricanes:
So…they won a cup. But before that? I won a cup with ‘em on my Gamecube. And in 2004, when I did that, with the 2002 roster, the defensemen were (a) pretty much the same as they are now and (b) seriously old.

Tampa Bay Lightning:
Remember when Brad Richards was the next Joe Sakic? Anybody willing to trade Sakic for Richards anymore? Also…anybody willing to strap on a blocker for these clowns? Four overpaid dudes don’t make a team, sparklehorse!

Washington Capitals:
Second round or bust!! If a young defensemen or two turns into a young Scott Hannan, the awesome dude Olaf Kolzig will have one awesome year. I’d like that. I’d like that a lot. Every hockey fan with a soul wants this club to keep improving, and so do I.

Pittsburgh Penguins:
If a young defenseman or two turns into a young Scott Hannan, they’ll win a cup. This year. Young stud goalie, two forward lines nearly as good as my beloved Avs… Send these ’suckers to Kansas City already.

Anaheim Ducks:
I’m an Avs fan. I really hate Brian Burke.

Phoenix Coyotes:
Sorry, Gretz. Can’t be good at everything.

San Jose Sharks:
Knocked me out of every videogame playoffs I didn’t win outright. Seriously. Either I won out or the Sharks ended my season. They were always faster than me, very physical, and had a goalie who’d frustrate. This year…prolly similar.

Los Angeles Kings:
Suck.

Ottawa Senators:
Not this year either.

Detroit Red Wings:
Not this year either.

Nashville Predators:
Man. Another near-miss for expansion hockey! Sorry, you new fans who got suckered in by a couple years of moderate success–time to watch a horrid collapse!!

Columbus Blue Jackets:
Still gaining acceptance!

St. Louis Blues:
There’s a really good chance that this squad will, yet again, be the de facto team of the USA. Circa 1992. Anyways, whatever, proud franchise going the right direction again blah blah blah relevant in 2009 if everything goes right. Next!!

Dallas Stars:
Remember when I suggested the Canucks had an all-world goalie, but mediocre defensemen and forwards who didn’t like to score? Take away the all-world goalie and you have the Stars.

Florida Panthers:
Man. I’d really love to want to have an opinion about this franchise.

Philadelphia Flyers:
Well, they can’t hardly be worse than last year. Except they still don’t really have a goalie, and Bobby Clarke seems to be back in the front office. Where the fuck is the back office? Anyhow, the word on the street is “better than last year”. Probably slots them in someplace around 12th in the conference?

-Chuk

(Fuck, yo. You do a better season preview in two hours.)

Chris Collision
Filed in pretty much every team but the Avs can tongue my rectum, the New Jersey Devils are vile bastards, closely reasoned analysis, Collision | Comments (0)

ding-dong!

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

As the last post was in preparation, I learned that the population of Hell has increased by one vicious madman:
Bill Wirtz has died.

Since Wirtz is probably best described as the Mussolini of hockey, we can only hope that Chris Chelios comes riding into Chicago to crucify Bad Bill’s maggoty body upside-down outside the United Center. That way, yr typical sausage-bloated Chicago native–provincial, hostile, with fingers like cigars and many decades of inbred ignorance–can come by and hurl offal at the most-welcomed corpse since Ceauşescu.

Via smoke signal, Lee suggests:
Oh fuck. Blackhawks now spend much wampum. Get heap big marquee players and scalp the rest of shitty division.

Hmm. Might could happen, but I don’t see the Wings circling their wagons just yet. At this point, the Blackhawks are still like an Apache stealth-warrior–you don’t even know they’re there.

-Chuk

Chris Collision
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on cocks

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Like most people, I understand that the New Jersey Devils are a wretched hive of scum and villany. So it wasn’t a surprise when I discovered that recent Devil escapee Sc*tt G*m*z had been arrested for cockfighting.

Working for Lou “I am become ruiner of worlds” Lame-O-Rama, playing in Cockinental Airlines Arena, these things will take a toll on a man, his mind, leaving him wracked and forlorn, seeking the sort of solace that only blood sports can provide.(1) (Four/five gin & tonics and a Neurosis record is a close second.) But in the wake of all this Ron Mexico nonsense,(2) I’ve been thinking on dogfighting, hunting, bear-baiting, messin’ with Sasquatch, alla that, and I’ve come to an important conclusion:

I find cockfighting wholly acceptable.

Let me reiterate, this time with the assistance of bold text:

I find cockfighting wholly acceptable.

This has been a long time coming, I guess. I’ve been thinking about chickens for years.(3)

Let’s do some simple calculations. Where there’s poor people, there’s chickens. Where there’s poor people and chickens, there’s boredom. Where there’s poor people, chickens, and boredom, there’s gonna be gambling. And those chickens aren’t gonna be betting on us fighting, of that you can be sure!

Dogs? Expensive. Bulky. Might be able to kick their owners’ asses; chickens, not so much. Cheap. Easy to store under the house, or in the yard or something. Unlikely to rise up in some sort of essentially-flightless revolt. Delicious, chickens are. Made of eggs, I believe.

So, if my calculations are correct, cockfighting is essentially inevitable. Must the inevitable be acceptable? Of course not. Many inevitable things–death, marriage, work–must always be fought against with all the weapons at our disposal. Thus, the question we must face, and answer with iron certainty: must we fight against cockfighting?

Of course not: they’re chickens.

So big ups to Mr. G*m*z for having the courage of his cockvictions (see what I did there?). He’s said publicly that he intends to fight this arrest, and has in past years made some noises about founding a cockfighting league. Seriously? When people fight chickens? They attach like razorblades and nails and shit to the chickenfeet. That–is–AWESOME!!

-Chuk

Chris Collision
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Juniors Rule, Cloutiers Drool

Saturday, September 22, 2007

Starving for hockey, Collision and I rolled down to the Winter Hawks season opener against the Vancouver Giants. The Hawks ended last season in dead last, and the Giants won the Memorial Cup , so I think Portland comported themselves with a certain dignity in a 6-2 loss. At least we got to see a few fights. Saddened by the loss but excited about a new season, I got home , grabbed a beer and decided check up on NHL goings-on: Mike Milbury is joining the TSN broadcast crew, apparently because TSN wants someone on their team who knows nothing about hockey. Milbury traded away Luongo, Jokinen, Chara and Bertuzzi as well as a host of others and, as such, is the coach and GM of my All-Dumbass team, and I think he might draft Dan Cloutier, who, I am shocked to say, has been placed on waivers. Well, not that shocked. I spent a lot of time defending Cloutier, and, I can honestly say, it was a waste of time. On the Canucks, he was a mediocre goaltender with fair defence in front of him, and great goal support, except in the playoffs, where he consistently melted down. Catch him in a TSN broadcast booth knowing nothing about goaltending!

jefcanuk
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Starting The Year Off Right

Monday, September 17, 2007

As a Canucks fan, I have lived with a lot of own foot shooting, so it comes as no shock to me (and, sadly, ranks quite low on a list of ‘Nucks self-sabotage) that at least two Canucks, Luongo and Salo, were hobbled in an intrasquad game on Sunday. Luongo is practicing, but Salo is out indefinitely with a fractured wrist. I have no doubt that this is the most recent result of a low level curse on the Canucks and Vancouver in general. This isn’t the kind of curse that offers one the sports fan martyrdom that Leafs, Cubs, and until recently Red Sox fans feel/felt was their due. No, this curse offers you only sadness and a perpetual feeling of “we’re not that bad, with just a little tweaking we could go deep…” It’s a sort of living purgatory, one in which you are at a crappy resort and it’s very hot, but it’s a dry heat and there are free drinks, but they are so very watered down. At least I can continue my feelings of moral superiority toward competent franchises, and continue to laugh at the truly inept… It’s the little things that keep me going.

jefcanuk
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