Christmas is the season of giving, whether your giving your son or daughter their first pair of ice skates, giving a family in need some spare food and some gifts to unwrap, or in the case of the New York Rangers, giving your opponent four unanswered goals in the third period to pull off a magical win on home ice. Merry Christmas, Tampa Bay! Deck the halls with a five-game losing streak!
I don't think I've been this hostile on Christmas Eve since that time I had to call the cops on my singing neighbors for demanding figgy pudding and then refusing to leave. And I can't even figure out who to be mad at anymore, as it seems like everyone has played Secret Santa for the opponents in the past week. The entire roster deserves coal in their stockings. And I wouldn't mind seeing Tom Renney punched in the nuts by an elf or two. Ho ho ho.
Let's jingle and jangle the links to see who's naughty and who's nice.
Before hitting his game summary, Uncle Larry Brooks pens his best Slapshots column of the year, a bitter and caustic rant about how hardcore fans, myself very included, are slowly being phased out and turned off by the docile, expensive, inconsistently officiated, and tight-fitting-jersey-clad game of the new NHL. Take careful note, hockey fans, as your game is being marketed by a woman named Bernadette Mansur. Anyway, Uncle Larry also scribes the summary on the nightmare before Christmas, featuring this dandy regal quote from the Rangers backstop:
"The first one was a bad goal and the game turned around after that. I don't know if we lose our confidence when we give up a goal, but we begin to run around and the other team picks up energy."
Yeah, um, they call that momentum. Mo-Mem-Tum. It decides roughly 99% of the games out there. Have you played much hockey, King?
And if you missed it from yesterday, the Rangers might be thinking about bringing back Martin Rucinsky. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go stick my head in a punchbowl of eggnog.
Talk me down from the ledge, Steve Zipay. Squandered? Faltered? Plummeting? And that's only the first four sentences. Then, of course, there's the blog:
As night fell on Friday at the Bahia Cabana in Fort Lauderdale, the dockside spot's musician---a multi-talented fellow who played tenor sax, flute and harmonica over a pre-recorded drum and bass mix---swung into Carlos Santana's eloquent "Europa." His sax-driven version mirrored the sultry covers by Gato Barbieri and John Klemmer. Out in the harbor, a massive cruise ship---with lines of lights twinkling from five decks---steamed slowly away. It seemed as if it took hours to navigate into open water.
Thank you, Jack Kerouac. Remember when hockey was a game that toothless drunk men used to play? Now it's about irresistable handcrafted pints at Dieu du Ciel, L'Amere a Boire or Le Cheval Blanc, wherever the eff those places might be. I love The Zipper as much as anyone, but I think he should spend less time sipping vintage vino and listening to jazz in the press box, and more time scoping out the mullet-headed fatties that account for the majority of his target audience.
Sigh. Dellapina with the Daily News summary, no visions of sugarplums dancing in his head. Nestled in this recap is a subtle dig by JDP, which brings me to this: I know Coach Renney prides himself on being all class, but at some point he needs to brain a referee with a composite Easton. Last night's officiating was excrement. The visitors were up 3-0 going into the third and the refs absolutely tilted the ice to give the home team a shot -- let them know this. It's an abyssmal league anyway. Would you rather be fined or fired?
Grrrr. Speaking of excrement, Sherry Ross's latest ... wait a minute. This is actually a great column: critical of the league, slightly informative, and even some snappy jokes. And unto her a child was born, and she wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn. Now let's all gather 'round the Festivus Pole to witness the feats of strength.
Sam Weiman is on vacation, but this is where he hangs out. Surfing around NY Sports Day I found former Blueshirt Bulletin columnist Anthony Mastantuoni's blog. Speaking of Dubi and the Bulletin -- always a fun read, though I get the impression over there that they cheer when Frosty the Snowman starts to melt. And, of course, The Rodent, online media darling of the stat-loving hockey fan.
Merry Christmas to each and all.
Around the league, a team worse than us! At least Kyle Calder is scoring. Boston over Habs -- very quietly, Marc Savard is transforming himself from overpaid chump to guy that produces pretty well on a team that isn't that good but isn't quite a disaster either. Explosive Semin blisters Leafs. Devils get Thrashed -- Parise has been on fire since he demanded the refs check the video on his goal with two minutes left in a 5-1 game, you friggin' sissy. And the searing-hot Islanders kill ten penalties en route to a shutout over the Blue Jackets -- Henrik Lundqvist's SV% is .893, Mike Dunham's is .916. Bah rump bah bump bump.
If you had a heart, you'd pray for my fantasy football team in our league championship. Tomlinson and Gates at the Terrordome, Ocho Cinco at Mile High; surprise starter Ladell Betts subbing for my gipper, Fred Taylor; ugh, Plax; and my Christmas Day ship sailing in, All-Pro Tony Romo. Work with me. This is all that I have.
What happens when you punch "Tara Reid Santa" into Google? This happens. Is that Petr Nedved? I think it is. And what happens when you punch "Jessica Simpson Santa" into Google? This happens. Leave this off my Christmas list, please. And what happens when you punch "Lindsay Lohan Santa" into Google? This happens. With sound!
Fah la la la la, Rangers fans. See you next week.
Posted by brian at December 24, 2006 08:41 AMeMail this entry!
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