Under the Bucket: Old Man Jagr Is Ruling the NHL
Deaner doesn't think Tortorella will last, and believes a little bonus should be added to 'rivalry' games. He also hopes Jagr wins the scoring title.
Photo by Gene J. Puskar-The Associated Press
Well, we're finally back to normal. Christ, the whole goddamned country took a trip into the land of ball-scratching and bat-flipping, cuz that's the only fuckin' thing they were showin' at the bar from Pricktoria, British Columbia, to Dildo, Newfoundland. And I'll say one thing, it don't matter if it's the Blue Jays, the Red Sox or the Raspberry fucking Berets, playoff baseball is some exciting shit.
But when it comes to sports, I'm a hockey guy, so I'm stoked we're all talkin' my language again. And, yah, maybe the reason it was a challenge to get amped on the Jays is because my parents split in 1989 after my mom banged Kelly Gruber in the clubhouse hot tub. Holy fuck, let's not go there!
Yah boys, we're in week three now and the axe already came down on a coach. The two Pierres (LeBrun and McGuire) were talking like the Blue Jackets were gonna finish at the top of the East. Big bodies. Mean. Tough to play against. And time's gonna tell, I guess, cuz it's a long season and a bad meal can still turn into a good shit, but seems like Bobrovsky couldn't stop a clock with a sledgehammer. And now it's Enter Tortorella. Exit light. Enter night. It's off to Neverneverland. Dun dun dun dun duhhh. Dun dun dun dun duhhh. Fuck me. I'm guessing he'll get results at first, cuz a new coach in the room is like a shot of Febreeze up your nose, like WHOA, LET'S GO BOYS. But then it wears off and you realize that everyone around you still stinks.
And that got me thinking about how a coach is like your best buddy's girlfriend. You almost never like each other, but you know you gotta get along, at least at the beginning when everyone else is pretending to. So, at first, you're all like, "Oh hey, how's it goin' Debra, I totally care about you and your stupid fuckin' *Yorkie" but then the dog pukes in your car and you're like, "Debra, seriously, if that little yapper gets in my car he's goin' headfirst out the fuckin' window on the highway." And you're also maybe/probably sleeping with her sister just to piss them off.
*In the coach's case, the annoying Yorkie would be his 'system.'
So I'm gonna give Torts 40 wins on the year, but predict his big-mouth style gets him fired before the beginning of next season.
Anyway, is it a coincidence that the year Jaromir Jagr says he's growing his mullet again, he's got six goals in eight games? Sweet Jesus, he's scored as much as the entire Anaheim Mighty Ducks team. He's a MADMAN.
As one of the few guys still playing who is older than me, I'm entirely on board with the Jagr-lution, and hope he wins the scoring title. If I was his coach, I'd say, "NEVER BACKCHECK AGAIN, Jagr. You're here to win the Maurice Richard Trophy! Rent a condo on the far blue line, do whatever. Just SNIPE, YOU MAD MAN. SNIPE!!"
Is anybody else kinda tired with networks tryin' to pump up games calling them NHL rivalries? Boston-Montreal, Calgary-Edmonton, Rangers-Flyers—LOOKOUT RIVALRY NIGHT! Oh wait, none of those matter any more... Look TV GUY in a suit who lives in a land far, far away from the nearest hockey rink, a rivalry ain't shit if only one of the teams is good. And it's even worse if both the teams suck (lookin' at you Flames/Oilers). You want some sizzle in the regular season, add a little bonus for these 'rivalry' games. Like the next time Flames and Oilers meet, the losing team has to give hour-long massages to the training staff of the winning team. "Hey, McDavid! You want to give Bob Hartley a rubdown after the game?!? Move your goddamned feet!!!" It's called motivation.
Stats Corner: This week we tackle Pork Possession. Basically, the more pork you have, the better. But you have to watch out, because if you squeeze the pork too hard and never let it go, you might be missing out on an opportunity to score. Pork possession is key, but when you're shaft is deep in the crease, you gotta know when to rip one off.