Just like the Oscars are an annual reminder of the fact that the fight against aging is still a losing battle, again the the trade deadline came and went with the reminder that there are no magic fixes or miralce cures.

While to an extent we all wanted to see a daring move and a major shakeup, we were largely kidding ourselves. It wasn't going to happen because (1) it would be entirely against our GM's rather conservative MO, (2) what was there to be had, really, and (3) Stan elected to pass on the most dramatic shake-up option he had available to him, which was firing Q.

(1) While Stan's rather conservative approach to the front office, as opposed Paul Holmgren's burning down the building for the insurance check approach, repeatedly earns the ire of numerous fans and beat writers, is there really another suitable style for the Blackhawks' GM? The core is in place for a long time. The pipline is rich in talent. It's hard to argue that the future in Chicago is anything but bright. Given, then, that Bowman possesses the luxury of time, then the correct approach to the deadline was patience. Given futher that only very rarely (if ever) can a team whose post season outlook appears to be going nowhere morph overnight into a cup contender then, no, the farm wasn't worth selling. Not for Gaustad, not for Roy, not for Grabovski, nor Nash, nor Carter, nor Ryan, nor anyone else who was on, off, or near the trading block. So, in the end, the fact that - more or less - Bowman gave up essentially nothing to add some depth to a team that - at one point - was atop the league's standings seems pretty good to me.

(2) For a consideration of the opposite, lets look at the Nashville Predators. Time is not a luxury our dear friends in Tennessee possess. David Poile has clearly seen the big-market carion birds circling, waiting to pick over the carcass of his team at season's end. Poile knew the summer of 2012 was going to be ugly no matter what and decided that it was time to sell the farm and go all in. However, has he really improved the Pred's chances all that much? Its hard to say that Andrei Kostitsyn and Paul Gaustad are the pure scorers that the Pred's offensive attack needed to match Detroit and Vancouver punch for punch. If the Preds do have a chance to win it all it will be because of the same old guys, Weber, Suter, Rinne. And Poile gave up pieces and picks that would help put this franchise back together after the great Shea Weber and Ryan Suter Auction goes down on July 1.

The question remains, though, whether or not firing Quenneville was the big move that Bowman could have made (again, seemingly against his MO). Perhaps more importantly was firing Q the big stretch-run move that Bowman should have made? The fact that the Hawks can't cobble together a more imaginative powerplay unit from the wealth of offensive talent the organization possesses is a major red flag for the situation behind the bench. As is the PK unit, which at one time was among the best in the league but hasn't been able to conjur any answers in nearly two years. Hell, much of the frustration we have felt collectively over the past two seasons can be boiled down to horrendus special teams play, the situation in the cage being what it is. And that deficiency, the fact that the Hawks struggle most in man-advantage situations reflects, at least to my mind, on the coaching staff more than anything else.

It's a problem where only time will tell if Bowman made the correct choice in retaining Q (and considering the way that the players lined up in support of Q it may be that Bowman didn't really have a choice). With the trade deadline gone and the playoffs and then the offseason looming, the next great decision for Bowman will be whether or not Quenneville is the right coach for the personnel on the roster, and he may want to pay attention to the opinions of guys like Stalberg, Frolik, Lepisto, and other who have been greatly mishandled.

For now, Quenneville is our man. And who knows the ship may get righted yet. At one point this roster was winning those close games and leading the league. If the ship never does get righted, however, and the Hawks limp into the first round and then meekly retire to the golf course again, with a roster that, on paper at least, is clearly superior to the one that took Vancouver to Game 7 last year, then perhaps this summer will call for some uncharacteristic actions from Bowman. At this point, if the hang man comes in the form of a pink slip, he should come knocking on Q's door first. Yet, Bowman ought not rest laurels for long either.

Alright Hockey Gods, I'll give it to you that you pulled a fast one. For a minute or two you had me thinking that you were actually going to let the Vancouver Canucks win Lord Stanley's chalice, despite their numerous and well documented temptations of fate. Yet the Gods arrived just in time to swiftly serve justice, creamy delicious bowls of justice, served piping hot. 

As an unabashed and rabid fan of the Chicago Blackhawks I have to admit, I'm really happy that the Canucks lost, like, scary happy. It feels somewhat guilty to derive so much pleasure from the teeth-gnashing agony of others. Surely there must be something wrong with me, right? What makes the Canucks' ultimate defeat so satisfying, however, is that they play the role of the foil, the nemesis, so damned well. The Canucks might not have goaltending that they can count on, or leadership, or coaching, or... ok they don't have a lot that they can count on, but the Canucks are really good at being easily hate-able. 

It's uncanny, the stark resemblances this actual living and breathing hockey team has with the various scripted and comically exaggerated villains of the silver screen. Absurd arrogance? Check. Blind self-righteousness? Got that in spades. Unjustifiable and inexplicably large chip on their shoulder? You bet. Add in just the right amount of moral relativism to unflinchingly allow yourself to bend the conventional rules of fair play and you have the Vancouver Canucks. They're some strange composite of the rival teams that Disney created for the Mighty Ducks movies. The stuck up rich kids from the first movie didn't even act as poorly when they lost as these Canucks did. Much like the odd white supremacists Icelandic goon squad the Mighty Ducks faced in the second movie, these Canucks acted plenty tough until the Bruins started hitting back - then they threw their arms up in indignation and looked for the refs every time a Bruin even touched them. (I guess the riot after Game 7 was the thinly veiled plug for inner city street hockey; get these kids rollerblades and hockey sticks they have too much time on their hands! Does that make Brad Marchand the white Kennan Thompson?) Just like the uh... oh they went with rich kids as the villains again for the third Mighty Ducks movie? Oh that's right, that movie sucked, and it was so fucking corny when they brought the bash brother's back for like the last five minutes...

The worst of it is that the bad behavior starts from the top. The dives, the complaining, the sulking, the shrugged over body language, and sense of entitlement that came from the Canucks' players makes a lot more sense when you witness the team's owner cursing out reporters after the game and as you watch Alain Vigneault blame the loss on all of the forces of the universe contained outside of his own locker room.

What people got to see this season on national television is what Blackhawks fans have put up with for the previous two seasons, the annoying task of playing a misbehaved team whose behavior only gets worse as a series goes on.

I wasn't certain how I would feel if Boston won the Stanley Cup, and to be honest I was more so rooting against the Canucks than for the Bruins. As Vancouver quickly slid into the antagonistic role they now seem destined to forever fulfill, however, Boston admirably assumed the virtuous protagonist. Tim Thomas was nothing short of heroic. And I must admit that I cracked a smile when I saw Zdeno Chara perform the most fantastic and elatedly spastic cup reception since Mark Messier. Thirty-nine years in the desert is at an end. Congratulations and enjoy it Boston.

Aaron H 

For those of you who don't know me (aka all of you) I am relatively new to this site, at least as a member. The name's Aaron, howdy. I felt compelled to join Second City Hockey after I moved away from the promised land this fall, to give me an outlet back to the city that will always be home to me and the team that I will always love through thick and thin.

Anyways, I'm a consumate Blackhawks fan (as we all are) and above else just a general fan and student of the sport.

I can still remember my first hockey game,

It was in 1991, I was 5, and I can remember watching my first favorite player in old Chicago Stadium: Jeremy Roenick. All through peewees I played center and wore number 27, I wanted to be wished I could be Jeremy Roenick, the blue collar player who made up for his lack of sheer dazzling skill (although he had a fair amount of that in my opinion) with pure WANT TO. I can remember being a kid that was too young to comprehend HOW my heroes could lose the cup in 1992 (As I aged, the fact that they were pitted against Lemieux and Jagr made there loss more comprehensible), however still I wanted to be Roenick.

As I came through middle school and Roenick's glory began to fade a new hockey player was emerging: Marian Hossa. I never stopped being a Blackhawks fan, but from the day that Hossa first put on that Ottawa Senators sweater back in, I think it was, 1998 I was a Hossa fan. The guy just plays the game with such passion and he was so complete. It wasn't just the scoring, everybody knows about that, it was the way he checked, his presence in every situation, it seemed like the guy had eyes on the back of his head. I remember last year was the first time I ever cheered for Detroit to win the cup after the Hawks went down, I wanted Hossa to win it. When I first heard that Hossa was coming to the Blackhawks it was the happiest day of my sports-life (well, until yesterday of course).

In high school I still played center, my love for Roenick MADE me a center. However, I changed my number to no. 18, I wore Hossa's number all through high school.

To watch the post game last night made, hell, it made my short life to this point. It was a collision of worlds, a joyful, wonderful colliding of the worlds. Roenick and Hossa, the embodiment of my passion for the sport, the men who inspired me to play and influenced how I played the game.

I know Roenick will catch hell for breaking down on national television, but honestly, the guy brought me to the verge of tears myself. As he spoke I remembered myself as the 6 year old kid, heart broken and unable to understand why my hero "NEVER GOT TO DO THAT." But also to see the elation on Hossa's face, my hero who "FINALLY GOT TO DO IT." I will cherish that for ever.

After the victory, the bartender at the sports bar where I watch every game (btw quick shout out to Vonnie and the staff at Red's Bar in Missoula, Montana: you guys are awesome) was kind enough to allow me and my friends to commandeer their stereo system. We plugged an MP3 player into it and blaired "Chelsea Dagger" and "Here Come the Hawks" well into the night. Shots were poured, beer flowed, embraces abounded. Near the end of the night, as the party began to dwindle a few of my friends retired to my house, we sat on my couch with a bottle of champagne, fired up the computer, and started to watch a replay of the post game celebration on the internet. We also popped in Wilco's Kicking Television album to play the live version of "Via Chicago" on repeat  (as it was deemed most appropriate at the moment). No kidding, the climax of the song ("I KNOW I HAVEN'T GONE TOO FAR") where Tweedy and Stirrat sing in harmony as Nels Cline blasts into the solo, at that very moment in the song, the video player on my computer was showing that man, HOSSA, finally hoisting his cup...it was surreal, and the perfect capper to a perfect night....

enjoy folks, the cup finally is coming home, via Chicago.

Well, I'm off soon to hop on a plane to Chicago, because I promised myself that no matter how far afield my life and career took me I WOULD NEVER MISS THIS PARTY.

Quick Endnote: I know there are some talented people here. If it is at all possible (I know there's copyrights and such) could somewhat make a montage of the cup raising set to Via Chicago? It would make at least one Hawks fan extremely appreciative, and you'd always have access to a spare bed and fridge full of beer should your travels take you to Missoula.

OK. I think the immortal line from Cool Hand Luke sums it perfectly.

"What we have here," Vancouver journalists, "is a failure to communicate." If you've dropped that reference like Luongo drops rebounds, I highly recommend that you see this excellent piece of American cinema. I know that movie circulation runs  30 years or so behind north of the border. Perhaps all that is needed here is a little clarification.

Continue reading this post »

I apologize, but I've gone back and edited a portion of this. It was written last night between beers and grad school assignments. I know I may have just bastardized this piece in a George Lucas Special Edition fashion, but I swear, It was my original intent to have the computer animated aliens in there, I just didn't have the budget for them the first time!

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conventional wisdom in the world of hockey is a common thing, and not necessarily all that difficult to acquire. In today's world of 24 hour sports media coverage conventional sports wisdom is, in fact, so common, with every "expert analyst" chipping in his or her own pearl, that like common sense these days, real hockey wisdom is actually quite rare.

So,

An old pearl of sports wisdom would have you believe that pitching wins World Series and Goaltending wins Stanley Cups.

However, much like every presidential State of the Union Address, this pearl contains only half-truths and beautiful lies.

If it were true (that championship hockey teams require elite netminders), then Miika Kiprusoff and Ed Luongo would have entire wings of their summer homes dedicated simply to housing their replica Cups and Conn Smythe trophies. However, Kiprusoff and the Flames are still trying to figure out how in the hell they actually MADE it to a Final, and apply that knowledge in an effort not to get pasted in the first round. Meanwhile, Luongo still hasn't calculated the quantity of sodium chloride that needs to be tossed over his shoulder in order to counteract the jinx he places on his team by growing out his playoff beard in November. In reality, the four cup winners since the latest lockout present an interesting case, not in the least bit because they challenge the conventional wisdom.

Marc-Andre Fleury is the most interesting to me, because, well, the hype surrounding him is mostly over-exageration and complete bullshit. His career numbers pay heed to his status as a proficient, serviceable goalie, and nothing more. The .908 SV% he posted enroute to Pittsburgh's cup hoisting last year is, well extremely average. Fleury like Huet, benifits from the skaters he has infront him. The Penguins won last year primarily because of the four shifts of fowards and three defensive pairings they put on the ice in front of Fluery.

Jeremy Roenick's comments, while perhaps honest and more likely an attempt to avoid being pegged a "Hawks Homer," seem nothing more than a reflection of the media finding it necessary to dig up something to bitch about on an otherwise solid team. Or, very possibly, Roenick acted on behalf of the oh-so-selfish human nature that Nietszche argues is in all of us: he really doesn't want Captain Marvelous and the crew to do what he could not, hoist a cup for the indian head.

And we all know LeBrun, Burnside, Buccigross and the fuckheads at ESPN are in the business of selling copies of their magazine above all else. What better way to stir up drama than to tell everyone in America's third largest city "THIS IS WHY YOUR TEAM WON'T WIN!"

Actually, thank god I don't have access to Chicago's local media anymore, I don't think I could handle it.

What is most puzzling to me [why the Blackhawks have suddenly become fertile soil for media bashing] is that only weeks ago this team was the subject of pure, unbridled, and dare I say, jubilant hyperboly. Why everyone has suddenly rescinded their praise, jumped of the Blackhawk Bus as quickly as they drunkly stumbled onto it, puzzles me for two major reasons:

1) The Blackhawks, quite frankly, have deserved most of their hyperbolic praise. We've seen Duncan Keith turn into Niklas Lidstrom during the meer course of an offseason. Patrick Kane's development as a future Hart Award Winner looks to be, well, ahead of schedule, despite off-ice shenanigans. Jonathan Toews, another slow start and an early season injury appear to have stunted his growth on the scorer's sheet, however, his maturation as an exemplary leader, his ability to win a draw on demand and his presence on the forecheck (D-men who've matched up against our first line so far this year are STILL seeing no. 19 in their nightmares) have made him a first rate captian in the NHL.

2) The Blackhawks have done nothing to deserve such a backlash against them. Last time I checked they still had 78 points, and over the course of four head to head games they revealed the San Jose Sharks for what they are: a team that struggles to find the back of the net without their wonder triplets from Canada or Joe Pavelski on the ice, a team that is woefully thin at the blueline, and a team that simply does not have the killer instinct of a champion. And do I really need to reference a certain game against the Calgary Flames last October? I think that should lay to rest any questions about our team's killer instinct.

Perhaps Kaner has inspired the hate. His escapades with a cabbie in Buffalo and women/men (you make the call) in Vancouver notwithstanding, he continues to amaze on the ice and recieve adulation in the locker room and from the fans.

Brian Campbell has been a target of hate seemingly ever since he arrived in Chicago. Perhaps this latest wave of criticism against the hawks can be chalked up to frustrated columnists who just can't stand the fact that this year Soup might actually be living up to his contract. He's a top ten defenseman in the NHL, look at the numbers yourself if you don't believe me. Didn't we pay him to be a top ten defenseman? Yet anything goes wrong, and its another diatribe about Campbell and his contract.

The Huet bashing has come to the point of nasuea. Look I don't even particularly like the guy myself, but he wears the indian head, he plays hard with that sweater on, and that's all he has to do to be part of Chicago's hockey family. Now, if only more of the tribe would live up to their end of the bargain and actually ROOT for the guy, instead of salavating at the mouth everytime he screws up. Cristobal Huet is, after all, a proficient, serviceable goalie. Just like Marc-Andre Fleury. Huet's career numbers prove that much. Carolina won a cup with Gerber, Anahiem won a cup with Giguere, Detroit won a cup with Osgood, Pittsburgh won a cup with Fleury, and we can win a cup with Huet.

If the Blackhawks win this year, it will be because of the same things that have gotten them 37 wins to this point in the season, smothering other teams and shelling the opposing goalie with vulcanized rubber. Come play off time, Huet undoubtedly will cost the Hawks a game here, or a game there, but not an entire 7 game series. In a seven game series I like the men of four feathers in a matchup against, well anyone. I know there are no guaruntees in sports. Well, there are a couple. I can guaruntee that every time the Hawks take the ice I will be ponied up to the bar, several empty bottles of PBR rattling around infront me, rooting on the Hawks in my Toews jersey that probably doesn't get washed nearly enough for how often I wear it. However, I still like the Blackhawks chances, that's why this year I'm a little drunker and my Toews Jersey is a little riper.

Sincerely,

A Blackhawks Fan in exile in Missoula, MT