SB Nation User Blog: blue with age

Bettman, pissing people off worldwide

blue with age — Wed, 20 May 2009 14:39:26 -0000

Making the news here in Quebec City this morning are the possibly dubious claims of a certain russian gazillionaire. The local interest in the story is due to Alexander Medvedev's previously expressed desire to bring an NHL team back here. Seems Gary told him that being Russian disqualifies him from playing in Gary's sandbox. Does Gary also secretly wear his Grandma's curtains? Does ownership of an NHL team involve the of respect of some kind of 'code'?

Truth is Stranger than Fiction

blue with age — Sat, 16 May 2009 17:54:56 -0000

Just to recap, Grabbo weeble is a weeble based life form that plays hockey in a large North American city. He wobbles, but rarely falls down.

Grabbo weeble is returning from a stint as the Belarusian hockey team at the world championships. He has grown a powerful moustache, giving him the ability to play all 6 positions at once.

At the airport, a curious group that call themselves the Muskoka 5 greet him. They look, smell and talk like hockey playing weebles, but Grabbo weeble is still a little wary of them.

via i203.photobucket.com

They encourage him to drag out his contract negotiations, go for the no trade clause then suck as no player has sucked before.

Grabbo is shocked by such talk and quickly touches base with his boss Burke weeble, fresh from his stint as the American IHC entry.

via miasmaticreview.mu.nu

Burke weeble tells him they should meet in person to talk. Grabbo hops the next plane to Big North American City.

While Grabbo dreams about watching his favorite team the Minsk Voltigeurs hoist the Memorial Cup, Grabbo’s plane is blown from the sky en route to his meeting.

via i560.photobucket.com

Luckily, weebles are encapsulated in plastic and float.

He is saved by Wellwood weeble, who was in the neighborhood transporting the Failville ‘wish we knew about jets’ Spitfires to their glorious defeat in the same tournament.

via www.sportsbubbler.com

WW informs Grabbo about the conspiracy he has unwillingly become a part of. ‘See, if I give 10%, 100% of the time, that makes 110% and then they blame the goalie. For the drug addled fans in my town…’

Meanwhile back in Minsk…..

Plans are afoot to establish the Belorusian Hockey League via the destruction of the North American league. Its strategy: establishing teams in non-traditional markets and sabotaging the game where it is already popular.

The captain co-conspirators of the mammalian conspiracy group MCG, Right Breast weeble and Left Breast weeble, had cultivated a network of sleeper agents to do their bidding

via i560.photobucket.com

*Q - What's the dickhead for?

*A. Not to let the hand to slide off

The key agents were Gary and Ace. The MCG had identified the ability of Gary weeble, even at a young age, to encourage bad judgment among the hockey elite.

via i560.photobucket.com

Other agents included Garth Snow

via i560.photobucket.com

Boots, the guys in Tampa, the Detroit police force, and enemas everywhere to which the MCG had a statue commissioned

via englishrussia.com

Weeble pods clones were also grown in a pen outside Viking, Alberta to take the place of players who always respect the ‘code’.

via turbid.com

In traditional hockey markets, they would be programmed to be ‘good guys’ that suck. In non-traditional markets they would be the franchise saviors that give unbridled hope to an ephemeral fan base, who then later suck at the requisite moment, breaking the hearts of said fan base.

They could be identified by their colorful attire, their Ben Affleck facial hair configurations and their hate of any Minsk based hockey teams. A faceoff with Grabbo was surely in the cards.

via www.kitchencontraptions.com

But, the only entity capable of positively identifying the evildoers was Pony’s Hand!

via i560.photobucket.com

And all sides wanted to get their hands on the Hand..

Didomenico Breaks Femur

blue with age — Wed, 06 May 2009 12:47:58 -0000

The recently signed Leaf prospect was cross checked trying to touch the puck on an icing call in the first period of the third game of the Q league final last night. He was taken off the ice on a stretcher and admitted to hospital. According to his coach, (article in French) Didomenico , despite his extreme pain, repeated over and over while prone on the ice "je veux la game" to his team mates. I'm sure you can translate. If he recovers, I think this is the kind of character that we want on our team. Drummondville now leads the series 2-1.

PPP Update: Here is a CP article for you Anglos.

Bandwagonning made easy

blue with age — Thu, 30 Apr 2009 18:45:01 -0000

Kyle Wellwood prepares himself for tonight's game

via www.ultimatehockeyshow.com

As the playoffs progress, the bandwagon choices start to involve unpleasant smells and selective memories. Always ready to serve the Barilkosphere, I offer you a team to which you may offer your temporary love. Submitted for your approval, the Drummondville Voltigeurs. The Voltigeurs take their name from a brigade formed during the war of 1812 (the one where we burned down the White House). Made up of of local colonists and natives, the Voltigeurs successfully repelled 3 American attempts to take Montréal. This year, a Voltigeurs hockey team that finished last season with a meager total of 33 points, led the Q with 112 points, a record year over year improvement for Canadian junior hockey. So far in the playoffs, they are unbeaten in 12 games and will meet the Cataractes in the league final starting May 1. As a booty call team, very similar in several ways to our main blue and white squeeze, they provide an example of the future we all hope for and how to get there.

So how did they do it? First off they decided that last season was going to be a long one. Instead of trading draft choices for more veteran talent to win a few more games, coach Guy Boucher and GM Dominic Ricard decided to play the kids and made 17 year old Marc-Olivier Vachon their captain. They knew it would amount to suicide in terms of team success, but believed the experience would be beneficial for the young players. This year began with a search for a few veteran players who could score. Taking advantage of a nightmarishly good power play, Yannick Riendeau (a Boston prospect) went from 49 points last year in Rouyn to 126 points this year in Drummond (hopefully he will suck for the Bruins), and Dany Massé (certain to choke as a Mtl prospect) increased his 79 point total in Bathurst last year to 110 on this year’s Drummond squad. In the first 8 games of playoffs, the power play was at 42.7% efficiency, accounting for 60 goals.

We are also talking about a team that rarely quits, starting with a management that was not content to rest on its laurels as success became evident during the regular season. A playmaking threat in the form of Christopher DiDomenico, an Ontario exile who had to go to the Q to prove he could still play, was added to an powerhouse offense late in the season. We should draft him. This relentless pursuit of victory was also shown in the Rimouski series. Despite the best efforts of Luca Cunti (am I alone in hoping that a hapless play-by-play guy is forced to describe some kind on-ice aggression between the Tampa prospect and Philadelphia’s up and coming James van Riemsdyk? - No matter how you pronounce the latter), Drummondville was unstoppable, stretching their playoff winning streak to 10 straight by overcoming a 3 goal deficit in the last 7 minutes of the 3rd period, including the winning goal with 17 seconds to go.

Nothing lessens booty call guilt, or remorse as the case may be, like the come back kid story of Mike Hoffman. Cut last year by both his hometown team in Kitchener and then Gatineau, Hoffman proved he could still score in Drummondville. He has also stepped it up a notch for the playoffs and is now 4th in the league in playoff scoring. In an effort to make a subtly obnoxious suggestion, I will note that he is undrafted and does not appear among the top 200 junior prospects. All agree however, that the principal cog in the machine is a defenseman, Dimitri Kulikov. As an assistant to Pat Quinn at the world U18 tournament, coach Boucher first began courting Kulikov to get him to play in Drummondville. By moving up in the draft, Drummond took Kulikov second overall, just behind Nikita Filatov. Kulikov is a nasty piece of Russian engineering, a + 34 that averaged a point a game during the regular season. Another guy who keeps the pedal to the metal, he is mean, fast and disciplined, with a knack for getting the puck to the net though traffic. In the 4th and final game of the 3rd round series against Rimouski that set the unbeaten streak at 12, Kulikov had 3 points and was 1st star of the game. Imagine him paired with OLAS; the opposing team’s trainer will need a back up supply of Depends for those who dare to cross our blue line.

Let’s be realistic, the Q is not the NHL. Any league that allows the Montréal team to name itself les Juniors, or the MAINEiacs of Lewiston, (no that’s not a typo), or a certain former NHL goalie to use his son as a backup goalie who smashes all the toilets in the dressing room after his dad pulls him for sucking so bad in one of the three games he appeared in all year then goes on to a rap career where he sings about how he was so misunderstood when his dad told him to beat the shit out of the opposing goaltender the year before…. well let’s just say that the cheese is not just in the poutine and forms a trail that leads all the way to the Bell Centre. But the Voltigeurs provide a rags to riches tale that inspires, and we can cheer (a) Leaf prospect(s?) in a way that allows us to move on after the excitement without strings. The coach is also a kind of fucking nutbar who forbids anyone involved with the team to say anything that may be construed as expressing doubt. Nonetheless, a Memorial Cup match in Rimouski between Drummond and Windsor might just be the best 18-15 game ever played, with or without Luca Cunti. So, let’s go les boys, lâchez pas.

In search of sisu weeble

blue with age — Thu, 23 Apr 2009 16:19:08 -0000

To recap, Grabbo weeble is a likeable hockey player in a large North American city. He wobbles but rarely falls down.

via i43.photobucket.com

After a stellar rookie season, he returns a hero to his native country. Parades are launched in his honour and Grabbo weeble day is declared

via farm4.static.flickr.com

But Grabbo quickly tires of the celebrity life

and a downward spiral of debauchery ensues

via img.photobucket.com

Grabbo consults with the hockey oracle of Minsk

via www.ironrange.org

The oracle tells him to seek out sisu weeble to find the true meaning of life. It is rumoured that sisu weeble goes by the alias of Saku and is keen on giving advice to other hockey players. Grabbo sets out on his pilgrimage to sisu weeble's last known home in Montréal.

via www.hasbro.com

Grabbo feels uneasy in a place that looks so familiar, like he's been here before

via www.cartoonstock.com

Sisu weeble is not to be found, apparently disappearing after the season that was

via i105.photobucket.com

While still at the rink, Grabbo happened upon team ownership

they told him that sisu weeble had retired sometime during the season and had returned to his native land. Grabbo hopped on the first plane out, as team ownership seemed happy to see him go.

via i57.photobucket.com

Weeble searched sisuville in vain for his guru

via i18.photobucket.com

After a furious search, Grabbo finds Sisu weeble at a baltic resort

via www.boingboing.net

The guru responds that Grabbo should retire to the good life like he did halfway through last season. It is important however, to always look emotionally distraught when talking to the media so they don't find out about your stategy.

Grabbo is unsure how to respond

via www.csdl.tamu.edu

More troubled than ever, Grabbo returns to his native land.

to be continued....

An Easter Tale

blue with age — Thu, 09 Apr 2009 18:35:52 -0000

Meet Grabbo Weeble. Once upon a time a young weeble was playing his favorite game in a shithole named Montréal.

(any resemblance, real or intended, to any other resurection parable is stricly the fault of Bob Gainey)

Grabbo weeble is particularly irascible, and his old coach Bo weevil, didn't like him.

It should be noted that Weebles wobble but they don't fall down, even when giants try to squish their heads. This makes them particularly suited to playing hockey.

For the statistically inclined among you, here's scientific proof

Once on a trip through the desert with his team, things went sour

His "friends" chased him out of town, telling him he will never score 20 goals

Grabbo weeble got sent to a new team

His new team is owned by a gargantuan pension fun that likes to heard sheep (and eat them too apparently)

And next year, they're gonna show Grabbo Weeble the money

The End

Joyeuses Pâques

News from the Q

blue with age — Sat, 17 Jan 2009 18:10:03 -0000

Editor's Note: blue with age decided to take advantage of a meeting of two of Toronto's better offensive prospects and made his way down to the Remparts/Drummondville game. Here is his report on Mikhail Stafanovich and Chris DiDomenico.

Last night I ventured out in the insanely cold night with 14000 other insane people to watch a Remparts/Drummond game. In our barn, the beer is priced ($4.25) just slightly higher than bottled water and the sushi is called poutine ($6). Though I have seen our boy Stefanovich before this was the first time I have seen DiDomenico live.

Tall, yet invisible, Stefanovich seems to often be in the right place at the right time to pot a goal. Which he did at even strength last night from the edge of the crease. He is big enough, fast enough and has the hands to play in the big show. The only question is whether he can do it right away. Think Pony (both positive and negative aspects). Personally, I can hardly wait for the tag team wrestlemania cage match featuring our belarusians versus theirs (you know who you are). Speaking of the negative side, being invisible is not always an asset when it means do-nothing-invisible. Plus, King Patrick had to actually go to Belarus (undoubtably with persuasive pineapples and sharp knives) to convince his parents to let Steffy come here. He will always be a higher maintenance player. Though hats off to the parents for making the crazy, wifebeating father of two junior rapping wifebeaters-in-training jump though hoops to get his way instead of just pouting in the local newspaper that he would take a back seat to anyone that would like to take his place knowing full well that the fawning over him of the said local population is the source of his hard-ons (in addition to wifebeating of course).

DiDomenico was recently traded to his new team. I hesitate using the nick name Dido, one typo away from being more news than I need to know. The PA announcer last night referred to him as Christophe (see previous sentence). Drummondville is now third overall in the Q (after last night) and DiDomenico is 1 of their 2 NHL drafted players - Quebec has 7. (Note to overcrowded TML executive suite - Please, please don't draft Tardif the goalie). DiDomenico has grown quite a bit in the recent past, so he is a thin guy. It is not surprising then that he is easily moved off the puck for now (including an awesome open ice hit last night that put him on his ass). On the positive side, he can play a role. This was not he same guy that set up Tavares over xmas. All his points last night (1g2a) were from the lip of the crease and he has a mean streak, probably from being pushed around when he was a smaller water bug. He was definitely the best player on his team last night, as well as the most penalized, and can evidently make an impact.

Overall, both players seem to be prospects that have yet to prove they can make the jump up. But good hands can't be taught, whether they develop with us or serve as trade bait.

Joyeuses Fêtes

blue with age — Wed, 24 Dec 2008 19:09:53 -0000

Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house

  Not a creature was stirring, apart from Blakie doing roundabouts;  

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,  

Impaled to the mantel by Wilson’s cold, icy stare;  

The boys were nestled all snug in their beds,  

While visions of Stanley cups danced in their heads;  

And mamma, dressed in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,  

Had just settled down for a long winter's “nap”,  

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,  

I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.  

Away to the gondola I flew like a flash,  

Tore open the shutters and threw out my stash.  

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow

  Gave the luster of mid-day to the boys playing below,  

When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,  

But a miniature sleigh, and trade bait with beer,  

With a little old captain, so lively and quick,  

I knew in a moment it must be Hagman, St. Nick.  

More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,  

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

  "Now, Pony! Now, Schendel! Now, Antro and Frogenthor!  

On, Kulemin! on Finger and Moustache! On Dominic Moore!  

To the front of the net! Crush all those found along the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!"  

As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,  

When they meet with an Crosby, they just make him cry,  

So up to playoff contention the coursers they flew,  

With the sleigh full of puck-moving defensemen, and Pogge too.  

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the grate  

The prancing and pawing of each little skate.  

As I drew plays in my hand, and was turning around,

Down the chimney Burke came with a bound.  

He was dressed all in duck fur, from his head to his foot,  

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;  

A sac full of dreams he had flung on his back,  

And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.  

His eyes -- how they twinkled! His dimples how merry!  

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a berry!  

His droll little mouth was drawn up in a smile,  

And his plans allowed us to all forget about Mats and Kyle;  

The stump of a stick he held tight in his teeth,  

And the ice chips encircled his head like a wreath;  

He had a broad face and a big round belly,  

That shook, when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.  

He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,  

And I laughed at that belly full ‘o draft choices, in spite of myself;  

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,  

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;  

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,  

And filled all the stockings; then turned towards Cherry the jerk,  

And flipping him the finger aside of his nose,  

And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;  

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,  

And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.  

But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,

"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night."

And as the Baby Jesus said, "It's just a game for fuck sakes, channel the energy of your anger towards the resolution of more pressing problems in the world."

Statistical Minutiae

blue with age — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 18:19:13 -0000

As someone who makes a living being a contrarian, I thought it might be useful for members of the Barilkosphere to have their own version of Moneyball, its measures of success and its incredibly fucked up acronyms that lend it a sense of legitimacy and importance in the eyes of some. Charting our path towards eventual domination of the NHL can give us hope and divert our attention from the crushing failure that we have all come to know and love. To this end, I would like to suggest:

The GPS, or goalies pulled statistic. The Catholic Church has determined that pulling your goalie can lead to blindness and we are the Vatican of hockey. If you are blind, not paying attention to the objective at hand or have pulled your goalie, you are probably self-absorbed and/or your attention has been focused on something other than the game that you are playing (like himself, for example). So, if you must pull your goalie, you are not winning at any game that I can think of, and close only counts in horseshoes. As an indicator of general team suckiness, the GPS can also allow us to locate the principal perpetrators of this suckiness. If a player is fist pumping after meaningless goals, his GPS is probably very high and it is a good idea that this player keeps his head up…. or maybe not.

The PTTB is an indicator of pugnacity, testosterone, truculence and belligerence. Also known as the Were hE Not here, Damn we would have Excelled as being Losers, AKA the WENDEL. With all due respect to the Gordie Howe hat trick, Gordie’s godless elbows simply instilled fear in the opponent. But many people actually enjoy fear. The PTTB is a measure of the capacity of a player to demand unconditional surrender. Pugnacity is a function of the amount of blood punched out (to a maximum of 8 litres), testosterone is measured by offspring sired, truculence by the number of savage hits meted out and belligerence by the number of game winning, equalizing or go ahead goals scored. Add them together, hire a good athletic therapist and anyway you look at it, it’s a handsome number.

The FWFT statistic. or the fuck the wife and you fuck the team. AKA, the Iafrate. This is a proxy measure of team solidarity, according to which if you’re diddlin’ a teammate’s wife, the team’s fortunes tend to tank and trade action is immanent. This can also be used to measure the ability to diminish the solidarity of the other team if the teammate has a brother who plays for another team and thought he had dibs on his brother’s wife. Boasting about one’s FWFT, in combination with an elevated GPS, can also provide an alternate method of determining of just how big a dick the player is, and how much he is compensating for other limitations. I mean they have a thing for hockey players and went elsewhere right? But I digress.

The PBPH, or Post event Boasting that Proves you have 20\20 Hindsight. AKA the Cherry, or the Eklund. Though useless as a predictor, it can confirm your "common sense". The instances where this measure might prove useful often coincide with a sudden newfound ability to pronounce a European sounding name, or the beating to death of the one occasion where you may have a valid point. Essentially, It is a statistic that mathematically models the maxim that if you spew enough bullshit, eventually one of your chestnuts will be vindicated by actual events. Much like a car wreck, we have a lot of difficulty to just look away. But, in cases where such effluent is negative towards one’s team, the PBPH indicates that our guys have their eye on the prize and that they have either delegated the ass kissing to other very capable people, or have chosen to look away and not base their decisions on a lucky guess.

Habs Hatred

blue with age — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 18:57:22 -0000

As the Christmas season approaches, this may be my last chance to express negative karma before the new year. Living with five females often prohibits me from being cranky without a solid reason (basically limited to PMS in my household). Alas, a fanpost seems to be in order. In the spirit of airing of grievances, the recent 100 (sic) years of Habs history celebrations is really beginning to grate on me. Every where I look in my neck of the woods there are Kovy DVD’s, commemorative box sets, limitless takes on the design of the Hab’s jersey, those little fucking flags that people fly from their cars, future son-in-laws managing to mention 1967 in a conversation with me even though they were 5 the last time the Habs won a cup, and in general, the untenable hubris and sense of entitlement- Ohh the horror of it all. And I live 2 ½ hours up the road from Montréal and its bandwagon of "loyal" fans.

via denis-au-quebec.ublog.com

Last Monday night, I visited the Bell centre to take in a concert. And that was when it all became just too much to bear. So, here are the top reasons why I hate the Habs. (I am just too pissed to rank them, feel free to do it or add your own)

1) I parked my car downtown on Monday night because I always miss the exit for the Metro. I ended up parking on rue Stanley. And it leads directly to the Bell Centre.

2) On the night we feted Wendel, One of my daughters politely sat through the 5 hour coronation of King Patrick with her future family-in-law (and their Hab’s PJ’s with feet). When she asked to watch Wendel, they told her that they don’t get that channel. By time she had her way, Wendel’s tribute was over.

3) When I was 10 years old, The Habs were in the midst of 5 cups. When you’re ten, that’s half your life. I always thought the Habs were like those East German female swimmers who spoke with guy’s voices. I was convinced that the Leafs got the shit kicked out of them every time we met because the Habs were evil communist robots.

4) The Habs almost beat the evil communist robots, New Year’s eve, 1975

5) Several years ago, I went to a card show to get Guy Lafleur to sign his rookie card. It was a card that I had in my collection since I was a kid. I took a daughter with me, so my wife would let me go. After waiting in line for what seemed like an eternity with an uninterested 4 year old, Guy signed my card and then his pen exploded, spilling shiny gold ink all over it. While Guy desperately tried to wipe off the ink, his minions offered me more free autographed cards if I just waited in line again. I respectfully declined.

6) I recently met M. Lafleur via a shared acquaintance. He didn’t remember the incident. The dick.

7) The Habs fired Rejean Houle and Mario Tremblay. These two were my only hope for Habs fans to share the pain and futility of the Ballard years.

8) Their cancer stricken dude is called captain courageous and the fact that he spent $1 million of his own money to buy a cancer zapping machine for a hospital in Sherbrooke basically gives him a mulligan for life.

9) We got Ken Dryden after he retired from playing. He who declared that Leafs fans watch the Leafs because the "Leafs are just a habit". One could only imagine the

-watch

-paint

- drying

- excitement

of listening to his motivation speeches. He essentially bored the players and coaching staff into mediocrity. Dryden was a Habs mole (see point 3)

10) Unable to admit the Hab's braintrust could have ever been mistaken, Hab's fans start to give credence to the rumour that Grabovski was a cancer in the room in MTL (look out captain courageous!), and that the Phoenix debacle was unprovoked idiocy on Grab's part. Curiously avoiding a response to the absolutely certainty that Grabs is a russian speaking Avery who can score using talent and doesn't disappear at even strength like many Hab's forwards that we know and hate (no photos please).