It is getting to be the time of year hockey gets interesting. The great Canadian game of football continues its well deserved rest until summer. Its limp American cousin's season is over except for the Cocaine Bowl in Hawaii. Baseball's stars are applying the finishing touches to their steroid masking regimens in preparation for another nodder of a season. For the next several months Hockey is God. Hockey Akhbar to you loons.
Usually by now hockey's longtime whipping boys, the Dope City Canucks, have made it obvious that if they somehow make the play-offs they will not go far. This year is different. Nobody yet is running around like a drunk cheerleader who just got her cherry popped by both Sedins at once waving Canuck flags and spending their pay cheque on play-off tickets. But there is more optimism here in HockeyTownWest that a Stanley Cup might get Dope City etched beside last year's champs the Hurricane than there was in the good year of 1915.
Goaler Luongo has been the obvious difference. For an Italian, he sure reminds me of the Chicoutimi Cucumber. All the Swedes on the team are playing very well, even Naslund. Without talent, guts only takes you so far in today's NHL. The addition of Willie Mitchell has been a huge plus. (The Dope City Free press has lobbied long and hard for more Willies on the Canucks.) Have to give credit to the invisible General Manager David Nonis for that.
I still say the team will stumble like the Mayor of Pigeon Park on Welfare Wednesday. Some traditions are not meant to be fucked with. For all the talent on this year's version of last year's joke I think the team is mighty short on guts. Mind you, if Joe Sakic can be convinced to move for a spell back to his hometown, I just may be convinced to fly a Canuck flag on my black Cadillac.
Nobody likes a Stanley Cup Riot better than Mr. Beer N. Hockey.