Sweet Tea, Barbecue, and Bodychecks

At about 4:30 this afternoon, I got a call from Boss Lady.

“Hey,” she said.

“What did I do wrong this time?” I asked.

“Oh, nothing.” Pregnant pause, and then she asked “Do you have a ticket for the game tonight?”

“Err….no?”

“Good, cos I have two here if you want them.”

I did some furious calling, texting, and IMing to try to get hold of the Golfball, my usual partner in hockey-watching. No dice. So I gave the proprietrix of The Sliding Pokecheck a holla:

“Got a ticket for the game tonight?”

She didn’t have one, I had an extra, she said “OH HELL YEAH!” I told her I’d leave it at WillCall, and hied off to the shower to get myself presentable for the game. Showered, got the venerable old-skool (we’re talking 97-98 Starter vintage) Malik jersey from the closet on, donned the ubiquitous red hat, and moseyed on out the door.

The parkbots at the RBC are little-changed from seasons past: they still try to shoehorn you into lots that you DO NOT want to park in. I had to keep the window rolled down (and keep my Rammstein CD down to a dull roar), just so I could tell each parkbot that tried to get me into one of the Carter-Finley lots “I’m going to meet people in the East Lot, thanks” as I drove by. I pulled into the southern of the East Lots–my old lot having been totally given over to Premier Parking–and found a nice spot to park and get myself all situated for a foray into the holy stead of the RBC Center.

Tickets: check

Wallet: check

Bag for carrying wallet, cell phone, and a few tea bags: check

I was expecting to get flak from the securebots, but fortunately there was none to be had. I really was looking forward to this game, the first time I’d been in the RBC Center since KAdams got traded for Dennis Seidenberg–and lucky day for me, Seidenberg was playing! My inner fangirl was very happy.

So anyway, the game.

Oh my gods, the game. How many fights can there be?  How many elbows and punches can get thrown at my goalie’s head? The answer: a lot. It was eerily like the Norfolk-Lowell game during the lockout that had both teams fighting, only the coaches weren’t involved and nobody came off the bench. The first fight of the night was Ryan Bayda and Tommy Sestito, which wasn’t much of a fight. My poor little draft pick tried, bless his heart, but he was just no match for Sestito, who dismantled him like a Marine dismantles an M-16.

And it was on. Next up was Scott Walker and Ron Hainsey–Remo, of course, has had plenty of experience with the Smoking Jackets, courtesy of his time in Nashville. So I’m sure there was a lot of residual venom there. That fight had Remo dragging Hainsey down to the ice and pounding on him kinda like Darren McCarty did to Clod Lemieux some years back. Remo took a misconduct for that (and let’s be honest, that was a correct call–one of few during the game), and it degenerated from there.

The second period was when all hells broke loose and penalties were handed out right and left–mostly to the Hurricanes. Dennis Seidenberg got into it with Jared Boll, who immediately yanked Seids’ jersey up over his head and commenced to chucking knuckles. Dennis managed to acquit himself decently (not well, of course, but decently) despite that. Little bitty Ray Whitney–RAY BLOODY WHITNEY, FOR THE LOVE OF TYR!–got that “interference” penalty when he went hauling ass to draw aggro away from the Warchief. He pulled Ole-Kristian Tollefsen–and rather than getting teh phat epic lewtz that he’d hoped for, he was sent to the box for 2 minutes for his trouble. That interference call should have been roughing, kids. If that’s not a sure sign that we have some craptastic refs in the NHL, I dunno what is.

With 22.6 seconds left in the 2nd period, the officials decided that it was in everyone’s best interests to send both sides back to their respect locker rooms and declare intermission–a wise call, in my opinion. There was still chippiness in the third, but it wasn’t as bad. The Hurricanes were busy getting into penalty trouble all night, and the BJs were firing at will–it’s a credit to Cam Ward’s confidence in the nets that neither I nor anyone else (that I saw) was freaking out over the BJs’ insane shot total, kids. We WERE, however, getting upset over the Hurricanes’ wimpy shot total and the cheap shots that the Jackets were taking….that wound up getting ‘Canes players into the box. The last penalty of the night was on the Warchief, for elbowing–and let me tell you, that was complete and total garbage. I don’t know where the call came from, and the Warchief was all kinds of irate over it. The fans were irate, too.

The game ended in a shootout, and Andrew Ladd saved the day. There was great rejoicing in the land, and Ms. Pokecheck and I rapped for a while before she went back to her car and I went back to mine…..

….and from the East Lots, it was right onto Wade Avenue and thence to the Beltline. Let’s give it up for improved traffic patterns at the RBC. And while you’re doing that, I’m going to meander off to work and dance a little jig because I get to go to Opening Night.

Go Canes.

OK, so I’m reading a message-board thread, and I find this smelly little road-apple dropped right in the middle of it:

All and all, Carolina is the best team in the division and should be able to secure a 3rd seed in the Eastern Conference

And I, of course, was done. I am sick and tired of this “oh, we should get the third seed cos we won the Division” crap. I may be one to hedge my bets and say “I hope they do well this season”–but my expectations are pretty plain.

CUP. OR. BUST.

With that comes FIRST. OR. BUST. Why?  Simple: I am sick and frakkin’ tired of the Southeast winding up (more often than not) “third by default” instead of “third on points”, which has happened in every season except for 2004 and 2006. Nobody of course says anything when it’s the Northeast winding up third-by-default (hello, Boston)–but the Southeast? PMF CONTRACT TEH WHOAL DUHVISHUN!!1!one

Fuck me. I am sick and tired of “Oh, I’ll be happy with mediocrity” crap like this from our own damn fans. Third seed….third seed my ASS. All that kind of stupidity does is give ammo to embittered SlugThugs and other assorted clowns that want nothing more than to keep the Southeast down, and I’ll be damned if I sit by and allow that to happen any longer.

Fuckheads.

Dear Leader has suddenly left the junta.

And the whole of the Nation is suddenly a-tizzy, wondering if that means the team’s going to be sold. Personally, I’ll believe that when I see it (memo to Jim Balsillie: unless you want your patent-infringing goolies swinging from my rear-view mirror as a trophy, you’ll keep your grubby paws OFF my team).

As for this latest development: I’m going to wait and see. I’ve heard rumblings and rumors, hints and allegations of power struggles and butting heads and family drama, but nothing that I would consider concrete. I’m going to take it at face value and just say “Good luck” to Dear Leader.

Go Canes

Is that subject line crass?  Of course. Is it coarse?  Yes. But it’s also deserved.

Bill Wirtz has finally shrugged off this mortal coil. Condolences to his family, but I’m going to be what some would consider insensitive and say “Hell, it’s about time!”

All you have when you leave this world is your reputation, and Bill Wirtz leaves behind a completely asstastic one–unless of course you’re one of the many Illinois legislators that the man bought to get laws passed in Illinois that favor Judge & Dolph, Ltd. (his liquor distribution concern). The only good thing that man ever did for hockey was try to get the NHLPA to take away David Frost’s agent certification after Mike Danton got arrested and the true nature of Frost’s evil was finally revealed for the world to see. Other than that, all he’s done is take an historic franchise (the Blackhawks) and singlehandedly run them into the dirt–and all for the sake of profit.

Home games during the regular season?  Not seen on TV until Bristol finally stood on their TV contract with the NHL and insisted that pressure be brought to bear on Wirtz to allow their cameras in the United Center–and even then Wirtz was grudging at best about it. After ONE home game, that was it–nothing except for playoffs (again, because of a league-wide contractual obligation).

(I can’t even believe I just defended Bristol. I must be getting old or something.)

How many good players had the Hawks lost because Wirtz didn’t want to pay them?  Jeremy Roenick, Chris Chelios, Dominik Hasek, Phil Esposito, and even Drunkie Belfour (back when he was good) come to mind immediately, but the list is longer than that. Steve Sullivan found himself traded to Nashville for a bag of pucks when he publicly hinted that Wirtz hadn’t given accurate information to the auditors that the NHL hired pre-Ragnarok. Stan Mikita and Bobby Hull want nothing at all to do with the team, because of the way Wirtz has roont it in pursuit of filthy lucre. All that man cared about was profit. He, like Boston’s Jeremy Jacobs, were (and in Jacobs’ case, still are) a blight upon the landscape–far more than any franchise south of the 40th Parallel, in my opinion. And I mourn the thought that the son will more than likely be no better than the father.

It’s at times like this when I wish I had a billion dollars, so I could buy that team and give those poor fans in Chicago so much better than they’ve gotten for the last 46 years. They deserve it. They so deserve it.

Good Riddance, Dollar Bill.

WELL!

I am off from work tonight (will wonders never cease), so I decided to liveblog tonight’s festivities at the Phone Booth in DC, courtesy of Center Ice online.

Please, control your enthusiasm.

The teams are using the “reverse-jersey rules” tonight, which means that the ‘Canes are in red and the Caps are in their snappy whites. The last shot from the Phone Booth showed Chris Bourque–yeah, I know I really wanted to see the son of the man who made my team his personal bitch throughout his career. Whoopie-ding.

This is going through the Capitals, of course, so everything is going to be very Caps-centric. Oh, won’t that be fun. And away we go!

7:00 PM Oh look! Donut Don is working tonight! We are so screwed. Donald Brashear is also playing (for the Caps), so this should be some serious kinda fun. And we’d better have some kinda sound, or I will be pissed–the only radio I have is in my car.

…wait a second. There’s this dusty ol’ boombox here….

*presses power button*

*presses power button again*

Well, balls.

WAIT WAIT WAIT!

MY PHONE! OMG MY PHONE! IT HAS A RADIO!

And there was much rejoicing throughout the land.

7:07 PM Oh cool, Cam is in goal–and so is Olie. Ray has a groin issue–wonderful. This should be fun. This radio is whack-ass staticy and I’m missing everything, yo. That’s what I get for not having an antenna on the clock-radio-phone, I guess.

Goddamn, we’re getting the jumbotron cameras–which means we get the gratuitous crowd-shots.

7:14 PM ‘Caps win faceoff, barely. Goddamn this radio is pissing me off. *adjusts* There, MUCH better. Nice shot, Cully. Good to see you back.

7:15 PM Oooh, My Man Ryan Bayda is with Ladd, looks like.

7:16 PM Goddamn, Caps score. Mike Green out of the damn penalty box. C R A P CRAPS CRAPS CRAPS. Bastards.

*runs to get pizza out of oven and refresh the beer*

7:21 PM Heh, Green Eggs and Hamilton got a delay-of-game penalty. Bah. My soul-brother, Bret of the Gimpy Hip, is with Tim Gleason? Wow.

7:24 PM WTF? Hey people, stop putting the puck in the stands will you? This is getting frickin’ old.

7:25 PM OMFG CAM * WAR! Way to make the pinwheel save on Aleksandr Balshoii!

Heh–hubby just called (he’s working at my store tonight) to tell me that somebody just tried to pass a fake bill at Stop-n-Rob and got all ill when Hubby called the cops.

C’mon Cam, control those rebounds please.

Wonder if CapsChick is at the game? I’m sure Eric is. Hope he’s having a good time.

Man, Casey Borer is all over the place. Making some good decisions, and looks like he’s settling in well with….is that Nicky? There’s the 7–that’s our Nicky. Tim Gleason isn’t having a very good game. Poor sod.

RIGHT! Who was that rockin’ the old-skool Whale jersey? Good on yer, whoever you are.

Miz B has the cheap-ass wine, and I’ve got the Leinenkugel’s Sunset Wheat–mmmm….alcohol, gift of the gods.

7:40 PM OK, can we PLEASE stay the hells out of the box? That was such a cheap-ass hook, Cory–you should know better.

Remo has broken his stick–somebody get him one quick, plz!

Oh wait–might want to post this. Duh.

7:43 PM So, at intermission the score is 1-0 Crapitals. The jerseys look goofy, but what do you expect? ChuckandtheletterK has Cam Ward as his guest during first intermission, while the Craps have Human Sled Races….Human Sled Races? Man, no wonder the ice at the Phone Booth is teh shitz0r tonight. But it’s kids and their parental units, so I can’t bitch too much.

(This blog brought to you by Leinenkugel’s Sunset Wheat and Apis 4-year old Bernardynski. Mmmm…..)

BTW, it’s spelled “immediately”, not “immediatley”. Just sayin’.

And apparently the one beer that I’ve had so far has made me parse “G A M E” as “C A M P”. Sorry Timmy.

Do I want another beer? Maybe. I’ll think about it.

8:00 PM START OF THE SECOND PERIOD. AND MY SECOND BEER, TOO.

*ahem*

Kind of a wussy faceoff. Casey Borer and Bret of the Gimpy Hip are paired up right now–that amuses me, because the day we drafted Borer (Me: “DEFENCE!” JimR: “The Hurricanes select, from St. Cloud State of the WCHA, Defenceman Casey Borer.” Me: “THANK YOU!”), Bret called like the whole team to gush about the ‘Canes drafting a fellow Husky.

Anyway.

8:03 PM WTF? ANOTHER PENALTY. STOP THIS SHIT, PLZ.

8:05 PM My Man Ryan Bayda came outta da box and took a shot on Kolzig–but Kolzig, of course, blocked it. Bah.

Huh, they have Brandon Sutter teamed up with Letowski and Ladd? Interesting.

8:07 PM OMFG A POWER PLAY.

IM from d-lee: “you really wanted malik, huh?” And that was when I suddenly remembered that my fantasy team draft is going on! Whoops.

8:15 PM OK, WTF is up with the penalties? I gotta go to practice tomorrow to see how many guys get bagskated. Srsly.

…..

And that’s where the radio AND video crapped out on me. Bah.

The preseason continues apace for Los Huricans de Carolina, who have sent another 4 guys (and little Jakub Petruzalek) down to the AHL and returned four prospects to their junior teams. Brandon Sutter will be sent back to juniors after Tuesday night’s game. Saturday’s slack-ass lackluster effort in Nashville managed to get the game thread on letsgocanes.com to degenerate into one person whining about people “bashing” Crackers for his wild inconsistency–and then it immediately turned into a John “Spicy Italian” Tortorella-bashing thread after a fan of Crackers posted about how so wicked mean the Spicy Italian was to poor Johnny when he was in Tampa. Torts is LGC.com’s favorite target among the NHL’s coaches (more so than Whingey Ruff), because he’s mouthy and over-the-top (stop looking at me like that).

Gee, I dunno–maybe if Crackers would stop getting all durnk and actin’ the fool at local watering holes on his off-time, he might actually be a little less inconsistent in the net. Just sayin’–not that I and others have seen him do this or anything.

In other news: Top Gear is all kinds of win. Monday nights at 8 on BBC America–watch and be amused. Even if you’re not a car fan, it’s still a hoot.

Just sayin’. Next game is Tuesday night at the Phone Booth vs. the Washington Capitals. Leighton in net, puck drops at 7. Go Canes.

So my dear old Radeon 9800 Pro went tits-up last week. It wasn’t that old, really–so why, pray tell, were parts falling off of it? Your guess is as good as mine.

Through the magic of eBay, I now have a new video card…just in time for me to miss the start of the season because of my yob. I can only entertain myself by tormenting NCSU freshmen and high-school students for so long before it gets old, kids. Another UFinishIt.com POS? Gods I hate September.

OK, so Chris The Penalty Killer and Bubba were on 850 the Buzz earlier this week. Bubba opines that Chris looks kinda like Scott “Remo Williams” Walker, but I beg to differ–I’ve met Chris. He looks nothing at all like Remo. Just sayin’.

And the BoG finally got the hint that fans were tired of not being able to see teams from the opposing conference more than once in a blue moon, so the schedule’s going back to the way it used to be…sort of. Guess people will have to find a new excuse when a SE Division team wins the Cup, huh? The only bad thing about this? I have to put up with the assiest members of the Red Wings Bandwagon Nation at the RBC again, as well as having to deal with the SlugThugs twice a season. But, you kinda gotta take the bad with the good I guess.

And speaking of Bubbalo, not only did the Sabres show their collective class by suspending Teppo Numminen without pay because the guy has a heart condition and they can’t count on that insurance money to line Golisano’s pockets, but Blue Jays, Bills, and (of ALL people) Maple Leafs season ticket holders got to jump the queue on ticket sales for the Blizzard Bowl err Winter Classic. Dowhatnow?  Last I checked, neither T-O-R-O-N-T-O M-A-P-L-E L-E-A-F-S nor T-O-R-O-N-T-O B-L-U-E J-A-Y-S spelled “Pittsburgh Penguins” or “Buffalo Sabres”–so why were the Leafs STHs allowed to buy tickets ahead of Pens and Sabres STHs? For that matter, why are Blue Jays (or for that matter, Bills) STHs even allowed to be involved in the ticket-buying privileges?  It’s not even the same gods-damned sport! Somebody explain it to me, please, because I am wicked confused.

And finally–’Canes training camp continues apace, as 15 players get assigned to Albany. Friday night, the Hurricanes take on the Nashville Predators at the RBC Center. Doors open at 6ish, Puck drops at 7. Get there early and tailgate.

Go Canes.

WELL.

Ex-Hurricane and fan favorite Jesse Boulerice has come full circle, trying out for a spot on the Philadelphia Flyers–and what a job he’s done so far!

That’s Cam Janssen, crying like the noob that he is because he separated a shoulder in his second fight with the Mark XXXVI Bolo. The excuse the Devils are using for their Chief Elbowchucker getting pwned like the punk-ass bitch that he is? “The jerseys tear real easy”.

Cry more, noobs. Just cos they’re lighter, that doesn’t mean that they’re rip-stop. Duh.

No, I am not going to post NEDM.

My video card (and, possibly, my motherboard) decided to commit seppuku on me the other night while I was trying to solo my way through Scholomance.

So, that is why my posting has been pretty nonexistent at the start of Training Camp, and why I’ll be incommunicado for the next few days while I get the technical issues rectified. I’ll try to post from the husband’s computer (like now), but I of course make no promises.

The Holy Ice is down, and the Raleigh City Museum is planning a retrospective of the Hurricanes’ first ten years in North Carolina. The event will start at 2 PM, and will be emceed by The Mighty Forslund. Head on out and check out the museum–it’s a pretty nifty little place.

The Hurricanes have also released the video from the jersey-release/marketing kickoff presser–man, that 60-second spot gives me chills. And Curt Johnson sounds like he’s got the marketing department on the ball with this one (and I hope I win the house–I’m tired of my rent getting jacked every year).

Glove-tap to reader Donna S. for the pointer to the museum shindig and to reader livinthedream for the video pointer.

WELL.

 The Red Wings aren’t selling out and are having trouble keeping their bandwagon STHs. I have two words to say to that:

Boo. Hoo.

You heard me: Boo hoo, the poor Red Wings are having attendance issues. My heart really bleeds for them–not.

What kills me is that there are excuses being made by one of the Deep Diggers: It’s the economy. The economy!  The old double-standard is hard at work in Wings Nation, kids: It’s OK for a northern team like Detoilet to make excuses for falling attendance, but heaven forfend a southern team doesn’t sell out every game!  Oh noez, we have to contract all those southern teams because they don’t sell out–but it’s OK for Detroit to have issues, because they’re Detroit.

Fuck Detroit, and fuck their excusemaking fans. All through Ragnarok, I had to put up with ar-tards like “Josh from MI” heaping scorn on the Hurricanes and calling for their contraction (along with the contraction of every other team south of Chicago and not named St. Louis or Washington) because they didn’t sell out every game–and the local economy taking a hit because of the dot-bomb bust just wasn’t acceptable, because those teams were down South where we clearly don’t know shit about shit that doesn’t involve constant high-speed left turns…and therefore we just don’t deserve to have the NHL.

If the Red Wings can’t sell out every game, then contract them. If it’s a good enough argument to be used on the Southerners, then it’s damn sure good enough to be used on the Yanquis and to hell with them and their excuses.

The Hurricanes have instituted a new rule at the RBC, which has a handful of fans plenty steamed:

“No autographs will be given during training camp, practices, or any pre-game skates while inside the RBC Center. Autographs are available after practice on regular practice days only, not after pre-game skates or after games.“

The reaction is a bit mixed, but there are a few folks that are all up in arms over this.

Personally? All for it–and I say this as somebody who used to hang out “out back” after just about every home game to say hey to folks, wave g’bye to team buses (and, if it was the Red Wings, to throw hexes on ‘em), and give good-natured grief to visiting fans. It was my social time, and I met a lot of neat people because of it. But I also saw more than a few freaky stalker types and more than a few sellers.

There were collectors, too; like Mike from Asheboro, who has possibly the biggest collection of hockey cards that I have ever seen (and wants to get as many of them signed as possible, just to say he did it), and the McConnell Clan with their 293774 kids (who have a collection that’s about as large). Those folks I do feel bad for, especially Mike–who drives up to Raleigh for just about every home game on nights when he’s gotta be to work early the next morning–and other fans that come from the far reaches of the Carolinas to see their team.

Hell, I’ve got my own collection of signed memorabilia that I hold dear. I would never sell any of it, and I have a moral objection to people that aren’t even fans and just want to sell signed merchandise for personal gain (especially people that use their kids (or unsuspecting fans–”hey, can you get this signed for me?”) to get autographs or–like notorious Thrashers “fan” Grandma (of whom poor Frankie Kaberle is scared shitless and about whom I and many Thrashers fans can tell quite a few stories), claim that it’s for their kids or grandkids only to turn around and hawk it on eBay or whatever). Folks like that, I have no sympathy for whatsoever.

And then there are the stalkers*–one of the more notorious ones was Pippi Longstalker, who has been stalking Bates Battaglia since the dawn of time it seems. This girl used to haunt practices and games (with her mother aiding and abetting her, no less!), hoping to get Batesy to notice her so she could land him as a meal ticket. She went to every Hurricanes game. And when I say every game, I mean every. game. Home AND road. This girl really got bad after I stopped hanging out “out back”–she’s followed Bates home on several occasions, once almost plowing right into a local TV news van in her haste to get on after Bates’ Escalade. People like that, I don’t feel sorry for.

Besides, as Miz Beth points out, we Caniacs still have it the best of any team in the NHL when it comes to getting your memorabilia signed by your favorite Hurricane (or ex-Cane). So stop frickin’ whining and get your ass to the RecZone on a practice day if you’re so all-fired hot to get a signature or two on your prized authentic $texas-costing RBK shoulder-piped funky-zoom System Shock Jersey. It’s not that hard, really.

Just my two cents on that–and at least now the RBC has something in writing, rather than engaging in their usual HUA nonsense of some securebots being properly programmed while the rest just get left to their AI’s own devices (which isn’t very I, if you ask me).

*:by “stalker”, I do not refer to those of us fans–male or female–that love to gawk at players they find hot. I guarantee you that the bulk of us that stood “out back” and make risqué comments about this or that player are gawkers, not stalkers.

Players don’t want to go there. Blonde bimbettes with bad spray-tans don’t want their husbands playing there. Kevin Lowe hangs tenuously to his last thread of sanity, and the farm system can best be termed as “itinerant” and “nickel-and-dimed”.

As if things couldn’t get any more disheartening for the Oilers fans, fan favourite Fernando Pisani was diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis and will be out indefinitely.

Would whoever laid the curse on my friends in Edmonton please come forward and tell me what can be done to lift it? Thank you.

Discussion on Covered in Oil (where some nutbag neo-hippy subscriber of Dr. Mercola’s Mailing List O’ Quackery is asserting that Fernando’s problems are the result of eating his mom’s fine Italian cuisine*), Lowetide, and Battle of Alberta.

Get better soon, San Fernando. Oilers Nation needs you.

*:on behalf of my many Italian ancestors, I hope that toolbox drowns in a giant puddle of marinara sauce.

I’m filing this one under “GM Insanity”.

Jeremy Roenick, The Mouth That Bored, has signed an “until I score #500″ deal with the San Jose Sharks.

Officially, the deal is for one year–but anyone with a clue knows that he’s just doing this to get to 500 goals scored, at which point he’ll say “Seeya!” and retire for good. We hope.

Well, I hope anyway. At one time, the guy was amusing–now he’s just annoying. And his brains are just this side of mush.

Training camp starts in 10 days. Woot!