Sweet Tea, Barbecue, and Bodychecks

Those of you who know me know that I have high hopes for the Southeast every season. I want them to be a competitive division, rather than a clone of the Central. I’m not talking “competitive with each other”, I’m talking “competitive with the rest of the League”. I’d love to see all five SE teams in the playoffs–if for no other reason than that it would royally piss off the rest of the League, especially if one of those five teams wound up winning the Cup. It’s a big-picture thing for me. I want this division to be good and competitive for a long, long time so that they can get out of being perceived as a latter-day Norris division.

Carolina: Doing their best to stay competitive (and if only they’d played in the middle of the season the way they’ve played since February, then the fans wouldn’t be scarfing TUMS like it’s going out of style now). Extremely stable environment, which is good but also makes it tricky in terms of team chemistry–sometimes things are too stable for the team’s collective good, which leads to complacency (and debacles like the one that existed from November through January).

Washington: Doing their best to be competitive–though in fairness, they’ve been doing that with varying degrees of success for several years now. Now GMGM has somebody that he actually can build a team around, a cat who wants to stay in Washington and (more importantly) is willing to work to win, and in the long term that will reap dividends for the Caps. Stable environment, despite the occasional bit of coaching turmoil.

Florida: They’ve got the potential in place–at least, as long as ownership doesn’t keep hiring Mike freaking Keenan every three or four years or so to destabilize things and ruin whatever progress may have been achieved since the last time he ran roughshod over them. And as long as they stop whining about Carolina’s constantly mugging them for their lunch money.

Tampa: Give this team a coach who is not a petty tinpot dictator like Fidel Tortorella, and they will start to get back to where they once belonged–this situation is still in flux, but I think that once the ownership change happens (and Feaster and Tortorella are gone) things will settle down and head back upwards…as long as Doug MacLean isn’t allowed to sit in the GM’s office or get behind the bench.

And then we have the Atlanta Thrashers. Oh, they had a good season last year. But that’s it. The doormats of the Southeast, yet again. So they’re stable–but not in the good way.

The more I watch the Atlanta Thrashers, the more I wonder how in the Nine Worlds that pitiful milquetoast Don Waddell has a job…and then I read comments like these from Atlanta’s braintrust ownership:

“Mistakes have been made and really good decisions have also been made. I think that this franchise is moving in the right direction.”

“It’s easy to point a finger (at Waddell) and say this is the source of all the problems. It’s always more complicated than that. It would be foolish and short-sighted to tear it down.”

“I think we know how to sign free agents. Does every free agent work out? Gosh no.”

(comments courtesy the News and Observer)

“Mistakes have been made”–yeah, like drafting Patrik Stefan (though in Waddell’s weak defence, the Draft that year was pretty sux0r). “…really good decisions have also been made.”  Yeah, like…umm…err…uhh…yeah. Excuses, excuses, excuses. And things are only getting worse. Don Waddell, a man that I have absolutely zero confidence in, isn’t even bothering to ice a winning team. Friday night?  The man got bitched at by Mark Recchi, who interrupted a bench-side tirade from Waddell to say (and I rewound the DVR to make sure I read Rexy’s lips right): “What the fuck are you doing?!  Get somebody out on the ice!”  Not even Paul Maurice would take that from one of his players, no matter how well-deserved it is. 

The man has not just lost his mojo, he had none to begin with as he showed to the world with the roster he iced for the 2006 Olympic games in Turin (a roster about which I commented, back in 2005). With questionable drafting and a few even more questionable trades and signings (not to mention the man’s questionable attempts at coaching), the man’s doing the same thing to Atlanta that Doug MacLean tried to do to Columbus: running it into the ground.

Say what you will about Bob Hartley–yes, his Thrashers were cheap and dirty (and, as Friday night proved, they still are cheap and dirty), but at least the man got them to the playoffs. That Waddell allowed that team to so flagrantly turf their coach rather than sending a message by trading one of the ringleaders *coughHOLIKcough* shows just how he has lost this team and how he needs to be sent packing ASAP.

Of course, that will never happen as long as Atlanta Spirit keeps its collective head in the sand and continues to think that everything is fine in Blueland. My heart breaks for the Thrashers fans–they’re decent enough folks, they deserve far far better than what they’re getting.

Hurricanes take on the Capitals at the Phone Booth tomorrow night in a no-holds-barred deathmatch for the Southeast Division title. Puck drops at 7:00 PM.

Sutter may be with big team next season — N&O

This is cool, but I question the wisdom of bringing the beanpole into the big game right off the hop. My guess is that his ATO is so that he can get a whiff of the pro game (albeit at the AHL level) and so that Pete Friesen (and pry also the Warchief) can get his mitts on him over the summer. My hope is that after this is done, they either send him back to the Dub OR (if they cannot) give him at least a season in Albany.

Remember how skinny ol’ Eric Staal kept getting pushed around his rookie season?  The lockout was the best thing for him, because he spent a year in the AHL getting good ice time and getting some meat on his bones. I think that Sutter should be at least a year in Albany before he makes his NHL debut. If that means we get another year of Trevor Letowski or some other journeyman, I can totally dig it.

Just my two cents, of course.

I knew the day was going to blow when I stood outside FOR TWO HOURS waiting for a bus that never came (even though the woman I spoke to at gotriangle.org’s trip planner hotline (AS WELL AS THE SCHEDULE ON THEIR WEBSITE) told me that the bus comes by the stop every 20 minutes). So I said “screw this, I’m driving”.
AND THEN I GET TO WORK.

The machine that I had imaged the day before? Forget it–the image was corrupt, so I had to re-image the blasted thing again. *sigh* So I reimaged the damn thing and took it back down to the office I got it from.

At noon, I tuned in to NHL Live and listened to EJ Hradek give Don a Merlin Hat (“You’ll read e-mails when I tell you to read e-mails”). And I looked forward to getting home and watching the rebroadcast at 5:00 so I could laugh again before the game came on at 7:00 (since I wound up not being able to go to the game like I had planned to).

YEAH, LIKE THAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN.

I get home. It’s 5:30–and the DVR is scrolling the following message:

PLEASE CONTACT YOUR OPERATOR.

What the…? So I call Time Warner and wait on hold for half a damn hour.

WTF? My account should be paid up, why am I disconnected?

“Oh, well it says here that you’ve paid with bad checks.”

Uhh..wha? I don’t have any checks, how can I write bad ones?

“On $DATE, a payment was rejected because your bank said no account existed. Then on $DATE another payment was rejected because the check was written on a closed account.”

WTF? I don’t write paper checks. I use BillPay through my credit union, and I’ve got upwards of $400 in the account at all times.

So…yeah. I find out at almost 6:00 PM that, because my credit union had honked up BillPay for my cable provided twice in a row, Time Warner will only accept CASH payments from me–and all the payment stations were closed for the night.

SO I DIDN’T GET TO WATCH THE GAME EXCEPT ON A STREAMED FEED FROM SOME IDIOT THAT KEPT SWITCHING TO THE RANGERS GAME. And I had Chuck Kaiton. So I got to listen to the Hurricanes lose in a shootout.

You’re welcome, Capitals. My bad day is your good day. Now fuck off, and prepare to be April Fooled.

Next game is Friday versus Tampa. And I am going to kill my credit union.

Edit: I’m sorry, did I say Tampa?  I meant Atlanta. Time for me to go to bed and put this comedy of errors to rest once and for freaking all.

Let me preface this by saying that I am not a William Faulkner “fan”. I appreciate the body of his work, I admire the beauty of his work and I do like his work. But I don’t geek out over the guy like I geek out over, say, Les Dorscheid‘s Battletech and Shadowrun artwork (which is some of the most amazing artwork I have ever seen–it breaks my heart that no Loren Coleman novel ever got a Dorscheid cover, even though my pet project got some).

HOWEVER.

This gem from the Sports Illustrated archives is possibly the best “my first game” story that I have ever read, and it’s something that I plan to show to anyone who ever asks me why I like hockey:

An Innocent At Rinkside – Sports Illustrated, 24 January 1955

Hurricanes take on the Capitals tonight at the RBC. Puck drops at 7:00 PM. Go Canes.

(Man, I wish I could write like that)

Tomorrow night, I’ll be a guest on The Frozen Showzen, talking about the Southeast Division and the playoff race. Show runs from 9-10 PM Monday nights, and I’ll be on between 9 and 9:30.

Justin Williams and Chad LaRose are skating again. However, I think it’s foolish to assume that JWillie will be back in time for the playoffs–if we make the second round his reappearance is more likely, but Rosie will be back long before JWillie.

After Thursday night’s win in Florida and a light practice on Saturday, the Hurricanes are off until Monday. They’ll face the Washington Capitals at the RBC Center on Tuesday night in a matchup that could wind up deciding the Caps’ chances at the playoffs.

Go Canes.

First off: Let me just say that I love a goalie deathmatch. I do, I really do. But last night, not so much–most cos it was Florida, and they’re whiny bitches.

So yeah. First period was a little eh. Second period scared the crap out of me, with all the penalties. Our defence was completely invisible, the offence stepped out for a Cuban (mmm…Cuban) at one point–and only one thing saved our asses:

 (photo courtesy hfboards poster Vulcan91)

Seriously, the boy was nails for us last night. When he flat-out stoned (STONED!) Olli Jokinen on what would have been a sure-fire gamewinner, I swear I saw half the fans in attendance calling Miami-Dade PD to report a robbery.

The shootout, by the way?  That was funny–especially the winner, which made Vokoun look like Bill Buckner in Game Six. Thank you, Mookie Staal.

Next game on the 25th. Go Canes.

Yep, he cleared waivers yesterday at noon.

Jeff “Hambone” Hamilton is wearing the Sightless Eye once again. Now, I am approaching this with an open mind here. We can use Hambone’s cannon-shot on the power-play, and the time in Albany was far better for him than sitting in the pressbox here. So we’ll see.

Wade Brookbank also skated yesterday, which is good news since we’re playing the Thrashers and Panthers tomorrow and Thursday (we’ll need the fists). And Chad LaRose is skating for the first time since he broke his leg a month and change ago–but don’t expect to see him right away. He still has a lot of work to do before he gets cleared to play, but it’ll be very nice to see our happy little yip-dog out on the ice again.

Maybe for the playoffs. That would be fun, wouldn’t it?

 This is Chancellor Merlin Liao. Merlin is often referred to in our house as “Der Führer”, because he is….well, he’s der Führer. He is the smallest of our cats, and along with that runtiness comes an inversely proportional sense of entitlement and extreme bossiness. Merlin runs the house–he tells us when it’s time to go to bed, he tells us when it’s time to feed the cats, he tells my husband when the TV is too loud and interrupting me when I am trying to sleep his beauty rest, and so on. You get the picture.

Merlin, like all cats, doesn’t like it when you don’t accept his rule over the household (specifically, he doesn’t like it when my husband doesn’t accept his rule over the household–I, on the other hand, make sure to pay the Pet Tax regularly and feed him twice daily; which mollifies him). So what he will do is wait until the offender falls asleep–at which point he will hop up onto the bed and camp by the target’s head…and he will wait until he is sure that the target is fast asleep. 

Then he will growl, camp his front paws on the offender’s head (with his very sharp little claws out), and start pulling on the target’s hair while asserting his status as the true ruler of the house–rather than, say, as the de jure ruler of the house, which is Maximilian’s job.

We call this a “Merlin hat”, and the recipient becomes the object of much derision. Only once have I been the recipient of a Merlin Hat, because I decided to ignore Merlin’s requests for payment of the Pet Tax in favour of getting some sleep. My husband, on the other hand, can count on “getting the Hat” at least thrice weekly.

I had the next day off, so I was up late one night playing WoW while the hubby was at work. He called home.

“Merlin did something very strange last night…”

What did he do?

“Well, I was asleep, when Merlin hopped up on the bed and ran up by my head.”

I sense that this is going somewhere….

“He stared at me for a few minutes, and then he did the strangest thing.”

And that was?

“He growled, and started pulling my hair with his teeth. Then he started humping my head.”

*peals of laughter*

“What’s so funny?”

You got skullfucked by a *cat*?

“It’s not funny.”

No, it’s not funny. It’s hysterically funny!  You got skullfucked by a cat?! *falls out of chair laughing*

*husband hangs up*

Why do I tell you this story?  Because Merlin has also been known to give somebody the Hat after being humiliated (like when somebody laughs at him or bounces him off the bed), or just on general principle (so that the people know who’s boss or because he got the drop on somebody).

To put this in hockey terms:

The Sabres gave us a Merlin Hat on Friday night (boy did they ever give us the Hat), so on Sunday the Hurricanes decided to turn around and give the Sens a Merlin Hat of their own.

So now if you hear me talking about “giving somebody/some team the Hat”, I am referring to this.

WELL. The big topic today is an article in the N&O about the stupidity of the NHL when it comes to handing out suspensions. Luke has also blogged a followup, and of course there are comments.

I don’t know that I totally agree with Luke’s math, but the main thrust of the article is that there is a gross discrepancy/inequality in the way that the NHL hands out suspensions. I fired off an e-maul to Don LeGreca and EJ Hradek (the guys who make NHL Live such fun to listen to), with my comments (not all of which were read on the air, partly because of the length and–well, you’ll see):

Don and EJ,

Luke DeCock (yes that really is his name) has a rather interesting article in this morning’s News and Observer (Raleigh’s fishwrap).

http://www.newsobserver.com/sports/story/999555.html (So EJ can pull it up while this gets read)

Specifically, Luke talks about suspensions and the apparently random manner in which they are handed out.

For example: A guy who received two suspensions in the AHL for piledriving guys head-first at speed into the boards breaks an opponent’s neck by–surprise surprise–piledriving that opponent head-first at speed into the boards, is unrepentant about it…and gets a mere three games.

Another guy headshots an opponent in a critical playoff game, gets suspended one game–and then goes on to repeat his performance in the next round, knowing that at worst he’ll have to sit out the next game while the guy he headhunted is out for the rest of the playoffs and facing the possibility of having to retire early as a result of the hit.

Yet another player stomps on an opponent’s skate-boot, and gets only thirty games even though he has a rather lengthy history of being cheaper than a working girl from Newark. (For the record, I have been to Newark on several occasions. I stand by the jab–AQ)

And then we have the toolbox who deliberately piledrove the opposing team’s leading scorer head-first into the boards, and got nothing except a five-minute boarding major–and coaches just get told to keep their yaps shut and not say anything, for fear that their team may wind up becoming a target for some kind of retributive action.

I don’t get it–maybe I missed a memo or something, but perhaps you, illuminated scholars that you are, can explain to me the gross discrepancy in the (quote-unquote) “justice” that is meted out by the clownshoe who sits in the Discipline Czar’s seat to the 29 teams that his son doesn’t play for.

Thanks,

AQ

So there you have it–my comments, which got mangled in hilarious fashion by Don “Tee hee Del Greco”*. The first incident I cited in my example is officially dispensed with in my book, since the aggressor and aggressed threw down with each other and honour was satisfied. But still, only three games? Sorry, but that deserved more than the absolutely penurious suspension that was given.

Chris Pronger has almost as much of a history as Chris Simon, yet he gets dinky-doo for headhunting in two successive playoff rounds and nothing (at least, until the publication of Luke’s article) for his latest shenanigans–while Simon actually gets something approximating (in the Colin Campbell bizarre-world) a just and proper suspension.

It’s well past time for Colin Campbell to either step down or grow a pair and start giving out proper suspensions for cheap and dirty play. Hopefully this happens soon…and hopefully the Hurricanes don’t wind up suffering for the work of Luke and his compadres at the N&O.

*: An e-mailer playfully teased Don by ending her e-mail with “Tee Hee, Del Greco”–a reference to a retort John Davidson had to Don’s calling him the biggest homer in the NHL: “Why should I care what an ex-placekicker thinks?”

Great Wailing, Gnashing of Teeth, OH THE HUMANITY – hfboards.com

Yes, once again the vast majority of the Caniac Nation is up in arms over Scott Cullen’s “Rankings of Who I Like”. Nastygrammes have been written, whines have been posted in various places, and people are even bitching on the concourses at the RBC. All I have to say is:

Knock it off and stop embarrassing me, you drooling idiots.

I mean, really.

Are our e-peens really that damn small, that we feel the need to scream, holler, and send nastygrammes to some toolbox at Bristol North just because he won’t rank the Hurricanes where we feel he should rank them? Why should we even care what an acknowledged Sens homer thinks of our team? I mean, really–just because we torpedoed the Sens by trading them Mike Commodore and Cory Stillman, that doesn’t necessarily mean that dudeman is bitter.

(I was kidding about the torpedoing, Sens fans–please put the pitchforks and torches down)

I’ve said before and I’ll say again: Scott Cullen made it crystal clear in the Year of the Cup that he ranks teams according to his personal likes and dislikes, and that said ranking is only marginally affected by such things as the absolutely ridiculous “formula” that he so heavily touts on TSN’s website as if it were some sort of +8 Periapt of Proof Against Angry Fans. The Sooper Sekrit Foarmyooluh is a myth, kids. There is no possible algorithm yet invented that could possibly explain some of the rankings that this guy posts–anyone with half a braincell can figure that out–so I see no reason to waste any more time and effort whining about (or at) him. All it’s doing is making you look like you’re a bigger tool than he is.

Just sayin’.

….and at least we won and managed to shut up most of the ASBOs that showed up at the RBC tonight. Last night. Whatever.

As usual, the Sabres and most of their fans are blaming everyone except themselves for not being able to win despite 1) the Hurricanes falling asleep during the last half of the game and 2) Ryan Miller standing on his freaking head. Must be tough, being all perfect and stuff like that.

Anyway–the Hurricanes are at the top of the Southeast by a mere 7 points over Washington…and a mere 7 points out of the top spot in the Eastern Conference. Wow. They’re off until Wednesday, when they take on Chicago in Chicago. Should be a fun one–and don’t forget to set your clocks forward, otherwise you’ll be late to work on Monday.

Edit: Duh AQ, “Spring Ahead, Fall Back”.

And, as proof, I present to you the “Monty Python” dream I referenced on today’s e-maul to NHL Live:

(note: this was back in August of 2005. Thus the pre-Cup Hurricanes)

[Hurricanes are driving down Wade Avenue in a minivan. WALLY, BOB, and SKIP are clapping coconuts together, yadda yadda]
A. WARD: And that, my captain, is how we know the Lightning to be Stanley Cup Champs.

BRIND’AMOUR: This new learning amazes me, Wardo. Explain again how the Left-Wing Lock may be employed to prevent scoring.

A. WARD: Oh, certainly, sir.

HEDICAN: Look, guys!

[The Hurricanes see the RBC Center in the distance]

BRIND’AMOUR: Camelot!

VASICEK: Camelot!

HEDICAN: Camelot!

WALLY: It’s only a model.

BRIND’AMOUR: Shhh! ‘Canes, I bid you welcome to your new home. Let us ride… to Camelot!

[Cut to the ice at the RBC Center, chorus line of Hurricanes players bursts into song]

We’re knights of the round table
We dance when e’er we’re able
We do routines and chorus scenes
With footwork impecc-able.
We dine well here in Camelot
We eat ham and jam and spam a lot

[shots of Hurricanes players in full gear dancing, cut briefly to Scott Stevens in the penalty box clapping]

We’re knights of the Round Table
ur shows are for-mid-able
Though many times we’re given rhymes
That are quite unsing-able
We’re opera mad in Camelot
We sing from the diaphragm a lot

[tapdancing, Niclas Wallin performing a little drum solo on several players' helmets before clocking Stormy over the head]

In war we’re tough and able
Quite indefatigable
Between our quests we sequin vests
And impersonate Clark Gable
It’s a busy life in Camelot

ZIGOMANIS: I have to push the pram a lot.

[cut back to the minivan]

BRIND’AMOUR: Well, on second thought, let’s not go to Camelot — it is a silly place.

[Minivan drives off]Canes take on the Wild tonight at the RBC Center. Come on out and have a good time.

WTF is it about Florida that makes players on their teams so whiny?

Is it the water? Is it too much sun? Is there something being put in those fantastic Cuban sammiches? What is it?

Case in point: Saturday’s beatdown of the Lightning. Yeah, we pwned face, 5-1. Welcome to Tampa, Mike Smith. I’m sure you’ll be hopping a makeshift raft out of there at the earliest opportunity.

But yeah–the St. Pete Times’ mediot-in-chief, Damien Homerdero, is all up in the whining about the game:

Lightning defenseman Dan Boyle still cannot believe he was called for a roughing penalty on Carolina’s Erik Cole in the second period of Saturday night’s game.

“Cole’s about 240 (actually 205 pounds) and I put my hand on his face and he does a summersault, 360 (degrees) on the ice,” Boyle said. “He was shocked he didn’t get a (diving) call. I saw his face afterward.”

Hey Danny-boy, guess what:

You see where your stick is? You should have been called for a tripping penalty, son. Moreover, allow me to quote for you Rule 51.1 (that would be “Roughing”):

Roughing – Roughing is a punching motion with the hand or fist, with
or without the glove on the hand, normally directed at the head or face
of an opponent.

Now, in futbol that would be a facemask penalty. Is it a borderline call? Possibly–but I freaking watched you drop the glove and try to rip Cole’s face off, dude. You got caught, you got called, you sat for 2 minutes, so GTF over it.

And of course, Homerdero goes on to whine about our “reputation” as divers. Wow, I guess the Lightning are so desperate that their players, coaches, and even their mediots are hopping on the Panthers’ bus and calling us divers because they can’t come up with anything better.

Sheesh.

Anyway–Canes are off until Wednesday, when they play the Thrashers in the ATL.  Mahalo.