Sweet Tea, Barbecue, and Bodychecks

“I didn’t see anything. Did you see anything? That video doesn’t prove anything.” — Colin Campbell

Ironic, really. Not even a week after some jackwagon in London, ON threw a banana peel at Pflyers forward Wayne Simmonds, the man’s back in the news–and this time for something not very sympathetic.

Of course, it’s also ironic that I defend Sean Avery, given the wonderfully misogynist things he’s said in the past about an ex-girlfriend, his general on-ice jackassery (like the Morris Dance he did in front of Marty Brodeur during a playoff game in 2007), and my own “Sean Avery is gay” post category (which is there because, seriously, dudeman needs to come out the damn closet already).

The scenario: Rangers/Pflyers preseason game, in Philly. Sean Avery claims that Simmonds called him a “faggot”, which is considered an anti-gay slur. It’s captured on video, and yet Clownshoe Colin–the same guy who, in an e-mail that was publicized in November 2010, called Marc Savard a “whiner” and a “little fake-artist”, and then refused to even so much as give a suspension after Savard sustained a possible career-ending concussion–is saying “I didn’t see anything happen, so I won’t do anything.”

That shit ain’t cool, kids. Racism and homophobia are doubleplusuncool, and any so-called “fan” who thinks they’re OK has rocks in his head, in my opinion.

Come at me, bro!

Gann Matsuda posted a very powerful commentary on racism in America, in light of a disgusting incident that marred a preseason shootout.

To sum up: A “fan” chucked banana peels at Philadelphia Flyers forward Wayne Simmonds during a preseason game between the Flyers and the Focus of Evil in the Hockey World Detroit Red Wings. One peel hit the ice, the other one didn’t make it to the ice. The miscreant was never caught, and it’s unconfirmed which fanbase he represented–but it’s a pretty sure bet that the peel-tosser is a complete and total coward and a piece of dog mess on the sole of society’s shoe.

If you think the incident was “no big deal” and nothing worthy of outrage, then you’re either stupid or delusional or both. And if you’re a Hurricanes fan and think that this incident is just a laugh and a half, then I cordially invite you to GTFO the fanbase and go find another team to cheer for–because if I find you engaging in that kind of crap at the RBC Center, I swear to Tyr that I will quite gleefully catch a charge for beating your dumb ass down. I’ll even toss in a bonus dick-punch or ten, for forgetting the ugliness of 2002, when some Habs fans in MTL threw bananas (and death threats) at Kevin Weekes after Game 3 and during Game 4 of that year’s ECSF.

Incidents like this are horrible and ugly (no matter how “harmless” they seem), and they only serve to tarnish the image of hockey and its fans. We as fans need to come down hard on asstards like the ‘nanner-chucking clown in London, ON, and state as one that racism has no place in hockey–not because it’s “PC”, not because it’s “suddenly en vogue”, because it’s basic human decency and the right frickin’ thing to do.

Just sayin’.

Yesterday, two things happened in the hockey world. One was of great world-shaking importance, and the other was Sid Crosby’s presser about the progress of his recovery.

Predictably, Sid got major heat for it from people who accused him of being classless and not caring about the dead.

I’m sorry, what? I had no idea the whole world had to stop turning when there was a tragic event. I wept yesterday (and woke up this morning asking the gods to please make today better than yesterday) like many other hockey fans, but you know what? I’m right up there with Adam Proteau of the Hockey News (for once) and David Staples of the Edmonton Journal: That press conference didn’t need delaying or cancelling, and people are just being too damn sensitive. I really fail to see where the insensitivity was–it wasn’t like he cracked jokes about Yaroslavl Lokomotiv being wiped out. He held a simple press conference.

Get over yourselves, people. Sidney Crosby reminded us all yesterday that life goes on, even in the wake of great loss. You don’t have to like it, but you should damn well respect it.

Sheesh.

Ima tell all y’all a little story. It’s short, it’s sweet, and it’s mine.

Late one night, many years ago when the RBC Center was known as the ESA and the Hurricanes hadn’t yet won more than one playoff round, I and a couple ladies that worked for Adam and Eve were hanging out in back of the RBC Center, waiting for all the players to roll out after a game. I don’t even remember who we were playing–I think it was the Islanders of all teams–and I don’t even remember their names, but I remember this.

It was late (like midnight), it was nippy and a little breezy and a tad damp, but because one of the women had a shirt that she wanted to have signed by all the players, I agreed to wait with her and her friend. One by one, the players came out and I told my two compatriots who each player was and what number he was. And the shirt got signed one player at a time.

Finally this big green Explorer comes rolling out and stops, and the window rolls down. Behind the wheel was a rookie whose English was kinda fair to middlin’ (more middlin’ than fair, really), but he was more than happy to sign the shirt.

“Can you write “She froze her ass off for you” on it?” the lady with the shirt asked. “It’s for my husband, and I want him to know what I went through to get this done for him.

“Sure,” the rookie said. And he wrote it as best he could–but since his English was more middlin’ than fair, it came out as SE FROZ OF AESE. We all thought it was hilarious at the time, and it’s still quite funny and brings a smile to my face.

That rookie was Josef Vasicek–better known in these parts as Joe, Lord of Evil–and he died in a plane crash this morning (US time) along with all but one of his KHL teammates. Of all the fan-moments I remember involving the Lord of Evil, the Night of the Frozen-Ass T-Shirt is the one that makes me smile most.

Rest well in the halls of your ancestors, Joe. Thanks for the memories.

Yes, it’s true, I am ramping up for hockey season and am now free of the corporate fetters that prevented me from blogging.

Not that y’all missed me much–I admit, I lost a lot of what little punch I had after 2006 and before the Great Hiatus. But I’m still me, I’m still opinionated, and I’m going to give ‘er another go.

I want to talk today about Chopper Harrison. Lots of electrons have been spilled over the tragic deaths of Derek Boogaard, Rick Rypien, and Wade Belak–may their ancestors welcome them all warmly into their halls.

But nobody really talks about superfans like Chopper. Chopper died on 23 August at his home, after a battle with cancer. He was a year older than my husband, which did kinda hit home for me.

Let me tell you about Chopper–I don’t know that I can do as good a job as Luke DeCock or David Lee, but I’ll try.

Chopper was annoying as hell. He drove everyone up the wall with his antics and blind homerism (the Warchief even called him on it after one particularly bad game, when Chopper said “yeah you guys played great last night!” and the Warchief said “What are you talking about? We played like crap!”), and after one incident where he said “asses” while doing an intermission whatchamadingding (during the 2001-2002 home opener), Great Leader banned him from doing any more on-ice stuff for the team. Of course, that ban lasted about as long as Dan Blackburn’s career, and Chopper was back on the ice about halfway through the season with his trademark “OVER HEEEEERRRRRRREEEEE!” and “THEY CAN HEAR YOU IN THE LOCKER ROOM!” bellowing. He was a hard drinker, a hard partier, scuttlebutt had the team telling Bates Battaglia and Shane Willis to stay the hell away from him, and eventually his antics drove the team away from him. He became the butt of jokes on message boards like thescoreboards.com and on blogs and among the folks at the RBC Center. I found myself apologizing on behalf of North Dakota for him on more than one occasion–as if my own famn damily didn’t make me ashamed enough to be from that state.

But there was no denying one thing: He was a Caniac through and through. He loved this team like he never loved anything else in his entire life–it was obvious to everyone with half a braincell. He braved Acrophobia for this team, by getting up on the canopy above the RBC Center’s box office as part of a season-ticket drive. For an acrophobe, that is a huge step. He stood up for them when few people in this state would, and was unceasing in his evangelizing of hockey and the Hurricanes to the college ball-watching masses.

Even after players eventually stopped talking to him and the org deliberately forgot he existed and Curtis Media Group fired him after a DUI arrest in 2006, he still loved the Hurricanes with his heart and soul and every last breath in his body–and when it was time for him to fight his final battle, he didn’t go back to Fargo, where he grew up and played hockey for the Spartans of North High. He came home to Raleigh, to be near his favourite team. David Martin, known to so many as Chopper Harrison, was, for all his many flaws, One Of Us–The Few, The Proud, The Caniacs–and the Caniac Nation (est. 1997) is greatly lessened by his passing.

Rest well, David Martin. May your ancestors welcome you warmly and may you enjoy a premium ice-side seat at the Eternal Game.