Sweet Tea, Barbecue, and Bodychecks

…cos the AcidQueen don’t wanna hear it.

So many things to talk about today, so let’s get down to it shall we?

ISSUE ONE: The Defence.

Luke DeCock has opened a lovely can of worms with this week’s iteration of The Monday Debate–and I, of course, had to go and chum the waters a bit. I should have probably been a bit more blunt-force, but what would be the fun in that?

Simply put, our defense is fearsome–and not in the happy fun way, either. Joe Corvo is best when used in strict moderation. Joni Pitkanen is a question mark. Josef Melichar should have been left in Sweden. Nicky Wallin should go back to Sweden (his best season was 05-06. Seriously kids. I love the man but he’s done like dinner). Timmy Gleason…eh. When Tim Gleason and Joni Pitkanen are your likely top pairing? Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Am I being too harsh? No. This team should have laid out the coin for Aaron Ward, but no–Uncle Pete has decreed that the nickel-and-diming shall continue, and so we get Yet Another Nickel-and-Dime Defence.

ISSUE TWO: Bomani Jones and the Survey of Doom

You all remember Bomani Jones’ pitiful excuse for an attempt to take a potshot at hockey in the South find Hurricanes fans back during the 2006 ECF. He deliberately went to places like Sammy’s (which has never been a destination for fans–mostly because it’s pretty exclusively NCSU-oriented and also because the owner is just a teensy bit hostile towards us damn carpetbagger Caniacs…nevermind that a lot of State fans are also Hurricanes fans), the fringes of Durham (where of course he just had to toss out the gratuitous bit of sports racism–i.e. “hockey is for white folks”), and the inboxes of a couple buddies of his (one of whom is a NASCAR fan and the other one of whom isn’t even a fan of the Hurricanes).

Bomani decided to, after getting hit with the Ten Ton Hammer by half the Caniac Nation for being such a douche, whine and cry that he was just trying to be funny. Of course you were just trying to be funny, Bomani. Of course you were. And I am the King of Siam. Et Cetera, Et Cetera.

So–why am I bringing all this up? Because Bo decided to bring up a survey of the 500 residents of Hyde County (glove-tap to janeybell for that zinger) that supposedly showed that nobody in NC gives a fig for (or even knows about) the Hurricanes, and then use that as an excuse to show his ass yet again (on the heels of Greg Wyshynski’s mild clowning on the survey in the midst of getting some quotes from Hurricanes’ Media Czar Mike Sundheim)…after which Bo pussed out when questioned in the commentbox about what his “point” was supposed to be.

SUMMATION: Bo doesn’t know dinky-doo. He’s also a whiner–apparently anyone who took issue with him even in the slightest is an “oversensitive fan who missed the point”. Dudeman is a turtler, bigtime; therefore, I shall dub him Claude Avery.

(BTW, for those who have IMed or e-mauled me asking me to call in: I would like to, but I don’t have a phone at my desk nor do I know if I’ll be able to get into the equipment room at work so I can use the phone there. They don’t pay me teh moniez to hammer Bristoleros on the phone, yanno.

My major issue with the survey is that the sample size is pretty damn miniscule. It’s like Jeremy Clarkson asking a question of one audience member on Top Gear and then saying “There you have it, nought percent of the British population own a Prius/like diesels/want speed cameras/whatever”–which he does specifically to poke fun at pollsters. 500 people is not a sufficient sample size to give a good result, unless the base that the sample is drawn from is also very small (e.g. 500 people out of 10,000). Moreover, where was the survey conducted? Do I have to get out the Barbecue Map and show you mooks the sports breakdown of North Carolina or something?

I also have to wonder what the author of that poll was drinking when he came up with it–but that’s a question for another day.

ISSUE THREE: The Schedule

Yay, schedule’s out. Whoopie-ding, Detroit is the last game before the State Fair Road Trip (and of course, somebody’s already engaged in asshattery over it–quelle grande surprise).

Big deal. SlugFans are worse than Wings fans anyway–except that once the SlugFans sober up, they can at least talk hockey in a semi-intelligent manner.

Now that that’s out of the way:

I’m far more interested in the fact that the schedule is finally back to some semblance of normalcy–of course, since division rivals get played 6 times a piece, invariably some mental giant out there is going to start bringing out the “DEE DEE DEE, SE Division only gets a seed cos they play a weak division, durrr.”

The Red Wings win the President’s Trophy damn near every season because they play a weak division, and I don’t hear anyone saying anything about that. So why does the Southeast Division get hailed on? The Sabres won the President’s Trophy with the exact same division record that the Hurricanes had the year they won the Cup–but I don’t hear anything about that except for the random SlugThug calling me “bitter and angry” because s/he’s too drunk or soaked in his/her own personal issues to come up with something actually intelligent to say. So why does the Southeast Division get hailed on?

I keep hoping to have a cogent discourse with somebody on this topic–but so far it’s been about as fruitful as a Wipe Club raid*.

WARNING: Very funny, especially if you’re a WoW player, but there’s lots of profanity thrown about at that link. Don’t listen at work or with the kids around.

That’s what I am thinking of the Penguins after last night’s debacle in the Nexus of Evil. Just freakin’ pathetic.

If this series doesn’t end in a sweep, I will be surprised. Hells, at least the ‘02 Hurricanes (a team full of “scrubs, has-beens, and career minor-leaguers” was what one embittered Leafs fan called them) managed to make a series of it. And don’t let the 4-1 series result fool you, either: The only game the Hurricanes weren’t really “in” was Game 4–and even then they fought tooth and nail. They at least died with their boots on.

The Penguins, on the other hand, seem to just be playing like they’re just there to grab some saganaki down in Greektown. There are several players I’d like to punch in the face right now.

I’d like to punch Rob Scuderi in the face for being out of position last night and getting accidentally clocked in the grill by his own teammate.

I’d like to punch Hal Gill in the face for accidentally clocking his own teammate in the grill.

I’d like to punch Gary Roberts in the face for his punk-ass cheap shot (and his even more punk-ass excuse) on Johan Franzen.

I’d like to punch Johan Franzen in the face for playing the “oh, it was my fault” card–but I can wait until he’s officially over his concussion.

I’d like to punch the rest of the Unspeakables in the face, just because it would be very satisfying to take shots at a team that is The Focus of Evil In The Hockey World.

I’d like to punch Michel Therrien in the face for being the same “boo hoo, the refs are out to get us, boo hoo” numbnut that he was in Montreal after the Molson Miracle.

I’d like to punch Brooks Orpik in the face on general principle, and while wearing an Erik Cole jersey. You think he could get the puck without boarding somebody? 

And I’d like to punch Sidney Crosby in the face because he’s overexposed, overhyped, and Ovechkin is better–and if he had a better goaltender and better guys around him, he’d prove it.

Game 3 is tomorrow in Pittsburgh. Hopefully the Pens wake up and pull their heads out their asses so that they can make this the first truly exciting series since the first round. Their opponent deserves better than what they’re getting right now.

The Finals. Yay.

The nightmare will soon be over. As happy as I am for my wife, I just find it so hard to seriously get behind the Pens because of the gross overexposure of Sidney Crosby (and of course there’s that whole Orpik thing. And the flamage I got from a few folks when the Pens signed Billy the Rapist–who, thankfully, is back in prison like the serial recidivist that he is). But I’m on their bus pro forma, because of who they are facing:

Detroit. 

Anyone who can read knows how I feel. I wish the Hurricanes had won in 2002, because then the Yankees Fans of the NHL wouldn’t immediately accuse me of lying when I say that I have hated their team to increasing degrees for the last 27 years (i.e. since I started watching hockey–I am 37. For Detroit fans, that means I started watching hockey when I was 10).

Such idiocy has, rather than shut me up, only served to inflame my hatred to the point where if Al Qaeda had a hockey team and they were playing the Red Wings, I would be in the stands wearing a burqa and holding a sign saying “GO OSAMA GO” in Pashtun, Arabic, and whatever other language they wanted me to say it in because I am many things–but despite what those arrogant frontrunning e-peen challenged bullies would have you believe, I am not a liar.

So, I’ll be watching the Finals, but for me it will be like watching a slow-motion train wreck because I am lukewarm at best toward one team and hate the other team to the point of near-irrationality.

Hopefully it ends quickly. Go Pens.

Blah.

I had this big rant all ready to post, but I decided to just fuhgeddaboudit.

Maybe I’ll post it later.

Good luck, Pens fans. You will need it.

Yeah, so I watched regulation and half of the first OT in last night’s Caps-Flyers game.

The Caps, barring a miracle, are toast. Pahtoleipä. Труп. Erledigt. You get the picture.
The problem the Caps had last night is best summed up in the following video:

Not penalties per se–but sloppy penalties.

Now, I will freely admit that the penalty that Kimmo Timonen drew on Kozlov in the third was (as Ed Olczyk put it) a wrong call, and the interference call on Eminger in the first was iffy–but That Hasenfratz Putz was working the game, so I expected at least one or two blown calls. But the rest were just sloppiness on the part of the Caps. Two Too Many Men penalties are possibly the most glaring sign of a lack of cohesion on the Capitals’ bench right now. The Caps are in complete disarray right now, Huet is once again showing that he’s not really playoff material, and I expect the Pflyers to close them out on Saturday.

Memo to occasional (not to mention unintelligent and uncreative) troller capsfan88:

Yes, playoffs are fun–but actually winning a series?  That’s even more fun.

Just sayin’.

So let’s recap:

Yesterday morning, everyone in the Caniac Nation was all up in teh dramaz about the Caps pwning face on us. I slapped around some dumbass who got all up in the whiny because I said that Alex Ovechkin can be a dirty bastard–and yes, he can be–and then I took a shot at people that were claiming that there’s some kind of Sooper Sekrit Conspeerohsee going on to get the Caps into the playoffs at our expense.

Yesterday afternoon, EJ Hradek decided to clown on my coach’s meltdown behind the bench in DC. And, admittedly, it was funny–though really my coach is far less nebbishy-lookin’ than EJ is (not, yanno, that there’s anything wrong with being nebbishy-lookin’. Just saying.)–but I knew that the ‘Canes were going to get it together against the Lightning that night…and my favourite Spicy Italian, John Tortorella, gave us a lil’ hep by putting Mike Smith in goal.

Mmmm…..Spicy Italian. *ahem* sorry.

Then a friend of mine leaves me a ticket at Will Call–and my car is out of gas. Hubby was at work, clear out on the other side of the Containment Area for Relocated Yanquis. So I was stuck in my “AQ has no cash and can’t call a cab to take her to le jeu” living room for the night, which didn’t make me very happy–but what can you do, right?

So I settle in to watch the game–and 32 seconds in Eric freakin’ Staal shows why he is The Chosen One by scoring on a breakaway while practically wearing Vinny Lecavalier. I knew then that it was going to be a fun night. Merlin decided, at that point, to decamp to the foyer for some odd reason. The rest of the cats (including Jasmine the Feline Mute Button), however, parked their furry butts on the couch and watched the game with me. Martin St. Louis scored a few minutes later while Keith “Tater” Aucoin was in the box for tripping, and I bellowed “STOP SCORING ON US, YOU LITTLE VONTZ!”

Jasmine, tiny little dainty kitty that she is, then jumped on my chest and nipped my chin to let me know that I was too loud and needed to be quiet.

Then Chad LaRose, the Chuck Norris of Hockey, scored at 16:10 to put the ‘Canes up 2-1–and on to intermission we went!

Now, the second period was kinda surreal. Rosie scored again (and there was much rejoicing. YAAAAAY!), Andreas Karlsson hooked Trevor Letowski in the wedding vegetables, and then a few minutes later there was a knock at my door. I opened it, and there was Scott Walker. “Hey there, Your Infernal Majesty,” he said, “Mind if I come in for a moment?” How could I refuse one of my tribesmen, right?

I let Remo in, and–after paying the Pet Tax to Merlin–he ripped off this shot from atop my coffee table while Mike Smith was off at the Cook-Out on Western Boulevard to get a huge Cheddar-Style with double extra onion and a side of hushpuppies. “Thanks,” Walks said merrily before reaching down to pick Merlin up. “C’mon little buddy, we’re going to need you later.” Then he left, and I went back to watching the game just in time to see Jeff Halpern attempt to use Ryan Bayda as a missile weapon against his own goalie…and then try to re-enact a scene from “OZ” while poor Mike Smith is dopeslapping both of them with his blocker and hollering “GET OFF ME WITH THAT SHIT MANG, THAT AIN’T MAH SCENE.”

Then the phone rang. It was my husband. “As your lawyer,” he said to me, “I advise you to keep the noise level down so that we don’t get tossed from our apartment.” And Jasmine nipped my chin again, punctuating it this time with a meow. And the neighbours upstairs started trying to loudly remind the world that they like to engage in conjugal relations from time to time. Point taken, I turned down the TV in the living room and ChuckandtheletterK in the computer room.

Tuomo Ruutu went off for hooking, and I wondered ‘How long can we maintain?’* The answer was “as long as we have to”.

Vinny Lecavalier got dinged for a double-minor at the end of the period after he got called for interference and then decided to tell the refs what he thought of their parentage, and I knew that it was about to get surreal. More surreal. Something like that.

I was not, I assure you, disappointed.

Bishop Ruutu canonized a shot from the faceoff circle that beat Smith like a rented mule, Halp thought he was a Cap again and managed to score, and then the Chuck Norris of Hockey, Chad fuckin’ LaRose, got his hat trick.

It was at that point that I saw Merlin firmly ensconced on the top of John Tortorella’s head, and I decided that fatigue had definitely gotten the better of me and that it was time to go to bed. I walked over to the TV set and turned it on to a dead channel-white noise at maximum decibels, a fine sound for sleeping, a powerful continuous hiss to drown out everything strange*. Then I went into the bedroom and collapsed into bed surrounded by four furballs and seeing my team as monster reincarnations of Horatio Alger: men on the move and just sick enough to be confident*.

(This post inspired by (and the asterisked lines cribbed from) Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Good night Hunter S. Thompson, wherever you are.)

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’.

When I said in my previous post that I didn’t want the Hurricanes to win the SE if it meant that they’d be third-by-default, I wasn’t expecting the Atlanta Thrashers to take me seriously. But y’know?  I’m glad they did, because I was starting to get worried that a team that really doesn’t seem to give half a damn would actually make it into the playoffs.

ATTN HURRICANES: YOU DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH TALENT TO WIN ON TALENT ALONE.

Last season, I didn’t care. This season, I care but I am trying not to start smoking again. If it’s not fans on x Random Messageboard gettin’ all bipolar, it’s the team choking a gods-damned tie in Hogtown.

HOW THE HELLS DO YOU CHOKE A TIE?!

*sigh*

So, some highlights from last night:

Borer = keeper

Ladd and Cole get a stay of execution. Good to see Sergei the Keebler Elf finally get on teh scoreboard this season. I only fault the Cam and Mike Show for two of those goals.

AND THEN THERE IS OUR DEFENCE:

Dennis? Ich hab’ dich lieb, but if we get the chance to get somebody better for you then you gotta go.
Timmay, dunno what your issue has been the last few games but the flu only lasts but so long yanno?
Frankie? I’ll take the Dread Master over him.
Wes is doing the best he can.
Commodore? Package him up with Atlanta Frankie and see if we can bribe the Avs into parting with Liles.

And for the painful part: 

Something is seriously physically wrong with the Warchief, I don’t think that it’s the flu, and I am now convinced that he suffers from Hedicanitis because he’s being a selfish bastard by not being up-front with people or teh org about what his issue is. Gods it hurt to say that.

This team is killin’ me here. When I’d rather watch CSI reruns on Spike than watch a ‘Canes game?  That’s saying some shit right there.

AND BEFORE ANYONE SAYS ANYTHING: I expect that Dwayne Klessel will have Yet Another Staal-To-$TEAM Rumour<tm> up by this afternoon–but really?  Unless it’s for like Ovechkin or somebody else like that, Staal won’t go anywhere. He is The Chosen One, there is no way that JimR will get rid of him unless it’s for some absolutely ridiculous return coming our way. Just sayin’.

(p.s. Dammit Thrashers, why did you have to stop at 5 goals last night?!)

Burning questions:

Why is it that this team seems to not be able to hold it together on a consistent basis?  It was like the ‘Canes decided “OK, we’re up 1-0 after the first, let’s chill out now.”

Why is Dennis Seidenberg being relegated to the pressbox when he’s been miles better than either Snuggles or Frankie Kaberle this season? (Note to my fellow Caniacs: It’s SeidenbErg, with an E. It’s bad enough when people mangle the spelling of other teams’ players, but for fuck’s sakes–get your own players’ names right willya?)

How could you call that hook on Justin Williams? He barely even looked at that little drama-midget Briere!  And that penalty shot?  WTF?  How the hell was that a penalty shot?

The bottom line tonight is that the game was ass for the Hurricanes after the first period. They sat back and took bad penalties–and Cam did them no favours by having an off night, which doesn’t bode well for Friday’s game against those damnable Lightning.

Happy Thanksgiving, peeps. Enjoy the turkey.

Yeah, so over at the FanHouse there’s a post from Jes Golbez about the Red Wings’ little planecrash the other day.

I say “little”, because they went off the damn runway at like 5 MPH. That’s it. The pilots cut it a bit too close when making a turn, and one of the wheel assemblies went into the grass like The Stig in a wingless Koenigsegg CCX (though not nearly as fast and with fewer divots being thrown about).

Note that nobody else really talked about it. Why? Because it’s not like the plane went plummeting out of the sky or anything–that would be some serious business, and the only person on the planet who would point and laugh would be some embittered loser on USENET. Not even I would wish that on the Red Wings, and I loathe that team the way a Yankees fan loathes the Red Sox. What they did was the equivalent of Cory Stillman’s airbag deploying after he slid into a pole coming out the RBC lots one day after practice. It was something that was scary at the time, but when you look back on it you can giggle because nobody was seriously hurt or killed.

Jes, of course, poked fun at it in that “Oh man, bet you won’t do THAT again” sort of way. He got silly, as he is wont to do–and lo, there was a great wailing and gnashing of teeth. The comments made me roar with even more laughter than the original story did, because so many people decided to get all up in “bleeding heart” mode. Veiled threats, misplaced rage, and general stupidity abound as everyone screams and hollers that Jes dared to make fun of something that wound up being not all that serious.

The plane didn’t blow up on the runway. It didn’t go down in flames. All that happened was that it went partially off the tarmac into the mud.

Lighten up, Francis. Laugh, roll your eyes, and move the hell on already.

Sheesh.

I mean, seriously.

OK, so a dude at UConn made a comment that indicates that he misses the Whalers–how does that make him stupid?  “Get over it”? What?

Yeah. Fuckhead.

The Whale is gone, and everyone except the handful of fruits and nuts in the 13th of April Movement (or whatever the “Return Hartford Whalers Organization” is calling itself these days) has come to grips with it even after 10 years. Some fans followed the team here, some gave up the NHL altogether, some migrated to other teams. Big. Deal. Mentioning the Whale is not a crime, last I checked–the franchise has finally figured that out, and no longer shies away from showing Whalers jerseys on the jumbotron or the TV telecasts (or playing “Brass Bonanza” on the PA).

Brian DeMarco (the columnist at UConn) was complimentary toward the Hurricanes, so I don’t see what warranted the aggro there. Perhaps somebody could point it out to me, please.

Continuing to show ass toward folks that mention the Whale is counterproductive. It serves even less purpose than the internecine wars that marked the birth of the Hurricanes did. One cannot figure out where he is going unless he knows his past–that goes for teams as well. Sweeping the past under the rug serves no constructive purpose, and in the end is only self-destructive because it’ll invariably lead to a redux of past missteps and mistakes.

Just sayin’.

I sat down to watch the Sens and Your Carolina Hurricanes last night–the Sens were on a hot streak, and the ‘Canes were still feeling their oats (and coming off a game with the Leafs).

Haven’t we seen this before?

Anyway, the star of the game was definitely little Chad LaRose. Rosie was all over the place, getting three assists and drawing some key penalties. Tripp was his usual insane self, we had the Ray Mojo during warmups, and all was right with the world.

Well, for me anyway.

And, of course, everyone is piling on Jesse Boulerice today–my favorite? Bringing up a 10-year old incident as if it’s a lifelong pattern of behaviour. Am I defending Jesse’s act of gross stupidity? Of course not–his career is more than likely over, as it damn well should be. What he did was inexcusable (and he recognizes that, now that the adrenalin has worn off), and anyone who attempts to defend it even peripherally (as one Flyers fan did in Mirtle’s commentbox) is a complete and total moron.

But please–it’s not as if he’s a convicted rapist and career recidivist (whose dirtbaggery is a lifelong pattern of behaviour). He’s a guy who has done two idiotic things that will hang over his head for the rest of his life, and he knows it and is prepared to live with it rather than make excuses. I can respect that, because he’s not playing “blame the victim”. So can we please stop treating the guy like he’s some kind of ogre? Two incidents / ten years = dumbass (≠ outlaw)¹.

I’m just sayin’.

As for the Flyers….don’t be surprised if we see more of this kind of dirty play from them this season–because, of course, if you can’t beat ‘em then you might as well injure ‘em amirite? Clearly, the Flyers have to send a message that they “won’t be pushed around”, and if that means that people wind up getting put on the IR or sent to the hospital then clearly that’s just what’s going to have to happen.

See AQ. See AQ be completely and totally unimpressed by the size of the Flyers’ e-peen.

Next up for the ‘Canes: Saturday night v. the Godless Habominations at the Bell Centre. Here’s hoping we spoil the hell out of their home opener.

Go Canes.

¹: Math isn’t my specialty, so I might have gotten that notation wrong. I was going for “Two incidents in ten years makes him a dumbass, not an outlaw.”

So last night at work, I had a chance to take advantage of the quiet of the graveyard shift and ponder the game. These thoughts are very distilled, as I am pretty much running on fumes at the moment.

Yes, we lost our fifth straight season opener since 2001. Deal.

Yes, we’re 0-f0r-banner-raisings. Deal.

The officiating was of the “huh wha?” persuasion–I’m still wondering where Gord Dwyer saw a cross-check in OT, because I sure as funk didn’t see one and I was right freakin’ there–and the offense couldn’t convert to save their lives half the time, but that is the least of my issues right now.

I’m worried about our defense. The last time I saw a Hurricanes defense collapse into a shell like that, it was 2003 and Paul Maurice was still our coach. Yeah, that’s not a good thing.

edit 11:49 PM: So let’s talk about the defense. Oh man, the defense. None of the defensemen looked particularly spectacular out there last night, really. None of them even looked better than mildly serviceable, except for Glen Wesley and Bret of the Gimpy Hip. Nicky Wallin is getting roasted alive on some of the message boards this morning for that cross-check in OT, which I don’t think is at all fair because I still don’t believe he did that. Did he take dumb penalties? Yes he did. But I still didn’t see him cross-check anyone in OT like Dwyer said he did. Good to see that Mike Ribiero is still in Montreal in spirit, I guess.

Oh yeah, and some pictures from game day–these were taken with my craptacular Olympus D360-L (which isn’t even made or supported by Olympus anymore–that should tell yer something), so I apologize for not-so-great quality.

(Duh AQ, add the pictures)

The scalpers, I’ll do first. I’m going to take pictures of these clowns every game I go to, because 1) it’s funny to laugh at their pathetic attempts to hit the same people up for tickets 15 times in a row and 2) I get ill at the ones that think that they can blithely ignore RBC Center policy and go strolling the lots asking people “Got tickets? Need tickets?” and copping ‘tude with people that tell them to pike off and get their asses back across the road.

Now this dude is in right place–across the road at the Carter-Finley¹ lot–but he hit up the same people like four or five times (including the cat on the left in the red polo shirt), which I found amusing. So I snapped his picture.

I’d have gotten a better picture, but I wanted to be surreptitious–as surreptitious as I can be with a camera the size of Vermont, anyway. The cat on the left is a scalper, but he’s new to the gig…at least, I didn’t see him last season or the season before. The dude on the right, though, I’ve seen at the RBC since it freaking opened. Ever since they implemented the rule that scalpers had to keep their lawbreaking² asses across the street at Carter-Finley Stadium, this guy and several other scalpers have kept right on patrolling the lots.

So now I’m going to start taking pictures and posting ‘em so that any RBC securebots that find this site will know who they need to keep a lookout for.

These are the “best of the rest”–which isn’t saying much, given the quality of my camera. But here goes:

Mark was also the PA announcer for the Raleigh Icecaps (now the Augusta Lynx) of the ECHL.

“The Icecaps are on the Pepsi Power Play!”

I’ll be at Friday’s game in Section 332, so I’ll have some more (and hopefully better) pictures then.

Go Canes.

¹:Carter-Finley Stadium is where NCSU plays its futbol games.
²: scalping is illegal in NC. My apologies to the Toronto fans that came down here in 2002 and wound up having to give their life savings to those scuzzwipes.

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.

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.

When I saw the posts on HLOG and Behind the Jersey, I laughed. “No way,” I said, “would that happen to us.”

And then I decided that perhaps I should go check on that before I point and laugh…I’m so sorry I did.

“Look cute while rooting for your favorite team!” — NHL

I want the names of the persons responsible for this travesty, and I want their heads on pikes in front of my apartment by noon tomorrow! Pink says “Old Time Hockey” about like Abu Ghraib says “Free Glamour Shots Sitting”.

PINK? PINK?! Gee NHL, stereotype much? It has been my extensive experience that the average female fan is a fan of the GAME first, and the players a distant second. I’d wear that Warchief shirt, if it were actually in Hurricanes colors and I wasn’t built like the Fruit-of-the-Loom Apple Dude. But pink? Oh HELL no–I do not need some drunken smacktard taking a look at me wearing some Pepto Pink pile of crap and projectile vomiting a bunch of puckbunny smack in my general direction, nor does any other female fan who goes to the game because they love hockey (rather than because they’re adorning their boyfriend’s arm or hope to catch the eye of J. Random McNHLPlayer).

The marketing and merchandising department of the NHL needs to pull their heads out of their asses and figure out that their average female fan is NOT going to go for this. Of course, that’s about like asking the NHL to put a team in Moose Jaw, SK…fuckheads.

There are lots of things that piss me off. The heat, telemarketers, insurance salesmen, the Raleigh PD, any team from Detroit, take your pick.

HOWEVER! One thing is guaranteed to piss me off more than anything else in the world; willful misuse and abuse of English by a native speaker. You people have no idea how hard I have to work to control my visceral urge to beat the ever-lovin’ crap out of some motard that comes before me at my job and proceeds to treat me like I’m as dumb as he is while grossly misusing his mother tongue.

Language is a beautiful thing, children. If you’ve grown up speaking a language, and your IQ is higher than that of your average Barcalounger, you had damn well better learn to use that language well if you don’t want to be seen as a Sabres fan dim-witted fool.

Let’s start with my favorite Crime Against English: the double-negative. Examples of this include:

Irregardless is NOT a word. Just because it’s the name of a nice eatery here in Raleigh, and just because it’s listed in the Oxford English Dictionary (a copy of which I have on my bookshelf–along with the invaluable Chicago Manual of Style), that does not mean that this double-negative is considered standard (or proper) English.

I can’t get no satisfaction, so the song says–and I can’t listen to that song without wanting to rip Mick Jagger’s balls off and stuff them up his nose.

And then we have the hilarity that ensues when I hear somebody using a word incorrectly–and I KNOW that it’s incorrect. The first commenter in this post to Lord Stanley’s Blog was referring to a magnate, which is “a person of rank, power, influence, or distinction often in a specified area” (e.g. a software magnate). Dictionaries are made for a reason, people. If you are not sure, LOOK IT THE HELL UP BEFORE YOU MAKE YOURSELF LOOK STUPID.

You want to send me into a near-homicidal rage? Use a word incorrectly, and when I politely point out your error look at me like I’m stupid and say “Whatever, you know what I meant”.

Sure, I know what you meant: you’re a blithering idiot, that’s what you meant. I’m going to mock your dumb ass my taking your misusage and running it into the ground, and then I’ll follow it up by grabbing a dictionary and piledriving it into your thick skull with a jackhammer!

Whatever, you know what I meant.

AND ANOTHER THING!

Lolcats is one thing. Meta-neologistic “gamerspeak” words like “pwn” and “lewtz” are one thing (well, one collective thing). That’s intentional linguistic mangling for the purposes of humor. It’s satirical. I let that slide. But the next time I see an out-of-place apostrophe turning a plural into a possessive or “their”, “there”, and “they’re” (for example) used as if they’re interchangeable parts, or see some variant of “ur”, “laf”, or a number used in place of a word or as part of a shortened-for-idiot-comprehension word (e.g. “ne1″), there’s a good chance that I may snap and go on a mad shooting spree! I did not ace the Verbal portion of my SAT (TWICE!) so that I could put up with that kind of slack-assed tomfoolery, people.

I’m not linguistically perfect, but at least I know how to spellcheck and use a damn style manual and dictionary. Sheesh.