Lo and behold, as soon as I cast my lot with a highfalutin’ site like Hockey Independent, I start learning things. Like this past week at the NHL General Manager meetings down in Boca Raton Florida, I got to learn a lot of the things that went on behind the scenes.

You know who benefits from that? You, dear readers, that’s who.

So with no further ado, here are a few things that happened at the GM meetings that you might not have seen in the papers:

Monday, 9:00 - 29 of the 30 General Managers pledged to do more to promote player safety, both by looking at rule changes and punishment of repeat offenders. The only GM who didn’t vote was Chicago Blackhawks’ GM Stan Bowman, who arrived after the vote, saying, “Sorry I’m late, I was finishing up a 2-year extension for Dan Carcillo. What did I miss?”

Monday, 10:30 - A seminar titled “How to build a bad team by not trading draft picks” is given. Columbus GM Scott Howson is the only invitee.

Monday, 1:00 - a team building exercise, where the GMs are broken into groups to explore which cities are the best candidates for a relocated franchise. Eye contact with Phoenix GM Don Maloney is avoided at all times.

Monday, 7:00 - A cocktail reception and dinner for the GMs is held. The theme of this year’s dinner is, “CBA? What CBA?”

Tuesday, 10:00 - The GMs discuss their successful relationship with the KHL in Russia. Nashville GM David Poile stated Alex Radulov’s desire to return to the NHL. Amid laughter, the other GMs told him, “Sure, Poile…you get Radulov back and he won’t even haave to clear waivers.”

Tuesday, 2:00 - After two straight days, the GMs decide they need a break from any hockey discussion. So they turn on ESPN.

Tuesday, 4:00 - While finalizing plans for the 2013 Winter Classic, Red Wings’ GM Ken Holland is told his players can play in the Winter Classic or the Old-Timers game, but not both.

Wednesday, 10:00 - The GMs discuss realignment. They have all the cities on magnetic pieces that they move around on a whiteboard. At some point, they see there’s a handwritten one that says “HAMILTON”, and Jim Balsillie is escorted out.

Wednesday, 1:00 - The GMs each have to throw another dollar into the kitty and make new picks in the “Mark Messier Smothers Glen Sather With A Pillow” pool.

Wednesday, 3:00 - The meetings end with a commemorative “Reading of the Names”, where tribute is paid to the General Managers who have lost their jobs since last year’s meetings. The reading is interrupted at 6:00 for dinner, and everyone decides to just end it at 9:00, because they have planes to catch.

So there you have it…see you next year.

A conflicting tale of Mike Milbury alleged assault on a 12-year boy is coming to light. There seems to be a wide disparity between witnesses’ observations on the post-peewee game antics that has landed the off-air NBC analyst in hot water, crimes and misdemeanors.

Per this new take, evidently Milbury was merely breaking up a fight that developed post-game in a shoot around between his son and the 12-year old. All he was doing, per witnesses now quoted, was breaking them away from one another.

“No one was punched, kicked, or assaulted in any way,” … “I grabbed the other kid by the sweater to stop a fight and, yeah, I swore at him. That’s it. That’s what I did.”
-Mike Milbury said to NESN

In knowing much about Mad Mike, I’d like to use my imagination a bit to put forth some scenario where that would make some sense. Despite that this take will not be advocated by Milbury’s law team, paid for by his many years toiling on Long Island, I would like to think it would get their full support.

Scenario:

Mike Milbury is watching his son play hockey. He tried and tried to convince Junior to take up the cloth. After all, not many people know this, but the very prim and proper Milbury clan is very close to the clergy. But alas, much like his father, he has an innate feel for the game. Mike can’t disagree here, since he has an amazing ability to judge hockey talent. 

Junior is going to be a star. He skates like Gretzky. He works his stick like Mario Lemieux. He shoots like Bossy. He is the greatest thing on skates since Mary Lou Retton.

Mike watches the game while sipping some warm tea with honey. The air is tepid; the sun feels good on his brow. He slips away from the game itself, and begins to contemplate his next move as potential general manager. What will it be? Toronto? Burke is clearly in over his head. Perhaps LA? So many opportunities to consider…

Hark! Milbury feels something awry. On the ice, his son is getting battered and pummeled by some behemoth.

“Not my boy!” he cries, bounding from his seat and onto the ice. He moves like a cat, thanks to his thick regimen of Pilates and Tai Chi.

Mad Mike runs through the din, separated the two boys, grabbing the behemoth by the sweater.

“Off my kid, you big meanie!” he admonishes sternly to the boy.

Then Mike takes Junior by the arm and walk off into the sunset, those around him clapping and cheering. A real American hero.

Reports that Pittsburgh Penguins star Sidney Crosby has suffered a setback in his recovery from a pair of concussions are being dismissed by his agent as merely ‘being in Halifax during the summer’

On Monday, CTV News reported that Crosby halted training after the reappearance of concussion-like symptoms including headaches, nausea, sensitivity to light, irritability and a compulsion for Clamato juice.

Pat Brisson, Crosby’s agent, said the centre has adjusted his training to address the long overdue sunshine and warm weather in Nova Scotia. “Listen, if you spend 6 hours on patios along Spring Garden Road with nothing in your belly but Corona and deep fried pepperoni you’d feel concussed too”.

Local proprietors, when given a list of concussion symptoms, tended to agree. Bartender Angus MacLean commented that “Loss of consciousness, vomiting & slurred speech? Yeah, that sounds like most of the regulars at wing night.” While server Anita Campbell deadpanned that Halifax born Brad Marchand’s post Stanley Cup ““concussion symptoms” are going to get him banned from the shooter bar if he keeps this up”.

Crosby himself remains evasive, when reached for comment he asked this reporter to “Keep it down for the love of God” and inquired “What day is it anyway?”

Thanks to the magic of the Internet, I learned that there were 10 – yes 10 – nominees this year for that award, which is miraculous that they could even find 10 worthy films given most of the dreck put out these days.

I am utterly embarrassed to admit that among all of the nominated movies, I have seen a whopping 1 of them. In an effort to educate myself and figure out which movie I should be pulling for (the one I did actually see I wasn’t all that crazy about), I thought I’d spend Saturday seeing some of the nominees. Besides, I figured I need a few hours away from all of the craziness of the trades that have gone down and all of the trade rumors that have been running rampant with the deadline coming up on Monday.

Here’s a look at some of the nominees that I found are playing at my local multiplex when I looked in the newspaper this morning:

The Fighter **** (R)  Derek Boogaard and Donald Brashear co-star in this drama exploring the remarkably perplexing signings of enforcers since Colton Orr departed the New York Rangers via free agency.

The Kids Are All Right *** (R)  A plucky group of young hockey players (Derek Stepan, Mats Zuccarello, Ryan McDonagh lead the ensemble cast) take it upon themselves to step up once key members of their team (Marian Gaborik, Ryan Callahan, Brandon Dubinsky) become injured, redefining roles and raising questions of who really belongs.

The King’s Speech **** (R)   With his team on the brink of potentially missing the playoffs for the second straight year and its captain on the sidelines, a Swedish goaltender (Henrik Lundqvist) finds it within himself to overcome his own frustrations and struggles and delivers a dressing room address that inspires his fellow Rangers.

True Grit (PG-13) ****  Twenty-six-year-old hockey player (Brandon Prust) plays through his injured shoulder, injured hand and injured thumb. Brian Boyle co-stars.

127 Hours **** (R)  Based on a true story. A harrowing and gut-wrenching re-telling of how long the New York Rangers played without a lead. Over the eight games the Rangers examine their play and  finally discover they have it within themselves to actually score first in a game.

The Social Network *** (PG-13)  A young francophone living in the suburbs (PA Parenteau) tries to rebuild his social life after a well-connected Manhattanite (Sean Avery) uses all of his connections to ban him from all of the city’s hotspots.

All sound pretty compelling, and I’m not sure which I’m going to see. But whether you’re heading to the movies or taking in some hockey, enjoy the final weekend before the trade deadline!

———————————————————————————————————————-

The New York Rangers are a part of HockeyIndependent.com’s Facebook family!  Pay a visit here to talk more about your Broadway Blueshirts and be sure to hit the “Like” button too.

http://bit.ly/aoAacX (can be seen via Google Cache)

Al Rankin writes under the name Duncan_Disorderly. He’s been our main satire guy for the season. He’s hit with some great ones like Brian Burke’s Time Travel piece, the infamous Bryan McCabe on the Phaneauf trade, and so many more.

But it is this last one that will now live in MSNBC infamy:
Canucks Wellwood & O’Brien Fined For Planning Deep Dish Pizza Crawl

It was picked up by NBC Chicago and then MSNBC themselves, with the following added to their own take which was met with giggles and some degree of horror:

“The Canucks’ press office could not immediately confirm the report, but the Independent published a screen cap of the invite…Center Kyle Wellwood and defenseman Shane O’Brien will be reprimanded, but to what extent isn’t clear.”

Imagine that it is quite likely that Wellwood and O’Brien were actually questioned on a pizza crawl by the Vancouver Media Department.

The piece has subsequently been taken down. Some have wondered if it deserved a retraction than simply trying to remove it from the site, but one has to wonder about a lot of MSM things these days as they picked it up as fact in the first place.

Of course, once I tweeted about it on twitter, all hilarity ensued as it was retweeted across the NHL twittersphere with much mirth, incredulity and bafflement.

TWITTER REACTION:

5holeblog: @BDGallof Kyle Welwood is fat his hit the MSM.

icybits: @BDGallof MSNBC will be reporting stories from the #Onion next. Nice satire from you. Brutal reporting from them.

GTBradLee: @BDGallof I like how MSNBC sic’d the text and had the screencap as “evidence.” Well done.

felixpotvin: hahahahahahaha RT @BDGallof: MSNBC picks up our sites satire reports it as fact & questions the Vancouver org over it. http://bit.ly/aNaKLa

JonJordan: Absolutely HILARIOUS! RT: @BDGallof MSNBC picks up our satire, reports it as fact & questions Vancouver org over it. http://bit.ly/aNaKLa

HockeyJoeGM: Journalism = dead. RT @BDGallof: MSNBC picks up our sites satire reports it as fact & questions Vancouver over it. http://bit.ly/aNaKLa

Space_Weed: MSM fails again RT @BDGallof: MSNBC picks up our sites satire reports it as fact & questions the Vancouver org over it. http://bit.ly/aNaKLa

felixpotvin: @BDGallof jesus I can’t stop laughing

Editor's Note to MSNBC: This isn't REALLY Felix Potvin.

DownGoesBrown: If you missed this… um, wow. RT @BDGallof: MSNBC picks up our site’s satire, reports it as fact. http://bit.ly/aNaKLa

mlse: Wellwood is so fat a deep dish pizza crawl is believable RT @BDGallof: MSNBC picks up our satire reports it as fact http://bit.ly/aNaKLa

KenGHarrison: *facepalm* RT @BDGallof: MSNBC picks up our site’s satire, reports it as fact. http://bit.ly/aNaKLa (via @DownGoesBrown)

Sean_Leahy: Awww MSNBC finally took down the @BDGallof link. Though, it’s  not entirely false that Wellwood, Brodeur & Hitchcock would be FB friends

Al_Rankin: @BDGallof Ha they removed all trace of it now. My time in the sun has passed.

Not quite Al. This just came over the wire on Deadspin:

NBC Falls For Silly NHL Pizza Party Hoax

We at HI are a mix of credentialed bloggers, satirists, and up-and-comers. We talk exception when something clearly comedic is misconstrued….but will be assuaged by the hilarity that it just keeps on giving. Mainstream Media needs to read and filter what it aggregates or gets reposted. We’ll just keep doing what we do best.

- BD

Phaneuf? The Hell? Seriously?

Oh wow, yeah, sure, great move there guys. You know what wasn’t a great move? Trucking all my crap from Toronto to Miami in the middle of September. It’s literally the worst moving month ever, all the U-Haul stuff is booked and it takes weeks to get your phone hooked up thanks to all the G.D. students moving back in. Don’t even get me started on the snowbird traffic.

What are you guys thinking? Do you even remember the fiasco we went through? Apparently not, let’s recap Dion Phaneuf’s story then?

Young offensive defenseman with big shot averages around 50 points a season before his contract expires, gets rewarded with a multi-year extension averaging $6 million per. He initially plays well but soon his production fades which draws attention to his lack of defensive skill. Fans revolt and demand a trade.

Sound familiar? It sure as hell rings a bell with old Boo-ryan. I still haven’t fully unpacked and you’re trading away like 19 players to get a dirtier, crankier, more expensive version of me back. What’s next on the agenda, finding an almost indistinguishable replacement for Darcy Tucker? I hear Carcillo is available.

Anyways screw you guys, playing in Florida is wicked, I’ve scored like 5 goals in my own net and no-one even notices.

P.S. As of today I have two more points than Phaneuf and with a better plus minus. Just sayin’.

To we Gallof boys, most situations hearken to a movie. Whether it be large or small, parody or tragedy, good news or bad, we tend to come up with some sort of twisted bent with images and other silliness to describe it.

So, in honor of this appreciation of movies, and with a huge hat tip to the boys at Yahoo’s Puck Daddy blog, we will kick off our first contest here on HockeyIndependent. Prizes are choices from a slew of movies from the Back To The Future Trilogy on DVD, to Blu Ray movies like Full Metal Jacket, Blazing Saddles, V for Vendetta, Ocean’s 11 and much more. Actually, not just one contest but two…so there are a few ways to win…

CONTEST #1

Photoshop your own “NHL Goes Hollywood”. Use you image skills, or complete lack-of, to create some funny NHL-to-movie renditions. Our own to kick this off are below. Points are for creativity, laugh-meter, and concepts. We Gallofs will judge and look for top 3 winners. Send as many images you’d like. We’ll attempt to showcase them (another hat tip to Puck Daddy) as we go along plus at the end.

Deadline for this contest is Friday, December 11th with the winner to be announced that following Monday.

Email your images to bd@hockeyindependent.com and please put in the subject: NHL Goes Hollywood Entry.

What, you don’t do Photoshop or are terrible with images? Your mouse hand hurts from clutching it everytime a team shoots on your poor Maple Leafs? Well, for you we have another contest that is about wit and tweets!

CONTEST #2

On Twitter Follow @HockeyIndie our new Twitter account for HockeyIndependent and help spread the word while also coming up with
your own #NHLgoeshollywood takes of Hollywood meeting the NHL.

Here there are two ways to win prizes!

1. Top three tweets of #NHLgoeshollywood wins a prize!

2. Top three “quality” #NHLgoeshollywood overall twitterers will also win!

Sibling Rivalry will judge both these contests. That means the two Gallof boys decide. Deal with it.

Deadline for the TWEET #NHLgoeshollywood Follow @HockeyIndie contest is this coming Monday, December 7th.

Questions? Concerns? Post them below for clarity. Otherwise, make some excitement as we all gear up for the Holidays and get some loot from HockeyIndependent along with it.

Scott and I have done some of our own to kick this thing off….

Scott Gallof ignores Kyle Wellwood and goes for the other portly punching bag

BD Gallof with the Curious Case of Chris Chelios

Scott Gallof with Patrick Kane playing a petulant Scorcese in the back of DeNiro's taxi in TAXI DRIVER

BD will probably rile Sidney fans as he uses him and Gary Bettman for his version of THE CRYING GAME

BD finds Theo Fleury in the worst bathroom in Calgary with this ode to TRAINSPOTTING

Scott with the new screwball comedy based on Threesome, called Sloppy Seconds!

And, it wouldn’t be a Sibling Rivalry without taking a shot at the Isles or Rangers, so, BD provides some NY Ranger seasonal observations a la Big Lebowski, guest-starring Sidney Crosby…

Hi Friends!

Daniel Alfredsson here again, say, did you happen to catch the highlights of our game last night? Particularly around the 14 second mark of this clip?

Well that poor referee certainly appears to be in quite a lot of pain, the look on his face is excruciating.

I’d hate for that sort of thing to start happening on a regular basis. Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Although … now that you mention it my Ottawa Senators do happen to be the most penalized team in the league AND the team with the fewest power play opportunities. Why those sort of statistics are enough to make a normally placid group of guys … well do almost anything to ‘fix’ the situation.

You may have heard some disturbing rumours after the 2 games where we didn’t get a single power play or the 3 games where we only had one. It’s all just nonsense, you know how players like to gossip, the very idea is ludicrous. Almost as silly as averaging 2 powerplays on the road when the league average is 4.

Sure, I may have been seen making calls on disposable cell phones and dropping off cash filled envelopes to shadowy figures in parking lots but that doesn’t mean I’m plotting some sort of ‘imminent violent reprisal’ if things don’t change. I truly wish the best for you and hope that you enjoy happy, injury free times for what’s left of your careers.

P.S. I ran into Kerry Fraser yesterday, looks like he won’t be able to officiate tomorrow’s game; apparently he fell down some stairs.

Warmest Regards,

Alfie

What's wrong with this map of the West? That's right. Absolutely nothing. Nevada has always bordered the Pacific Ocean. No more trips to California for the Penguins. Bonus!

A new era dawns in Pittsburgh public school education this morning with the unveiling of a new 49-state map of the United States.  After intense lobbying by the very influential Lemieux Group LP, owner of the Pittsburgh Penguins, all metropolitan Pittsburgh public school students will now learn geography with a 49-state map that excludes the state of California.  Lemieux Group LP apparently commissioned a research group to reinvestigate Western U.S. cartography and the consortium found an interesting fact:

California never existed.

Coincidentally, the Penguins suffered two losses in their most recent California road trip, to Los Angeles Kings despite a lead after two periods, and a lopsided shutout loss to San Jose two nights later.

twitter.com/PenguinsMarchHockey Independent on Facebook

“The San Jose Sharks shutting us out 5-0 last Saturday evening was the last straw,” fumed co-owner Mario Lemieux.  “It was one thing to collapse in Los Angeles on Thursday in the third period, but getting whitewashed in San Jose is a blow to the head.  By eliminating all further trips to so-called California, which new research indicates never existed and if it did, was never part of the United States, from our schedule, this will enable the Penguins to bypass what has clearly been a Bermuda Triangle for us every year.”

Lemieux also stated it would be unpatriotic and a security risk for the defending Cup champion Penguins to visit a non-American land and expose themselves to possible retributive actions.  When reminded that there are currently six Canadian teams, Lemieux cupped his hands to his ears as if he could not make out the journalist’s question, then backed away slowly from the podium before dashing back behind the media curtain.

“Merry Penguinmas!” he shouted as he disappeared.

Photo: Flickr Creative Commons

Nothing.

Last Saturday evening, I watched the Maple Leafs – Canucks game in the apartment of a former college residence housemate.  Two womenfolk were also present, also former dwellers of said residence house.  Don’t be fooled.  One half of the womenfolk, a visiting-from-Vancouver guest of honour is a big time Canucks fan.  I pause to wonder if she scheduled her cross-country vacation so that her arrival in Toronto would coincide exactly with a Leafs-’nucks game.

In true Canadian fashion, we sat on chairs and in front of tables made in Sweden, eating Mexican food on plates made in China, drinking Belgian beer, watching Hockey Night in Canada on a television set fabricated in Japan.  Later, the Vancouver friend and I continued an ongoing discussion on line combinations for the Olympic team.

What a difference it is to be a non-Leafs fan in this city!  The Canucks fan amongst us was brimming with joy at the prospects of the new season despite an early slump, not to mention the Winter Games that will descend on her city less than four months from now.  For me, as a Pittsburgher on the inside, watching or listening to games is exciting, knowing that the whole season will be about meeting the challenge of defending the Cup.  Talking about Penguins hockey is a matter of pride as opposed to the nauseous revulsion that exists in most parts of this city when the topic of hockey is raised.  Occasionally, I will wear a mid-nineties black Penguins sweater, usually on road game days while walking into work, only to have slack-jawed locals stare bewilderingly.  I can read their minds:

“Why is his sweater not blue?”

“Where is the maple leaf crest?”

“What is this ‘Stanley Cup’ you speak of?  Our grandfathers told us about it, but we thought it was merely apocryphal.”

Sadly, I have observed the posture and behaviour of my fellow citizens since the beginning of the month and have noticed macro-evolutionary changes – except in reverse.  We have all seen the so-called “evolution of man” diagram, which shows an animal on all fours slowly over millions of years starting to walk on feet, only with stooped posture, before another million years pass and presto! Homo erectus - the “upright man”!

Well, it appears that in one month, I have watched poor Leafs fans who were talking and walking proud in September, de-evolving, beaten down to a sub-erect state.  Stooped posture, slumped shoulders and shuffling feet are the manners of October.  I was tempted to photoshop a blue Leafs sweater onto a diagram of a monkey, but realized that would be like shooting fish in a barrel.  Or shooting pucks past a Leaf goalie.

Zing!

To achieve my mandatory Penguins content, I will note that on Saturday night, the Pens and Leafs shared the same fate: they lost, much to the glee of my Vancouver friend, (who was positively apoplectic during a frantic third period).

Ahh, hockey nights…  Soon, the ground will be covered in snow and ice, and the temperature will drop to minus one billion degrees Celsius.  Brown bears will go into hibernation and polar bears will emerge from summbernation and go on their traditional Canadian winter mini-rampages.  They will loot corner stores, maul lumberjacks, steal cheddar cheese and raspberries, gnash their teeth and flail claws at frozen fish sticks, glare at Captain High Liner, then inexplicably put on a New York Islanders sweater.  Adventurous polar bears will guzzle Labatt 50, hot cocoa and eat tourtieres to keep warm.

But I won’t care about this annual winter ruckus, because as a true Canadian, I will be inside my igloo on every winter Saturday night, watching hockey.

Scoring title, Hart Trophy, Pearson Trophy, Stanley Cup, enviro-crusader, city ambassador, world peace, United Nations recognition ... What's next for the affable Sid the Kid?

NHL commissioner Gary Bettman and twenty-nine disgruntled team governors convened an emergency meeting in New York Monday evening and voted 29-0 in favour of disbanding the Pittsburgh Penguins, the defending Stanley Cup champions and after eight games, the best team so far this season.

“Enough is enough.  Eight is enough,” cried Boston owner Jeremy Jacobs, chanelling Dick Van Patten.  “Eight games and they’re already 7-1-0.  Two straight conference titles, one Stanley Cup.  I can’t take it anymore!”

“We need a neutral zone trap to slow them down,” muttered New Jersey owner Lou Lamoriello.

The twenty-eight other governors immediately threw commemorative paperweights at Lamoriello.  Bettman threw a tin of Junior Mints which hit Lamoriello square in the jaw.

“That’s for blasphemy,” Bettman tersely noted, coolly channelling Sean Connery.

Evidently, rumbling and grumbling among teams not named Pittsburgh Penguins had been brewing subtly in the gut of some NHL club owners since the summer, shortly after the Pens hoisted the Cup.  By early autumn, grumblings had gurgled and percolated into small bowel indigestion when the stark realization hit most teams that the Penguins championship roster was barely changed by off-season transactions.  The percolations rumbled and bubbled into the large bowels of the NHL offices in the form of secret, rambling, whiny, immature and incoherent memoranda addressed to deputy NHL head Bill Daly from Philadelphia, Washington and Detroit calling for Pittsburgh to be defrocked of their team.  By Monday, the twenty-second anniversary of Black Monday, the angry colonic vapours had gathered so much steam that it forced itself into the sigmoid colon of the hockey world – the dreaded NHL boardroom.

There, as proceedings began, Bettman called for a moment of silence to lament the stock market crash of 1987.  There were murmured rumours around the S-shaped meeting room table that Bettman called for a moment of silence for purely personal reasons.  In October of 1987, he was a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed junior NHL office mailroom employee who would regale disinterested colleagues with tales of his investment prowess.  Apparently, he had secretly raised enough capital to finance four expansion franchises that autumn and was set to propose the idea to then-NHL president John Ziegler, when Wall Street went kaput, and in lock-step, so did Bettman’s expansion dream.  (For the record, the four teams were: the Lincoln (Neb.) Towncars, the Cheyenne (Wyo.) Chickenhawks, the Milltown (N.J.) Manatees and the Phoenix Coyotes).  All four are “twenty-first century industrial powerhouses!” he would frequently exclaim.

Three dreams died; one never did.

Thus Bettman silently squeaked out a giggle-chortle during his moment of silence, for he saw the opportunity to revive his expansion dream by breaking up the Pittsburgh Penguins and holding an emergency dispersal draft to stock the teams of his earlier dreams.

“Gary, Gary.  We hate Mario and his ironclad team as much as the next guy, but how can we pull this off without him suing us into the ground?” asked Mike Ilitch of Detroit.

“Very carefully, my little Caesar.  I’ve threatened to expose how he nearly food poisoned me back in September when I visited his mansion.” Bettman replied.  “Bad borscht I recall, led to a heart attack.  That’s a $900-million lawsuit right there.”

Without further ado, the dispersal draft began, player by player, team by team.

It all makes sense now. This is why Marc-Andre Fleury does all of his post-game locker room interviews topless.

Captain Sidney Crosby, was drafted first overall by the last-place New York Islanders, setting off a chain reaction of positive news for the tarnished Long Island region.  The aw-shucks, boyish Crosby mediated the interminable impasse between local government and Islanders’ owner Charles Wang, producing a new land development and arena deal, thus ensuring the team would stay in New York.  The peacemaking Crosby then visited gritty New York neighbourhoods and within two months the city’s crime rate dropped to zero.  Crosby became a Manhattan city ambassador for affordable housing and by New Year’s Day, every homeless person found shelter in the development’s new condos.  After scoring his six hundredth point of the season in early January, Crosby was allowed to skip practice to join Al Gore at a landmark pro-environmental conference.  “I have a confession to make,” started Gore.  “Sidney Crosby actually invented the internet when he was thirteen.  He’s also eliminated all industrial pollution on the eastern seaboard and the United Nations just signed a declaration of world peace – the Treaty of Crosby.  All because of Sidney.”

“Aw shucks, gee whiz,” said Crosby on the dais, shuffling his feet, turning red with embarassment.

Predictably, Evgeni Malkin went second in the draft, but not to the sad-sack Toronto Maple Leafs.  Toronto originally held the pick, but true to their inimitable form, the Leafs dealt the rights to Malkin to San Jose for two used 1969 Dodge Chargers, reportedly from the dusty set of Dukes of Hazzard.  “This is a great day for Maple Leafs Sports and Entertainment.  This will allow us to grow our brand among rednecks and the women who love them,” brayed team executive Richard Peddie.  Local Toronto news media reported 13,839 suicides one hour after the trade.

Centre Jordan Staal was drafted third by Carolina, joining his brother Eric in Raleigh.  “Yeee-hawwwwwwwhh!!!” the Staal brothers screeched, in unison.  “Now we can moonshine.  Legally.  Under the arena bleachers!”  Local Raleigh news media reported 13,839 handguns firing into the air at the exact moment of the Staal brothers pronouncement.

Fourth and fifth picks Marc-Andre Fleury and Maxime Talbot went to Montreal in a complicated pre-draft deal that saw the Habs acquire both Quebec natives.  The two had quietly demanded to be drafted as a pair in order to join Cirque du Soleil.  Fleury and Talbot, best friends on the Penguins, wanted to add their budding, ribald, French-Canadian cabaret act, which included coarse insults against their Catholic schooling, animal-trapeze acts and the unspeakable music of Celine Dion and Mitsou Gelinas, as a sideshow to the world famous Cirque.  (author’s note: to my non-Canadian readers, Google “Mitsou” at your own risk.)

___________________________________________________________

A few days after the draft, Penguins general manager Ray Shero visited Lemieux at his mansion.  “We’re ruined, Mario.  A decade of drafting and shrewd trades and signings down the crapper.”

“Not true.”

“What?!?”

“I’m going to save this franchise.  Again.” Lemieux said, as a tailor fitted a pair of hockey socks on his feet.  “I’m unretiring.  Again.”

Photos: Flickr Creative Commons [1], [2], [3], [4]

His daughter pooped in the Stanley Cup and he pathetically follows a trail of Little Caesars pizza ... to his peril. As a villain, Kris Draper = epic fail

The usual sold-out crowd of 17,132 cheered enthusiastically as Penguins players, coaches and executives filed onto the ice and red carpet prior to Friday night’s opening game at Mellon Arena in Pittsburgh.  The Stanley Cup, gleaming and sparkling under the bright white klieg lights of the arena roof, sat proudly on a table at centre ice.  Lasers, lights and thrash-rock music permeated a videoboard tribute to the 2008-09 season and subsequent playoff run.  As the tribute reached its climactic clip of Sidney Crosby receiving the Stanley Cup from the commissioner, the sound system suddenly crackled to a whisper and Crosby’s image faded to black.

In the crowd, silence turned to groans which turned to murmurs which turned to gasps which turned to booing.  Then, like the despicable fake villain Emmanuel Goldstein, Red Wing forward Kris Draper’s sheep-like face illuminated the videoboard.

“Malady, measles and misfortune to you, on this cursed evening, city of Pittsburgh,” he began.  “You may think that my team and I are in Stockholm … but that would be incorrect.”  He sneered sinisterly.  “Your worst nightmare has come true, for we, as I speak, have surrounded Mellon Arena.  Yes, the Red Wings organization is holding you hostage.”

The camera zoomed out to show Draper flanked by Nicklas Lidstrom and Henrik Zetterberg, both with badly-drawn war paint on their faces, then cut to a scene of chaos: Twenty Red Wings had spaced themselves out in an equidistant fashion around the circumferential base of Mellon Arena’s steel retractable roof, each armed with what appeared to be a water gun, tied with hockey tape to a hockey stick.  They were training their stick-guns on the throng of outdoor fans, more bewildered than terrified, who had gathered on the lawn to watch the night’s proceedings on a big screen.  (The big screen had also been hijacked and was simulcasting Draper’s braying).

Back inside the arena, as stunned fans looked on, Penguins’ captain Sidney Crosby skated forward and yelled up to the videoboard, “What do you want from us, Kris?”

twitter.com/PenguinsMarchHockey Independent on Facebook

“Oh look who comes forward now, sixteen weeks too late,” Draper mocked.  “Mr. I’m-too-busy-celebrating-to-shake-hands.  We decided the so-called Game 7 you won in June was fixed.  It was predetermined by your boyfriend Gary Bettman.  We’ve come now to retrieve what we’re entitled to – the Stanley Cup.”

“Give it up, Kris,” Crosby replied, “I already discussed this months ago; it’s in the past.  Get over it already.  I shook your coach’s hand, among others.  As for the Cup – dream on.”

“Yeah, if we gave you the Cup, your daughter would probably lay down another deuce in it,” chortled Billy Guerin.  “Ha ha ha.  Hey everyone, look up at the screen.  It’s Deuce Bigelow, ha ha ha.  What is love?  Baby, don’t hurt me … don’t hurt me, no more… ha ha ha.”

Draper gnashed his teeth and stared menacingly.  “Very well…”  The videoboard returned to the outside scene.  Suddenly, several Red Wings opened fire from the roof.  But just like last June, their shots were well wide of the target when it mattered most.  Dan Cleary, unable to shake his missed chance in Game 6, actually hit a parrot which had escaped from the Pittsburgh Zoo, fifty feet above any human being.  Unscathed, the parrot scoffed, aimed its tailfeathers and cranked out a fresh one, soiling Cleary’s sweater.

A seething Draper turned momentarily away from the camera, seething, but chuckling.  Regaining his composure, he turned back and thundered, “This is war!!!”  From inside the arena, all gathered heard a gurgling, then tapping, then marching, suddenly realizing that the Red Wings were storming from the roof towards ice level.

“Quick!  To your formations,” Crosby ordered, gesticulating to his teammates to assume battle positions.  “Remember what they taught us at West Point two years ago,” he said, referring to the Penguins’ unique leadership and team-building training camp experience in 2007.

With military precision, the Penguins stationed themselves on the perimeter of the rink, in foxholes behind the boards.  The unflappable Billy Guerin huddled with linemates Chris Kunitz and Sidney Crosby near the Zamboni entrance.

Guerin: Doofy, where’s the pizza I left at your house last night?
Crosby: *sigh* Stop calling me Doofy. We ate it all.
Guerin: Doooooofy … are you lying to me? I’ll tell your mom.
Kunitz: Sid, I can totally see the pepperoni hanging out of your helmet.
Crosby: Fine, fine, fine.

Guerin removed fourteen slices that Crosby had hidden inside his helmet to be eaten later as a post-game meal.  “Perfect.  It’s Little Caesars,” Guerin began, taking an olive off a slice and popping it in his mouth.  “This is what we’ll do.  We lay these pizza slices in a little trail from the Zamboni entrance out to the blue line.  The Wings will think it’s a sign from their owner, Mike Ilitch, the pizza czar.  That will leave them out in open ice, trapped.  Neutral zone-trapped.”  Guerin shuddered momentarily, thinking back to his mid-nineties, offence-suppressed New Jersey days.

While Crosby and Kunitz busied themselves dissecting the pizza and laying down a trail, Guerin radioed to a trio of Pens stationed at the Penguins bench.  “Gonch, Geno, Feds, can you hear me?”

Gonchar: Loud and clear, Billy.  We’re just about set here for those ingluorious basterds.
Guerin: Nice Tarantino reference.  Are you guys roughly at the blue line?
Gonchar: Yep.  We have the warhead ready.  Malkin and I will aim it at the end of your pizza trail.  Fedotenko has the modified Kaleshnikov set to deliver immolation vodka shots.
Fedotenko: *smiling* I’ve been waiting to roast some Wings all summer.  We’ll marinate them real good for you, Billy.
Guerin: You guys are awesome.  How did you guys manage to smuggle all that into the country this summer?
Gonchar: Red Army surplus.
Malkin: Can I drink some of this Smirnoff now?  It has big taste.
Fedotenko: NO GENO.  For the eight millionth time, it’s for the incendiary bombs.

Up in the pressbox, Jordan Staal, Tyler Kennedy and Max Talbot looked down below and gave double-thumbs up to both the Guerin and Gonchar groups.  The trio in the pressbox were to distract the incoming Red Wings by firing doughnuts at Wings’ goalie Chris Osgood and Best of ABBA CDs adhered to IKEA furniture at Lidstrom, Zetterberg and Johan Franzen.  If all of these plans failed, the Penguins had one last weapon.

Taylor Swift.

Link to – Sunday satire, part 2 – Pathetic Red Wings crash Penguins’ opener

Photo source: Flickr Creative Commons: [1], [2]

Those zany Penguins and special helper Taylor Swift have a trap all set to go for doughnut-loving Red Wings goalie Chris Osgood and his cronies

Link to – Sunday satire, part 1 – Pathetic Red Wings crash Penguins’ opener

The not unattractive, not untalented, not unwholesome, not un-All-American singer-songwriter had performed a concert the evening before at Mellon Arena, where Staal, Kennedy and Talbot had befriended her.  (author’s note: this is not a joke).

Swift admired her reflection in the pressbox window, smiled, straightened her Penguins sweater, checked her fingernails, then combed her hair.

Talbot: *sigh* Women … always primping themselves.
Swift: Excuse me?
Talbot: Ah, nothing.  Ahem, I was speaking French … to myself.  Alouette, gentille alouette… Frere Jacques, frere Jacques…
Kennedy (to Swift): Ignore him.  Now let’s review.  What’s the code name for our plan?
Swift: Operation Love Story.
Kennedy: If the Red Wings don’t fall for Billy’s pizza, what happens?
Swift: Gonchar and Geno aim the nuclear warhead at them anyway.  Then Fedotenko lets loose with the Flaming Moe’s.
Kennedy: And if that doesn’t work?
Swift: We invoke Operation Love Story.
Kennedy: Which is?
Swift: You boys fire doughnuts at Chris Osbad and rain down stereotypical Swedish items at Zetterberg, Franzen and Lidstrom.  I then descend to centre ice from here on the tow rope, just like for my concert.  At the faceoff dot, a surplus two-four of Labatt’s from Jordan’s brother’s illegal bachelor bush party will be waiting for me.
Kennedy: When you open it, what will you find?
Swift: A bottle of Blue with the fake label “Antidote to the Lingering Curse of Marian Hossa“.  I make a pouty face and wave it at the Red Wings alluringly.
Kennedy: Good girl.

As the quartet in the pressbox were gluing the last ABBA CD to the last IKEA “BÖRJE” chair, (surely named in honour of former Swedish defenceman Borje Salming), Kris Draper emerged from the Zamboni entrance with a megaphone in his hand.  “Citizenry of Pittsburgh … I adjure you to leave this arena, single-file, while we peacefully claim what rightfully belongs to us.  Disobey and face the consequences.”

Boos, jeers and Mellon Arena’s trademark nachos rained down on Draper.  A full platter of salsa hit him square in the mouth.

“SPEAK UP DEUCE!  No one can hear you,” Guerin yelled, hidden behind the boards.

Before Draper could respond, he looked down at the trail of pizza.  A sign from the caesars, he thought to himself, “or Little Caesars,” he chuckled, patting himself on the back for his wittiness.  Like lemmings, the Red Wings committed the rookie mistake of putting their heads down as they skated in open ice, collecting pizza all the while.

twitter.com/PenguinsMarchHockey Independent on Facebook

Unable to restrain himself any longer, hard-hitting Penguins defenceman Brooks Orpik jumped out of his post at the home penalty box, tore off his hockey sweater to reveal full army fatigues and a diagonal ammunition belt fixed to his chest.  “IT’S OOOOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!” he bellowed.  Skating at full speed onto the ice, Orpik laid a thunderous check on Draper, crumpling the Red Wing to the ice and sending the megaphone skidding right to the Penguins bench, where Ukrainian-born Fedotenko picked it up and screeched, “TIME TO MAKE SOME CHICKEN KIEV!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Like clockwork, Guerin, Crosby and Kunitz jumped over the boards as if on a line change and locked the Zamboni entrance.  Fedotenko unleashed a volley of Flaming Moe’s as the terrified Red Wings stood frozen, incredulous at the enormity of the nuclear weapon being trained on them by Gonchar and Malkin.  From above, Kennedy and Staal dropped a steady tattoo of ABBA-IKEA ‘nades, while Talbot started slapshooting doughnuts at Osgood.

“What are you doing Max?” Kennedy shouted, noticing that all the doughnuts were sailing past Osgood.  “Don’t fire them past him.  Hit him with the doughnuts!!!”

“I’m trying!” Talbot replied, adjusting his aim.  “But all I can think of is Game 7!”

The fans roared, hooting with delight and chanting, “DEUCE-Y!  DEUCE-Y!  DEUCE-Y!” as the Red Wings struggled to scramble for cover from the steady ground attack provided by the Guerin and Gonchar brigades while Kennedy’s crew unrelentingly assaulted them from the air.

It was a total rout.

After five humiliating minutes, Draper waved his men to retreat.  They dashed towards an open side tunnel exit, but not before walking a gauntlet of ice-level fans who pelted them with nachos, Yuengling beer, soda and hot dogs.

“Not in our house,” Crosby shouted, having seized Draper’s megaphone.  “If you want the Cup again, earn it!”

All the fans cheered and gave Crosby and the Penguins a ten-minute standing ovation.  Patrons in the upper and lower levels put their arms up to enable Kennedy and Talbot to crowd-surf all the way back down to ice level.  Jordan Staal emerged from the pressbox with Taylor Swift sitting on his shoulders.  The crowd roared again and likewise helped them crowd-surf down to the ice.

Finally assembled together at centre ice, the Penguins raised their sticks to the crowd, bowed in unison, then broke off to the dressing room to get ready for the opening game.  As Staal neared the boards, Kennedy motioned him over, pointing to a red welt-like mark on Staal’s neck.

“Did Taylor leave a hickey on your neck?”

“No.  I asked her out but she said I was too young for her.  Then she punched me in the jugular.”

“Dude.  Burn!”

“Whatev.  At least I got her autograph.”

Photo sources: Flickr Creative Commons [1], [2]