NFL Felony Follies

I really have to start following the NFL more. And as I've said before, not the on field dramas involving impossible late game drives, devastating sacks and hail mary heroics. I mean I must pay more attention to the absolutely stunning spectacle that props up the tent poles and performs alongside the main event every given Sunday.

Whilst I'm sure most of you hardcore football fans are already hip to the latest in NFL nefariousness, I just became aware of Plaxico Burress' recent contribution to the league's ongoing attempt to top The Sopranos in ratings and content.

This week's episode? Let's take a peek at the blurb:

Michael Vick pleads guilty to running a very vicious and highly, illegal dog fighting ring, in hopes of getting out the clink faster, while over in an undisclosed NY nightclub, Plaxico Burress accidently shoots himself in the thigh with his own unregistered piece.

Ok, if that isn't enough to get me to fork out for digital cable with the recording box, I don't know what is.

With the 08/09 season already off to healthy clip, the NFL might want to consider changing the Pro Bowl format to one that, instead of pitting AFC and NFC All Stars against each other, sends the felons to meet the non felons at the line of scrimmage. With a roster like this, the game could possibly even challenge the Super Bowl in ratings.

Who wouldn't watch it?

A Kick In The Ass

Holy fuck, don't mess with Guy.

I've never Habs coach so fired up before. While his pre-game interview before the Sabres match was by no means Hulk Hogan giving a mid 80's Wrestlemania amp up, the bench boss sure got the point across that Les frères Kostitsyn were not pulling their weight and thus were banished to the fourth line.

And the response?

A key goal, an assist by Andre, resulting in being named first star of the 3-2 squeaker over Buffalo. Brother Sergei had to settle for a mere +2, but successfully avoided the wrath of Carbonneau for another day to be sure.

I wonder what would happen if Guy suddenly lost and got all Lou Pinella on the lads. They would immediately become The Rocket and Henri Kostitsyn respectively.

The Blue Bank

Finally some sense coming from the Jays front office. Not breaking the bank on Burnett during a shaky economic sitch is one of the soundest policies I've heard during this current fiscal crunch. Maybe Paul Beeston will be manning the Treasury Department on Obama's 09 squad.

The lack of signings thus far in the free agency season, has almost got me thinking that MLB squads next spring will be trotting out the likes of Charlie Sheen and Corbin Bernson in order to save a couple of bucks.

So maybe Ricciardi should be sending scouts out to Kingston Pen, in hopes of securing securing next year's fireballing number two in the rotation. Or headed personally to Kingston, Jamaica in hopes of finding the next rum fuelled, KFC sacrificing, voodoo home run houngan.

Or sign Jason Varitek a few loonies and couple cases of OV and watch him call his shot, then bunt to clinch the East.

NHL Note

Burke To T.O. The worst kept secret in hockey has finally been confirmed. Brian Burke will be the new Leafs GM. The best kept secret in the league? Bertuzzi will serve as assistant GM. Biggest rumour? Snoop Dogg will replace Burke in Anaheim. Fo' shizzle.

SOME LIGHT IN AN OTHERWISE DREARY WEEKEND

What was supposed to be the crowning achievement of my sports-watching year instead degraded into the weekend from hell. Sure, things started off ok. But holy smokes did they ever slide downhill. And fast.

Les Bleu-Blanc-Rouge fell to the B’s, leaving them six points back in the standings, the Grey Cup turned out the wrong way for a number of reasons (that I’ll need to tell you about later), and suddenly the home squads found themselves going a stinker of an 0-for-2 for the fin-de-semain.

Am I bitter? Sure.

Tired? Very.

Feeling mildly unhealthy? Expect nothing less.

But for now, I’d like to focus on at least one positive that started in the most unexpected of fashions….

… Patrick Roy entering a maniacal Bell Centre via THE FRONT DOOR. Honestly, I’ve never seen anything like it. Can you imagine being the dude sitting there in the concourse thinking “holy crap this line better hurry up so I can grab my hot dog and get back to my seat otherwise I’m gonna miss the ceremony” only to turn around and high-five the man himself as he walks by? Very cool.

The crowd was unbelievable, as well. Of the retirement ceremonies I’ve been to, I’ve never seen such a reaction. Gainey’s was warm and appreciative and Robinson’s gave most of the crowd some sense of nostalgia, but this was about reconciliation.

As is all too typical with Habs fans, often the assumed pre-ordainment of greatness limits the ability to see what we really have at the time. Only though time and reflection are we able to face the thought of “wow, maybe we should have been a little more grateful.”

Who knew that a single nine-goal performance would lead to a decade of futility?

Saturday night finally drew that appreciation out of the crowd, becoming more of a “we always loved you even though we hated you”, and the standing-O drowning out Dick “back-when-my-dad-was-coaching-the-Canadiens” Irvin every time he tried to start speaking left me thinking about only one thing:

The last night at the Forum.

The closest moment I can recall to this reception was the six minute ovation given to the Rocket himself as he emerged from behind the pews and approached the altar the night that the candles were last blown out at the Cathedral. No choice of words on these pages could possibly communicate the emotion that ran through the building that eve. Suffice it to say, easily cracks my top three all-time sports memories.

Now clearly, Patrick Roy is not the Rocket. Nor will he ever be regarded in the same light. Nor will anybody. Ever.

But for one night at least, all was forgiven.

- the Skip

ESPN Video Send-A-Friend Email: The Squeeze

Your friend has sent you an ESPN video! Canucks Down Red Wings In OT Hello Friends, As "ESPN" now stands for "Embedding Son Pas Nous," The Mauler apologizes for the extra click as we point you in the direction of one of the best bunts of '08. Namely Daniel Sedin's perfectly placed puck last night to score the tying run. Maybe if Mike Scioscia had Dan in the lineup during the ALDS, the Angels would've advanced to meet the Rays. Now that's a suicide squeeze.

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5 Days In The Yucatan

Alright. Back in Van. I see you were all in good hands as the Skip Returning from my Mayan excursion last night, I stepped through the doors of Hacienda Maniwaki to find yet another fiesta taking place in my living room. Having just come off a 14 hour hike, vacation logic dictated that it would be best to crack another cervesa and regale my guests with tales of high adventure from the Yucatan. While the script of this jaunt only captures five days in total, its actual follow through felt more like five weeks and encompasses the Spaghetti Western essentials of:

Muchos Good. A spectacular wedding ceremony amidst a back drop of blue oceans, white sand beaches. All shared with a stellar squad of my oldest and tightest amigos. The entire week was akin one of those episodes of some sitcom or prime time soap (maybe 90210 or something...) where the cast jets off on some tropical vacation, setting the stage for many coconut cracking hi-jinks. Our run on prime time was no different. I mean, the resort even looked like Melrose Place.

Skimboarding on gentle, rolling beach breaking waves in addition to off-resort excursions involving village visits, catamaran cruises, snorkel sessions and ancient ruins roaming unfolded in each scene. The final few lines of each chapter always finishing with the line, "...and then they made their way to the lobby bar." To reflect on the day's adventures. A few of which having included;

Some Bad. The Mayan Gods barring any Maniwaki presence from their ancient capital, as well as a high speed highway chase involving our shuttle and one very territorial, and very loco, local cabbie. The rapidly approaching flashing lights in the rearview had the van of 14 more than a tad concerned about the possibility of spending the rest of the vacation in a 0.25 star Mexican jail, but when it became apparent that this was an escort por la policía back to our resort we got back into vacation mode. Kind of.

What could be more exciting disrupting the local tourista transport economy? How about a near throw down on the catamaran a scenario that was about to get;

A Bit Ugly. As he resides in La Belle Province, the Skip, on occasion, has relayed his dismay towards a certain subsection of agrarian, isolationist, yahoos who are peppered across the province in petite, pockets of protectionist, propagandist, poppycock. It was one of these fellows, whom I debated inviting over to centre ice, so I could pull his cabanes à sucre jersey sur ta tête and provide a very piroshki, powered, pummeling. Although it was very deserved (involving some trash talk so despicable that even Sean Avery wouldn't touch it), I decided to heed the advice of good Ol' Grapes and refrained from taking what would've been a very "dumb, dumb" penalty. One in which the refs would've been balaclava wearing policia, the sin bin would've been a Mexican jail, and our entire squad would've had to forfeit the match. No bueno.

Instead we commandeered the ship and sailed the Carribean Seas in a fashion Captain Jack Sparrow himself would've approved of. Tequilla shooting, cervesa swilling, Sasky Slavic pirates climbed the masts, swang from the rigging lines and cavorted on the canvas catamaran netting.

Whilst we were busy extending the plank on the high seas, the Skip was doing the www equivalent on SS Maniwaki, navigating the vessel through the very turbulent currents of the broadband sporting spectacle. Muchos gracias and a bottle of rum to him.

Hence, this morning was like an early Christmas as I surfed a week's worth of Maniwaki postings. As well as a full slate of sporting news from the usual outlets, that had me regretting my departure. Perhaps I should have stayed a bit longer in the Riviera as:

The Captain Is Down. Coming off an incredibly winning streak and sitting atop the NW, Luongo limped off the ice in Pittsburgh with a groin injury. Just as I was stepping into the Cancun Airport. No bueno.

Free Agency Is Still In Stalemate. Not one big gun signed save for Ryan Dempster, who I was desperately wanting to see in a Jays uni. AJ, CC and Manny are still clutching their fountain pens. Two of the aforementioned have been linked to the Jays and their ever bumbling GM:

JP Ricciardi Posts An E On The Free Agency Field. Apparently the only GM considering offering AJ a five year contract while publicly declaring that the front office won't pursue Manny. Although the rumours are abound that Manny would consider T.O. as he has absolutely destroyed the Skydome, putting more dings in restaurant plexiglass over the years, hitting more bombs in it than any other opposing park.

Is it possible for a manager to pull the hook on the GM? Because I would love for Cito to walk into the Jays front office, pat JP on the butt and send him on his way. To state the painstakingly obvious:

The Jays need a big bat and have a chance to sign an interested Manny Ramirez, yet would rather throw their money at a starter who has been on the DL for most of his career and posted his career best in his contract year. All while letting Canadian, Ryan Dempster slip through their fingers for the same price. To compensate Jeeps could then dump off Rios or Wells or both for draft pics in a salary dump move and then cackle maniacally as the Jays pack the Dome consistently en route facing off with the Red Sox in next season's ALCS.

An 09 Jays team with Dempster as a number 2 starter and/or Manny Ramirez as DH. How does this not make sense?

Ah well, perhaps the Sun Gods have a hand in this caper as well...

El Donaldo Koharski

GAME TIME

So it's two hours to kickoff, and the Skip's off to the match. What more do you want for a Sunday afternoon than a few pre-game bevvies, a big plate of wings, and a championship game?

Just good times. God I love sports.

- the Skip

WEEKEND OF GLORY

Good day, kiddies.

The Sugar Shack is abuzz with activity… indeed, perhaps my finest-ever sports weekend (certainly my best ever live sports weekend) is rounding into form. On deck in the next 36 hours:

(1) Habs-Bruins: not only is this a chance to see a classic Original 6 matchup, but this eve also marks the occasion on which we get to witness #33 raised to the rafters. Ce soir, one Monsieur Patrick Roy returns to la Belle Province and, for the first time since 1995, will (I assume) don le Bleu-Blanc-Rouge on his chest. Nay-sayers are probably thinking he’ll receive a cool reception from the Bell Centre crowd, but let it be known that the Skip says no way in hell. Guaranteed standing-O for at least two minutes when he walks out onto the red carpet. To borrow one from the Sports Guy, look for the room to “get a little dusty” soon thereafter.

(2) La Coupe Grey: very short post-hockey recovery time until I need to get back on the wagon (or fall off the wagon again, depending on your vantage point). At first, I can't say that I was really looking forward to it. Obviously I’d hoped that the Green & White would’ve qualified for a charter from Regina to Montreal, but alas no dice. That being said, I’m really glad that at least the Als made it through. I’ve never seen 60,000 people in the Big O for a sporting event (and honestly, that number was closer to 6,000 for the last few years for baseball) so it’ll definitely be an experience to behold.

Expect a full report as soon as I’m able.

A demain…

- the Skip

TRUE COLORS

Surprise, surprise. Big Ben and the Big Bad Steelers handed yet another loss to the Cincinnati Bengals last night. Tell me we couldn’t have seen that coming a mile away.

Yet again, the Bungles are awful this year. Terrible. Again.

You can blame Marvin Lewis. Maybe he’s just not cut out to be a head coach in the NFL.

You can blame the player scouting and development department. Maybe they should focus more on acquiring players that have a better chance of getting in the end zone than in the police blotter.

You can blame Ocho Cinco. Maybe if he wasn’t such a prima donna the chemistry in the huddle would be more conducive to drives concluding with a point-after conversion.

Surely, there are a plethora of explanations you could try to put forth as to why they are so consistently bad. You could spend hours with your friends downing Schlitz Lights at the pub. You could spend every waking moment from Monday morning to Sunday afternoon coming up with any number of reasonable explanations.

Let me save you some time.

I blame the color orange.

***

Having done a quick survey of the four major sports, it has come to my attention that it’s been over 20 years since any team prominently displaying orange in their logo / uni has won a championship. To wit:

MLB

Baltimore Orioles: last title? 1983.

New York Mets: try 1986 (and we all know that one was dicey).

Houston Astros: umm… how about never?

San Fran Giants: ditto.

NHL

New York Islanders: 1983. And have been pretty much garbage ever since.

Philadelphia Flyers: 1975. To paraphrase Rick Pitino: "Bobby Clarke is not walking through that door. Bill Barber is not walking through that door"

Atlanta Thrashers: (yeah… their little birdie logo is orange) Obviously never happened. And never will. They’ll be long gone by the time that franchise contends for anything.

NBA

New York Knicks: 1973. And it’s gonna take awhile to recover from the Isaiah era.

Golden State Warriors: ummm.. nope.

Phoenix Suns: Yeah, no.

Charlotte Bobcats: are you kidding?

NFL

Miami Dolphins: 1974. Oh Dan. I still feel bad for you.

Chicago Bears: 1986. And Kyle Orton's not doing it for you now.

Cleveland Browns: have never even seen a title game.

Cincinnati Bengals: umm. Kinda the reason I’m writing this right now.

Tampa Bucs / Denver Broncos: ok, you think that you might have nailed the Skip with a couple of exceptions here. Fine. I’ll have you remember, though, that the Bucs switched to red and pewter in 1996, a full seven years before their 2003 win. And you think John Elway ever won in the Orange Crush?? Hell no. If you care to remember, those duds were traded in for Royal Blue to start the 1997-1998 season…. When they won the first of their back-to-back Lombardi trophies.

***

Save for the truly classic teams (Habs, Yanks, Sox, etc.), it seems these days the front office marketing geniuses manage to change uniforms every few years to squeeze every last merchandising dollar out of their fan base. So listen up folks. Next time you think about doing this, you might want to take a little extra time before you come to any sort of conclusion.

Your teams’ futures are riding on it.

- the Skip

DROPPING THE MORNING DEUCE

I am a sports fan. Otherwise I wouldn’t be writing this.

You are a sports fan. Otherwise you wouldn’t be reading this.

With these facts in mind, let’s hearken back to the two most guttural, primal urges that anyone who follows this alternate universe with more than a passing interest has let forth on many an occasion:

(1) A big huzzah: to things that we like, and;

(2) A hearty hoot: to things that we do not.

So grab a coffee, unplug the laptop, head over to your favorite ‘sitting’ spot, and behold.

I’ll now drop the inaugural edition of The Morning Deuce.

***

A big huzzah: to Allen Iverson in a Pistons uniform. I know the Admiral had mentioned this already in passing, but I must reiterate (especially after last night’s performance). He just never looked right in powder blue. Denver, clearly, is not where he belongs. I’m really glad that he gets to return to the smash-mouth brand of caging that he is used to and most suited to.

A hearty hoot: to the Habs’ power play, and in fact their general play of late. Granted, their two best point-men from the past couple of seasons (Souray and Streit) have departed for substantial pay raises, but for godsake. Look at the talent you can still put out on the ice for those two minutes. Take one from the Skipper… stop with all the fancy-schmancy passes through the slot looking for tap-ins. Just pound the rubber on net and bang one home. Get nasty. Let’s see how they fare against the lowly Sens this evening.

***

What’s that? Breakfast was a little heavy this morning? Need an extra few minutes? Very well, here’s a bonus edition….

A big huzzah: to Mike Mussina’s career. 270 Wins. 57 Complete Games. 23 Shutouts. 1.19 WHIP. 3.68 ERA (compiled during the juice era). He’s the only reason we know what a knuckle-curve is. Managed to perform several Madonna-esque transformations to keep himself relevant in a changing climate (i.e. started with overwhelming stuff and later learned how to Maddux corners and speeds. Yes, I am allowed to use "Maddux" as a verb). Ended on a high note with 20 notches in the W column. Thanks for doing it the right way.

A hearty hoot: to his having to retire without a ring. Ok, clearly all the Yankee haters out there want to remind me that if he had won in the last eight years, by necessity that would mean that the Bombers took home another title. Well whoopdee shit. Would history remember this period any differently if the Yanks had snared one more trophy? Hells, no. Are you seriously telling me that you wouldn’t prefer an extra tick in the championship belt for the Pinstripers over having to deal with the unfortunate reality of the Marlins winning? I think not…

***

May that satisfy your digestive system for the time being… Until tomorrow.

- the Skip

M-V-PEDROIA

As the Admiral and I sat in Section 28 during this summer’s Fenway pilgrimage, Dustin Pedroia strolled towards the plate in the bottom of the first. He was hitting cleanup that week, a lineup shuffle justified by his recent hitting tear.

As he approached the box, quietly but steadily the unlikeliest of chants began growing behind us:

“M-V-P!!! M-V-P!!!”

Huh?

The Admiral and I looked at each other with puzzled looks on our faces. An MVP chant? For Dustin Pedroia? I mean, we realized that he was certainly a fan-fave, but MVP of the league? C’mon. Clearly this must be an example of homerism in its purest form.

Wasn’t it?

Frankly, I thought it was cute. The Fenway faithful were just getting over the departure of Senor Ramirez, they were still battling for a playoff position, and they needed to latch on to something. Papi wasn’t Papi this year, they hadn’t yet accepted Jay Bay as one of their own, and the beloved captain Tek was hovering somewhere around the Mendoza line.

“Screw it”, they must have thought. “Dusty’s the only guy doing anything lately. We wicked love him. Let’s stahht yellin’!!”

Sure as hell, almost on cue he rips a two-out single to left… advancing Jacoby Ellsbury to third… keeping the inning alive... inevitably leading to a three run inning… and an eventual 8-2 victory.

For me, this is exactly what exemplified his play this year. Though he didn’t always hit the gigantic jack, he always did what was necessary to keep his team in it. Not just with the more-than-occasional clutch hit, but with his attitude as well.

Anyone that follows baseball knows that the Red Sox rely as much as (if not more than) most teams on their clubhouse chemistry. The 2004 Idiots won for a reason. The 2007 squad had a collective chip on their shoulder. But this year, the Manny debacle had begun to derail their title hopes.

Could they really rely on a 5-7 wonderchild to bring them all back on point?

Damn skippy.

Earlier in the year, Joe Morgan passed along an interesting story during a Sunday Night Baseball telecast featuring Les Chaussettes Rouges. Apparently, during one of his several hot streaks this season DP got to the plate and, before the first pitch of the at-bat, was told by the opposing catcher that “we just can’t get you out this year.”

His response?

“No one can get me out this year.”

Awesome.

This is exactly the type of thing that distinguishes him from all of the other diminutive players in the league. Think about it, the only time commentators ever bring up his size is more in a joking fashion, exclaiming how he puts up numbers well beyond what’s expected of someone who’s ‘generously’ listed at 5-9 in the souvenir programs.

NEVER is he referred to as ‘the little guy that could’.

Just for fun, let’s put David Eckstein in the same position. What would happen if a catcher told him “we just can’t get you out this year”?

I’ll bet my left kidney that the response would be something along these lines:

“Aww shucks. Yeah, I know things have been going really well for me lately. Gee whillikers. It sure is special that I’ve got some hits for the team this year. Shucky darns. I sure do hope that I can keep contributing. Golly. This is all pretty neat.”

Which of course would be followed by a weak grounder to second. That he hustles out. And still gets beat by five strides. But boy did he hustle. And then hustled back to the dugout to retrieve his glove. And hustled back to the infield. All with a smile on his face.

No. Instead one Mr. Dustin Pedroia rips a clutch single to keep an inning alive, later scores, then glances back at the pitcher with a ‘fuck yeah’ look on his face.

And that’s exactly why he’s become one of only a handful of players to proudly display both an MVP and a Rookie of the Year award on the mantle.

After all, there’s a monstrous difference between the little guy that could and the little guy that did.

- the Skip

BONO LOVES ANTHONY CALVILLO

Grey Cup fever has officially hit La Belle Ville. Well, ok, not exactly fever, but certainly we’ve come down with at least a case of the Grey Cup sniffles.

Yessir, in five short days, the Big Uh-Oh will be hosting the crown jewel of the CFL season. The 2008 Coupe Grey will be contested between the Calgary Stampeders and the hometown favorite Alouettes.

Starting Wednesday parts of downtown will morph into shut-down(town) mode, harboring such festivities as flag football for fans, outdoor tailgaiting, and a riveting performance by Quebec chanteuse Sylvie Desgroseilliers.

Can’t you just feel the excitement??

Perhaps the most fitting showcase to hit the city this week is a performance by a U2 tribute band called “Elevation”, who’ll undoubtedly regale us all with slightly bastardized renditions of “One”, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For”, and “Discotheque”.

During Grey Cup week, you may imagine that the most appropriate ditty they’d belt out is “Sunday, Bloody Sunday”. I, however, disagree.

If they don’t lay down “Sometimes You Can’t Make It On Your Own”, they will be doing themselves and all local football fans a great disservice. After all, Montreal as a city owes its football directly and completely to Bono, Edge, et al.

Huh? Why’s that, Skip?

Well let me tell you.

Only a few short years ago, the CFL was dead in these parts. D-E-A-D. It was terrible. For example, I once took the metro out to Pie IX to catch a tilt between the Als and Riders, got out of the station, and started walking towards the Great White Elephant.

Within 20 steps, I heard the call of a scalper: “Twenty bucks!!! Catch the game for twenty bucks!!!”

Another 20 steps: “Ten dollars!!! Ten dollars!!!”

Another 20 steps: “Five bucks, guys!!! Come on, guys!!! Only five bucks!!”

A final 20 steps: Some forlorn dude with a dejected look on his face standing around waving a pair of ducats.

“Anyone want these?”

Needless to say, the Als couldn’t draw a crowd for anything. The team was decent, but the stadium sucked and there was no atmosphere. There was no football culture in the city and, worse, no way to build it.

Enter U2.

Earlier in the year, they’d booked the Big-O for their Pop tour, clearly needing all 60,000 seats to put on their raging electronic spectacle. Here’s the catch: it happened to be on the Sunday during Division Finals week…. that the Als were supposed to host.

Ummm… can anyone say scheduling conflict?

Obviously it would’ve been impossible to move the concert. Hell, more people were going to be in the building for that show than had been there cumulatively for the entire football season.

So what were Bob Wettenhal and the boys supposed to do? Here’s a thought… why don’t we move it Molson Stadium at McGill? It’s downtown, it’s outdoors, and it holds about 20,000 people. Might just work.

Indeed.

Not only was an artificial demand created by reducing the number of seats, the CFL in Montreal finally got back to the roots of football by returning to the elements. Nothing says fall football in Canada like the threat of a blizzard.

Flash forward 11 years.

The Als have sold out every home game since. Football is alive and strong in Quebec, with several high school, college, club, and varsity squads amongst the national contenders every year. And here we are, hosting the country’s biggest game for the second time in seven years.

The Skip was at that concert in 1997… and he’ll be at the match this Sunday. And you’d better bank on the fact that the whole time I’ll be thinking about Bono and the Boys…

… and singing “All Because of You”.

- the Skip

MERCI ALEXEI... I MEAN... ALEX

Ahoy.

So the Admiral has jettisoned off to more tropical climes and has thus left me at the helm of this space for the coming week. I consider this a great honor, knowing that the highest ranking official of the Maniwaki fleet has entrusted the wheel to a lowly skipper.

Fear not. We shall sail a true course.

For my opening volley, I'd like to extend a hearty thank-you to Alex Kovalev, who with his shoot-out winner last night unknowingly got me a free flight to Florida next spring.

An explanation you ask? Very well.

For the sake of brevity, I’ll simply state that the First Mate and I have had more than our share of trouble with United Airlines. Believe me, you don’t want to know the whole story (that necessitated a 10-page complaint letter and follow-up communications eventually addressed six months later by the VP of the company). Suffice it to say, one piece of our compensation package was a pair of bright, shiny flight vouchers.

Receiving bright, shiny flight vouchers? Good. Redeeming said flight vouchers? Not so much.

After spending the majority of the afternoon on the phone with UA ticketing (and supervisors, and customer service), I was eventually faced with the realities that:

(a) the vouchers had to be used by midnight Sunday.

(b) because I live in Canada, though, I am not able to use them.

Apparently, the only option was to go to America and attempt to find an airport with a United ticket counter that was still open.

This was at 8:30 Sunday night.

I officially had three and a half hours to make this happen.

Knowing that the wicket nearest the Sugar Shack was in Burlington, VT (a two hour drive, and without a phone number, mind you, so I had no idea if it was even open), I was faced with the decision of sitting down and accepting my fate or blindly jumping in the Sucre-mobile and heading down I-89.

At this point, behind me in glorious RDS high-def Les Glorieux were facing their own struggle, knotted at 2 in OT against Les Bleues de St. Louis.

Simultaneously witnessing a battle unfold in front of her while sensing the Shakespearean-level internal conflict causing me great turmoil, the First Mate yet again brought to the table a golden nugget:

The First Mate: “If the Habs win, you go. If they lose, you stay.”

The Skip: “Done.”

OT solves nothing.

The first five shoot-out contestants apparently loaded blanks.

Coming down to: Alex “don’t-call-me-Alexei” Kovalev against Manny “don’t-call-me-a-quality-netminder” Legace.

The rest goes something like this.

Kovalev scores… Skip brews a travel-mug coffee… jumps on the highway… tells an unlikely story to the border guard… greatly enjoys the size and shape of the border guard’s mustache… continues into the land of liberties and freedoms… arrives at the Burlington airport at 10:45… finds an empty United counter... asks US Airways to go get United people… watches United employee #1 look greatly confused… asks for employee #2… tells story again… is reminded that ticketing closed at 8:00... respectfully disagrees... gets back on the phone with United ticketing… makes reservations… goes back to the desk… closes the deal at 11:40.

Twenty minutes to spare.

No problem.

So while the Admiral is off right now sipping fruity bevvies 'neath a giant hand of waving palm fronds, I take comfort as a few months from now I’ll be doing the same.

Thanks for potting that one, Alex. Never has a single backhand netted me so much.

- the Skip

¡Viva La Vacacion!

Ok, here's the scenario. I'm heading to the white sands of the Mayan Riveria tomorrow for a week and have handed the Skip the wheel of SS Maniwaki. He will be steering the Vessel Of The Spectacle along the high seas of the super web so get your sea legs ready as high adventure is sure to be abound.

Whilst I expect not to see a laptop screen, send a text or answer a cell phone as I contently sip Cuervos and Coronas as Conga lines shuffle pass by, I will be completely in the dark as to the sporting spectacle. Hence, this is what I want to see when I return.

1. Mats Makes A Decision. I would like it to be here, but really, I don't care where already. It could be for Omsk in Russia. Just end it already.

2. Manny Signs A Deal. For two years in LA while Scott Boras mopes around Chavez Ravine because he only made a quarter of a billion dollars on the deal.

3. The Yanks Bust The Bank. And doom themselves for the next decade as they pay millions to an injured AJ (who will tweak an ankle in a bizarre golf cart accident) while committing to CC for 12 years.

4. The Jays Not Sign Giambi.

5. The Jays Sign Ryan Dempster. Here's the guy from Gibsons' line from last year. 17-6, 2.96 ERA and 187 K's. And somehow the punditions rank him as a second tier free agent. Get this guy in a Blue Jays uni, pitching behind Roy immediately. He could make all the pre season predictions he wants about winning the World Series. I'll buy it.

Ok, we'll see how this shakes down. I've got to throw a satchel on a burrow and hit the trail...

HA! HA! FUCKERS!

So game time at GM Place tonight, was at 4pm PST rather than 7 PST, so that the centre of the universe wouldn't have to stay up late on a Saturday to watch their beloved Maple Leafs. That doesn't sound like the full home ice advantage to me. The Canucks have possibly the worst travel schedule in the league and have to routinely adjust to playing at different times in different time zones. Should the Leafs get to move the puck drop up three hours (essentially playing at 7pm EST equivalent) just to accommodate Hockey Night In Canada? These Yankee-esque media maneuvers need to be severely reassessed. Here's a news flash for everyone in the GTA:

You're a now a have not province now. Your squad has been a have not organization for 40 years. That means the Leafs should not HAVE preferential treatment by Bettman and the NHL. I hope you were happy watching them SYWCR (shit your west coast rink) to the tune of 4-2 at your regularly scheduled time.

Free Agent Free For All

Free agent season. When many GM's believe their respective organizations are financed by monopoly money and thus throw ridiculous contracts at anything that moves. Let see who's causing the biggest ruckus.

1. AJ in TO or no? No. No. No. No. and no. The 54 mill over 4 year offer by JP most certainly will be blown off the table by an over aggressive Steinbrenner and in no way should be matched. I have championed AJ since he rolled into the dot, and I would love to see him pitch the Jays into the playoffs alongside Doc. But although he had a career year last year, I can't see him repeating it. Another DL stint is a certainty. Let the Yanks blow their payroll on him as he takes over Kevin Brown's old locker.

2. Manny In LA or no? You bet. Although agent, Scott Boras might not be able to rob the train to Chavez Ravine like he thinks in trying to nab a 6 year contract, he at least has got his mitts on two years and 45 mill in gold for his client in this heist. How many jacks Manny will hit, can hit or has hit is immaterial. No club is going to sign him long term because of his bull in a Fenway Park exit from Beantown.

3. CC in Milwaukee? Maybe. Because no matter what the Yanks offer him, he major league heart. And he's smart. CC won't get bogged down with a Yankees squad that anchored in gargantuan contracts but has the same shot at contending as this year. If he truly believes the Brewers can build on this break out year and go all the way, he'll cut them a hometown discount and get paid half of his salary in cheese. What's better? Pitching meaningless games in early September while Moose, Pettite and Burnett are on the DL, or helping the Brewers win their first World Series? Like Curt Schilling, Sabathia understands the bigger picture and his contribution to it so don't rule out his return to the mound at Miller.

Johnny Canuck 3 Of 5

Ok, so we got yet another jersey. When I first saw the lumber jack dude, I was ready to tear my hair out again, grow a beard and tear it out as well, but after watching the propaganda video distributed by the Ministry Of The Front Office, I got on board. Maybe there's more to the "We Are All Canucks" motto, in which we are slowly being assimilated into an insidious, individuality suppressing hive mind collective.

Anyways, check it out for yourself. Just try and ignore the third rate feel good movie of the year vibe that goes along with. Resistance is futile.

Shut Out In The Shoot Out

At the beginning of last year, I attended a surprise 30th birthday bash for the Skip at a curling rink in Montreal. The festivities were of a calibre rivalling the Scott Tournament Of Hearts as the many party goers were divided into rinks, to hurl many rocks in many a Molson fuelled contest, well into the evening. All had a blast, including the Skip as he had "nary a sniff" as to the clandestine birthday bonspiel.

I stayed in Montreal for the rest of the week, and one night the Skip and I ventured into a sports pub on St. Laurent, to take in the Canucks game on the big screen. They were playing the Wild and I don't remember who it was on the Minny squad that got the breakaway, but the following conversation went as follows:

Me: [random Minnesota forward] doesn't have a chance. There's no way he's going to score on Luongo.

The Skip: You think?

Me: No way.

[Random Wild forward of course then proceeds to pull a deke touched with divine intervention on Luongo, leaving me to cry in my pint of Tremblay]

The Skip: He just got shortsed.

Yup. Sure did. And it's funny how history repeats itself as tonight not only Luongo's shutout streak came to an end at the hands of the Avalanche, he got shortsed in the shootout to boot. Observe:

Evil Trades Amongst Itself

That's right. The treacherous Washington Nationals have made an agreement with the equally insidious Florida Marlins in a deal sending two fish foot soldiers, Josh Willingham and Scott Olsen, over to Nationals HQ for 2B Emilio Bonifacio and two minor leaguers.

For those of you out there puzzled by my continued, outright disdain for these two organizations, let me direct you:

Here.

Here.

Here. (Big ups UWO!)

Here.

Here.

and here. (Which was a brilliant piece ["Le Pew!" - Sept 29, 2004], but has now suspiciously vanished from the archives.)

And all will hopefully become clear.

My NHL. My Realignment Scenario.

So ESPN punditition, Pierre LeBrun, recently posed the question, "What NHL teams would you re-locate and where?" A jolly good question indeed that merits a response beyond the confines of a simple message board. Let's get right down to it by sharpening our skate blades to begin operating on the current and very malaise NHL landscape. Who goes under the surgically sharpened CCM Tacks first? How about:

1. The Phoenix Coyotes. Look. You know a hockey team doesn't belong in the desert. I know a hockey team doesn't belong in the desert. The fans know it as the team's average attendance routinely ranks in the bottom quarter of all thirty teams. The city's already got Steve Nash, an NFL team that's finally on the verge, and a ball team with recent World Series rings who compete yearly in the scrubbiest division in pro sports. Even if the Coyotes were winning in their dung heap of a division, they still wouldn't stand a chance.

Wayne is being wasted out there. Bring him back home to his native Southern Ontario and put this squad in Hamilton immediately. I mean tomorrow. Balsillie has got the cash and obviously won't stop his incredible Mark Cuban impression complete with league angering antics, until he lands a franchise. The region is begging him to move in as no one can get tickets to the Leafs until 2078 when they still won't have won The Cup.

The Coyotes can either move to the biggest hockey market in the universe, and cause a ruckus by contending (or forcing the Leafs to) or fade away into obscurity with John McCain.

2. The Nashville Predators. You know your squad needs to hit the bricks when it's doing well and it still can't get people through the gates, as the Preds finished second in the div last season, only to Cup hoisting masters, the Detroit Red Wings. Nashville boasted a compelling, offensively minded squad, yet there were attendance concerns during the first round of the playoffs last year. While Bettman bested Balsillie in the first bid to buy the team, it's only a matter of time until some other billionaire else flashes some greenbacks and moves the Preds to the only place a true creature of the wild can thrive.

Namely Winnipeg. I could go on and on and on about the sense (both fiscal and common) it makes to bring the NHL back to Winnipeg, but this guy has made it his mission and breaks it down light years better than I could. Recognize.

3. The Florida Panthers. I mean the obvious reasons are there. Attendance, climate, market apathy. But let's face facts. The number one reason this sorry squad should be moved is for wasting Roberto Luongo's time for five years. As a part of the deal in which we scooped him up, the Panthers should've been required to issue a public statement of apology for squandering the talents of the one of the best goalies in the league.

So now that Bob's sitting in first in the North West while the Panthers are enjoying another campaign of futility in the South East, let's survey the map and see where these cats might actually have a hope of success. How about Quebec City? If for the only reason that I'm still pissed about the Expos and would love to see squad from Loria's turf shipped back to La Belle Province.

But enough of my personal vendettas. You say you have concerns about fan support? Have you ever been to a pub in Quebec when the Canadiens are playing? It's the closest thing we have in North America to the European football experience. Meaning passionate, yet one's personal safety does come into question. A riot probably won't kick off. But it could. Even hint at an NHL team moving back to Quebec City and 90 year old grand-mères will take up shovels to break ground on a new stade.

4. Carolina Hurricanes. Except for the year after they won the Cup (uggghhh) they have fallen below the League average for attendance every year of their ridiculous existence. I want them board up the building and set up shop in Saskatoon.

Look. I don't want to hear it. It's the 21st Century. My home province has recently experienced a surge in population from neighbouring Alberta, and is experiencing continued economic growth with tech companies and the Potash Corp. Oh, and all that oil doesn't just end at the Alberta border. We almost landed the Blues back in the early '80's and there's nothing to say that the Hurricanes wouldn't make a better go of it in a packed Credit Union Centre with hometown hero Cam Ward between the pipes every night than in yet another south eastern city that gives High School Football a better shake.


So there you have it. The Maniwaki Plan for Realignment. My NHL. My scenario. My fuck, how can they not implement it?


Yes, that's Cam Ward. Yes, he's wearing a Jets jersey. Yes, it makes complete sense. The NHL belongs in Western Canada.

Here's To The Kids

A lot of youthful exuberance being flaunted around many a' rink tonight. Let's check in on:

The 2008 World Junior A Challenge. While mon frère, Le Danglier Du La Ville Oaktown, was not playing in this year's tourney, as his former squad, Team Canada East, did capture the Bronze medal today Belarusing Belarus 9-1. Good show. I'm sure the former "C" was digging it in his digs over in Rochester.

In Gold Medal match, the defending champs, Team Canada West took on the Yanks and got Belarused as well to the tune of 7-1. Ouch. While I do feel for my western Canadian brethren, let's look at the bright side. Which is that a strong squad from America means that the US talent pool for 2010 will be that much bigger as it will provide more line mate options for Chris Chelios.

How great would another Team Canada/Team USA final be? And at GM Place? I'm actually drooling as I type this.

The Chicago Blackhawks. I often err on the side of youth when drafting any of the Team Maniwaki Fantasy squads. Sometimes it pays off (as in Evan Longoria) sometimes it doesn't (as in Sam Gagne). Sometimes it just takes a tad longer to catch fire. As the Jonathon Towes got his first goal of the season tonight with an assist in towe (...sorry). Line mate, Li'l Patty Kane, also rifled one from damn near point blank on Kiprusoff and helped load the chamber on two more bullets picking up three points on the night. As these two are much hailed Maniwaki Jedi Padawan, it is only fitting that we end with a paraphrased Palpatinious quote from Episode 1:

"And you, young Blackhawks. We will watch your careers with great interest."

Triple 0

Is it:

a. The name of the famous White Spot Burger available only in BC, save for a few in Alberta.

b. Hunter Hearst Helmsley's unsuccessful younger brother who got power slammed out of the WWE by a very aged, yet very formidable Leapin' Lanny Poffo in a scenario that resembled the final Rocky installment with Poffo saluting the crowd before exiting the ring for good.

c. The third shutout in a row for Capitan Luongo as he put on his cape once again to defend the city and the crease against evil. This time the opponents were the dastardly, division leading Minnesota Wild. However, fortunately he was able to repel 29 shots as his super team vanquished the visitors to take over top spot. Can the Captain keep the puck out of the net for nine minutes in his next outing to break his former record of 212 minutes, 12 seconds with an unlit lamp? Tune in Wednesday true believers...

d. All of the above.

Jose Calder-off/ Bibby Brings It

Wow. I've never seen so many missed jumpers in my life. Jose Calderon couldn't sink a three to save his life, notching a grand total of six points total in a match the Raptors ultimately lost in Atlanta tonight 110 - 92. That's a mere two points higher than my junior high career best of four, scored on a banner night in Kamsack, Sk circa '87. Seeing as I was on the bench for much of that season, Jose better pick it up in Charlotte on Sunday lest he suffer my fate.

Mike Bibby, on the other hand, had his Air Force 1's laced right the fuck up as he scored nineteen points, dropping four threes in the process. Aside from an odd Sacto Kings quarter caught on TSN over the last few years, I hadn't seen him do his thing since he was here with the Grizzlies. He was one of the top guns on our squad (I know that isn't saying much given our roster but whatever, he was consistent when he played in GM Place) and he seemed like such a nice lad to boot (as I remember thinking as I passed him on the street as he was going for a stroll with his girl way back when). Not like lunatic Ron Artest or that fucking crybaby, Steve Francis. Bibby was a class act that

So with all this reminiscing of Grizz eras gone by, get ready for the line that you're about to hear about a thousand times over the course of this NBA season:

"God damn I wish we'd get a basketball team back in town. I'd go to twenty games a year for sure."

Only nine hundred and ninety nine to go...

Biek On Track

So apparently Kevin Bieksa can do more than scrap as he scored the only goal in the Canucks 1-0 win over the Coyotes tonight. And with that we're back in the game, winners of four of our last five and a point out of first in the NW.

The Captain also moved into second in shutouts on the Canucks all time list notching his second in two games with this snag off Jovonovski in the last 25 seconds of the game.

Holy fuck, I'm ending this fucking post now as it's literally taken me two fucking hours to post a grand total of three incredibly trite, shitty sentences and post one video.

Just watch the footy of Bob's snag off Jovo instead and then go hit "The Onion" or something.

Bye Bye Burnett

So AJ did in fact decide to opt out of the final two years of his contract and filed for free agency today.  Leaving 24 mill table (12 per year) it's expected that Burnett could command anywhere from 15 - 18 mill annually. The Jays have exclusive negotiating rights with him until November 14th, but how far should they go?

Not that far. While AJ did have a career year last year, finally posting numbers that everyone knew he was capable of (going 18 -10 with a mind numbing 231 K's) there is no guarantee that if re-signs he will not return to his previous 7 - 7 form and spend another considerable stint on the DL. Whilst JP says that the organization will make an offer, he says that they won't overpay. Nor should they. He should offer AJ a one year contract, two max, at market price and leave it at that.

While I have been a huge AJ supporter for the most part, I can't justify insane spending on free agency. If he flys out of the Skydome roof, then so be it. Other options are available, like Canadian Ryan Dempster, from the Cubs. As if the recently converted starter (who went 15 -5 in 08) wouldn't jump at the chance to pitch in the Dome behind Roy every fifth day.

Champion

Yup. Change is finally here.  I don't even think MJ could've done it better. 

Politics In Motion

That's right. As Americans line up (hopefully not for hours on end as in the last few elections) at polling stations (not turned away due to shifty eligibility requirements) to pull the lever on voting machines (that hopefully work this time) in the 08 Presidential Election, one man has reaped the rewards the oft used campaign tag line of "change" a day early.

Question: Who is this man?

The Answer: Allen Iverson.

Who got dealt to Detroit in exchange for Chauncy Billups and Antonio McDyess. Pistons pres, Joe Dumars on the move:

"We just felt it was the right time to change our team."

Apparently Barack Obama's campaign theme is already returning common sense and order to a political, societal and economic landscape which has been wrought with confusion, turmoil and hopelessness for quite some time. How you ask?

Because Allen Iverson is finally free of that ridiculous powder blue uni, trading it in for some true blue duds in a blue collar town, where he can bang it out on the court to help a squad that has an actual hope of getting him the ring he deserves.

Now that's a sign that the universe is about to be set right.

Next up, David Stern gets usurped by Phil Jackson and you won't have to charge your credit card for hot meal on your next flight. About time.

Post Halloween Ticker

Ok, there's a few Kit Kat wrappers kicking around as well as a stack of late horror flick DVD's to take back. Let's see what other eerie Halloween remnants are still spooking the spectacle:

1. The Canucks. Losing tonight 3-2 against the Red Wings. When seeing the likes of Zetterberg, Raflaski and Hossa do their thing, one can't help but think that a counter of Hank and Dan are enough to make a compelling case for the post season. Since we have virtually no trade bait, some money in the bank, and at least a mildly interested Mats Sundin (who was apparently kicking it in the club box with Mike Gillis recently in Anaheim) we need to make capturing the great Nordic wolf, priority #1.

2. The Thunder. God, it pains me to type that. Not that I was a huge Sonics fans or anything, but right is right and wrong is wrong , and apparently Stern is Stern. The Thunder got their first ever franchise win at home in OKC tonight vs the Timberwolves. I hope it's the only one of the season.

3. The NFL. Look I tried to give it another chance today. I really did. Tried to tune in over a benny at brunch as well as a later on during a Giants rout of the Cowboys. No dice. Well, let's take a look at the standings and see what's what. Oh surprise. Detroit and Cincinnati still suck. The Steelers and the Giants are still great. But what's this? The Titans have become the new Patriots going an impressive 8-0, while the Pats have sunk to the level of "respectable." That is something. Does this mean that starting QB Kerry Collins (who?) gets to upgrade from a cast off from "America's Top Model" to the real thing?

Where 3-0 Happens

Ok, it's time to weigh in on my new favourite squad, namely the Toronto Raptors. Caught the fourth quarter and OT of yesterday's match vs Golden State as well as the second quarter of today's vs Milwaukee.

And wow. I'm hooked.

Have to hand it to MLSE as while they'll never probably never be able to ice a Cup winning Leafs team in my lifetime, they sure have made a compelling case on the court. GM, Brian Colangelo made a controversial off season move by adding Jermane O'Neal (who apparently has Manny-esque issues) from Indiana, in hopes of bolstering the defence and so far the result has been this:

Yup.

Although it is only three games in, I have never seen the Raptors this dominant. O'Neal has swatted away so many shots, he might as well get a Superman "S" tattoo and call himself Shaq.

Bosh and Calderon look like men possessed as I have never seen them radiate so much confidence on the court. And be able to deliver. Calderon runs plays with the Spanish military precision whilst Bosh puts the ball in the bucket with authority. The Raptors have always been talented, but now things are different. They are starting to look like they're morphing into an entirely different beast.

One with swagger. One with purpose. One with intent. One with the sharp fucking claws. A franchise that sits among the elite of the NBA.

Now I know what you're saying. I'm already planning a parade down Yonge St. when they've gone 3-0 vs Philly, Golden State and Milwaukee. Hardly the Bulls or Jazz of years gone by. And yes, the true test will come once they start facing the Pistons, Lakers and Celtics of the league.

But one thing is for sure. If they do not dominate the aforementioned teams, they will definitely put up a fight as if trying to fell a stegosaurus. This could be the break out team of the 08/09 slate.

Maybe Sam Mitchell better get a pair of Maddon style horn rims.

Better Late Than Never...

..seems to be the theme of the night. As I got caught up in the Halloween festivities and forgot to post until now. And Mattias Ohlund kicked back on the bench with some Reese Peanut Butter Cups until the thirteenth round of the shootout to win in Anaheim. 7-6 the final. Good for Halloween.