Ah, the excitement of spending my day off interning at the centre of the hockey media universe on NHL trade deadline day.
Days like this are the definition of ‘hurry up and wait.’ Just before 10AM the skies burst open with the crackle of…a trade. Not a blockbuster but Ottawa sending Antoine Vermette to Columbus in exchange for netminder Pascal Leclaire and a 2009 second round draft pick gave us something tangible to write about.
Chris Pronger not going anywhere is a story. The Buffalo Sabres awarded Tim Connolly, he of 28 points in 29 games, a freshly-inked two-year deal totalling 9 million dollars added some substance to the grist mill.
You could always analyse, re-analyse, and regurgitate the contract extensions of Filip Kuba, Niklas Backstrom, and Alex Burrows.
Olli Jokinen to Calgary? Has good relationship with Keenan, could perform better without being a top-dog.
11:25AM – BREAKING NEWS – staff hold boisterous meeting re: ordering pizza
Antoine Vermette – TSN – 11:30AM “you kind of learn not to worry about it too much” “I’m gonna play quite a bit…we’ll see in the next few hours”
TRADE: oft-injured Jordan Leopold from Avalanche to Flames for Lawrence Nycholat, prospect, and a draft pick
Leopold: “excited – Darryl’s a b&w guy, Mike is too – had some good experiences in Calgary” “had baby two weeks ago”
11:45 – BREAKING NEWS – pizza order finally placed after extensive discussions – two large pepperoni & mushroom, one medium veggie – drinks to be procured in a separate transaction
MORE TO FOLLOW
Showing posts with label humour. Show all posts
Showing posts with label humour. Show all posts
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Hoopla Schmoopla - The Super Bowl
There’s something wrong in a sport where what happens between the play is more entertaining than the game itself.
It’s even worse during the playoffs. None of the above NFL divisional tilts piqued my interest enough to stay tuned longer than a few minutes at a time. Grown men, squeezed into spandex tights, preening and primping for the cameras while millions watch does nothing for me.
Can you imagine if women wore the same outfits? Stop drooling, guys. Some of those players should extend the girdle-esque ability of the slinky pants to their football jerseys.
A lot of those men are built like tanks, packed with power. That’s no reason not to tuck in the gut, buddy. They do make jerseys with stretch fabric, you know.
To casual observers the Super Bowl is pure hoopla, all style and no substance; it’s the trophy wife of professional sports titles. All glitz, all glamour, looks good on your arm but once the shine comes off the five-carat rock and her roots show…the search for a new one is already under way.
It’s hard to get into an event that was pretty much designed for television ratings and revenue. It costs more for a 30-second spot than many a player makes in an entire season. There are scalpers, lurking under the puka shells outside Raymond James Stadium, who rake in more from selling the 99% of tickets not available to NFL fans than many a player earns on the gridiron that day.
Truth be told, the only Superbowl XLIII appearance that has me pumped is Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. Pint-sized guitarist Nils Lofgren is using the event to test out his new hip following surgery.
My apologies to the bookies in Vegas - the only picks I’m betting on belong to Springsteen, Lofgren, and Little Steven.
It’s even worse during the playoffs. None of the above NFL divisional tilts piqued my interest enough to stay tuned longer than a few minutes at a time. Grown men, squeezed into spandex tights, preening and primping for the cameras while millions watch does nothing for me.
Can you imagine if women wore the same outfits? Stop drooling, guys. Some of those players should extend the girdle-esque ability of the slinky pants to their football jerseys.
A lot of those men are built like tanks, packed with power. That’s no reason not to tuck in the gut, buddy. They do make jerseys with stretch fabric, you know.
To casual observers the Super Bowl is pure hoopla, all style and no substance; it’s the trophy wife of professional sports titles. All glitz, all glamour, looks good on your arm but once the shine comes off the five-carat rock and her roots show…the search for a new one is already under way.
It’s hard to get into an event that was pretty much designed for television ratings and revenue. It costs more for a 30-second spot than many a player makes in an entire season. There are scalpers, lurking under the puka shells outside Raymond James Stadium, who rake in more from selling the 99% of tickets not available to NFL fans than many a player earns on the gridiron that day.
Truth be told, the only Superbowl XLIII appearance that has me pumped is Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band. Pint-sized guitarist Nils Lofgren is using the event to test out his new hip following surgery.
My apologies to the bookies in Vegas - the only picks I’m betting on belong to Springsteen, Lofgren, and Little Steven.
Wednesday, December 31, 2008
You Know You Spend Too Much Time at the Rink When...
- someone asks how old your child is and you reply "Minor Atom"
- your odometer hits 100 000km in the arena parking lot
- it's just as dark outside leaving the arena as arriving
- you convince people that practice Sunday mornings at 6AM isn't really that bad
- people you don't know call you by your name
- it's so cold outside starting the car would take longer than the trip to Timmy's so you break down and drink the arena vending machine coffee
- said vending machine coffee tastes good
- any fecking coffee tastes good at 6AM
- you know where the warm(relatively speaking) seats are in every local rink
- you keep different types of hockey tape in your purse
- you keep track of time by skate sharpenings
- you wake up two hours early to shovel the driveway to get to the game/practice
- that glove smell no longer induces vomiting
- you know whose turn it is to make the coffee run
- no one knows whose turn it is and no one cares because it all evens out
- a stranger stops you at the grocery store and asks, "Don't you work at the rink?"
- your holiday schedule is planned around games
- you see your friends at there more often than anywhere else
- you remember the rink you where in when your friend called to tell you she was finally pregnant
- you know what rinks have amenities for grandparents(viewing rooms and heat lamps!)
- despite all the hassles, you jump out of bed quicker for games and practices than anything else
- you don't think I'm crazy for doing it week after week.
- your odometer hits 100 000km in the arena parking lot
- it's just as dark outside leaving the arena as arriving
- you convince people that practice Sunday mornings at 6AM isn't really that bad
- people you don't know call you by your name
- it's so cold outside starting the car would take longer than the trip to Timmy's so you break down and drink the arena vending machine coffee
- said vending machine coffee tastes good
- any fecking coffee tastes good at 6AM
- you know where the warm(relatively speaking) seats are in every local rink
- you keep different types of hockey tape in your purse
- you keep track of time by skate sharpenings
- you wake up two hours early to shovel the driveway to get to the game/practice
- that glove smell no longer induces vomiting
- you know whose turn it is to make the coffee run
- no one knows whose turn it is and no one cares because it all evens out
- a stranger stops you at the grocery store and asks, "Don't you work at the rink?"
- your holiday schedule is planned around games
- you see your friends at there more often than anywhere else
- you remember the rink you where in when your friend called to tell you she was finally pregnant
- you know what rinks have amenities for grandparents(viewing rooms and heat lamps!)
- despite all the hassles, you jump out of bed quicker for games and practices than anything else
- you don't think I'm crazy for doing it week after week.
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