The Rules and how to abuse them

For my rabid clutch of followers (please wipe that stuff off your mouth) I present my cool, rational and semi-factual report, documenting my writing progress thus far. I hope the both of you enjoy the update.

SCOPE: To determine if I am indeed drawing from that pent-up creative pool that resides within me or if I’m just screwing around and wasting my time.

MATERIALS: Laptop computer, Microsoft Word, Coors Light, Dark Rum, Ginger Beer, Imagination (mood dependent), Talent (Talent dependant), Time (Life dependant), Fingers (Hand dependant)

OBJECTIVE: To express my fictional ideas in an entertaining fashion without coming off like I accidentally brushed my teeth with a Taser.

EXPERIENCE: Other than some farting around on some sports fan websites and three practice manuscripts – none.

GUIDELINES: Things you need to know.

1)      Write what you know. Failing that, write what you think you know. Failing that, make shit up completely.

2)      Avoid dialog tags; unless there are more than two people in a conversation, a physical expression is needed, if you have no other choice or if you forgot to not use them.

3)      Avoid repetitive, similar, already used, synonym-like words (I’m still working on that)

4)      Watch out for selective typing dyslexia. Thrid/third, from/form, ect./etc.

5)      Learn the correct usages of their, there, they’re, and that there now.

6)      If you think a semi-colon fits, you’re probably wrong.

7)      If you think a sentence is too long, it probably is.

8)      Too many commas make you sound like you brushed your teeth with a Taser.

9)      Avoid repetitive metaphors and analogies.

10)  On occasion, lie.

11)  Show, don’t tell, and unless you’re describing something, then write it fluidly and entertainingly. It work better than ‘look at this shit, here!’

12)   If the imaginary readers are women, include a happy ending. If the imaginary readers are men, make sure things blow up. If the imaginary reader is a cat, sell it to a laboratory to have its brain removed, sectioned and analyzed or hire it as your agent

13)  Join a comprehensive, intelligent (i.e. free) writer’s community so you can interact with other writers, share pain, and waste time on something other than that pesky writing stuff.

14)  Learn the genre you’re writing for out of the 7,000,000 vague sub-genres. Chances are you won’t fit in any of them; if so see guideline #10.

15)  Trust your beta readers to be helpful and impartial when they rip out your still beating heart, stick it in a food processor, set it for puree and serve it to you on nachos with a zesty salsa.

16)  Don’t beta-read for anyone else unless you own a firearm.

17)  Learn to write a query blurb, keep your therapist’s phone number on a post-it note stuck to your computer monitor.

18)  Learn to write a query letter, making sure to spell the agent’s name correctly. For writer bio, see rule #10

19)  Invest in a major vodka manufacturer and learn how to write a synopsis.

20)  Learn what the ‘hook’ is for a query then learn why yours suck.

21)  Learn how to write a logline, even though no one seems to know the purpose for it.

22)  Learn your acronyms, including; WIP, MS, MC, YA, MG, NaNo, ROFLMAO, TGIF, OMG, and, most importantly DILLIGAF

23)  Learn patience. See guideline #10 and use it on yourself.

24)  Learn to keep motivated. See guideline #10 and use it on yourself.

25)  Learn to never misplace you therapist’s phone number.

26)  Learn to secretly enjoy other writer’s misery and the correct procedures to create voodoo dolls for their inevitable success.

27)  Edits are never, ever, truly done. And when you think they are, your story sucks.

GUIDELINES: Things you don’t need to know

PROGRESS REPORT:

            I’ve written a bunch of stuff.

SUMMARY: 

            There you have it folks. This is my comprehensive report on what I’ve learned and how I’ve applied it. If this has indeed been a help, great. I’ll visit you in the facility you wind up residing in. If it doesn’t, well…consider the source.

            I look forward to meeting each and every one you at my book signing. As of now it is scheduled for a corner booth at a local McDonalds. Get there early, buy me a Big Mac.

Thank you for your love, support, and contributing to my delusion.

The History Channel; Beef Jerky for the mind

I guess all us (ahem) more seasoned and experienced folks missed out on the present 'hip, poppin' and conjecture filled history of the human race.

I made the mistake of watching a couple hours of The History Channel and learned the following things that we all may have missed when we were busy trying to keep arbitrary dates straight and deciphering which ancient civilization was killed and eaten by the next up-and-coming ancient civilization.

Here's the cliff notes so everyone who actually could operate a book with pages can understand all the fun we missed out on.

-Extraterrestrials may well have helped the Third Reich produce a plethora of deadly doomsday weapons that didn't actually work. Indiana Jones may or may not have had a pivotal role in that.

-The Knights Templar nobly escaped their executions for murder, theft and rape so they could come to America and hide carved stones telling the secrets of the Holy Grail in Minnesota of all places.

-The Free Masons designed entire cities in geometric patterns to hide secrets that even they couldn't decipher so that Nicholas Cage could star in movies that make him look smart.

-Nostradamus proved that drunken people could write near incomprehensible and vague predictions that will waste the time of future scholars for centuries while making gullible people nervous wrecks. Keep an eye out for the anti-Christ, unless we already missed him.

-The same non-helpful extraterrestrials that decided to pal around with Hitler could have also helped other ancient civilizations make massive structures .Future adventure seekers could then experience lost luggage and diarrhea while capturing pictures that bore all their friends to tears.

-The Loch Ness monster, while openly admitted by the first guy to take a picture as being a hoax, is still sucking up enormous funds and technical expertise to be found. In a weird turn of events, he hasn't.

-Other murky lakes now have giant prehistoric creatures magically appearing up in them like reptilian pop-tarts. Now you can be just as afraid of lakes as were of the ocean after 'Jaws' came out.

-Bigfoot is still out there, somewhere, leaving enormous footprints and shaky images of giant Steven Stills (From Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young) in his wake.

-Calendars produced by the Mayans showed that they may have known when the end of the world will be but weren't smart enough to figure out their own demise.

-The end of the world is coming next year, unless it doesn't. Either way don't clean out that 401k plan to buy a speedboat just yet.

-The Russians have finally opened up their own secret files, proving to the world that their own UFO nutjobs were just as loopy as ours.

-The Bermuda Triangle had a terrifying history of swallowing planes and boats that in NO WAY could be attributed to pilot error, even though the only thing to disappear there in the last 20 years was the Folstien children's college fund in a cruise ships casino.

-Viking may have left their own cold and forbidding lands centuries before Columbus got lost so they could settle in the one place as lousy as their own country-then promptly disappear.

-and last, but not least, Hitler was a real dick.

It almost makes you wish you could type up a term paper again, doesn't it?

The Bruins playoffs in review

The Bruin's Stanley Cup Winner's parade is today.

Hang on, it still seems unreal after I type that. Let me try again:

The Bruin's Stanley Cup Winner's parade is today.

Holy smokes, it still knocks me for a loop. It's a good loop but a loop nonetheless.

In the Grand Scheme of things this event is hardly life-changing or earth-shattering. It doesn't lower gas or food prices, spark miraculous medical cure, save whales, create jobs, fix the economy or effect world peace (the Vancouver riot aside).

Still, it's pretty damn cool.

Let's be real here for a minute; during the regular season did anyone really believe that THIS was the team that would gel so solidly and march through four rounds to get the chrome salad bowl? Hell, I'm a pretty optimistic fan but the boys had me wondering on more than one occasion if they were up to the task. More than once the B's had their shaky and bizarre moments.

As much as any Bruins fan despises the Montreal Canadiens, they are due a small amount of credit. They helped re-invigorate the cup run and (if not slay) at least stab a few demons from their past. Also, if the Bruins did win the cup without facing and defeating the Hated Habs it would have been a slightly less impressive victory.

The Flyers were next on the agenda after utterly humiliating in the previous seasons playoffs. The choker label was applied to a team that coughed up a 3-0 series lead then lost four straight. That one hurt and acted to cast a pall over the next season, with damn good reason; it was a disaster. Sweeping them in four straight games helped the Bruins get the horrible taste from their mouths and provide another motivational boost.

These two teams brought to mind the end of the movie, the Godfather. Picture Peter Chiarelli sitting behind a big wooden desk in a smoky dark room. He looks over to his lieutenant, Cam Neely, and utters; "This season we take care of all old family business". What happens is synchronized carnage. But I digress.

For a non-traditional foe the Tampa Bay Lightning still offered up a very interesting challenge in regards to Eastern Conference match-ups. Mixing powerful high-dollar talent with what was thought a smothering defensive system to provide a legitimate challenge to the Bruin's post-season march. This series was probably Claude Julien's own moment to demonstrate that he is a great coach. Tampa's 1-3-1 system with crushing fore checking was shutting teams out very effectively. Mere firepower and great goaltending wasn't enough. The tactics weren't the problem, the strategy was.

Julien juggled the line-up and philosophy just enough while kicking of a nitrous oxide boost by plugging 19 year old Tyler Seguin into the lineup at exactly the right time. The move was brilliant and that, mixed with playoff hockey starved Nathan Horton, tilted the scales against sunny Florida. The fact that it went seven games is a testament to the Lighting's strength and gives a glimpse into what may be a scary opponent in next season's Eastern conference. Lightning GM Steve Yzerman is no idiot and he now knows where he needs to add pieces for the next step.

Vancouver came into the playoffs after having exorcized its own demons by defeating the Chicago Blackhawks, who schooled them on three previous occasions. The Canucks had their flaws but the perception was their strengths offset them nicely. For the first two games of the series that assessment seemed spot-on. The bruins tried vainly but could not dent the Canucks shell.

Then something happened. It was triggered partly with the injury to Horton and a return home to the place that had no history, no backing force, no whiff of past glory, the 'new' garden. These Bruins steeled themselves and did something that no other team had done to the barn once known as the 'defeat' center. They brought glory.

Maybe Vancouver got cocky, reading too many glowing press clippings. Maybe Luongo performed his usual fall to earth. Maybe they were just to worn out and beat up from the rigors of three previous hard-fought rounds. All these are distinct possibilities.

Or maybe, just maybe, the Bruins sat in their locker room, looked at one another and reached an agreement. We will be 'almost good enough' no more. This is the right place, the right time, with the right personnel. Let's show them that this bear's claws and teeth are to be feared.

The Bruins exploded like their animal namesake and tore the killer whale clad Canucks to shreds. Then just to show it wasn't a fluke, they did it again. All you had to do was look into the eyes of Tim Thomas and you got the story. We aren't happy with being good. We will be great. We're the better team.

The next game was a hard fought battle from beginning to end as the Canucks gave one final boost to show their mettle. A single fluke goal from a marginally talented spare part snuck behind Thomas and finished the game. The Canucks regained the series lead 3-2.

Unlike previous seasons this didn't have that impending disaster feel that Bruins fans are all too used to. We saw where Vancouver was weak and the return home for the next game proved that observation.

Roberto Luongo helped to trigger his team's demise with his own very poorly chosen words, taking a shot at the heroic Tim Thomas. His claim was that Thomas wasn't providing Luongo with the praise he so richly deserved and even had the gall to critique Thomas's goaltending style. Making matters worse was when Thomas retorted with one simple, bemused line. Smiling he said, "I didn't know it was my job to pump up his tires".
The dye was cast. The Hockey Gods punish those for hubris. Roberto Luongo, one of the highest paid, longest signed goalies in the NHL was about to be laid low.
The bear could smell blood and that third trip to the garden was fitting set up to that one final apocalyptic moment. The final score was 5-2 Bruins but that score didn't tell the whole story. The Canucks were beaten, emotionally crushed and very scared. The series was tied and all the marbles rested on a single game.

…Back in Vancouver

…Where the Bruins had yet to win.

To its credit Vancouver did try. The Sedin twins did rise from their coma and the Canucks forward pressed hard, getting into Tim Thomas's face and practically up his nose at the games start. Even the most hardened fan (me included) were on the edge of the seat for a few minutes.

It was Patrice Bergeron that fired the shot that finished off the league's best regular season team and Western Conference champs. Three more shots found their mark but the body had already fallen. Thomas had put up a brick wall in net and had already made the conscious decision to put an exclamation point on the first Bruins cup triumph in 39 years, providing his forth shutout of the post-season.

On a personal note I just had to nudge my lovely wife to pause the chick-flick she was watching on her computer and pop out her headphones to witness the Cup carried higher than its ever been held-literally seeing as Zdeno Chara is huge. She was good sport and sat patiently through the ceremony, likely wondering what the fuss was all about but having the good taste not to say anything. At the end she smiled at me and went back to her movie. After 25 years of my yelling shenanigans she's paid her dues in a different way. In her own quiet way she's been a Bruins fan for most of her life as well, she just won't admit it.

And now an estimated million people are funneling into Boston to grab a peace of that black and gold glory. The Burins are the conquering hero and deserve the adulation they receive on this day. Trivial in the grand scheme of things or not those men did fight the good fight and bring pride back to one of the finest cities on earth. I salute them for that.

Now if they could just do it again next season…

Fine Whine and other sour grapes

NHL: Top five pet peeves of hockey

Normally I’m not a person given to whining. When something annoys me and I can avoid it, I do.

I can’t stand going to any brass and fern decorated “family” type restaurant for the irritation factor that the same wait staff that can’t bring me the appetizers some time other that 30 seconds before the actual meal comes, can find the time to sing an off-key, overly loud proprietary version of “Happy Birthday”.

Just shut up and get me my damn Buffalo wings Skippy.

These are generally the same places that have three pages of different variations on a Margarita (…a CHOCOLATE Margarita?) but don’t have the ability to make the REAL version of that drink. Keep your stupid sour mix and Triple-sec and go back to Bartending School.

So, just like when Howard Sterns comes on the radio, I avoid these situations. I don’t go to those restaurants more than once and I change the channel when flatulent transvestites with mother issues (????) come on the radio. No problem here, I can adapt.

Unfortunately, some thing that annoy cannot be avoided. Like the people at the grocery store that wait until their whole cart is scanned, they are given the total, and THEN they start writing the check. Or the high-powered business-type moron who thinks the whole world needs to listen in on how much of a big shot they are when they’re at the drug store prescription counter, chatting on a cell phone at the top of their lungs.

Talk to Vanna, buy a vowel, and get a clue.

Hockey has produced several of these annoying moments that, for the fan, fall under the category of “unavoidable”. Here’s a selection of my top five hockey annoyances:

1) Diving/tripping calls: If it’s a dive, call it a dive. If it’s a trip, call it a trip. Don’t completely wimp out and call both. Diving is one aspect of the game that has always annoyed me. I don’t like it when my own favorite team does it. I really hate it when an opponent uses it as their primary defensive strategy. NHL, grow a pair and call a dive a dive.

2) Mascots: I know that Hockey wants to appeal to a larger audience, and I can live with the whole mascot thing for the AHL, where it is actually affordable to bring the whole family to a game. But the NHL in general and the Original six teams in particular annoy me with their perceived need to try to sell a team to me that I’ve ALREADY paid top-dollar to see. I like kids for the most part, I have several myself, but none of my kids (or the kids I’ve seen at a game) seem particularly impressed with the sweaty high-school kid stuck in a felt and Styrofoam costume who is having peanuts and empty cups thrown at him because he’s doing the Macarena in the line of sight while a two man rush is breaking up the ice.

3) “Let’s make some noise!!” prompts: What is this? The Dick Van Dyke show? Your hockey game is filmed before a live studio audience? Play better. I’ll cheer then. Trust me.

4) The Cell phone zombies: Tell me if this sounds familiar: “Yeah Dude, I’m at the game now…I’m at the game now…Yeah, I’m at the game…yeah…now. I should get out of here around 9:30…yeah, 9:30…9:30…yeah, I’ll be out front at 9:30…9:30…” This generally goes on in ten minute stretches for the entire game, except when it’s between periods, then the annoying twit goes silent as he’s trying to maneuver Nacho’s, a personal pizza, popcorn and seven diet soda’s down the wrong isle.

5) The “know-it-all” fan: This is that self-important goob who ended up with free tickets and has to regale his friends (who have apparently never heard of the game before) with his infinite knowledge and wisdom in regards to the finer points of hockey…all night. He is also the guy who usually sits directly behind me at the game and taps my shoulder after every play to ask me “Did you see that? Did that look like icing to you? I don’t think it was icing. Did they really call that as icing?” Now you know why they search people for weapons prior to a game, even though they probably shouldn’t.

So that’s it. I’ve vented and I feel better now. Please feel free to share any other hyper-annoying moments I may have missed in the responses.

Bad Sports Movies

Everyone has a favorite sports movie. That one that has you on the edge of your seat, cheering for an outcome that you already know in your heart has been predetermined by a script-writer, That one that has you misty-eyed for a bygone, more honorable time, That one that has the abused underdog rising up to conquer all odds and achieve that glory we all hunger for.

Few care to document the far more common product that emanates from tinsel-town: The really bad sports movie.

For every Field of Dreams or The Natural there is are dozen’s of Major League II’s.

For every Slapshot there is a flood of Youngblood’s

For every The Longest Yard there is…well, the remake of The Longest yard.

You get the point. Even the most open-minded and ambitious practitioner of suspension of disbelief has to admit that 95% of all sports movies ever made range from “hardly likely” to “ambitiously stupid”.

I’d like to review my favorite whipping boys of bad sports movie’s, separated by sport (the ones I have some interest in, sorry golf):

Racing: Days of Thunder:

There was a time I actually followed NASCAR, unfortunately it was also a time when “Stock Car” meant there was something resembling the stock car under the paint and stickers. This movie made sure I never developed that interest again.

See if this sounds familiar:

He’s a loner, a rebel, a maverick. He does things his own way no matter who it irks. She meets him. She can’t stand him- at first- but she learns there’s a good person under the macho façade. Soon she’s worried sick about him as he goes to do whatever dangerous thing he does. He does his dangerous thing, beats all odds and comes back to spring into her waiting arms.

Insert a race car, fighter jet, football or a very angry Jack Nicholson as the backdrop and you have a significant portion of Tom Cruise’s film repertoire.

As a racing film, this baby makes Stroker Ace look like a documentary on Speed channel. Driving into wrecks at full speed, getting “gift” engines from competing owners, having Tom Hagen as you mechanic, this movie has it all. Unfortunately it also has far more than I’m willing to digest.

Hockey: Youngblood:

Whew! Where to begin…

This is the story about a too handsome, too passive, too Rob Lowe junior league hockey player who finally snaps, goes berserk, and becomes the thing he despised the most.

And that’s supposed to be the happy ending.

He unfortunately runs afoul of a noted young goon when he makes the team ahead of him (who is later drafted in the 2nd round by the Maple Leafs, I’m kidding…). The Goon is jealous, angry, and has unsettling visions of having to take his girlfriend to see St. Elmo’s Fire in the future.

Said goon signs up with another team and goes on a premeditated spree of violence, cracking the noggin’ of one Patrick Swayze, Dean Youngblood’s (I’m not making that name up) newest and bestest friend.

Dean makes Craig Janney look like Jay Miller though, and won’t fight the uber-goon, so his dad and older brother (who between them must share 4.5 teeth) teach the talented young doofus how to fight.

There may have been more to the movie but I was trying to retrieve the beer from my two sizes too-big snorkel coat and may have missed some of the finer nuances.

Basketball: Whatever the hell that one with Whoopi Goldberg was.

I’m not much of a Basketball fan, and this movie didn’t help that.

Football: Varsity Blues:

This narrowly beat out the shakily filmed and piercingly shrill Any Given Sunday as the football movie most likely to make me want to take Bruce Dern’s place in Black Sunday, but Varsity Blues wins out on the weight of its incredibly disturbing vision of Texas High-School football.

John Voight, whose career trajectory appears to be rivaling Christian Slater’s, plays the most evil, nasty, vainglorious high-school football coach ever. His player motivational tactics make the coach’s and owners in North Dallas Forty look like extras from a Disney film. He’s just plain rotten.

The fact that he’s the devil incarnate and needlessly risks the lives of their children only make the dim-bulb parents love him more, even though the men remember hating him as well in their playing days (He’s been the coach for over 50 years apparently).

The secondary female lead in the film make Paris Hilton look like she’s found her religious calling, the boys all drive around in near-mint classic cars, and vodka appears to flow from every spigot in this part of Texas.

Oh, and the boys also discover that one of their teachers is also a stripper (apparently Van Halen wrote that into the film).

Eventually the drunken high-school players gather up there courage and STD’s to pull out a miraculous win in the final game’s second half after firing their own coach (huh??!).

Fade out, the End.

Baseball: Major League II:

I saw Major League I about a dozen times, I’ll admit it. It garbage, but it’s good garbage. I place it in the same realm as Escape from New York, The Mummy (1&2), and just about any movie with “The Rock” in it (what can I say, the guy cracks me up).

Even Major League III, while even dumber than the first, provided some slim semblance of enjoyment.

Major League II was somewhat like a peppers and sausage sub burp, not entirely like the original and endangering the shoes of those around you.
A chunk of the original cast was also in II, but that’s like making a Saved by the Bell movie. What else was the cast doing?

Wesley Snipes was noticeably absent, as he had another job requiring him to be a self-loathing, hyper-violent, but “good at heart” Vampire. This was considered a significant step up from his towering portrayal of “Willy Mays Hayes”.

Unfortunately you can go to the same shallow well only so many times, and the well runs dry fairly early as a few kooky new cast members are forced to interact with the almost retired return players.

Godfather II, this ain’t.

As a DVD, it makes a fairly decent drink coaster.

There you have it folks, I’m sure I missed some of your most despised and even offended the sensibilities of those fans that adore the movie’s I’ve trashed. It’s my list. I wrote it. Write your own list.

If you’d like to trash my tastes (usually my wife’s job), here are some favorites from each category:

Racing: LeMans: Steve McQueen. What more do you gotta’ say?

Hockey: Duh. You don’t even need to ask (No, NOT the Mighty Ducks)

Football: The Longest Yard (original): “…I think he broke his f#$%*@! Neck”.

Baseball: Eight Men Out: Think scandal in baseball is a new idea? Think again.

There it is. Black and White.

How hard can it be to be a film critic?

an Offensive unofficial history of pro hockey

It is hypothesized that all continents were once joined together, kind of like the cast of “Friends” before they split up to make really bad romantic comedies.

Like after a sitcom wrap-party, the continents then tried to get as far away from each other as is “earthly” possible.

Dinosaurs came, then were relocated to there present location- under miles of salt water or very large sandboxes, and received a new occupation- as oil.

Then the mammals came and evolved into ferrets, lions, dolphins, and in some case Lawyers and Player Agents (oh, but I kid the ferrets).

Some time after that, hockey came. Life was good for those athletic, good skating people who didn’t want to work winters in factories, doctors who specialized in mending broken bones, Dentists who specialized in removing tooth shrapnel and less talented factory workers who were flush with overtime money covering for those deadbeats of winter, hockey players.

It was decided by someone on high (or someone who drank slightly less than the vast majority) that this pastime should be organized. Sober people are very good at organizing…lousy at hockey, but good at telling other people what to do.

It was then decided to get some teams of less than sober people together and play against one another as too few people were nipping off appendages at factories and only 12 people had ever used the services of a dentist. Hockey would help to jumpstart both of those cottage industries while providing some meager scratch so players could buy; you guessed it, more booze. A new business was born on the weight of injuries, violence, competition, and not wanting to work at factories for a couple months a year.

Because there was a need for some symbol to reward those who worked harder, had more talent, and could not afford more alcohol, a trophy of significant majesty and impressive bearing was required.

So someone’s wife donated a chrome punch-bowl that didn’t move at the previous year’s yard-sale. Re-gifting had not been invented yet and the Stanley cup blazed into existence. It was decided that an additional ring be added in the future for every team that Mike Keenan destroyed as a GM and everyone blinded by Don Cherry’s suits.

Since winter in Canada is the finest eight months of the year, it was decided that all the teams should go there, within 12 miles of each other. Husky’s got remarkably poor fuel economy and weren’t very good at hauling equipment, players, wives, coaches, and booze. The dogs also had difficulty going in the right direction as toothless drivers do not exactly have the clearest enunciation.


This lack of geographic precision may have been how hockey started to appear in America, the husky’s got together and decided “screw this, these clowns don’t care where they end up-let’s just head south”.

Sure enough, the dogs were onto something, and hockey’s purity was corrupted by gaining despicable southern “expansion” teams, in the tropical vacation cities of New York, Boston, Chicago and Detroit.

Purists were beside themselves with indignant rage and hockey fans have been complaining about the dilution of talent ever since.

Players liked it though, as it gave them an opportunity to tan and play golf in only one to two feet of snow, as opposed to four to six feet back home.

The League could now travel more efficiently and quickly, as the automobile became more commonplace, introducing Hockey players to the latest popular activity; drunk driving. The wonders of technology never cease.

Like the dinosaurs, some of the original teams vanished leaving players unemployed but as their blood alcohol level was too high for them to become oil, they became journalists, announcers and coaches instead.

Soon, another glory age came for the great game of hockey, as the era of the “original six” was born, but since fans didn’t yet know that they were in the glory age, they just called the six teams “the six teams”. Media people were too busy watching Babe Ruth consume vast amount of hot-dogs, beer, and baseball team owners money to take an interest in hockey.

In only 50 short years, all that was to change.

Fast forward to that inspired and influential time, known as the seventies, and we find that hockey is on a meteoric rise on the professional sports landscape. A new team of geniuses even comes onto the scene to create a whole new league, using the same executive brain-trust that went on to develop other smashing successes like the DeLorean car company, New Coke, and the Chevy Chase show. The WHA is born.

After three weeks, the upstart league folds and creates a whole new glut of players that make too much money to work off-season in factories, but don’t know enough to be of any other use to society.

Since the original league had also gone on a further expansion binge, creating a further rift between the fuddy-duddy traditionalists, there was some place for these players to go, but not enough to support all of the players.

Since many city officials didn’t have the police force to monitor all the unemployed hockey players with drivers’ licenses, the NHL (named after Nedwin Harold League-the inventor of clichés like “take it one game at a time” and “we have to work harder out there”) decided to perform a public service and get these menaces off the public roads. So it created even more teams to keep them busy and keep them from getting behind the wheel of now faster cars.

A few more teams were added to Canada, a lot more teams were added to the United States, and life was made even more miserable for the traditionalists.

Here we are in the present day, as evolution seems to want to skate backwards and recreate the single continent of Pangaea, removing some of the southernmost teams and re-locating them to a place with far fewer golf-communities, hurricanes, Jimmy Buffet fans, and sand, otherwise known as “the North”.

Luckily the latest hockey brain trust has reeled in on its plans to place teams in Guam, Ecuador, Peru, and Brazil as the residents kept throwing the sticks away and tried to kick the puck towards a very sweaty goalie. Their expansion teams are on hold until 2012 or until magnetic north moves and puts them back in a polar region.

So what are the morals we can take away from this comprehensive history of our sport? Glad you asked...there are several:

1) Dogs are smarter than everyone thinks.

2) The cast of Friends should have stuck to TV.

3) Booze and Hockey go together. Hockey and driving doesn’t.

4) Since Hockey players will not turn into petro-chemicals, Don Cherry will never wear them as a day-glow plaid leisure suit.

5) No matter what, where, or how you do something, people will complain.

6) Revo still refuses to do research.

7) Pangaea is not a toasted sandwich (that’s a Panini)

What have you done for me lately?

In the classic comedy movie, Monty Python's Life of Brian there was a terrific scene where the surly members of the 'Judean People's Front' (not to be confused with the utterly useless People's Front of Judea) lament on all the horrors they've had to endure while under Roman rule.

Law and order, medical advancements, clean water, paved roads and several other advantages were all noted before the line was uttered 'but beside's all that what have the Romans really done for us?'

You may ask; before you go off on a tangent, shouldn't you establish a coherent chain of thought to stray from first?

Maybe, but bear with me...I'm setting up a witty metaphor here and I haven't quoted anything from Monty Python in days (to my wife's obvious but short-lived joy)

Like the JPF (again, not that vile group of wankers who populate the PFJ) many a Bruins fan has looked at Tim Thomas like he has pictures of Peter Chiarelli spooning Harry Sinden to have earned the contract he is playing for.

I swear before all that is holy that I will never trouble you with that mental image again...unless of course I do. I just needed the shock value to make a point.

Anyway, 'Roman' Tim Thomas (not to be confused with 'roaming' John Grahame') is now trapped under the dark cloud of 'what have you done for us?'

Apparently many Bruins fans have the memory retention of an Etch-a-sketch in a paint shaker, so let's review:

The year is 2005, the heir apparent behind the pipes is Andrew Raycroft, the previous seasons stats are impressive and things look good for the mighty B's in net. All is right in the world and fans are thrilled to have some stability minding the twine.

Unfortunately Raycroft has one slight issue to contend with; downsized goalie pads. His numbers plummet from a .926 sv% to .879, goals against are down from 2.05 to 3.71 (!!), wins shrink from 29 to 8. All is far from well and the truth comes out; unless his goalie pads are made of Seally posturepedic mattresses Andy is as effective a drain stopper made from a wiffle ball.

Tim Thomas comes in as a guy with more travel mileage than the Voyager probe, playing for peanuts and salvages precious hope for fans, posting a .917 sv%, 2.77 GAA, and 12 wins.

The year is 2006, the new young hope for goal is the slinky-spined Hannu Toivonen. The man appears to be made of silly putty, performing nad-crunching splits at will and having all witnesses experience visions of Dominic Hasek. Things are looking up yet again. Youth, talent and a difficult to spell name will carry the day. It's all good folks, you'll see.

Not. So. Much.

Hannu may have the elasticity of Plastic Man but he an eye for the puck that requires a seeing-eye dog. Acrobatics cannot overcome fear and bad positioning.

Tim Thomas comes in and posts a .905 sv%, 3.13 GAA, and chalks up 30 wins, carrying the load for a second time in as many years.

The year is 2007, a guaranteed number one puck-stopper is recruited in Manny Fernandez. He play an entire four games before (honest) stepping on a puck, sliding his legs out and knocking him out for the year with a groin injury. Fans are justifiably concerned since pucks are a somewhat essential part of hockey and goaltenders have a reputation for knowing what to do with them.

Tim Thomas, .921 sv%, 2.44 GAA, 28 wins.

The year is 2008. After a year of healing and going through intense therapy to overcome his fear of renegade pucks Manny Fernandez returns, prickly personality and brittle spine intact. Manny starts out shaky, plays decently as the season progresses, then stinks up the joint by the end of the season. Still he posts a .910 sv%, 2.59 GAA and 16 wins.

Tim Thomas, .933 sv%, 2.10 GAA, 36 wins.

If one looks close enough, they might notice a pattern here. The Bruins do notice and sign Tim to a $5 mil per year contract. Why? Besides the fact he won the Vezina Trophy?

SEE ABOVE!!

The year is 2009. Two years after fleecing Toronto for Tuukka Rask (in exchange for Andrew Raysoft), a goalie brought along low and slow with the Providence Bruins, Tuukka comes in and shows a ton of promise in his first full NHL season. His skills are impressive, his age is encouraging, his poise is remarkable. He has a tremendous debut season in the NHL, posting .931 sv%, 1.97 GAA and 22 wins. Many Bruins fans froth at the mouth for this 22 year old wunderkind. Tim Thomas is deemed expendable after having a disappointing but hardly disastrous record of .915 sv%, 2.56 GAA and 19 wins. He is ranked 18th out of 47 goalies in the NHL.

Now we head toward the 2010 season, the Bruins armed with a promising young goalie that many feel is ready to shoulder the load as a bona fide number one, after one whole, entire season, making Tim 'Tank' Thomas obsolete.

Good thing history never, ever, in a zillion years repeats itself, right?

Ok, it's not you, but it's time we saw other teams...

Tonight only! Come one, come all! Join in on the longest 100 year anniversary since the Bicentennial of the United States! The Montreal Canadiens are 100 years old! Today! We know we said that all last season but that worked out kinda’ crappy, so this time we mean it!

As my oldest son would say...”meh”

Why do the Bruins have to be included in this self-congratulatory hoopla? As fans we don’t care nearly as much about the vaunted Habitants as the Montreal fans are semi-obsessed with the Bruins. Couldn’t they have pestered the league to face the Leafs on their biggest ‘holy day’?

Geesh, you couldn’t have two teams with a different trajectory. The Bruins are a team still on the rise, the fans spoke up a few years back and stayed away from the New Garden (then named the Fleet Center) in droves, forcing a complete overhaul in the Bruins roster, management and mindset.

The Canadiens, however, are on the downward spiral. Their fans too fanatical to not overpay for a substandard product, they ride their glorious history like a nag that is overdue for a trip to the glue factory. Why improve and adapt to the modern day when fans will still fill the house and pay top dollar for the same-old, same-old?

C’mon Bruins fans, do we really need this crap? We have real teams to deal with.

Now we have to deal with a full hour of lasers shows, overblown and over-amplified bilingual announcers, and special guest from the Jurassic era just so we can witness a damn not-even-mid season hockey game. What a pain in the ass.

Every Bruins fan knows how this will work out at the final buzzer, if the Habs win it will be because they ‘dug deep and soaked in that pride that represented all thing Canadiens, they were the giant-killers, they overcame and conquered, they were the chosen team’

And if the Bruins win it’ll be because ‘the ref’s stink’.

It’s the same as it ever was, just in a shiny commemorative wrapper and just as useful after the final buzzer.

Face it, the only fun over the past few years between these two teams was watching the fascinating new ways that Milan Lucic slapped Mike Komisarek around.

Lucic is injured and Komisarek is taking bad penalties in Toronto, what’s left to get the juices flowing? A George Laraque ‘invitation only’ fight? A couple dozen uncalled Montreal dives? Those goofy Doctor Seuss uniforms? Pretty thin gruel if you ask me.

Tell you what, Montreal. If we bump into each other on the street, maybe we can do something; just don’t get too clingy, Ok? Otherwise, just lose our number. It’s become a bore, now go play with Toronto.

The Next Bruins Captain

Submitted for your approval, a young hockey player, once perilously close to death due to a tragic on-ice accident, continues to re-find and redefine his game, now he plays in...The Twilight Zone.

Patrice Bergeron has so far lived the equivalent of veteran players entire career, the problem is he’s only been in the NHL for about 6 years.

So far he has been through and achieved:

-Signed and playing at the NHL level when he was 18
-Shouldered the burden when the Bruins essentially gave up on franchise forward and epic whiner Joe Thornton
-Played (gladly) in the AHL during the lockout with nary a whimper or night off
-Developed into an NHL top five two-way forward
-Survived a terrifying head shot, culminating in a near-career (and life) ending concussion
-Went from being the offensive leader on a team with no depth to being a second or third line forward without any bitching or moaning
-Five on five, man advantage, penalty kill, shootout, it doesn’t matter; Patrice Bergeron plays in every situation.
-He wears the ‘A’ for Alternate Captain (for two seasons now)
-He is, thus far, the Bruins MVP this season.

He’s 24 years old.

In recent history the Bruins have been led by defensemen, be it Bobby Orr (all bow), Brad Park, Ray Bourque, or the big Z himself, Zdeno Chara, defensemen have been the first over the wall, shouldered the biggest load, and provided that moral anchor so needed by a team.

The history may well find itself changing.

The towering Chara is the present Bruins Captain, and he’s a damn good one. He leads by example, always keeps himself in peak physical form, is one of the most feared fighters and one of the finest defensemen, but he will be 33 years old before the season ends, Bergeron will still be 24.

Can you say ‘Captain in training’?

Personally, I never bought into the Patrice Bergeron as offensive dynamo expectations that many hung on him. It was easy enough to see when watching him play and carry himself that this was the penultimate ‘total package’, not merely a one-dimensional gunslinger, A Steve Yzerman in the making, if you will.

Do the Bruins need to be led by a defenseman to pave to the ultimate glory? Sure, it’s worked before but can’t a lead-by-example do the job too?

For now we can leave Patrice where he is, wearing the ‘A’ and learning all he can from another lead by example Captain.

But one day that ‘C’ may well be his.