January « 2009 « Psycho Lady Hockey

January, 2009

Saturday, January 31st, 2009

Pre-game ceremonies ruin my life.

I was originally going to write about Nationwide Arena tonight, but as I tuned into Hockey Night in Canada, I was chagrined to learn that it was Doug Gilmour night at the ACC. Well, that’s a lie. I didn’t learn that the Killer was being honoured tonight, I had heard about it, but it had slipped my mind. Otherwise, I would have watched the Stars in HD instead. And that has nothing to do with personal reasons either. Quite simply, pre-game ceremonies are the worst thing ever.

There was a time in my life where tickets to the Leafs’ home opener was a coveted thing. I was a stupid child, as so many children are, and thought that those few extra minutes of ceremonial drivel were well worth the struggle of acquiring the tickets. As I grew up so, too, did the ceremonies. They became glitzier, more elaborate, and much, much longer. However, as I matured, I began to notice the negative effects these gimmicks had on the game.

Pre-game ceremonies suck the life right out of the building. A couple specific games stand out in my mind. Five years ago, both Gary Roberts and Tom Fitzgerald celebrated their 1000th NHL game on the SAME night (January 13th, 2004). That was a long night. The Leafs were playing the Flames, and seeing as Roberts is a former Flame, the Calgary organization also felt the need to honour him in their own way, thereby delaying the puck drop even more. The game was slow and the crowd was completely hushed. Not that quietness is an uncommon trait in the Toronto fan caricature, but on this night the Air Canada Centre was unseasonably silent. At one point, I heard a guy ask, “Why is everyone so quiet?” The strange thing about this was that he was sitting on the other side of the ice. It was THAT quiet! My date that night was completely ruined!

It’s not just the fans that are emotionally drained by this sentimental, Precious Moments-esque vomit, the energy and competitive edge seems to be lacking from team play as well. I suppose it’s hard to feel animosity toward your opponents after having your heart strings pulled by the crafty Game Ops department. Plus, chances are there are some childhood fans on the opposing squad that are buying right into the special presentation video synchronized to the likes of Barbera Streisand.

Another notable is Tie Domi’s 1000th pre-game spectacular on March 3rd, 2006. The Leafs organization is now a couple years older, plus they had that entire Lock Out season to do nothing BUT brainstorm new ways to put on a show. This was the LONGEST pre-game ceremony I have EVER seen. It began like any other milestone presentation: a couple announcements, a video montage, and the presentation of a keepsake commemorating Domi’s 1000th game. But there was one horrific difference – they gave him a mic! And he talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, and talked some more. He said things like, “I consider you all my friends,” which sparked much sarcasm around the rink that night. Apparently, Domi is a bit of an a-hole and won’t sign anything that isn’t NHLPA approved. Anyway, I don’t know how long his “speech” went on for exactly, but it felt like years.

Of course, in the cases of these 1000th game milestone nights, I was lucky to be at the rink instead of watching from home. Had I been home I would have had to endure both the ceremony AND sappy TV spots like only CBC knows how to do. I was not so lucky tonight. I sat through a lot of painful crud like tours of Dougie’s house in Kingston, and his cottage, and his new office as Head Coach of the Kingston Frontenacs – fuuuun. However, I couldn’t flip the channel. I was glued to the screen by some strange sensation that can only be described as a giddy dry heave.

MLSE proved once again to be on a never-ending quest to improve their ceremonies, as tonight there was another first. Not only did they give Gilmour a mic, they also dressed up every single one of the players in his #93 captain’s jersey. I’m not sure what effect this ceremony had on the quality of the game (I was too busy putting my aunt’s kids to bed), but I saw many a starry-eyed Maple Leafs staring up at the jumbotron reminiscing on their pee wee happy days where they considered Dougie their hero – awwww. Last I saw, it was 3-1 Leafs over Pens going into the third. Unfortunately, then the St. Louis/Philly game came on…and it was in HD…so you know…priorities.

In other news, Curtis Joseph is still a DILF! That is all.

Posted in Doug Gilmour, Pre-game ceremonies, Toronto Maple Leafs | No Comments »

Friday, January 30th, 2009

Angry hockey wives and my aversion to Louis Vuitton.

As long as there have been hockey players, there have been hockey wives and the entire female population to make them feel threatened. Female hockey fans and puck bunnies alike have been continuously accosted by these murderous hounds for no apparent reason other than the fact that they possess the same anatomy.

Hockey wives and girlfriends (WAGs) are at the root of the negative publicity surrounding hockey players. We all know that the players never have the chance to see the ugly/real side of their WAG’s personality, or at least we hope they don’t, because if they do, well, what does that say about them!? For some reason these women feel the need to spend their time wandering around the arena harassing paying customers that are there to support their pay cheques…I mean husbands. I wonder what the head honchos of the National league clubs would have to say to that bit of truth. Perhaps, in the interest of customer service, they’d lock the doors to the wives lounge and keep the beasts in their cage until the games are over.

I have dealt with WAG conflicts since my high school days in the OHL. Back then the girlfriends were no different than the puck bunnies that would follow you around and try to figure out if you had a better chance with such and such player than they did. But let’s not dwell too much on these girls. They were, after all, still children, and deserve a second chance. Besides, about 90% of their prized possessions didn’t make it anywhere worth mentioning, which in retrospect makes their anger all the more humorous.

It is at the NHL level that this behaviour becomes both shocking and pathetic. A couple seasons ago, we were sitting in the players’ seats, and the wives were a stones throw away from us and about a row or two in front of us. For some reason, these “women” felt that it was their duty to stare threateningly back at us (constantly) and whisper in panic amongst themselves. At dinner, later that night, the show continued. The WAGs decided to put on a slut parade. They were grinding up against each other (right in front of the table) while staring at us (the girls, not the men) in the same menacing way as they did at the rink. Were they challenging us to a dance off?! One of the crazier WAGs actually made a big scene and forced her man to leave because he was sitting next to me. What is it that these guys see in these girls? Is it their fake boobs, fake tans, fake personalities or is it the culminating trifecta resulting in full blown stupid blonde syndrome that gets them hot and bothered? I’ll never know.

Another memorable incident occurred in Detroit at a Red Wings/Predators match up. I was confronted by a group of five or six WAGs as I went up to the main concourse during one of the intermissions. This special group of prized pigs felt it was in their best interest to stalk me while “criticizing” everything about my appearance. The interesting thing about their criticism was that it wasn’t actually negative – it was only intended in that way. They said things about my hair and clothes being too nice. The players will see me and make fun of me for that, apparently. So, I’m not allowed to go to a hockey game unless I spill mustard all over myself and put a bag over my head? That’s nice. This was the night of the infamous, “She looks like a GIRLFRIEND!” remark. According to them, I was trying to look like I “knew someone” but I didn’t actually know anyone…whatever that is supposed to mean. Here I am directly contributing to their husbands’ careers, WITHOUT the luxury of having my millionaire husband’s disposable income, and I can’t buy my Dippin’ Dots in peace?! This is outrageous. In fact, now I’m starting to question why I go to hockey games at all. I don’t want to contribute to the advancement of these heinous bimbos reign of terror.

And it’s not JUST at the arena that the WAGs feel threatened – it’s EVERYWHERE! During one of my trips to Philadelphia last season, I crossed paths with a WAG while I was walking around downtown. This time the players are not around or within viewing distance of me, and she was still set off. Every woman is a potential threat – even when the men-folk aren’t around? That’s healthy.

Maybe we are too harsh in looking down upon the hockey WAGs. Perhaps, there is a reason for their constant anger and aggressiveness. Perhaps their relationships are somewhat abusive and they make themselves crazy wondering what their men are doing behind their backs. Even so, I personally find it difficult to respect the men in this league that are happy to go home to Mrs. Hyde every night. But that’s just me. Of course, not all WAGs are like this, but most seem to be.

After being continuously stalked, harassed, and abused by the Louis Vuitton toting hockey WAGs of leagues across the continent, the label has been completely cheapened in my eyes – it costs a lot of money to look that trashy! Now I automatically associate Louis V. with alcoholism, peroxide, sunless tanning, moron mouth, and implants. Not that it really matters – I’m of the Burberry persuasion. Louis Vuitton is for pitbulls. Burberry is for ladies.

Posted in Louis Vuitton, hockey, hockey wives | 4 Comments »

Thursday, January 29th, 2009

Send some of that recession my way!

Commissioner Bettman and the powers that be may be trying to paint a la-dee-dah picture of the league’s financial situation, but evidence of the effects of the current worldwide recession around the NHL is veering its ugly head.

The Panthers vs. Flyers broadcast was interrupted several times Tuesday night with advertisements for a new “Total Ticket Pack.” For $17 the club pays for your dinner, parking, and even your gas to get to the game. If that doesn’t scream desperation, I don’t know what does. Even before economic times became tight, the whispers of financial difficulties amongst the southern teams were already part of breakfast conversations at kitchen tables across, well, Canada at least…and parts of Minnesota!

I knew something was amiss with Florida in the off season when the club phoned me – repeatedly – to get me to invest in season tickets. I had been to a Bruins game in Sunrise, Fl last February – a game that I spent the entirety of passed out on the floor of the BankAtlantic platinum lounge longing for death. A game…as in ONE. You’d think they’d have better sense than to call a 416 area code, one-time buyer, but I guess they must have had a new wave of young, naïve, go-getter account executives with aspirations to turn the team around *sigh* – memories! Given their financial situation, you’d think they’d ease up on the international calls. In fact, I’m surprised they didn’t call me 1-800-COLLECT.

While predicting financial skids is easy in the Florida market, I was thrown off when the Detroit Red Wings also began contacting me in the off season for the same reason. Last time I was in Detroit for a game was in November 2006. At that time, Detroit was in the same predicament as many of the league’s other overly successful, overly popular clubs with overly lengthy season ticket waiting lists. The fans couldn’t get tickets – the only reason I managed to was because I only needed one. Somehow in the course of two years, not only did the defending Stanley Cup Champions lose their season ticket holders, but they also managed to blow through their entire waiting list to the point of begging for new investors. Of course, Motor City would be deeply affected by the recent pitfalls in the automotive industry, but who knew it was this bad. The Red Wings are now offering a $9 ticket price point, which is a few dollars cheaper than your average student admission to an Ontario Hockey League game.

Unfortunately for the live action starved Canadian hockey fans, the recession hasn’t made an impact north of the border on NHL heavy weights like Montreal, Calgary, and Toronto. The Maple Leafs still boast a fat waiting list which can only be measured in units of years, and one of the highest, if not the highest, price points in the league. Even in Detroit’s prosperous period, their tickets were still hundreds of dollars cheaper than the Leafs. The Platinum seats at the Air Canada Centre are $211. In Ottawa: $186, Buffalo: $153 (on gold nights), Boston: $121, Detroit (was): $95, Columbus: $75, Nashville: $71.

Of course, you can’t actually get tickets directly from the rink in T.O. My ticket to the Flyers game in Toronto in November put me out of pocket $650! Six HUNDRED and FIFTY dollars!!! For that money I could have paid for tuition plus books for a half course at U of T, a designer purse, or an all inclusive trip to the Caribbean – I could use that vacation right about now too.

Perhaps, it is now becoming clear as to why I have referred to myself as Psycho Lady. I must be out of my mind to do what I do without funding. Maybe along the way a billionaire business tycoon will make me an indecent proposal, like in that movie, Indecent Proposal. If some chump in Nashville will (which by the way was not the last time – I must give off that hooker, Jerry Springer “That’s right I’ll have sex for muuuh-nee! Bitch, you don’t know me!” *snap* vibe) then a girl has a reason to hope.

Posted in Detroit Red Wings, Florida Panthers, National Hockey League, Recession, Toronto Maple Leafs, hockey, hockey tickets | No Comments »

Wednesday, January 28th, 2009

Will NOT have sex for carbs or money!

Warning: Long entry ahead!

Nashville is…not my friend. My first ever road trip was a Cleveland-Nashville double shot at the end of the summer before the 04-05 lock out was announced. I think I was actually in Nashville when they made that awful announcement – strike one for Music City.

That trip started off badly too. I had never crossed the border by car on my own before. I was with my friend, Agata, but I mean I had never crossed without my parents. In fact, I had only ever crossed by car once, and that was a very long and awful trip to Florida (a regular flying location for us) when I was much younger.

We were both extremely nervous waiting in line at the Queenston-Lewiston Bridge. It was four in the morning, and neither of us were actually born in Canada – that’s sometimes a red flag to the Yanks. We had the worst possible border guard we could have had. He was very creepy and spoke in what can only be described as a pedophilic hush.
“Does your Daaaaadddddy know you’re here?”
“Yeah” *nervous smile*
“So if I called your Daaaaadddddy right now, he’d know you’re here?”
Creepy, I know. Of course, this could have been averted if we just went straight to Nashville. If that were the case, I would have gone over the Ambassador Bridge at Windsor/Detroit. But, noooooooo, I had to see a baseball game, and the Indians were the only team remotely en route that had a home game.

That was really the end of my trouble as far as Nashville was concerned for this trip. Cleveland was actually the bigger problem this time. My friend’s mom worked for Days Inn, so she insisted we stay there. This was before I learned not to cut costs in hotels. The room was AWFUL! Apparently, a non-smoking room meant that the staff took away the ash tray when you checked in. It reeked! We had to buy room spray! The room itself was hardly cleaned. The bathtub was full of water, which I found very disturbing. How do I know the room’s previous occupants weren’t chilling a dead body in there?

We called for house keeping before we left for downtown, and by the time we returned from the game nothing had changed. We called again. They sent a woman up that looked at me like I was some kind of Prime Madonna and simply pulled the plug in the tub. I looked at her and said, “Umm, I’m not the one who filled the bathtub.” She actually thought I was a princess that needed someone to drain my baths! Suddenly she seemed very alarmed, and she should have been. I don’t know what kind of crazy serial killer substance was in that water.

Anyway, we were all too happy to check out of there. Little did I know, I’d be back in Cleveland four times in the following year for Barons vs. Admirals games. Of course, I don’t need to tell you that I never stayed there again!

Nashville was a blast, despite the fact that the A/C decided to conk out in my ride (Boysie –RIP), and that I had developed a seatbelt tan line. Looking back I wonder what I really saw in that place, and how I managed to enjoy it at the tender age of nineteen. I had a habit of smelling the ice at the Sommet (then Gaylord) Center everyday. I also remember going around lecturing people on the privileges of having an NHL franchise in their city. This was long before the talks of the team folding or moving – or at least long before I had caught wind of it. The bartender at the Wildhorse Saloon took pity on me and gave me one of the Nashville Predators beer glasses they used in the bar. I still have it to this day! Getting that glass was the highlight of my trip…seriously. How sad is that?

I’m sure by now you’re wondering where all the sex (or lack of sex) is in my story that I promised you in the title. We fast track now to the start of the 2006-07 season. After establishing an affinity with the Milwaukee Admirals during the lock out, I looked to the Predators to reward myself for a job well done dieting in the off season. I had lost twenty-five pounds, which was surprising because I didn’t know that I had that much weight on me – I was never overweight or anything like that.

My conditions were that if I lost twenty pounds I would go to Nashville. But twenty pounds wasn’t enough. I learned the meaning of eating disorder that summer. Not that I had one per se, but more like I developed a minor obsession/addiction to the dieting process. I was actually eating a lot. I made sure to eat anything and everything that was coming to me within the confines of the diet. The main thing was not to eat major carbs – avoiding the starches and that.

Worst of all, I was being “rewarded” for being this way. I had a total of three modeling contracts thrown at me by various agencies. I didn’t sign any of them – I don’t take myself THAT seriously. No offence to any models out there, but I would never be able to look at a camera with that thoughtless slut mouth expression on my face and not die of laughter. Plus, I was trying to keep myself at a healthy weight. I was one pound below the healthy lowest ideal weight for my height (as explained to me by my doctor), which is still about fifteen pounds too heavy to be a model. That should put things in perspective for all you assholes out there that want to nail models, but still want a girl that eats.

Trust me this dieting information is part of the story. Anyway, I was counting down the pounds and the days until Nashville. I couldn’t get two Preds home games together before the American Thanksgiving (and I didn’t want to be anywhere near the States at that time) so I did a Detroit-Nashville combo around Remembrance Day because the Preds were playing in Detroit on the 10th and at home on the 11th. This was my first ever NHL road trip – the beginning of the Golden Era, if you will. I was traveling alone this time, and I’m not going to lie, part of me was concerned for my safety being on my own in Detroit. But much like how Toronto does not harm its fearful small town visitors, Detroit did not harm me. Nashville was another story.

I was staying at a much nicer hotel in Nashville this time – $400 a night. The nicer the hotel, the more you are led to believe that you are safe. “Can’t put a price tag on your safety!” Both the Colorado Avalanche and the Baltimore Ravens were guests while I was there. I remember hearing little children complaining because the Ravens decided to go swimming and had the pool closed to the rest of the hotel. Nasty brutes. The highlight for me was an elevator ride with a very handsome Avs player – he wanted me! Oh my.

The game was pretty boring to tell you the truth. The final score was 1-0 Preds, which means I only got to hear that Tim McGraw song once after Scottie Upshall scored the lone goal of the game. Afterwards I went back to my hotel. My room was on the nineteenth floor. Nineteen is my crazy conspiracy number, like in that movie, The Number 23. Although, I’m not so OCD about it like Jim Carrey is.

Anyway, I get off at my floor and there is a guy lurking around the elevators. He said something to me, so I said, “Hi” and kept walking. He followed me.
“I was looking for beautiful girl to take to dinner.” It’s eleven o’clock at night.
“I already ate, sorry.”
“You already ate?”
“Yeah, sorry.”
I open the door to my room. Where I come from, Canada, this would be a big clue to get lost. Not so much in Tennessee. He grabs the door and suddenly he’s in my room.

Oh, fuck.

So, now I’m thinking I have this huge guy in my room that could snap me in two if he wanted. No way for anyone else to get in the room, and even if I managed to call the front desk the elevators take eleven years to get where they are going. The last thing I need to do is make him upset or else he might steal my “greatest gift.” He says,
“Maybe I should order up some drinks.” My mission is to get him out of my room without him thinking that the pussy probability is any lower than it is in the room with the king sized bed.
“Actually,” *batts eyelashes* “I saw this really cute bar downstairs. I would love to check it out.” *tee hee!* It worked.

We get to the bar and he starts double fisting screw drivers. After taking about one sip he starts slurring and acting completely drunk. Like how someone might act if, say, they were trying to not seem responsible for their actions. I guess he wasn’t impressed that I ordered water. Now he starts talking to me in a slightly angrier tone. He must have determined the ass wouldn’t be free that night
“So do you like bread?” What he meant was money. But like I told you before I was a dieting psycho case and I thought he meant REAL bread. This is honest to God, 100%, my actual Shaggy from Scooby Doo reaction to his question:
“Buh-buh-buh-breaaaaad?!?!?!?” This was scarier than that time some asshole got into my hotel room.
“Yeah, you know, MONEY!”
“Oh.” Relief. (Pause: 1…2…3). “OH! No! No, I don’t like anything like that!” It was shocking to him that someone would say that they didn’t like money.

I tried several times to excuse myself, but he was adamant about following me. Finally, I resorted to meanness. I can’t remember what I said, but he got the hint. Two older women in their thirties came up behind us. Now that I had broken his little john heart, he turns to them and says,
“Can I come home with you she’s being mean to me.” Fine by me!
“Yeah, in fact, you can even have my seat!” The perfect getaway. I wasn’t worried about their safety. They’d use the buddy system. I was able to get away without him following me.

I spent the rest of my stay in Nashville locked away in my hotel room. I was actually terrified to leave the room even for check out. As I drove away from Nashville, not even the playing of SexyBack on repeat could make me feel better. I knew then that I’d never go back there – and I still haven’t. Just like that, my affection for the Nashville Predators and the Milwaukee Admirals was a thing of the past.

Posted in Nashville, Nashville Predators, hockey, prostitution | 2 Comments »

Tuesday, January 27th, 2009

All Star games are the anti-Viagra.

I watched maybe ten minutes total coverage of the NHL All Star festivities last weekend. My feeling is, if you’ve seen one All Star game, you’ve seen them all. Don’t get me wrong, all the 2009 NHL All Stars deserve “mad props” for their wicked hot skills, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch them float around on the ice for two and a half hours.

All Star games offer three things: high scoring, low to no penalties (Komisarek’s hooking penalty was the first penalty called in an ASG in nine years!), and massive egos. Maybe I’m just an all around horrible person and detest seeing other people happy, but there is something deeply unattractive about grown men skating around with their noses turned up and pompous ha-ha-ha, country club smiles on their faces. Where’s the passion?! Where’s the intensity?! I want more Testosterone – am I right, ladies?

It’s not JUST All Star players that turn me off, it’s pretty much any type of special event teams that make me wish that I was cleaning gutters, doing calculus, or having unnecessary surgery instead of sitting in my seat. This past summer, the Kitchener Rangers were hosting the 2008 Memorial Cup. Part of the celebrations included a Mem Cup Alumni Game (all the alumni from Rangers squads that have made it to the Cup were invited). My friend and I thought it would be fun to check out this game for nostalgic reasons, and relive our days of hanging out at Tim’s and cruising up and down King street to the likes of Nelly, 50, and even a few NSYNC slow jams. After all, we were there front row centre when Kitch made it to the Mem Cup in 2003.

The novelty of the Rangers Alumni game wore off about five minutes into the warm up. After that it was a lot of country club “ha,ha,has,” “My name is David Clarkson and I just missed that shot …silly me!,” “Mike Richards, you turkey, you poked me with your stick,” “Oh, pardon me, Derek Roy, ha, ha, ha!,” and the nauseating like. Thank God, they never stopped the clock at any point in the game. I couldn’t have taken much more of that. Plus, the Aud smells like threatened virginity, and I was finding it unsettling to be in there *shudders.* However, the major highlight of the afternoon was the group of forty-something cougs sitting in the same row as us. They were clearly the product of the Rangers’ 1982 Mem Cup wave. As I watched them hoot and holler like a bunch of horny fifteen year olds on birth control pills, I wondered if I was seeing my future twenty years down the road. Let’s hope not, I’m not such a fan of the Croc Rock scene!

Maybe for some, attending the ASG festivities is exciting, but I have attended one All Star weekend and I didn’t find it anymore thrilling. Once was enough. It almost seems unfair that the league’s crème de la crème are forced to spend their break at the ASG. If you ask me, the real reason for the All Star Break is to give the players a chance to warm up and take the sluttiest, fake tittiest “girlfriend” they can find to some tropical island for a little “R and R.” Seems to me like the All Stars are being punished while the mediocrity are basking in the glow of fake boobs and fake tans. That’s justice for you.

Posted in Kitchener Rangers, Memorial Cup, NHL All Star Game, hockey, puck bunny | 3 Comments »

Tuesday, January 27th, 2009

Fuzzy dice: a speed demon’s best friend.

I live to make good time. If I haven’t shaved at least an hour off of the MapQuest projected drive time, I am shamed until my next adventure. On my most recent trip to Philadelphia earlier this month, I was trying to make up for time that I lost in the blizzard that had hit Toronto on my way out. I almost died several times that morning. I’ve been in some bad storms before, but I’ve never experienced having my windshield encased in slush from the opposing lanes on the highway. At least you can see through snow! You can’t see through thick grey slush. I’m surprised I didn’t end up taking my car (Lupie) into the cement barriers.

I was somewhere around Rochester, NY speeding down the I-90. The snow had let up around Niagara Falls, but there was a constant rain the remainder of the way. I noticed the police car alright, and I thought I had slowed down in time, but I guess not. He played that awful pretend-you’re-not-following game with me. I hate that game. I was getting my groove on to Erasure (that’s right and shut up, I’ve heard them being played at HSBC Arena!) hoping that he’d leave me alone, but then those damn lights came on – mother fuck! (By the way, for any Americans that may be offended by my gratuitous use of the f-bomb, I’m Canadian, it’s a natural habit).

Then he played that I’m-going-to-take-my-time-getting-out-of –the-car-so-you’ll-be-even-later game. I hate that game too. This one was actually worth the wait, though – he was CUTE! How often does that happen in Toronto – uh, never, it’s Toronto woof woof. Apparently, I was doing 85 in a 65 (oopsies). People keep asking me if I was flirting with him, and I swear that I wasn’t. I’m pretty hopeless with that mating game stuff. I think because he was so cute, I didn’t instinctively turn into a snarling bitch. That tends to help in these situations so I’ve heard.

Anyway, he went back to his cruiser to make sure I checked out and whatever else it is they do. I started to beat myself up over the destiny of the trip. I had discovered an unpleasant truth a couple days before I was set to leave and I didn’t want to go anymore. Then there was the blizzard, and now I was getting pulled over, and quite possibly a HUGE fine. It was all too familiar.

Exactly three years before, I was dealing with what would be forever known as the Curse of Grand Rapids. Essentially, every time I went to a game in GR something bad would happen automotive wise. Once, we were involved in a collision – some asshole not paying attention to where he was going. Another time, we hit black ice and were thrown from the road at two o’clock in the morning. We’ve had TWO accounts of flat tires, and I was pulled over a grand total of THREE times! Needless to say, I stopped going to Grand Rapids.

Now I was upset that my Philadelphia days were coming to an end, but the hot cop returned with a present. Instead of giving me a massive speeding ticket, he gave me what he described as a “parking ticket” for having Philadelphia Flyers fuzzy dice hanging from my rear view mirror. Apparently those are illegal. I often refer to them as “devil dice.” Sometimes, in my travels, I find myself in places I’m not supposed to be, and the dice “give the car away” so to speak. I have tried several times to take them down, but they’re stuck on my mirror. This time, the dice proved to be valuable. If I didn’t have them, Officer Hotterson would have probably given me a real ticket. Who knew? Anyway, he then told me not to bother taking them down – and I didn’t. True story.

My trip to Philly wasn’t cursed, it was actually my favourite trip to date. However, I do still question my future with Philly, but I’ll take that one game at a time. A suspicious thing happened to me while I was there. On my fourth night in town, the Leafs were playing the Flyers, and something deep down inside me wanted to cheer them on. Yikes. I managed to shake the feeling…for now.

On my way home, I am proud to say that I made the trip in seven hours, MapQuest time: eight and a half. Regardless of the win, I’m taking a plane to my next destination, Boston, in ten days. That way, if there is a new curse, at least this time it will be news worthy!

Posted in Philadelphia Flyers, fuzzy dice, hockey, road trips, speeding tickets | No Comments »

Tuesday, January 27th, 2009

Avery Suspended: Bettman proves hockey players are not the only celebrity whores in the NHL.

Originally posted on Myspace/Facebook Decemeber 5th, 2008

OK! Sean Avery is the most *publically* hated guy in probably the entire sport of hockey. He is always saying and doing outrageous things both on and off the ice. Even I recall wagging my finger at him in a “game’s over there” kind of manner due to the freshness of the Jason Blake incident in Toronto last November. And for those of you that know me and my career past with Maple Leaf Sports and Entertainment Ltd, you’ll know that defending anything in the blue and white is not a common or an easy practice for me. So that’s saying a hell of a lot.

Avery has repeatedly made racist comments and comments that are *actually* detrimental to the league and other players, yet he has never received harsh punishment for his shocking actions. However, on Tuesday morning, Avery finally opened his mouth and said something that made me stand up and applaud! He referred to his former girlfriend, talentless actress and puck pig extraordinaire, Elisha Cuthbert, as his sloppy seconds making reference to the string of NHL (celebrity whores) players, that she has (screwed) dated since the two broke up. The league decided to respond claiming that these comments are detrimental to the league and game of hockey. YEAH, OK! Sure they were, Betsy. Avery was suspended for six games and must undergo an anger management evaluation, seems a bit steep considering he got nothing for his more off-colour commentary in the past.

At the heart of this sentence is proof that the players are not the only celebrity bunnies in the National Hockey League. Bettman seems very concerned with how Miss (i-have-an-ass-on-my-face) (i-can’t-act-i-was-playing-myself-in-The Girl-Next-Door) Cuthbert will retaliate to these comments. Do you think if Avery had made these comments about a non-shiny ex-girlfriend that he’d receive any kind of slap on the wrist? Not likely. He’d receive kudos from his teammates for calling that girl the puck bunny-pig that she is and that would be that.

TSN sports analysts, former hockey players with apparent newfound degrees in Women’s Studies, attempted to defend the Commissioner’s decision to suspended Avery by calling his comment “misogynistic” and abusive to women. As a woman, and as many women I have spoken to about this issue have agreed, this is not an offensive statement. AT ALL. Quite simply, this is not a term used exclusively for women, and, thus, not sexist. What I find offensive is that the league feels it is their duty to protect the interest of this hockey whore swine (for God’s sake the beast dates anyone: Avery [the reptile], Komisarek [the day walker], and Phaneuf [the lame special ed. mule]) over its own players. So Mr. Bettman has once again made a fool of himself by not acting on things that deserved to be punished, and being too severe with poor Avery in defense of she-man Cuthbert. Bravo! I’m sure Georges Laraque, Jason Blake, Jarome Iginla, and the many French-Canadian players in the league feel that justice has been served.

Posted in Sean Avery, hockey, puck bunny | No Comments »

Tuesday, January 27th, 2009

My life before I met you.

Opening scene. Maple Leaf Gardens. The year is 1994ish. This is the setting of my first ever NHL game. That night the Toronto Maple Leafs were taking on the Hartford Whalers. The funny thing about the Hartford Whalers is that EVERY twenty-something Toronto fan will tell you their first NHL game was a Leafs/Whalers match up. Not sure if there was a blue moon that night or if Leafs fans just like to name drop with folded hockey clubs (Yes, I’m aware they are the Hurricanes now – Jesus, give a girl some credit) for nostalgic purposes, but whatever the case may be, my first ever NHL game really WAS the Leafs vs. Whalers!

And I remember that night, boy. My uncle and I were sitting in the greys. I had just scored big time. I cleaned out HMV, Sam’s, and Tower Records all on my uncle’s dime. I USED *ahem* to be quite spoiled, but these were the glory days before my aunt had children and my sister was only 2 years old. It was all me all the time. Felix Potvin was the first star of the game that night. So naturally I needed to hit up my uncle for a #29 jersey. I was a major p-i-m-p with all the boys back at school on Monday morning wearing that thing. Jealousy. It was always a huge deal if you were going to Toronto, but it was an even bigger deal if you were there to see the Leafs or the Jays.

Even though it would prove to be the ONLY game I would ever see at the storied arena turned potential grocery store, I remembered, as I walked the dingy halls of the Gardens, feeling this overwhelming sense that I had just tapped into something greater than myself. Little did I know that in a few short years this “hockey thing” would take over my life – for better or for worse.

Fast track to the new millennium. I had become one of those irritating, never-miss-a-game, game-day-jersey-wearing, Labatt-Blue-drinking (I was fifteen, but whatever), Leafs fans that piss the FFFF out of me now! Die Hard. But it was easy to love the Leafs then. Under the leadership of Emperor Quinn, the Leafs were playoff contenders. I have never felt such pride as a fan like I did when the Leafs made it to the Eastern finals in 2001-02. I was the physical embodiment of “Cup Crazy.” This would also be right around the time my post season anxiety started, but like any red blooded hockey fan, I busied my idle hands with a set a golf clubs. True story.

Under my uncle’s influence, I was formally introduced to junior hockey that year as well. I learned to love this just as much, but we had our very own team in Kitchener and this fact eventually proved to be a big problem. It was easy to convince my fellow sixteen year old Catholic school girl friends to embark upon a new hobby that involved admiring sweaty teenaged boys. However, after diving head first into this new region of the hockey world with the wrong company, within two seasons I had fallen completely out of love with the game.

In 2004, I wrote my first book on hockey sub-culture as a way to try and wrap my eighteen year old head around the magnitude of hockey in the public sphere and its effect on, well, everyone. I landed a book deal with a publishing house in New York, and miraculously I was in love with the game again. Funny how that happens.

Now I was facing the biggest crisis of my life – the NHL Lock Out of 2004-05. It seemed like the natural thing to do was to find out what this American Hockey League business was all about. I went to a couple Hamilton Bulldogs games, but being a Leafs fan I had that natural instinct to automatically resent anything related to the Habs or the Sens. It just seemed wrong!

One frosty night in November, I was sitting on the front porch of my sorority house with my closest friend and sorority sister. I remember the conversation was very serious and lasted long into the night. We were in the Sophomore habit of going to the dirty Brunswick House nightly, and staying up all night complaining about a-hole professors and stupid men. Somehow, that night, the discussion turned to getting away and road tripping to the States. Her one stipulation was that we go somewhere with frat boys, and my sole condition was that there had to be a hockey team. I nominated Milwaukee. The Admirals were the Calder Cup champions, so that seemed like a good place to start.

Our first trip to Milwaukee began at midnight on a Thursday in January. Naturally, we departed from the Brunswick House because we were a couple of class acts and had to make our fratland appearance for the week. We were in Milwaukee for four days and were greeted with a two foot snowfall on the second night! We went to two games at the Bradley Center to see the Admirals take on the Rampage and the Bulldogs. Everyone was really great to us there despite the fact that I was going around saying, “It’s pronounced millie-wah-kay” (you know like Alice Cooper says in Wayne’s World).

On our way back to Toronto, fate intervened. Traveling down the I-94, it was perhaps the stimulating conversation or the belting out of Gretchen Wilson lyrics that distracted me from the road, but suddenly we found ourselves on the I-96 headed towards Grand Rapids,MI. I live my life in the fast lane, baby, and hadn’t noticed that the I-96 had a left lane exit ramp. Well, the Admirals were playing in Grand Rapids the following weekend, and now we knew that Grand Rapids was a manageable distance from home. With this discovery, my traveling road show began.

I started to frequent AHL cities: Hamilton, Grand Rapids, Chicago, Milwaukee,Rochester, Cleveland, and Cincinnati. Eventually, this travel experience landed me a “dream job” working for Maple Leaf Sports and Entertainment Ltd in the spring of 2006. But my dream job quickly turned into a nightmare and by January 2007 I had fallen out of love for a second time, but this time it was with the AHL and all things MLSE related.

I had no choice but to divorce myself from the Blue and White. For a little over a month, I was without a hockey team to call my own. I anxiously picked through the games on Center Ice looking for my knight in shining underarmour. Eventually, I was rescued by the Philadelphia Flyers, and for the past two years they have been my main squeeze.

Sadly, along the way, tragedy struck. My publisher became ill with cancer and shut down his business. My book never saw the light of day. I haven’t tried to find a new home for it mainly because my twenty-three year old self doesn’t approve of the quality of my eighteen year old self’s work. Perhaps, I will post some of it here.

Published or unpublished the book has given me great opportunities. I have written several university papers on hockey culture. You’d be surprised how easy it is to write a twenty-five page paper when you are sourcing yourself! I was also invited to give a talk to the writers and producers of a hockey related TV series last winter. I sat in a room full of showbiz bigwigs while they eagerly wrote down everything I said. It was an amazing experience, specifically because within the first minute of my discussion I had already used the phrase, “thorough cock-sucking.” What can I say, I’m a classy lady!

Unfortunately, that show did not survive. (That had nothing to do with me or thorough cock-suckings!). This summer, I met a new TV industry hot shot that read my book and decided it was worth pursuing. Right now, we are attempting to build “something” off the concepts laid out in my work – whether it be a TV show or a movie. The process is long and very slow, and for someone with no patience it’s becoming irritating. Of course with the recession (times are tough, etc), this is not the ideal time to be pitching ideas, but regardless of the economic influence, APPARENTLY, the standard wait time for a show to premier is FIVE years – ahhh!

So, this season I have set out to do some research. My road trips have increased – I’ve even started flying! This time I carry around a little black book with me wherein I jot down the interesting things that happen along the way. I love meeting new fans. If you ever see me at your local rink, don’t hesitate to come over and say, “hi!”

Anyway, I decided to make a blog to share some of my zany adventures with the public. I will eventually make my own website, but I’m too lazy to figure that out right now. This first entry was very long and boring, but I thought I’d include it to give you a better sense as to who I am, where I’ve been, and why I’m here. This blog is not your typical hockey blog. There are a lot of long-winded hockey bloggers out there that want to argue every call and every game – I mean look at the popularity of those radio call in shows! My blog deals more with hockey culture and my crazy experiences. As a single female, I have a greatly different experience with the game than your typical man-fan – but this shall be revealed to you in due time.

Sorry again for this wordy first entry. Thanks for reading and I’ll see you again soon!

Posted in hockey, hockey fans | No Comments »

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