Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods?
Ignorance is a hockey fan’s best friend. Not ignorance when it comes to what’s happening on the ice, although maybe it is for those of us in Toronto, but rather ignorance about what is happening in the personal lives of our favourite hometown heroes. We’ve all heard the stories, and if you haven’t, you’re lucky. You know, gang bangs, over doses mysteriously veiled as injuries, and despicable offseason recreation. As a coping mechanism, we’ve tried to put it out of our minds. Instead we let the stats do the talking, and take the players at their word (or tweet) when they claim that they are all “good guys.” We focus on the community service or the pucks they toss to the kiddies in the stands, and try not to notice every time they validate the rumours by posting douched-out photos of themselves with identical hoards of the kind of girls that don’t seem to amount to much more than 3 holes on 2 legs. No, hockey players definitely don’t need any help looking bad, but you may be surprised to learn that the people who make the players look the worst are the people who are the closest to them. I refer to these collective individuals as the Douche Crew or D-Crew for short.
When you meet a D-Crew member chances are all he can talk about are his buddies in the show or his close personal girl friends who have successfully fucked entire NHL teams. Cocaine, prostitution, and asshollery towards women are among the D-Crew’s favourite topics of conversation. I’ve often wondered why the players’ friends are the people who seem to care the least about their reputations. At first I theorized that the D-Crew attempts to tarnish their images as a form of cock-blocking. So, in the off chance that at some point you are in the same room with him and his NHL friends (and the right combination of music and alcohol had put you in the mood for some lovin’), then there would be no chance in hell that you would ever take one of them home with you over him. I thought this because, according to the D-Crew, hockey players treat women like this in bed:
1. The only time they dive is when they are trying to draw a penalty.
2. They are unwilling to last longer than 5 minutes because they only care about getting theirs.
3. They will pay you off to keep quiet and go away.
Sounds like a great time, huh ladies?
Anyway, the sad thing is that this particular theory seems a bit farfetched, and the reality makes me depressed about the state of our world. The truth of the matter seems to be that the D-Crew is actually living vicariously through the players, and the sleazier the players are the better life is for them. In the words of Sean Avery, they want their sloppy seconds, or I suppose, the girls that the players didn’t want at all. And we can’t forget that standing in close proximity to the spotlight is pretty damn flattering. They believe real living is getting as fucked up as possible, and that all women are the aforementioned tri-holes with a price tag. I wonder if they also view their mothers, sisters, daughters, and nieces in this light.
Here’s a recent argument to support this hypothesis. Since coming back to Canada, I’ve been trying to get out of my antisocial oasis and restore my faith in humanity by getting out as much as possible. Unfortunately, then this happened:
D-Crew Member: I heard about you and [Enter Player’s Name Here]. Why didn’t you nail him?
Me: I wasn’t attracted to him.
Me: What do you mean so?
DCM: That shouldn’t matter.
Me: Uhh…well it does…
Me: Because I’m not attracted to him. I like to sleep with people I’m attracted to…???
DCM: But you could have been well compensated. You could have been set for life!
Me: Are you talking about prostitution now?
No matter what I said he didn’t believe me. He couldn’t get his mind around a woman who didn’t want to be paid off for sexual favours especially if they involved NHL players. I don’t think I’ve experienced such a stalemate in my entire life. I kept thinking about all the places I’ve been in the past 9 months: Saudi, Bahrain, UAE, Sweden, Turkey, France, The Netherlands, Egypt, USA, and Canada 2x. I went on more trips in those 9 months than many people will do in their lifetime! It doesn’t get better than that! And I was (and am) horrified by the fact that there are people out there who think that no matter how good my life is, I still somehow need to debase myself in order to leech off of an NHL player, or anyone for that matter, just because I am a woman and we are all the same. What can an NHL player give me that I can’t give myself? More shoes, perhaps? Because, as you already read, they “purposely suck in bed” according to the D-Crew, so they can’t even give me that!
Anyway, ignore this unstructured rant. I’m “writing” to try to make sense of this whole thing. My happiness in hockey is always tied to focusing as little as possible on the underbelly of the game, and frankly I’ve been shaken up again due to my last encounter with the D-Crew. I wasn’t even back in the country for 3 days before the D-Crew ruined all the progress I had made to come out of my antisocial oasis. Now, as I watch the playoffs, I can’t help but both loathe and pity all the guys on the ice. Because if life and love for them is really as the Douche Crew describes it, then that is one of the most tragic things I’ve ever heard, and I’d give them all a hug if I could, as long as they promised not to get too handsy.
As for the D-Crew, well, they may be the saddest characters of all. They are always in the shadow of their NHL friends, and that seems to have messed them up quite a bit. I remember another unfortunate time I had encountered a D-Crew member. He actually propositioned me by offering to wear his friend’s jersey in bed. I said no, obviously, but I wonder how many girls actually viewed this guy as a “stepping stone” and went for it. Anyway, I still don’t know what to believe in this whole thing, but one thing is painfully true for NHL players – with friends like these, they definitely don’t need enemies.