Friday, June 11, 2010

Our Team Could Be Your Life: YSCCCB


I was going to try to be somewhat cool about this; that was my initial intention. However, after the senseless and unfounded character assassination that I have had to endure, my helmet is off and my gloves are on the ice.

“...among the most insufferable of hockey fans”...what the hell is that shit? I am second to none in drunken obnoxiousness, unyielding smugness and general asshatery. These things are mere infractions – two minute minors that are killed off with little effort. No, the most pernicious aspect of my fandom, the thing that makes me the Krissy Pronger/Bob Probert/Stu Grimson goon/irritant and intolerable twat of sports viewing is the bifurcated, Daydream Nation-esque1 attack of: 19) there are a great number of people out there who know more about hockey than me and 88) my team wins and I won’t shut the fuck up about it. That about makes me the Adolph Hitler/Ronald Reagan of hockey fans. But you may say while that may be pretty bad, you need more compelling proof before you hand me the Bro-d crown of baggery.

How about this: I don’t fuck around with all that prancing and preening you mention. Nope. Instead, I cut right to the cruelest form of taunting, as you put it: the endlessly patronizing pseudo-consoling of the bested. Do I stop there? Not at all. In mid-sentence, e.g., “You know, you’ve a young team with a...” I will suddenly interrupt myself with the grace and volume of a tourette’s outburst by screaming the chorus to “Chelsea Dagger” at the top of my lungs, before returning to finish the sentence, “very bright future, and (heh) Pennywise is a pretty bitchin’ band, so...there’s that goin’ for ya!” Do I leave it off there? No chance in hell; not only will I use obnoxious nicknames that others have come up with (e.g. “Soupy”, “Yoda” "Coward/Kesler Bitch Maker" ) but I’ll even make up my own, e.g., “Buffy the Flyer Slayer”, "Double Minors on the Dime" and “YSCCCB”, which you’ll never hear the end of. Ever.

The best revenge is living well.

So let’s get to the meat: you claim that Pronger is funnier than myself; that may very well be the case. You may also complain of my timing in responding to this, seeing as I’m writing this after game 6; i.e., after YSCCCBs have hoisted the cup. My rebuttal takes both of these things into consideration.

The Socialist in me is very loathe to make the “the market will decide” claim, unless we are talking about the marketplace of ideas, and theorists from the esoteric to the popular have pointed out the seemingly infinite array of biases and filters which prevent a true marketplace, be it fiscal or intellectual, from ever truly being free. That said, we live in our times and must earn our living through whatever means we have at our disposal.

To cut to the chase, I’ve caught a pay check for “being funny” whereas Krissy Puckstealer gets his by being an that is admittedly good at hockey and cheating, but still an asshole; just some English pig with no brains, you know.

So Pronger can laugh at himself: big deal. This is news to a, exactly? Don’t forget, we’re the people that invented self-loathing, and very shortly thereafter, use of said to comic effect.

I’m not amazed that Pronger has a sense of humor. That’s just what a certain stripe of old vet becomes . They’ve had the microphone in front of their face for so long, most of the petulant rage of youthful loss has been sapped out & they have to try to be funny to make it interesting for themselves, for the most part. 35 years of age with a Stanley Cup, and a couple of Cup losses2 will make a person world-weary, and experience provides wit where ability would otherwise render the experience dry. Or as Juvenal might put it: where talent is lacking, anger will write poetry...or shtick, as the case may be.

You see it in vets of all sports: Kevin Millar, Mark Grace, Tony Siragusa, J.R., Barkley etc. What else do all these vets have in common? They are all announcers; that’s right – you heard it here first: when Pronger retires (as we say in Chicago, “in a coupla years, two, tree”), he’ll be involved in broadcasting in some capacity. Thing is, he won’t be as funny as he is now, because the situation is what allows him to be great. It’s the moments of great duress that allow most for humor, and grant belly laughs to what otherwise might garner a mere smirk. That headline of “Day to Day with Hurt Feelings” is a smile on “The Onion”, but a belly laugh out of Pronger’s mouth, considering the situation and what’s expected of him. How funny will he be when he is merely recounting the exploits of others? I’m guessing funnier than the Goose, but not as funny as Gracie, and neither bar is set very high; though Grace does get points for the funny/offensive slumpbuster.

But I still haven’t got to what’s taken so long to craft my response: the morning of game 6, I was actually working on a comedy script that I’m getting paid money for, instead of completing a timely rebuttal. Pronger makes a shitload more money a year than I ever will in my lifetime, but my point is: I don’t think anyone ever paid him to be funny.

"Uh, me name am uh Krissy Pronger. Me go uh Philly cause me wife am Orange! Looka me acts wacky!" This is what passes for wit?

There is no doubt that Collision and the ‘Nuk are both more inventive with their jokes and funnier than myself. At the very least, my LMJO (Laughter at My Jokes by Others) success rate is more like a great MLB hitter (.300+) who still sometimes swings stupidly

at some very bad pitches;theirs is more like an average NHL goalie (.900+) who doesn’t win a Vezina, but never has a truly horrendous night and shames the sport by shitting the bed like this guy does:

but occasionally has a truly magnificent performance:

Anyway, 90% is better than 30% any way you want to cut it. I also don’t deny that the aforementioned co-conspirators on this blog are considerably more knowledgeable hockey fans than me. They are probably generally smarter than, and are definitely better people than I am. Yet, I’m the one who has the team with the Cup this year. This is truly what makes me the most detestable fan on the planet: my dumb luck has trumped the greater talent.

So how do I live with myself? I go to the box. I spend two minutes, by myself, and I feel shame, you know. And then I get free. And drink from the Cup.

Robert MacaJew – 10 PIM, Fighting (2), -5

1 Toews/Kane line, due to the album’s 19 88 release date. I know how much Collision loves nicknames...and look at that damn space between the 19 and the fucking condescending is that? It’s just hanging out, saying “Yeah, you might not be hip to this particular nuance, but dig: 19 is the jersey number for Toews and Kane’s number is 88...put that shit together and you get the year 1988! I know, wild, isn’t it? Thing is, you might not get it if that space wasn’t there." It's like that space is a sippy cup to prevent a toddler's spill, or is the tried but artificially patient tone of voice of a teacher that is explaining for the HUNDREDTH time that we don’t stab Billy with a #2 pencil to make sure that he’s not a vampire. Damn, see how insufferably condescending that is? I mean, I want to beat me up now.

2 which incidentally disproves Collision’s point about Pronger not being a loser: if Championships are the measure of an athlete – and I’m not saying they are – then Hossa is already superior, for having done the same and at an earlier age. This flawed logic also makes John Madden vastly better than both.


One last thing: after seeing J.R. break down seeing the Blackhawks hoist the Cup, I lost my cool for the 2nd time that night, because when Towes hoisted the cup, and then handed it to Hossa, I lost it. J.R. didn’t just feel the way I felt, but a hundred times more so. He was a Flyer, but he IS and always will be a Blackhawk, and I didn’t understand it until that moment. Henceforward, I shall never utter an unkind word about Jeremy Roenick, even though he may deserve it.

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