WTF Wednesday

I'll be honest, so far the playoffs have felt like a bad case of deja vu. A really bad case. Not like the kind where you think you can predict the future for twenty seconds, but the kind where you wake up and it's still Groundhog Day. I haven't wanted to write about them. I haven't really wanted to read about them on other blogs.

The Wings have done their best this season when they've been cornered, so I'm still remaining hopeful for tonight's game and the entire series, but even if the team pulls out some kind of spectacular concerted awesomeness, our best case scenario still leaves the Wings down 2-1 in the series. That's pretty pukey.

Last year I routed a little of my misery into pointing and laughing at the utter ridiculousness that is the San Jose Sharks, and a few of you seemed to appreciate it. So in the hope that laughter will provide catharsis again, I give you the Sharks Christmas Album:



Joe Thornton. How can you dance that bad? How is that possible?

We're still back

If you pay attention to this blog at all, you may have noticed that it's been hit with a bad case of writer's block. I wanted to break out of this by coming up with a totally awesome first round playoff preview, but then I realized the Wings were playing the Coyotes in the first round again, and I'd already put six hours into doing that once before, and really, really did not want to do it again.

So in these last few hours before opening faceoff, while you're boiling your octopi, setting up your shrines, and preparing your voodoo effigies of Shane Doan and Keith Yandle, I'll say a little something about playoff superstitions.

One of my favorite stories in the realm of hockey lore is that when Red Kelly was coaching the Maple Leafs in 1976, he used Pyramid Power to try to help them get through the playoffs.

yeah, seriously, he did this

He had pyramids underneath the bench during games. He had one in the locker room that Darryl Sittler (also a proponent of lucky ties) kept his sticks under. It only got the team to game 7 in the second round, and it was probably more the distraction of the gimmick than actual ancient Egyptian metaphysics that the Leafs were benefiting from, but at least it helped distract them from then-owner Harold Ballard and his craziness.

Plus, I've done some way weirder stuff than Pyramid Power to appease the hockey gods. Things involving magical sunglasses and hockey cards in my freezer.

Fan culture is a weird thing, and it makes people do weird things. Rationally, I know that changing my clothes in the middle of a hockey game taking place on the other side of the country is really unlikely to have any effect on the game itself, but I keep the lucky shirt on anyway. Why? Because then if they win, I can feel like I was part of it. If they lose, I can absolve myself of any blame; I did everything I could. And at a time when my fragile emotional state is being controlled by people I never met and the unpredictable bounce of a three-ounce chunk of vulcanized rubber, it tricks my brain into thinking I have some kind of control over the situation so I don't completely lose my mind and end up in an institution.

Also, my lucky shirt's got a record of like 12-3-4 this season, so it might actually be lucky.

Although, right now I'm weighing it's perceived luckiness against how much I don't want to get vomit all over it when I spend the entire game puking.

Hey, we're back

We know we've been gone for what it internet time accounts for something like four years. I'm sure you all felt the void in your hearts, even if you didn't know what it was. That empty feeling you've had for the last month and a half? That's you not being exposed to bad music or MS Paint jobs.

No, we're kidding. it took our own mother until three days ago to realize we'd been gone; we can only imagine how little the rest of the internet cares. We plan to continue throwing bad music and MS Paints at you regardless.

Today's loss against the Kings was especially painful after Saturday's loss against the Coyotes. It highlighted a lot of the issues that, had this blog been writing about the Red Wings over the last few weeks, would have been touched on in this blog over the last few weeks - the defense has been a little shaky lately (Ericsson's the second-best statistically right now - and no, Lidstrom's not the guy ahead of him), the offense hasn't been producing like it needs to be, and the goaltending's been... well, at least we have Jimmy.

Granted, to miss the playoffs at this point, the whole team would pretty much have to stage a protest and just sit down on the ice and start playing Hungry Hungry Hippos for the rest of the season, but still. The Wings need to get it in gear. They've got a week of games against the Blackhawks next month, followed by god only knows what in the playoffs. Sadness, if they go in playing like this.

I don't know if there's anything I can do to ease any of the pain of tonight's loss - even though it's technically Wednesday, the best wtf-ery I have pertaining to the Kings is Anze Kopitar's baby pictures.


But all these seem to do for me is lead into an unfortunate paradox. Nothing this adorable should be allowed to score on the Red Wings, end of story.


I didn't lead into the post with the promise of pantsless pictures of Slovenians, but maybe I should have.


What kind of animal is that rug made from???

The Red Wing

As follow-up to last week's WTF Wednesday, here's the Red Wings portion of the Guardian Project:

While he was already being called an affront to the holy institution of the Winged Wheel an hour before he was posted to the Guardian Project facebook page, I have to say that, considering what we've already seen, he could have been worse. I mean, granted, it seems a little superfluous that he have jet engines, legs, and some kind of knee-mounted, pop-and-lock Segway device, but I'm hearing from some sources that he also shoots lasers, which I guess is kind of cool. "Automotive empath" makes it sound like he can read cars' minds, which I'm hoping is accomplished by doing some Vulcan mind meld-like hand movements and a lot of grunting, because that would be hilarious.

Here he is in action:



... sort of.

I'm having a problem here though. What are they going to do with them? There's 30 of them altogether. That's a lot of character development (though not enough character development to keep them from ALL BEING SOME KIND OF PSYCHIC) to have a one-shot publicity dump at the All-Star game (which we all know is always watched by all hockey fans (I need a font to denote sarcasm.)) and then just drop them completely. And 30 characters seems like an awful lot of character interaction for a comic book. I'm worried the NHL is going to be using them in some weird official capacity, but for what, I can't say.

I don't know. Some news brief might have already covered this, but the internet is no longer dial-up compatible, and I can't run to a coffee shop every time I want to spend five minutes googling something at two in the morning, so for now this blog can only speculate.

At any rate, Segway-Starscream-Speed Racer up there is definitely not the weirdest thing to have worn the winged wheel.

No, not by far.

WTF Wednesday

As you all probably know by now, the NHL is going comical.


Now when I first heard of this, my concern was what they would concoct for the Red Wings. My mind immediately went to an image of an old man who can fly, is a Transformer, and has a pistol that shoots Little Caesar's Pizza.

I would buy this action figure in a heartbeat.

Now those of you who have naive, optimistic minds might be thinking this is crazy talk - that certainly the great Stan Lee, the father of the entire Marvel Comics franchise would be able to put together a character creation team that could come up with 30 unique, original, and non-crazy ideas. And if you want to keep thinking that, you should exit this blog immediately, because after seeing the ridiculousness that they came up with for the teams released so far, I think old Optimus Ted up there is going to hit well below the WTF-ery mark that Marvel is about to set.

So far 12 of the 30 superheroes have been revealed and they... well, you really just have to see them for yourselves.

The King looks prissy and like he would cry if he broke a nail (maybe it's the ponytail). The Oiler is clearly on steroids. The Hurricane looks like Genie Jafar, and I'm pretty sure that The Devil is just a horse. And they really spared no expense when inventing the Guardian's powers. Nothing says superhero like The Predator's "matter ingestion" or The Wild's "general mayhem" (I've got a two year old cousin who does both of those quite well).

My favorite so far is The Flyer:

A "granite chin"? Ok, I know what they mean by that, but I'm still getting the mental image of Bobby Clarke's head being used as a curling stone. (And sorry, no - you're not getting an MS Paint of that. I have to have this posted before midnight.)

This assessment of the project sounds a little scathing, I know, but there is honestly nothing this blog loves more than something hockey related that's so crazy it makes you question the laws of the universe.

It looks like the Guardian Project is going to answer all Hockeytown Static's secret wtf hopes and dreams.

Crosvechkin

One thing that everyone learns about me pretty quickly once the conversation has breached the subject of hockey is that one of the things I hate the most about he NHL is the Gary Bettman-fueled three-ring circus extravaganza of Crosby/Ovechkin. Not the players themselves, but the Gary Bettman-fueled three-ring circus. I've gone so far as to personify this media-entity as a living thing and have written numerous letters to my representatives in Congress asking why Crosvechkin has yet to be put on the list of known terrorists to be hunted down and shot.

oh god what have i done

But there's a reason I like to pay attention to the Winter Classic (and not just because I secretly think having a game outside is awesome enough to counteract my distaste toward any team that might be playing (even Crosvechkin)) - it's because the game itself seems to have fallen under some sort of gypsy curse. I'm not talking about the weather or the ice conditions (which, admittedly, have been hilarious), I'm talking about this:

Lost in the 2008 Stanley Cup Finals

Lost in the 2009 Stanley Cup Finals

Lost in the 2010 Stanley Cup Finals

So since both the Capitals and the Penguins are eastern conference teams, that leaves things wide open for a western conference candidate.

And I don't want to jinx anything, but the last two years have seen a prior Winter Classic participant be the one to carry out the curse on that year's team in the finals.

Now, could all this superstitious what-have-you simply be the result of the NHL just being good at choosing teams to participate in the Winter Classic, teams that are good enough to make it to the conference finals and beyond for a couple years surrounding their outdoor game debut?

Yes. But I have nothing of merit to say about the last three games the Wings played, and frankly just wanted to have an excuse to post Crosvechkin, which I worked on in MS Paint for three straight days.

HATTRICK EAVES!!!

This is the first time you've seen a post on this blog within six hours of a game since... probably since Trisha got out of college. There are two reasons for this:

1. This game was a circus festival of awesomosity.

• Patrick Eaves scored a freaking hat trick. I was pretty much expecting him to get the puck on his stick three feet from the empty net, with no one between him and it but air, and then go diving into the corner, but I'm glad he didn't. CURLY. FRIES.
• Babcock dropped the f-bomb on camera. Loud enough for the audio to pick it up.
• The Wings are now the top of the league. Where they should be.
  

2. I was already on the internet. This might be something some of you take for granted, but in our house, we have a dial-up connection, and we only have it on one computer. We have to schedule in a good five or ten minutes just to sign on and get our own blog loaded. And I don't normally go online during hockey games at home.

But today, there was something funky going on with the feed or the cameras - it looked like we were watching the game with frames missing. The game was back and forth enough that it was starting to make me ill, so instead of watching the Red Wings score seven goals, I listened to them doing it while I trolled auction sites for old pictures. Which means that not only do we have this timely (though short) post, but also the WHL trading card gallery of Horrible Hair:

Happy Wednesday.

So this has not only been a really great night for me personally, but also a highly productive one.

The Greatest Hockey Music Ever - Part V

I love Chris Osgood, so we're not discussing tonight's game right now. Instead, here's a little bit of holiday cheer for you to annoy your relatives with. It also happens to be one of my favorite Christmas songs. What that says about me... I'm not sure.

Johnny Bower is a certified badass. He won four Stanley Cups, two Vezina trophies, played all but a scant handful of his 552 games maskless, and when he was in high school, he successfully lied about his age to go overseas and start shooting Nazis.

No, really, I'm still young enough to serve...

He will always be cooler than you are. Only adding to this fact is his 1965 #29 hit on the Canadian charts:

Honky the Christmas Goose.

Recorded by Bower, his son “Little John”, and a choir of children (The Rinky-Dinks), this might just be the single greatest Christmas song in existence. The song tells the harrowing personal journey of Honky, who “got so fat that he was no use” (it never says how. Maybe he was a farm goose being fattened up for holiday dinner. This is already uplifting). Depressed about his bourgeoning weight, Honky begins to take out his frustrations by scaring the bejesus out of unsuspecting townsfolk. Tired of being chased down icy sidewalks by a mutantly rotund, out of control water fowl, holiday purchases scattering to the wind, the townsfolk roast and eat him with cranberry sauce and a walnut dressing Santa Claus rescues him because Rudolf is a useless, cross-eyed idiot who keeps running into Boeing jets.

HUR DUR...

I like this song because it shows us how fat people, like Honky and Santa Claus, can still contribute to society. So don’t worry about all that Christmas pie you’re eating, kids. Johnny Bower says it’s ok to be a porker.

And he knows how to get the ladies

Should you now wish to translate your new favorite song into a last-minute holiday gift, this site sells CD cases.

A Johnny Bower CD comes with the purchase of the case, but you're not actually ordering the CD. You're just ordering the case.

Stay classy, Chicago

The Wings won a game and it was awesome, and then they lost tonight's game and it was gross. I've got something more important to write about.

I can understand, and maybe even accept the "Detroit sucks" chants. That particular phrase has a long history of being chanted by the fans of the Wings' biggest rivals, and if I'm going to get all up in arms about it tonight, I'll have to write out retroactive diatribes on a quarter of the teams in the league.

What I'm upset about is what they did to Chelios.

He put on a Blackhawks jersey, stood up on a Blackhawks ice, in front of God and everybody, professing his Chicago-ness and his love for his hometown team, the team he spent nearly a decade with, and they booed him.

He was expecting it. He was planning for it. He said "let's let bygones be bygones" and waited for it to stop. It kept on. It got louder.

I joke a lot about Chicago fans being unclassy jerks, but I didn't think this was very funny. This went beyond unclassy. I'd actually like to hear what Mickey Redmond was saying about it off-camera, but Redmond's a gentleman and I'm a girl, so I doubt I'd get to hear it from him anyway.


What basis do I have to say this was unclassy? Let's take a look at what classy looks like:

• Last November, Lindsay and I were at a Wings game right in the middle of the vomitrocious stretch of three games (two back to back at home) where Detroit was held scoreless. Joe Louis Arena was hosting the Atlanta Thrashers. The crowd was silent when Slava Kozlov scored, but when Budd Lynch announced the goal over the loudspeaker, we clapped for him, because he was one of ours.
• I don't actually remember whether Wings fans booed Marian Hossa for going to the Blackhawks last season, but I don't remember them doing it. What I do remember was a thread on message board about whether booing was or was not appropriate in that situation, and the posters who yelled at the pro-booing individuals for unclassiness.
• Remember Bob Probert? He didn't end his career with Detroit. In fact, he spend quite a few years throwing punches as a member of the Chicago Blackhawks. But after he retired, if someone at Joe Louis Arena had tried to boo him? The guy next to him would have knocked his lights out. So probably would have Probert.
• This a a hockey blog, so I don't know how many of you even care about basketball, but there's some crossover with the Wings and Pistons fanbases, so I'm counting this as relevant for the sake of this argument. Chauncey Billups of the Detroit Pistons was traded to another team. His first game back at the Palace? The fans gave him a lengthy standing ovation.

We weren't all butterflies and roses to Fedorov the first few times he skated on Detroit ice someone else's jersey, but now I want him to come back for a ceremony at the Joe so the crowd can not boo him and I can add him to this list.

This isn't even about Wings fans being un-realistically classy. Trevor Linden was the heart and soul of the Vncouver Cnaucks; he wore the C, he gave them his best, and then he left. Vanouver didn't boo him in an Islanders jersey. They held up signs saying "Always a Canuck", and "Captain in our hearts". Earlier this season, when Modano, as a Red Wing,went back out on Dallas ice, the fans (and this is a crowd that at the end of the 2008 western conference finals chanted "Let's go Penguins" as the Red Wings awaited the presentation of the Campbell Bowl) didn't boo him. He was the heart and soul of the Dallas Stars, he wore the C, and the fans gave him the cheers he deserved.

Well, Chelios was the heart and soul of the Chicago Blackhawks. He was a hometown boy, one of their own, a fan of the team growing up, and he gave them the best years of his career. The Chicago River flows backwards through his veins. If you cut him, he'd bleed vaguely racist feathers and deep dish pizza (and then you'd be bleeding for making him bleed his own blood). But Chicago didn't care about that tonight -- they seemed much more interested in hurrying things along to screaming through the national anthem and singing the chorus of Chelsea Dagger on perpetual repeat. Chicago didn't care that he was out there on their ice, wearing their sweater, trying to talk about what an honor it was to have played for their organization -- he had been a Red Wing once, and I guess for them hating another team is more important than caring about your own.

By the third period. there were some fans in attendance attempting to turn the tide of the chanting from "Detroit Sucks' to Let's go Hawks"resulting in what sounded like "We Want Socks" (which everyone in my household found incredibly humorous). If those were the real fans, the ones who recognize what Chelios gave their organization and appreciated him for it, then my heart goes out to them. Maybe someday their compatriots will realize that there's more to being a Blackhawks fan than hating the Red Wings.