Abel to Yzerman
by IwoCPO on 01/03/12 at 12:33 PM ET
I need to lose about fifteen pounds. Maybe twenty. I should probably cut down on the cigars and my sarcasm has a tendency to scare young Sailors. I should have cleaned the garage before I left on deployment and I think I can tackle that little ditty when I get back. There. Aside from the sarcasm and the cigars, I think it’s all reasonable. Except for the garage part. It’s pretty messy. And losing weight in your 40’s is just hard. It’s hard work. So…that may not happen either.
But don’t fret, my friends. Don’t you fret. I have other resolutions we can all redolently ponder. And so we shall.
Count them down with me, won’t you?
10. I will stop picking on Blues fans, particularly the citizens who dwell at St. Louis Game Time. Not only will I stop insulting them, I’ll stop visiting that blog after Wing wins to laugh at them. I’ll stop just dropping in, “trolling”, leaving witty one liners then giggling to myself and departing. It’s immature and it has to stop.
Holy hell. That may have been the most idiotic string of sentences I’ve ever tip tapped. New Year’s resolutions are stupid because we make them in moments of weakness, and often while so drunk that the resolutions themselves are peppered with thick vomit. That’s a prime example. There is no 12-step program for me when it comes to Blues fans. Ripping them and reminding them of their pathetic lots in life have become personal staples in my life. I don’t like them and, believe me when I tell you this…they do not like me. Not one bit. The other night after my personal savior, James Fuching Howard, shut them out, I did this…
Here’s to a great 2012
Have a happy and a healthy. I know we will.
Fuch Detroit? Nope. As always, fuch you.
by a2y on Dec 31, 2011 9:06 PM CST reply actions
I’ve tried to stop antagonizing them. I have. But they’re so damn bitter and they’re such little brittle bitches…I can’t stop. I’m sorry. I just can’t. I’m sick.
9. I will absolutely stop glorifying Todd Bertuzzi. I won’t speak of him in glowing terms when I compare him to history’s most heinous serial killers. What he did to Steve Moore was unprovoked and disgusting. It’s time I took the moral high ground. Bertuzzi must be exposed for the menace he is and I’ll lead that charge.
No I won’t. I’ll continue to beg Bertuzzi to be meaner and more disgusting. I love that he’s hated. I’ll defend his actions, including the Moore hit. I’ll clap my hands together and make baby noises when he scores in places where he’s despised. And I’ll do all that because I’m a Wing fan, by god. And that man is a Wing. His teammates dig him and so does my Uncle Mike. That enough, more than enough really, for me.
8. I’m going to finish that infernal Rivalry Depth Chart. It is such a good idea and I’ve promised it so many times. I’m ashamed of myself for not completing it and even more ashamed of all of you for ever expecting that I would. That changes now. I’ll have it done by 15 January. Mark it down.
Don’t do that. Don’t mark anything. I’ve tried. I think about it all the time and I shrivel in bad places when you bastards throw it in my face. I’ll never finish it because it would take a level of sustained focus that I’m just not capable of anymore. Make your own charts you turds.
7. While we’re at it, I’m going to increase my blogging frequency back to 2006 or 2007 levels. I’m going to bring you the late breakers and the caustic wit that we all enjoy. I’m going to write flowing prose about hookers and Don Ho, little stinky puppies and the children who chase them through fields of daisies, their cute faces smeared with melted Charleston Chews. We’ll talk about fire trucks and Swedish men with big asses. We’ll do game recaps and I’ll surprise you with explosive, angry manifestos.
Yeahhh…no. I don’t see that happening. Well, maybe. I do love it. Just writing that ditty makes me smile. We’ll see. Deployments, like marriages to women without senses of humor, don’t last forever. We’ll see.
6. I absolutely must stop jinxing the Wings with the Live Blog lead-ins. It seems that every time I really blast teams like the Brittle Bitch Blues or Dive, when I lay into them with an extra ounce of venom, when I absolutely guarantee a Wing victory because the beautiful miracle of a manger baby promised me joy? Our Wings lose and the sadness takes me to places I don’t enjoy. So I’m going to stop that. I’m going to tone it down and mildly wish for victory, express hope but not overt optimism.
Strike that, as Wonka said in that sinister little room just before he led Buckets and Gloop and Mike TV on a journey to the depths of their blackened souls. Strike that and reverse it. I’m going to turn it up a notch. I’m tired of denying for even one second that destiny doesn’t belong to the Greatest Hockey Team on Earth. My predictions will be more forceful. More Swagger is what we need and more Swagger is what we’ll have. We founded this bitch on the premise that we’re Red Wing fans by God and with that comes the guarantee that this team has a better than 90 percent chance of winning every goddamn game. So suck on that if our confidence makes you curdle.
5. I’m going to write right. I’m going to stop spelling “tonight” without the g and the h and using an e where it doesn’t belong. I’m going to learn the correct spelling of Canadian(en) and do away with the parenthesis. Subject, verb, direct object. Again. Subject, verb, direct object. Again. Basic sentences. Exceptional grammar. Spell check and 12 words per sentence. We’re going to be concise and correct. Because that’s what good bloggers do and there’s nothing more important than being a “good blogger.”
Well you can go ahead and stick that right up your pompous asses you elitist mainstream wannabees. I’ve been blogging for seven years and if there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s “good bloggers” who write like beat writers and like to point out the flaws of those of us who don’t because we’d rather ramble on like drunk Sailors on bar stools teetering and stopping mid-sentence to consider whether the urine stains are going to go away if we just sit there for an hour longer and while we’re at it why not talk about the Detroit Motherfuching Red Wings. It’s how we roll. It’s more fun. It’s how we talk when we’re around our fake friends and it’s the only acceptable language in the Hasek where reason is discouraged because reason means not stressing with a 3-goal lead going into the third and not a single one of us is capable of relaxing as long as E52 still has a shift left.
4. It’s time we put the Lightfoot references away. We’ve used every line in that song and it’s become tired and cliche. In fact that whole Seger/Fitzgerald reference M.O. lost its effect about two WCF’s ago. Let’s find some new devices and use those.
If you read that whole resolution you have problems with the written word. You literally believe that because someone took the time to write something, that it’s true. I couldn’t stop channeling Gordo and Bullet Bob if I wanted to, and I most certainly do not. When things are bad, the cook can’t feed us. It’s too rough. When a game appears lost the main hatchway’s given in. When the Joe is a beacon of absolute glory, of such bright light on the horizon, when a series victory rests just over the sticky steps leading up to the Howe entrance? 19 of us are in that dusty old hall in Detroyet. And hear this: there’s gonna come a time when I call for a gathering of the 19 at a bar 12 hours outside of Mackinaw city. We’re all gonna stop and have ourselves a brew. Seger’s here as long as the adorable one lets the interns come to work every day.
3. Even the slightest references to Sidney Crosby in any negative tone must stop. Not only is he the face of hockey, he’s also the poster child for our sport’s biggest problem. It’s 3 days into yet another Year of our Crosby and we’ll treat him with the reverence, the adulation and the swaddling, sweating, genuflecting adoration that he deserves. Under no circumstances will any of you joke about his condition or infer for one single second that Gary Bettman has worn an 87 onesie for 33 straight days as homage to the Boy Who Saved Hockey.
Whoooooo. I thought that was one resolution I could keep. I was walking the streets of Hong Kong the other day, taking in the sickly stink of Asia, and I was wondering how I could be a better man this calendar year. For a brief moment, guzzling a warm San Miguel, I thought a good start would be to just stop picking on Crosby until he’s back, skating and shooting. Scoring and diving and sack punching, whining like a little tiny bitch, begging for calls and sporting a mustache that makes him look like an 11 year old Nicaraguan boy. Then I realized that was just too much to ask. I’ll never hope for his continued fogginess and I’d like him to play again this season, maybe if only so Hank Zetterberg can destroy his fragile mind once again. But…you get the idea. He is what he is. Rosby.
2. Bitch and Bettman. If there are two consistent refrains from those who find us unsavory it’s our consistent use of “bitch” and our unyielding view that Gary Bettman is a sniveling pathetic troll of a failed commissioner who has a very real anti-Wing agenda. Obviously, each of those crutches is immensely juvenile and if we hope to gain any credibility in the highly credible world of hockey blogging we must put a stop to them both. So we’ll try. Delta College interns tell us that we say “bitch” an average of 19 times per manifesto and that we blast the leather-clad ball-mouthed dwarf every third post. We’re going to cut way down on both.
Hmmm. I suppose that if we wanted to cave to the shrivs we’d cut down on “bitch”. I’ve seen the comments from some overly sensitive readers who feel we’re degrading women when we use that term. I’ve also seen bitter bitches who wish they had the type of discourse we have here, the kind of relationship we’ve built among our fake friends, who don’t understand that we use that term two ways: it’s endearing among the 19 and it’s a great, appropriate and highly entertaining means of laying waste to those we don’t like or respect. It’s not a slam against women. Ask the 19 women who use it appropriately, frequently and hilariously. It’s our term, bitches. We coined it for our purpose and we’ll use it as long as the Emperor lets us keep our fort in this tree.
And as for Bettman? Never. Not until he’s fired and exposed for the absolute fraud of a garbage picking owner blowing game wrecking twitching toad that he is will I ever stop pointing out that he has screwed the Wings at every possible turn. Shit. It’s not even just the Wings anymore. How’d that Classic go for you? OT, eh? Made for TV gimmicks now Gary? The suspensions, the quick turnaround on SCF games, the mind alteringly pathetic officiating that seems to bite the Wings at the worst possible times, the all star ballots and the award nominations. The conference shifts and the promises made that kept getting blown off. We’ll let you waddle back onto the JLA ice this June, Gary. That’s the only time you’re welcome in Hockeytown, bitch. Laying off the little fella is one resolution that I just cannot keep.
1. I’m 43. I’ve got 3 kids and a great wife. I love my job and there’s honor in what I do. Letting a hockey game affect my emotions, letting a playoff game send me into a depressive funk that is almost beyond description…it’s time I moved on from that. And I will. I can and I will.
Every single one of you, all 19 of you, know that’s a damn lie. And what’s worse is that every single one of you dig it.
Ten resolutions and not a damn chance in the hottest of Hells that I’ll keep any of them.
Happy New Years bitches. 12 in ‘12 is what I say.
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Welcome to Abel to Yzerman, a Red Wing blog since 1977. No other site on the internet has better-researched, fact-laden and better prepared discussions than A2Y. Re-phrase: we do little research, find facts and stats highly overrated and claim little to no preparation. There are 19 readers of A2Y. No more, no less. All of them, except maybe one, are juvenile in nature. Reminding them of that in the comment section will only encourage them to prove that. Your suggestions and critiques are welcome: email@example.com