Thursday, May 1, 2008

Thursday Morning Cupcheck - Inside the Mind of a Sharks Fan

By Todd Maternowski

Top of the morning, ye gods of hockey! Last week we learned, we laughed, we loved, and we looked longingly at the matchups in the second round. This week, I was planning on dedicating this column to revealing the picante details of Gary Bettman's masturbation journal (April 26, 10:35am: Sidney with the Green Goblin mask on. And this time I get to hold the camera. April 28, lunchtime: A hard-checking defensive forward), but in light of some recent events in El Mundo de Hockey, I've decided to go in a different direction this week. As the second round is shaping up to be perhaps the single fastest playoff round in NHL history, I thought my long-suffering readers may want a taste of something special, something new, something... a little bit country, and a little bit rock n'roll.

Seeing as our Dallas Stars were playing, and somehow beating, the San Jose Sharks, I decided that Stars fans should Get To Know the average Sharks fan. You know, see the game as they see it, smell the rink through their nostrils, experience each blown call through their eyes. It may come as a shock to you, good readers, but many Sharks fans feel that they were completely outplayed in Game One --you know the one, the game where the Sharks spent 90% of the game in the Dallas end, sending puck after puck towards Turco, only to lose in OT off Morrow's squeak-by shot-- while also believing that the referees have been bought off by the Stars, giving them no chance to win whatsoever.

Yes, yes, I know: this extraterrestrial mindset is as foreign to us as the unholy sacrificial rites of the pyrocannibalistic Ba'al worshipping Hottentots of Lost Africa. Yet, it is as intriguing as it is mind-bottling, and I decided to do whatever it took to dive into this new and exciting mind, where paranoia rules the day and every Marleau jersey comes equipped with a free tin foil hat.

I don't want to even begin to describe this part of the dream

I was going to need some special technology for this one: for a simple hockey writer like myself, imagination and sweeping, insulting generalizations were not going to be enough. I needed something with a little chutzpah.

Fortunately, using some good old-fashioned elbow grease, some spare parts from my failed attempt at building a lightsaber, and scrapings from that clump of sentient mold growing on that decade-old Oscar Meyer baloney in the back of the fridge --as well as the breath-freshening power of Mattias Norstrom-- I was able to fashion together a crude but workable NorstBorg 4000 Mind Meld device.

After a quick trip to Tom Thumb to get some AAA batteries for the NorstBorg 4000, I strapped it on and calibrated it to SAN JOSE SHARK FAN. I know, I know: no normal human being should have to subject themselves to an experiment this dangerous, this foolish. Who was I to play blind idiot god? Would the mindmeld leave me in a Sharks-loving catatonic state forever? Would I actually start to view Joe Thornton as a clutch playoff performer?

With steely resolve and my uncanny ability to completely ignore logic and reason, I slapped that thing on and damned the long-term consequences to my mental health. You readers are worth every lost or damaged brain cell, and I wasn't going to let the possibility of being the Leif Erikson of Shark brains slip through my blubber-encrusted fingers. I kept a pen and my unicorn-sticker-covered Dream Journal within reach, and flipped the switch to "LET'S GET IT ON".

The following few hours are still a hazy jumble of feverish madness, full of unearthly images and demented lunacy. I was able, after the AAA batteries had run out, to cobble together some sense from my notes, but most of the journal was beyond repair: destroyed by a combination of eldritch hieroglyphs and fish-scented bodily fluids of unknown origin. Here are the most legible of my insane scribblings, although not in any particular order:

Entry Four - Astroes relocate to Hayward. Enron gots nothing on Nabokov. Save percentage is a backwards statistic - every shot against is unstoppable by another goalie. Buffalo. Four enemies on the ice hook and clutch to part the Red Sea in the defensive zone. A fifth player, naked, alone with Nabokov. A small child sceams, the puck is pushed in by the ref. Nabokov is there, I am warm and safe.

Entry Four.2 - Welcome to Oakland. Sharks paying rent in Dallas' zone. Stars rookie passes back to point, Campbell intercepts. Scoring chance. D tries to clear, Campbell intercepts. Scoring chance. D tries to clear, Campbell intercepts. Scoring chance. Turco stops the puck, slips ref a fifty dollar bill. Why no call?

Someone should tell Bill Parcells about this

Entry Fif - Ryan Clowe bothering no one. Presents his stick in peaceful, loving gesture. Very Bad Man Morrow skates backwards into stick, attacking it with his neck. Attacks it again... why won't he stop!?!? Stick cannot hold for much longer!! Please make Very Bad Man stop!!! Refs looking right at it: why no call?

Entry 19 - Nodes forming on Joe Thornton's head. He can shoot pucks from his face in all directions! Journey of a single goal starts with a thousand passes.

Entry 87 - Very Bad Man in black back again. Illegally checks Brian Campbell into Craig Rivet --why no call? Brian Campbell should get emergency officiating powers, call eight-minute quadruple minor on Very Bad Man in black. And then make sweet love to my earholes.

Unfortunately, the next few pages are practically unintelligible. I'm not sure what I was writing, but it's not in any alphabet humans use. Perhaps I had inadvertently tuned in to a frequency used by extraterrestrial high priests, or the Aboleths of the Underdark?

Entry 183/181 - Whistle. Then Goal. Whistle. Then Goal. What-- no Goal?!? This is madness!!

Entry 20-hoof - Hockey is based on soccer. Soccer players kick in goals. Cheechoo should be allowed to kick in goals. Michalek should be allowed to kick in goals. It's a tribute to history. Cornflakes.

The next few pages are covered in bite marks. Some of them appear to be my own, but many could not possibly have come from my powerful mandibles. Next time I strap on the NorstBorg 4000 Mindmeld device, I should set up a video camera. I suspect landsharks are somehow responsible. Finally, there was this inexplicable gem:

Entry hrrgh - Crash the net. Sex. Skate deep into the crease. Deeper! Sexual intercourse! Ram the goalie! Ram him in the crease! Pound him! Sexual intercourse sex sex! Joe Thornton! Make love to the crease! Stuff it in! Bury it deep in the net! My net! I'm Mrs. Joe Thornton! Nice to meet you! I'm pregnant! We'll name him Gassy GasPass! It's happening again! Try and stop---

It gets a little weird after that. Hopefully, however, this dangerous and irresponsible scientific exploration has provided you, a normal hockey fan, with insight into the delicate workings of the average Sharks fan's mind. Tune in next week, when I will pick the winners of the Wings-Stars and Pens-Flyers series!

Related stories

• Thursday Morning Cupcheck - Bring on the Red Wings (May 8, 2008)
• Pegasus News Week in View: Mayday Edition (May 1, 2008)

See more stories in:

• Hockey > NHL > Stars

Comments

James Scott Verified

Strangely enough, I seem to recognize some of that language from the Sharks' message boards I've been examining over the last week. I'd say your device is working properly.

2 months ago ( Link to this comment | Suggest removal )