Thursday, January 8, 2009
Thursday Morning Cupcheck - Moving the Winter Classic
Top of the morning, hockey fans! Here's hoping that your makeshift shelters have somehow survived the deadly cold weather, and will continue to keep the nearby glacier at bay until the Yellow Face arrives in the Spring. Last week we brought in the New Year with some uplifting opinions about the Stars: this week, I was planning on re-lining the tinfoil in my Washington Generals cap after witnessing yet another player trying to cheapshot Baby Hockey Jebus.
But after witnessing the glorious spectacle that is the Winter Classic --yes, yes, the NHL has actually done something right, not once but twice in a row-- that I decided to throw my two cents in. Thus far, the outdoor games in Buffalo and now at Wrigley were stunning successes, particularly in the towns that hosted them --the Winter Classic kicked the eternal living hell out of every Bowl game in the city of Chicago (and rightfully so. Can anyone remember a year in which the BCS was more universally loved and admired?), leaving every major-market Northern city clamoring for the next one.
While most Canadians would like to see the next Classic someplace in Canada, and most Americans would like to see it in their city of residence, I have a far, far superior idea: Dallas Stars versus Minnesota Wild on any one of those ten thousand lakes up there. This game would have it all: built-in geographical hatred (effin' Vikings done tore my ranch up with their god-damn longships), Old versus New, Up versus Down, Hot versus Cold, Good versus Evil, and an emotionally torn Mike Modano. Perhaps Shane Churla could be a guest referee?
It certainly beats the only alternative: playing an outdoor game in Dallas in January. While feasible, it's not likely White Rock Lake could hold the combined weight of the Wild's five-man trap, much less --wait, what's that? You say that other cities, like Boston and New York, deserve it more? Seriously?
Please, sit down. It's time you knew some facts about your cities and alleged fanbases.
Ah, Boston. The Jewel of Massachussetts, The Original Pilgrim's Pride, the City That Doesn't Care Much For The, You Know, Blacks. Don't get me wrong: it's a great place to visit, especially if you're a refugee from a genocidal African nation and all the flights to real cities were already booked (just don't expect the Boston Red Sox to lend you a couple bucks for your tab). When your sports teams are not busy going 19-0, Boston fans can enjoy (a) trading away their franchise players, (b) puttin' the moves on tha ladiez and/or (c) seriously thinking that they're currently married to Tom Brady. Having a Winter Classic here would be like dumping the Crown Jewels into a septic tank full of albino diaherrea.
But what about New York City? The City That Avery Built, the Playground of Broken Dreams & Faces, the Town Worth Around Nineteen Bucks in Shiny Beads. Feel free to get me wrong: the pizza-slurping suitshorts-wearing effeminate males of this culture-free backwater lead the nation in sadly-misplaced egotism, so full of themselves that its no wonder their waste products regularly flee screaming from their orifices and onto unsuspecting flags and religious objects (also known in New York as "High Art"). While the city certainly boasts enough taxpayer-funded Wall Street execs to fill the lower bowl of any makeshift arena they decide to place on the Hudson, the sheer volume of all those cellphone conversations would instantly drown out the comforting, familiar noises of the hockey game. Putting the Winter Classic here would be like offering a delicious home-made apple pie to the Raja of Babylon: a terrible waste of a good thing on someone who could not bring themselves to care less.
Finally, we get to Philadelphia: the City of Brotherly Hugs, Freedomville, Pee-Town. You'll enjoy getting me wrong: the stereotype of the Philly fan is actually one I can totally relate to, one which unfairly gets a bad rap from a lazy press. I can't count the times, as a youngster, that after another Optimus Prime-free Christmas that Santa clearly deserved to have an arena's worth of batteries catapulted at his cranium. And I'm still waiting on my Dino-bots, Claus. Don't even get me started on that G.I. Joe Aircraft Carrier, or the fact that I've now asked for socks for ten consecutive Christmases and had to poison a homeless guy just to make my Christmas dreams come true. Philly fans understand this: a standing ovation honoring the concrete for nearly severing Michael Irvin's neck is undoubtedly the secret desire of all true sports fans. But Philly fans are the only ones willing to bring their singular brand of Sports Honesty out in the open, despite the nationwide ridicule. (Oh, yeah, and Oakland fans too --sorry, Raider Nation). So maybe putting the next Winter Classic in Philadelphia wouldn't be all that bad and idea after all: who could resist the allure of both avoiding college football and seeing 70,000 ex-Quakers bum-rush the rink to wail on Bill McCreary with tire irons and garden hoses full of buckshot? Sounds like a perfect post-New Year's day activity to me.
But Minnesota's got next, Philly. Even if Wild fans support a team that makes Bingo Night at the Senior Center look like FOX's Meth-heads versus Sharks: Who's Frenzier?. Tune in next week when Stars owner Tom Hicks gives Hull the 2009 Amazing Genius Award for his tireless work in finding a locker-room villain the whole team can rally against.
