Thursday Morning Cupcheck - Chris Pronger’s Beat Corner

by Todd Maternowski

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And then I look at the boxscore and I howl, man, howl!

Good morning, hockey fans! Here's hoping last night's single most awkwardly anti-climactic goal in Finals history didn't put a dent in your post-Cup celebrations: Fortunately, experts agree that there ain't no party like a Hjalmarsson party 'coz a Hjalmarsson party don't stop. Last week we engaged in some good-natured ribbing with our passive-aggressive friends in Philadelphia; this week, I was planning on finally capitulating to my many Philly-based detractors and admitting that any criticism of this unstoppable dynasty is ill-advised. Especially from a fan of a team that, since 1974, has had three times the Cup Finals victories in one-third the time.

But then this happened. And then this. Followed by a whole lot of this.

Much will be written in the victors, my beloved Chicago Blackhawks. But what about those pathetic losers who should've tried just a little harder? You know who I'm talking about. Who will tell their story? Who will read their whiny memoirs? Who will take their dismal failures, and hand-carve it into the Living Rock for future generations of mankind to point and laugh at?

Fortunately for our children's grandchildren's children, and their grandchildren, I was able to pull a few strings at Philadelphia's famous Maginot Institute, and got my hands on an extremely rare transcript of Chris Pronger expressing his rage and frustration the only way he knows how: via the gender-neutral artistic medium of beat poetry. Here are some of his touching, heartfelt words.

'I Have Backchecked My Sorrows'

this is my stanley cup final loss

there are many like it, but this one is mine

i feel there is an angel in me

whom i am constantly elbowing in the fat halo

let the teeth fall where they may

offseasonoffseasonoffseasonoffseason

back to edmonton

'Fortress of Tears'

i wake up in the darkness large and naked

endless forest of orange and white trees

i journey onwards for thousands of miles in every direction

no escape

i dip my hand in the rubber stream

the stream flows up up up into the yawning orange sky

stream turns to flood, flood turns to milky rubber galaxy

leighton is straddling our vulcanized world

you gotta stop that sh#t

'Ebony and Ivory'

hi my name is chris

and this is dustin, my Special Friend

side by side in the blue paint, oh why don't we?

we learn to live, we learn to give

i hate the player, not the game

forecheckingforecheckingforechecking

ouch

'My Box'

in my box i see a man sitting

in the same place he sits every game

sipping his red bull like its an antidote for stupidity

and when he speaks he talks as if to say

that his penalty is already over

and has been from long before mccreary was ever born

the dinosaurs had minor penalties

they called them meteor minutes

'Tickle My Elbow With Your Nose'

tickle my elbow with your nose

with your eyes, your cheeks

caress my forearm with your face

with your ears, your neck

kiss my skateblade with your calf

with your knees, your arteries

That's it for this week's edutaining Cupcheck. Tune in next week when we break who's tougher in the Tale of the Tape: Chicago Cubs or Redshirt Guys From Star Trek -- Two Teams Enter, No Team Leaves.

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