Thursday, December 20, 2007

Thursday Morning Cupcheck - Twas a Nick Hagman Christmas

By Todd Maternowski

Top of the morning, hockey fans! Last week we learned, we laughed, we loved, and we remained in good spirits with the help of Captain Yes Positive while discussing NHL refereeing. I was planning on dedicating this week's column as a paean to the holiest, most sacred of Canada's holidays, Boxing Day, but while I was rifling through some old boxes in Tom Hicks' attic, I came across a rose-scented bundle of letters: while most of them were romantic letters to a long-forgotten lover (Baby, please come here to Texas. I'll shower you with kisses, cover you in chocolate and you can be my honey-coated luvah. Yeah. Uh. Yeah. Also, there's $252 million in my pants pocket a-waitin' for you, hot childe. Waitin' for you), I did find one letter that didn't seem to fit in with the rest. Unlike the others, this one reeked of fish, fresh snow and had the words KIRK HAMMETT RULEZ!!! written in Swedish blood on the cover. Translated as best I could from my "Finnish or Gibberish" guidebook, I give you this astonishing find.

Sometimes, late at night, A-Rod thinks about what he might have had in Texas

'Twas a Nick Hagman Christmas

'Twas a Nick Hagman Christmas, and all through Frisco

Not a single goaltender was dancing disco;

The puck had been passed to the crease with great care,

in hopes that Nick Finn soon would be there.

While goalies were day dreaming of whores in bed,

They'd quickly be startled by goal-lights turned red.

I'd gone to a game - damn the salary cap!

This watered-down hockey is nothing but crap;

The NHL rule-makers lacked the grey matter

And true hockey fans --well, they couldn't be sadder.

Team owners might like it 'cause they get the cash,

But on-ice the product is moose puke and trash.

But wait now--who's coming? Who goes there? Hel-lo?

Who's gliding through hockey, this Finnish Rainbow?

When, to my weary tear-stained eyes should appear,

Like a case of cream stout, my favorite beer--

A hard-working forward, so lively and quick,

The name on his jersey said "The Awesome One, Nick"

His highlight-reel goals make others look lame,

And he started talking when he heard his name:

"Even when defenses ram their god-damn sticks in,

I will make Nabakov look more like Trot Nixon,

As long as I don't get some crap hooking calls,

My wrist shot through five-holes will graze goalie balls.

Those damn laws of physics prevent me from flyin',

But I can out-skate your team without even trying.

I'll score game-winning goals in half of my games,

Then it's back to the spa with American dames.

I don't miss on breakaways --not on your life!

Then fly back to Finland and sleep with your wife."

His talk was not cheap, his logic was sound;

And I knew he would carry us past the first round.

He was bonafide bad-ass from head to foot,

And Canada knows what he's talking about;

No goalie can withstand that Finnish attack,

He eats Pronger for breakfast: and Lidstrom? A snack.

First names are for pansies

His on-ice instincts are full of cold clarity

Bucking the trend in this league of parity.

He scored some hat tricks, then took a bow,

Then slammed some poor forward like a one-ton ice plow.

His knuckles are covered in enemy teeth,

As opposing players cry "Make him thtop, pleath!!"

He may once have launched pucks right into the belly,

But now he turns goaltender knees into jelly.

The old Finns-- they speak of a terrible elf,

And I swear this is true, I've seen it myself:

A mythical beast that fills goalies with dread,

That they poop in their skates and then wet their bed.

Nick spoke not a word, but went straight to work

He scored some more goals, then flipped off some jerk;

He picked off a cross-ice pass, like you pick your nose,

Then showed up to practice in Gretzky's wife's clothes.

He makes referees go and swallow their whistles,

And shatters your mask with his Finnish missles.

I heard him exclaim, as he skated that night,

"Merry Christmas to all! The Stars? They're allright!"

The rest of the letters are probably not printable here: let's just say that $252 million is chump change compared to what I'm going to charge not to blackmail a certain doughy double-sport owner (Demand #37: I will be continually served beer and ice cream while laying on a bed composed entirely of Scarlett Johansson clones). Tune in next week for our annual Rating the Stars' Christmas Sweaters column. You won't want to miss it!

Related stories

• Thursday Morning Cupcheck - Dallas Stars Trade Edition (Nov. 20, 2008)
• Thursday Morning Cupcheck - Grading the Dallas Stars’ 2008-09 Season (Oct. 9, 2008)
• Thursday Morning Cupcheck - Blowing Your Mind, Salary Cap-Style (June 19, 2008)
• Thursday Morning Cupcheck - Spetsnaz in the Southleast Division (Dec. 27, 2007)

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• Hockey > NHL > Stars

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