Seventeen years ago “Mighty Ducks” turned me into a hockey fan. That’s officially over half my life. Very odd for someone who was born and raised in Texas and a sport that was born and raised in Canada. Before Norm Green moved the Stars to Dallas about the only thing the countries of Canada and Texas had in common was a love for beer and the ability to produce a good bull rider. Now, there is absolutely no doubt Texas is THE predominant hockey state in the South and kids are growing up in Dallas loving the Stars just as much as the Cowboys, Rangers or Mavericks. There are two main reasons for its popularity: the Stars have produced Dallas’ only championship in 14 years…and Mike Modano.

Meeting Modano for the first time, 1994

Although it was pretty much apparent at the end of this season that Modano was more than likely not returning, the Stars officially sealed the deal yesterday. So it’s time to say goodbye. When it came to the growth of a sport, Modano was twice the hockey ambassador to Dallas than Gary Bettman only wished Sidney Crosby was to the United States. Our appreciation for the game, mine specifically, is about 90% thanks to him. In 17 years I’ve only had two actual legitimate favorite players, Mike Modano and Jamie Langenbrunner. The others (such as Petr Buzek) were total personal infatuations and took on a stalking life of their own. So basically, Modano will forever be King of Hockey in my world and in this neck of the woods. I call mutiny if 9 isn’t hanging from the rafters of American Airlines Center before the first puck drops next season.

Modano wants to keep playing and should he do so, seeing him in another jersey won’t be anything less than weird and heartbreaking. I want him to be happy, so a fresh start (as with Marty Turco) just might do the trick. I agree with Mike Heika, “a happy Modano would be fun to watch“.

I know this isn’t officially goodbye, as much as Mike loves Dallas, it’s more like see you later…just not on our ice in our colors. All I ask, for the love, don’t go all Favre on us, Mo.

Oh captain, my captain

Last year I went all out on here the first time the Stars came to LA to play the Kings by detailing my top 15 hockey memories (Part 1, Part 2, Part 3). My brain has ruminated for two days on how to honor the occasion this year. It must be significant enough to help me forget the fact I’m leaving on a damn red eye for Orlando out of Hell-A-X immediately following the game. Blurgh. I’ve thought about it and thought about it. Over-analyzing comes easy to me, I am female. And I’d much rather be over-analyzing which silly hockey story to post rather that “OMG WHY HASN’T HE CALLED ME?! I DIE”. Cause jesus, we’re annoying.

Anyway, those original three posts already lay out my very favorite, most important legitimate hockey memories. Therefore, I’m going a little whackadoodle and a little girly with this one.

I’m going with the time Brenden Morrow actually knew who I was.

The man recognized me, greeted me…and I responded NOT with “hey Brenden, what’s up? how’s it going? why the hell are you hanging out with Sim?” No, no…I answered with something akin to “meh”. Not “meh” as in I’m completely indifferent to that or I think Cougar Town is just meh (this is well before the interwebs ruled the world and “meh” became synonymous with “I can take it or leave it”). I mean “meh” as in my mouth opened and that’s what involuntarily came out. I was stunned, to say the very least.

It was the last pre-season at Reunion Arena (may it rest in peace). This was before SHE came into the picture. Stars fans, you know who I speak of. I do not use her name. Brenden and I could’ve had an AMAZING player/fan relationship had SHE not come along. I raised him from a kid, dammit! (BTW, he’s scant older than me). Did SHE go to Portland to see him play with the Winterhawks? Did SHE demand that the K-Wings booster club to take good care of him those few games he spent in the minors? Probably not, because SHE didn’t know who he was then and wasn’t, you know, a lunatic. But that’s beside the point.

I did go to Portland to see him play with the Winterhawks (I do believe that’s in the hockey memory posties) and I would have gotten to see him play with the K-Wings, but as expected, he didn’t last long before getting called up for good. The one and only time I willed a player to get sent down, that’s how sick I was. However, that last pre-season brought one glorious moment. I honestly don’t even think I went to the game that night, do believe I had to work. I think me, my college roommate and this one pathological liar friend of ours just headed up towards the end of the game to hang out at the Stars Club afterward (oh, Stars Club…). Cause really, stalking came so easily then. Easier than going to class, that’s for sure. There we were, having a seat. Brenden walked in with Sim (I’m gonna assume they hung out with that doosh out of pity), I happened to look up about the time he looked over and he goes “Hey!”

And I said “meh.”

Not too longer after that SHE came along. Did I mention SHE went to the same university as me? Right?! You didn’t think it got worse, did you? Oh let’s not even bring up who her father is. Cause I might puke. But anyway, the rest you know. He made the team for good…and is now the captain. I didn’t want to have the man’s babies (note: I have the ability to delete comments). BUT, he could’ve been the first player I followed from the juniors to captain in the NHL. Instead of minors to a few games in the NHL to some team in the Austrian countryside to being a fireman.

Having said that, did SHE meet his host family in Portland?! NO.

So there. Go Stars. BTdubs, he doesn’t know me from a fan in the second row now. I’m okay with that. Sorta.

Readers, I really hate Mondays. The only things I hate worse than Mondays are the Eagles, Scott Gomez, the 101 and water chestnuts. What makes this Monday particularly atrocious: we open a movie on Friday so there’s potential for mutiny in the office, I HAVE to go grocery shopping after work and no one likes that (if you do, you’re a weirdo), I couldn’t care less about tonight’s MNF, I’m fighting off the bitterness of losing my first fantasy football game (by less than five points; McGahee – you’re on my shit list, son) and it’s so gloomy outside I should be at home under two blankets, snuggled with the pooches, watching Battlestar Gallactica, drinking hot chocolate topped with a scoach of Bailey’s. Mmm.

In a painful effort to be positive (blurgh) I do have to say that today is somewhat bearable because I managed to put makeup on before noon, am loving my new scarf from Old Navy, have a cold, cold Diet Coke on my desk (the elixir or life), the newness and lickability of the Taylor Lautner Rolling Stone photo shoot hasn’t worn off (my heart dies every time they put a football in that kid’s hands) and the interwebs are totes overloaded with Miles Austin.

Record breaking run

I feel like I’ve spent the last year and a half on the campaign trail for this young, blue-eyed wideout from Jersey (yeah, I try to forget that tidbit) to become the next President of the Dallas Cowboys Receiving Core. I don’t think ANYONE was ever listening to me or taking me seriously. Can’t really say I blame you, but it’s whatever now…cause eff you. Nikki FTW.

As an uber fan, it’s imperative to stick to your man through thick and thin. However, (here’s the segue from one version of today’s topic to the next…wait for it…) at what point does a TEAM stop sticking with a player through thick and thin? Tis a tricky predicament, that one. I hear this is a business, after all.

Last week I caught most of ESPN’S “30 on 30″ about Edmonton trading Gretzky to LA. Holy pucks the uproar that caused…the GM’s family even had to leave town. Koo koo Canadians. Not that I can blame them, that would be like America gifting the Statue of Liberty to Canada. We’d have to do more than just call shenanigans. Anyhow, in addition, several weeks ago PTI covered Phillies’ pitcher Brad Lidge’s horrific slump towards the end of the MLB regular season. Kornheiser commented that during the playoffs “you cannot put a guy out there you don’t have confidence in.” True story…perhaps?

How the Oilers and Phillies handled each of these situations was dependent upon what was best for the organizations, not what the fans wanted. In the end, Gretzky is now responsible for the explosion of hockey in Los Angeles, if not the entire Western United States and Lidge led the defending champs to a 6-5 victory over the Rockies last night to take a 2-1 lead in the NLDS. A personal example: I was destroyed when the Stars left Petr unprotected during the 1999 expansion draft and Atlanta took him. DESTROYED. But although his pro career didn’t last long afterward, he spent the majority of it in the NHL, made the All Star Team as a rookie and won a world championship. Chances are none of that would’ve happened if he’d stayed with the Stars. And I got to go to Atlanta and Calgary! Good times. Sometimes you just gotta let it play out.

Open issues

Having said that, there are some major issues on the table in Dallas. Do the Cowboys stand by Romo? Do the Stars stick with Turco? Both are huge fan favorites, but these aren’t questions that just popped up last week. These are 2-3 year-old problems. Neither of these guys have proved their worth in the playoffs. And right now neither of them are proving consistency in the regular season. I know it’s early, but again, these are long term open wounds. Not one of my mystery bruises that randomly pop up after I’ve been drinking. I don’t even know how *I* feel about what should be done. Although you’ll never see me wearing his jersey, I like Romo, he seems like a good dude. But damn. And Turco is even tougher. I have personal ties to him that make it heart-wrenching, so I kinda avoid talking about him. I really can’t imagine Marty on another team.

But at the end of the day, I’m honest enough to admit that my loyalty is to the teams over any individual player and selfish enough to say I want to see the Stanley Cup and Lombardi Trophy back in Dallas. No team should sell their souls for or buy a championship (*cough* Yankees) but changes, albeit temporarily hurtful to the fans, sometimes have to be made.

December of 1998 I wrapped up my first semester of college and took a week-long trip to see the boys in Kalamazoo. I think I even arranged to take two finals early. Remind me never to lecture anyone on organizing priorities.  BTdubs, I wish I could remember where I got the money to do all of that crap, I don’t think I even worked that year. Leftover graduation money perhaps? I need to figure it out, cause here I am 11 years and several tax brackets later and haven’t been on a real vacation since March 2004. Anyhow, I digress.

I was 18, didn’t drink (seriously), innocent as could be (no, really) and was a smitten kitten over at least four or five of the K-Wings (all Stars property). Petr you know about, the rest are still playing – two in Europe, one in the NHL and one belongs to an NHL team but is in the AHL in Texas (go figure).  None of them were saints. Hell, I’m pretty sure the Devil himself created one of them, somewhere between the strapless bra and Facebook. I’ve no doubt he invented all three with the intention of torturing womankind. Devil Spawn and his BFF (the one now in Texas…are you keeping up?) were inseparable evil. If I hadn’t been oozing with Southern Belle goodness, I would’ve been walking into double trouble on NUMEROUS occasions. I labeled them a “you’d either wind up dead or pregnant manwhich”. However, on top of the goody two-shoes-ness, I also had older, wiser friends looking out for me. MANY of them. And with magnifying glasses.

A must read for any young female hockey fan!

As an early Christmas present in ‘98 my friend Janelle gave me a book called “Crossing the Line” with strict instructions to read it before I stepped foot back into Kalamazoo. This book is BANANAS. Should my future daughter ever utter the words “Mom, me and my friends are going to Kings practice”, after I refrain from stroking out, I’m gonna be like “you’re grounded from hockey players until you’re 30 and read this book. Now.”

No one will dispute the fraternal nature of a locker room, whether it be hockey, football or cricket for all I know. There is too much raging testosterone and too many uncovered penises in one small space (and too much alcohol consumed off the ice/field) to do anyone any good. However, I wish I was a good enough writer to put into words the bond, brotherhood and unwritten code amongst hockey players. While doing some digging for this post I came across another book, “Men at Play: A Working Understanding of Professional Hockey“, which I’m ordering toute suite. I hope it can spell it out better, I only know what I saw. Some of these guys were born and bred to play hockey. They were ripped from their homes (MOST of them by choice) not too long after their voices changed to be immersed in the system. As if high school isn’t hard enough, right? “Crossing the Line” is a no holds barred, balls out examination of how junior hockey impacts such vulnerable, wee lads.

The entire hockey world was slapped in the face when Sheldon Kennedy announced he was abused by his junior hockey coach.  This week Theo Fleury, one of the WHL’s most notable exports, admitted he was sexually abused by the very same man. So although Canadian junior hockey is a staunch tradition, fabulous to watch (I’ve been to a handful of games) and produces some of the best players in North America, if not the world, the system leaves it’s marks. As if those two examples aren’t horrific enough, the culture can affect not only the players themselves, but also the girls and women around them.

Side note, Devil Spawn’s team is examined at length in “Crossing the Line”. Coincidence? Yeah…not so much. And don’t get me wrong, Readers…I still love me some hockey players!!! Bless their hearts.

1999 was a good year, Readers. That’s the year the Stars won the Cup and although it was AMAZING, it ended up rather bittersweet. You know how in relationships sex changes everything? In sports, championships change everything. I’ve touched on this before, but to recap..the Stars were rather accessible (a little to accessible at times) before Lord Stanley came to Dallas. Practices were completely open, players were cool, ticket prices were awesome and I knew the ins and outs of Reunion Arena like the back of my hand. The Stanley Cup and American Airlines Center being built changing all that, coupled with me generally growing up, forced my hockey life into the shitter.

Triple, triple, toil and trouble

I honestly never thought I could get my mojo back. Oh me of little faith. In an effort to mentally escape the terror that is work right now, I’ve spent the last couple of days getting hockeyfied. Holy pucks, it feels good. Like the perfect margarita kinda good. I’ve been reading blogs, skimming season previews from all over, watching videos, analyzing Brenden Morrow’s various hairstyles, wondering what moisturizer Modano uses cause his skin looks too good for his age and the life I know he’s led AND I joined a fantasy hockey team – time to get back in the know. In addition, I took advantage of the internet and old hockey friends to find a new player to love on. It’s like online dating, but a very, very Nikki version.

Someone should warn Matt Niskanen. Or at least tell him he’s lucky I’m 1200 miles away. Cause I used to be good at this game and I’m assuming it’s like riding a bike.

Player obsessions aside, I LOVE hockey. I’ve never figured out how and why I took to it as fast and as well as I did back in 1993. I was 13 and not really into anything other than a dwindling fascination with Christian Slater and the kid who played Spot in Newsies. I grew up in Texas in a rodeo family, something I wasn’t ever quite into despite my mother’s numerous attempts. Hockey was foreign where I came from, but new, intriguing and eventually helped shaped my individuality. I was hockey when hockey wasn’t cool. I owe my best high school and college memories to hockey, hockey players and hockey friends. I don’t think I ever really lost that part of my life, it’s still been there, aging like a fine wine perhaps? I sipped a little of it last year. But now it feels like I’m coming home. And I think it’s time for a welcome home party, yes? *cue music from someone getting her sass on in a CW preview here*

Have a happy NHL opening weekend, Readers! For Stars/hockey fans visiting CLSL for the first time, what I refer to as “My Hockey History” can be found here: Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3. But you’ve been warned, it’s a wicked trip down memory lane.

I blame a lot on Patron right now. I’m on a strict no Patron policy for the foreseeable future until I can trust myself again. Regardless, I’m back. Possibly because I’m tired of people asking me why I’m not writing anymore. Possibly because I know I have to do something other than read the Twilight books, eat Chinese food, bake cupcakes, hang out with gay guys and Feng Shui my apartment. See what happens to me when I’m going through football and hockey withdrawals AND dealing with a broken heart? Ridiculousness ensues. Having said that, I’m still cranky. So I’d like to complain about all the things I find wrong with sports during the summer months (including the two months we just lived through):

1. The Lakers. Ugh. Their fans ANNOY ME. Most of all, and I’ve mentioned this before, the traffic they cause during playoffs is the bane of my existence in Los Angeles for however many weeks it takes them to end their season…I pray to God for early elimination. Oh but that’s right, they’re not the Mavericks.  Anyway, I know LA traffic sucks balls every other day of the year. But game day traffic makes my commute home even more unbearable than it already is. Because all these rich ass h0les who live up in the valley are the epitome of fair weather fans and only go to games when 90% of ticket prices are in the triple digits. Between the income loss of the writers’ strike and the cost of the Lakers parade and now the Michael Jackson Memorial…I think I saw the Mayor of Los Angeles selling cherries on a street corner. Every penny counts these days, I hear.

2. Stupid playoff songs. I mean, really? The birthday sex song is painfully lame enough as is, inserting a team name and additional mentally challenged verses into it isn’t going to make it better. Just saying.

3. The NHL playoffs. It never fails that whoever wins the Stanley Cup, I lose. I need to just give up thinking there will be a team in the playoffs that I can cheer for through all four rounds. My taste in teams is much like my taste in guys. They’re amazing during the regular season when it’s all fun, games, drinking and screwing around…but when it comes to playoffs and the time to get serious and committed? Forget about it. It’s just MUCH easier for them to watch it all go down from a distance or on the golf course. Apparently the Stanley Cup and I aren’t worth extra effort. But on a lighter note, we both love champagne!

Now having said that, what was a loss for me was actually quite a gain for the NHL (and a total wet dream come true for Gary Bettman). The Detroit Red Wings playing The Second Coming of Jesus (and oh yeah the rest of the Penguins) in a game 7 on a Friday night on network television. I’d love to know how many times Bettman had to dry an eye or change his pants.

4. OTAs. More like WTFs. It’s like weeks of hot and heavy foreplay knowing you’re not getting any real action for THREE MORE MONTHS. It’s excruciating. Cock teases, much? And what’s that you say? Roy Williams had a few good catches today? GREAT, he’s good at a little over the shirt action, but talk to me again when the clothes come off. Don’t even get me started on the Cowboys draft this year. The sexual analogies I can make with that aren’t very ladylike. And my parents might be reading this.

5. Baseball. I tried it. Turns out I just don’t care. And what’s the point of even trying to care before the all-star break? SERIOUSLY? I’ll go to a Dodger game any day of the week (or a Rangers game if I was home), drink too much beer and have a hot dog…but don’t make me watch on TV and for the love of all that’s holy, don’t make me log into my fantasy team. Cause I stopped doing that almost two months ago. Trying to figure out why no one has asked to trade for my good players yet, actually.

6. The Stars losing their collective minds…again. Since I looked at the Kings two seasons before this last one and thought to myself “hey, THERE is the type of coach I want on my team!”

Ah, I feel better now.

A few weeks ago I was at dinner with a large-ish group of friends. The  conversation was all over the place, which is fine, as my head follows nothing less than random. At some point, we started discussing what our various quirks are. That convo took place late on a Thursday night, by Friday afternoon the only thing I could come up with was I think I look retarded in overly girly earrings and I refuse to eat veal and lamb. LAME.

Somewhere around the same time, a reader posted a comment that started out with “Miles Austin? Really?!” So that got me thinking – and not about Miles Austin, ass holes…

Lucky charms

Sports quirks. Quirks of the sports fan. (By the way, I’ve reached the point where I’ve typed quirk so much it looks like the weirdest word EVER). We all have rituals and superstitions, as all die hard fans do. Because I’m mentally challenged, there were two songs I listened to every time I headed to Santa Monica to watch a game with the Cowboys group – “Gimme More” by Brit Brit and “A Milli” by Lil Wayne. True story, cause why exactly would I make that up? In addition, I have a necklace with The Star on it, the first game I forgot to wear it? We not only took our first loss, we lost to the Redskins. Ew. But superstitions aren’t really quirks, they’re more like examples of our retardedness and how we’ve convinced ourselves a team’s ability to win or lose is dependent upon what color of underwear we wear (or whether we wear underwear at all…wait, what?).

Per my response to the aforementioned reader’s comment, I realized I have a Crazy Little Sports Quirk(ish). Ready for this? I don’t favoritize (did I just make that word up?) players that everyone else does. Meaning, I will move on to my next favorite player once one becomes too popular. Hence the constant question of “Miles Austin? Really?!” I became a Marion Barber fan three years ago when he fell onto my first fantasy team. I bought my white Barber jersey two years ago, my blue Barber jersey last year. Then I went to a game in Dallas. It was like the number 24 had staged an attack on Texas Stadium.  I can’t be having that. I’d already taken a liking to young Miles during Hard Knocks and was keeping an eye on his performance (dirty). So I thought, well, WHY NOT?! So I ordered my custom Austin jersey and as of right now, I’m going to take a guess that there aren’t TOO many out there. I have a suspicion that won’t last long, however. Blurgh. Anyhow, I’ve always been this way, I was even worse with hockey. I worshiped the ground Mike Modano walked on, until he blew the f*ck up, became Mr. Dallas and I was like, okay, not cool anymore – we’re done. I went onto Jamie Langenbrunner. Same thing happened, had to break up with him as well (and then he went and got himself traded to the Devils, he was so heartbroken). Then I picked an absolutely not really known outside of the fans of the teams he played for player in Petr Buzek. I OWNED that number one fan spot and almost ran with it right  into the loony bin (or into a restraining order).

This leads me to admit that some may question my reasoning behind picking favorite players. I don’t pick players for why a lot of people probably THINK I do. I look for potential and I look for heart. I like ‘em when they still play for the love of the game…when they’re still up and coming. So, you can have your mass produced Romo and Witten jerseys. Make fun of me all you want, fools, I’m okay being a crazy with an Austin jersey.

I heart birthdays

Sunday begins my birthweek. YES, I get a whole week because 1) I am a girl and we get what we want, 2) I call shenanigans on only celebrating one day and 3) I am THAT awesome. Therefore, let’s talk PRESENTS.

1. Thank you to the NHL for sending the Dallas Stars to Los Angeles next Thursday, the day after my birthday. That was generous of you on several levels – not only picking my week of birth, but also avoiding my actual night of birth so I can go drink.

2. Thank you to the NHL Network for hosting a free preview next week. Seriously, you’re spoiling me. You’re already sending me the Stars, but now I get to watch all the hockey games I want for five whole days?! That’s amazing…because not only will I be ABLE to watch hockey on the television set, I might actually do so. Crazy!

3. NFL free agency started today. Being the selfless individual I am, I would actually like to give Terrell Owens away for my birthday. Some might call that too generous…I say no, no it’s the LEAST I can do.

4. As a present to myself, I am going to Tony Parker’s wife’s (I love her) restaurant for my birthday dinner. There will be much tequila, tacos, guacamole and get this – sweet potato tater tots! Can. Not. Wait. I’ve been trying to go there since it damn well opened.

A must have for every Cowboys fangirl

5. My birthday is obviously and unfortunately (or fortunately?!) close to the recently celebrated Valentine’s Day. Most girls love flowers, candy and all of the stereotypical gifts of choice. But we’ve more than established by now I’m not most girls. So someone finally figured out how to woo me properly and got me BOYS WILL BE BOYS for Valentine’s.  Raise your hand if your wife/girlfriend would’ve killed you. Tis a damn shame there’s only one of me to go around, I know.

I honestly couldn’t care less about Sean Avery either way. The stunt he pulled against Brodeur was heinous…anything a player does to cause a rule change during a damn game? Utterly heinous. There’s no doubt this ass hole has caused plenty of dirty, rotten issues during his NHL career. The league has had plenty of chances to kick him out for legitimate reasons. I never thought I’d be coming to the defense of such a dick, however…

“Uh, I’m really happy to be back in Calgary. I love Canada.

“And I just want to comment on how it’s become like a common thing in the NHL for guys to fall in love with my sloppy seconds. I don’t know what that’s about.

“Enjoy the game tonight.”

…is NOT an upstanding reason to suspend a player indefinitely. I don’t give a damn there are provisions under “NHL By-Law 17 and Article 6 of the NHL Constitution for conduct “detrimental to the League or game of hockey,” Call me crazy (ha!) but him making a backhanded comment about Dion Phaneuf banging Elisha Cuthbert is just shit talking and not detrimental to the game. Give me a break and let them take it out on the ice. Like HOCKEY PLAYERS. Bettman is sucking the soul out of this game one horrific decision at a time. (How’s the Versus contract working out for you, fellow fans?!)

These damn Dallas athletes (and the copious amounts of caffeine I’ve ingested today) have got me all fired up. For some reason, flashes of Avery and Pacman sipping on Hennessy at the Ghostbar are violently flashing through my head. Although it’s only in my imagination, those two need blinged out BFF necklaces.

Sigh. At least neither shot themselves in the damn leg. At an Applebee’s. And used a fake name. Douchebag.

With everything I read and watch about sports, it’s sometimes difficult to retain ALL the information. I have to leave SOME room for shoes, what happened on this week’s Grey’s Anatomy and actual current events. And there’s only so many brain cells left that alcohol hasn’t killed (those we lost, they put up a good fight). I tend to remember the info under the categories of “random crap” or “crap I disagree with”.

FOR EXAMPLE, sometime last week I caught up on some Stars reading at the Dallas Morning News website. Mike Heika has always been the main man for the Stars over there and I’ve generally never had issues with him. He was hockey when hockey wasn’t cool. However, during a recent Q&A this is pretty much how it went…

Q: What should the Stars do about Coach Tippett? A. Blah blah blah or wait till the summer.

Q: What should the Stars do about Marty Turco? A. Blah blah blah, no trade clause, blah blah blah or wait till the summer.

Q: What should the Stars do about this ridiculous system of having two GMs? Especially two GMs who have compeletley different playing philosophies? A. WAIT FOR IT…blah blah blah or wait till the summer.

DUDE, it’s freakin’ DECEMBER! I don’t care to wait until goddamn June to fix my bottom the the barrel team. A

Would the real Turco please come home?!

team that, need I remind you, made it to the Western Conference Finals last season. Please to be fixing them sometime within the near futute, thanks! Heika’s argument is that in the 15 years the Stars have been in Dallas, we’ve rarely seen lean times. I call shenanigans. With the talent this team has, how far they got last season, there is no excuse. My advice? Ditch a GM and make a change in coach. I guarantee you, we’ll at least get our goalie back in form if that goes down. I know things.

Maybe I’m a little bit frightened that I find myself checking to see how the Kings did before I see if the Stars even played. Just because IF the Stars did play, the inevitable outcome would be another kick in the balls. (Please note I don’t actually have balls).

Speaking of disgruntled fans, EXAMPLE TWO, I was watching today’s PTI while whipping up some din din and one of the boys, while discussing the fate of Donovan McNabb, said Philly fans are all about “what have you done for me lately.” This comment has me torn in two. The bitch in me who loathes Philly fans says kharma is a dirty whore and she’ll f*ck you over when she can. Therefore, if you put a little more nice into the universe you might just get a little bit more back! However, the sypathetic fan in me (and I’m not happy about saying this…) wonders if you can really blame them for being dicks about it? The Eagles have never been able to seal the deal. Although that colors me all sorts of giddy (sitting on top of 5 Super Bowl championships, no less), it has to suck to be them. Having said that, hell hath not frozen over, I will never be able to tolerate them (there’s an exception to every rule, however) and they’ve got the World Series to nurse for awhile…just saying I CAN look at two signs of the coin. Otherwise, I’d be contradicting all the whining I just did about the Stars. Think about it.