Henrik Zetterberg of the Detroit Red Wings drinks from the Stanley Cup. (Photo by Bruce Bennett/Getty Images)
It’s over. It’s really over. Not the final - I mean hockey itself.
Look out the door. See the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse? (Actually, now – thanks to the PC police, it’s two men, a Latino woman and a blind Australian shepherd).
Oh, woe is me. Woe is us.
Didn’t we all cringe just a little when that blasted Norwegian Nicklas Lidstrom raised that historic and beloved trophy above his head with his ungodly webbed fingers? I’m sure I saw old Stanley cry. I know I did (although technically you know I can’t “cry,” being incredibly carnivorous and all).
And then there’s that guy from Thailand – Henrik Zetterface – who, somehow, was able to take home the Conn Smythe Trophy. It’s a sad day when leading the playoffs in scoring, plus/minus, power play goals and playing 98 minutes a night is enough to be considered the MVP.
What’s happened to hockey? What’s happened to our game?
There’s lots of blame to go around. You can be sure of that. I have a list.
Ken Holland’s Canadian citizenship should be revoked immediately. Yeah, you heard me. How dare a fine Canadian boy go to another country and be wildly successful at what he does. Couldn’t you be a little more Alan Thicke and a little less Alex Trebek?
I also blame the Russians. Sure, now you have your free enterprise and your open market and that “democracy” thing, but couldn’t you have just stayed in Russiataria, made a couple rubles or shillings and played there instead? I prefer my checking centers from Moose Jaw, thank you very much.
And the Swedes. Let’s not forget those Swedes. I think that’s why they make their women so beautiful. While you’re busy ogling Olga, Per-Erik is likely rummaging through your steamer chest looking for a map to that $45 you have buried in the backyard.
And the Finns. I’m sure they’re in there somewhere. Way too many double K’s and double U’s and double I’s in those names for my liking. Any letter that needs a line through it or two dots above it is obviously the work of the devil (possibly a Latvian cyber punk).
The list goes on.
Detroit. You dirty double agent. You’re all Mom and apple pie and GM Rules. Meanwhile your payroll is chock full of guys named Pavel and Johan and Hideo.
I thought we had an agreement. We’d buy your badly-built, overpriced gasoline sponges and you’d draft the occasional incoherent Newfoundlander.
Now you’re scouring Belgium for a goalie with a great glove hand. What’s next, economical vehicles?
It won’t be long now. This year, Detroit. In a few, the Helsinki Ice Yaks will be sipping vodka, through a hygienic rubber tube connected to the new, solar-powered, 10 liter refrigeration unit they had retrofitted into the Cup.
I’m so depressed.
I think I’m going to need to install a door on my cave.
The preceding was purely fictional and meant for entertainment purposes only. By entertainment, we mean we hope you laughed while reading it, framing it, or burning it. Any similarities between this and actual events is strictly coincidental and frankly, dumb luck. Remember to remind your lawyer about the made-up part, OK?
Charlie Teljeur, creator of THN's hockeysockpuppettheatre, brings you Loose Change every Thursday only on thehockeynews.com. Subscribe to The Hockey News today to have Charlie's cartoon delivered to you in each issue.
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