Happy New Year! Your Ottawa Senators Resolutions

This past Sunday, as I sat waiting for Hydro One to get the FUCKING POWER RUNNING AGAIN YOU BASTARDS -- I'M MISSING ALL OF MY FOOTBALL GAMES!!!, I listened to the soothing sounds of 100mph wind gusts tear the shingles from my roof. And I have to admit, warmed only by the soft glow of roughly eleventy thousand candles I couldn't help but become a little introspective. Part of it was the time of year, but mostly because I had nothing better to do. Other than bail 240 litres of water out of my sump pit every 90 minutes. But I digress...

My rage over the Calgary Cock-Up, so thoroughly documented in my notebook as a series of elegant, if indecipherable scribbles and one huge ink blot caused when my pen snapped in half had dissipated somewhat. By the time the juice was flowing again and the magic box informed me that we had already been pummeled in Vancouver (the "highlights" later confirming the craptacular level of play I had already suspected and have come to expect), I was too physically drained to get worked up about it. As for last night, I can't get too worked up over that either, knowing, as I now do, that such a brilliant, hard working, finally-played-like-they-can (Jason) effort is unlikely to be repeated for another 10 games or so.

So I thought a little more. What, I wondered, would the New Year's resolutions of Your Ottawa Senators look like? As we prepare to show our own Annus Horribilus the door (but not before kicking it square in the nuts) here are a few. Feel free to add your own in the comments.

Emperor Eugene resolves to think before speaking to a local sports media who would publish idiotic email exchanges masquerading as "journalism" mocking Mother Theresa's corpse if they thought it would get them an extra freebie at the Gasbag Grill and Buffet House.

The Bryan resolves to face the fact that blowing up the team in order to ensure a lottery pick (hello, Mr. Tavares) and missing the playoffs is far preferable to watching this underachieving bag of doorknobs squeak into the last spot only to be, once again, sodomized in four straight by Boston or Montreal.

Coach Craig resolves to go back to the only line combinations that seem to produce anything at all, no matter how anemic (see game file: Edmonton, Last Night) and, barring injury, illness or meteor strike just LEAVE THEM THE FUCK ALONE! That's as good as it gets Coach. Deal.

Giggles resolves to up his "play like I actually care about the game rather than being a lazy, loafing, petulant toddler on skates" quotient from every fifth game to every third. Barring that, he resolves to give back half of his salary so we can go get a real second liner.

Fish resolves to waive his No Movement Clause for the good of the team, my sanity and godless heathens everywhere.

Alexandre Picard resolves to accept the fact that he has no business calling himself an NHL caliber defenceman and quietly retires to open a floral shop in Joncquiere, Quebec.

Swiss Pastry resolves to visit an optometrist. No, seriously Martin. Get your eyes checked.

And finally...your humble scribe resolves to see the vortex of suck that is this season through to the end, comforted by the fact that no matter how bad it gets, it will never be worse than Year One ('92-'93), his inaugural year on the bandwagon. And booze. Lots and lots of booze.

Happy New Year everyone! Now go out and get plastered. You've earned it.

First Rule Of The Drug Dealer: Never Sample Your Own Wares

Photo: Jana Chytilova

It may be time for an intervention:

OTTAWA-He may be one of the few holdouts, but Ottawa Senators owner Eugene Melnyk insists his team doesn’t need a miracle to make the playoffs and contend for the Stanley Cup this season.

The Senators’ boss, who was in town to play host at a skating event for underprivileged children at Scotiabank Place on Sunday, told a Toronto radio station earlier this week he believed Ottawa will finish top four in the Eastern Conference. He stood by those words Sunday.

With all due respect, Your Imperial Omnipotence, while I understand that one of your most important duties (along with ribbon cuttings at new concession stands and the occasional blood sacrifice of a Leaf fan) is to act as Grand Poobah Cheerleader for your own team. I get it. But not even you can, with a straight face, honestly call us "contenders" in light of the unmitigated torrent of excrement we've witnessed over the last twelve months, can you? I mean, c'mon...you, of all people, can't be that delusional, right?

"Watch this team. You're going to be very, very surprised. We have nine new players. We have a new coach. We have a new system. It's only 30 games into the season and we will be a Stanley Cup contender. Mark my words. You'll see. Just give them some time and that time is right now."

Oh, dear Lord. It's worse than we thought.

We Are All Senators! Whether You Like It Or Not!

According to a reliable source, the Vancouver Canucks have been running ads throughout their fair city in which they attempt to indoctrinate the general populace into the belief that they are "All Canucks!" Your Honour, I present Exhibit A:



Further examples of their Orwellian thought control can be found here.

As you would expect (if you've been paying attention) this set the OBC cat amongst the Senators' marketing pigeons. What would, we wondered collectively, a similar campaign look like amongst the denizens of Sens Nation? Something like mine, we would suspect:


Let us now trip gracefully through the intertubes, capturing the true OBC zeitgeist of this lost season, shall we?

The Universal Cynic

Scarlett Ice

Hockey Schlock

Sens At Land's End

If you have any you'd like to create/share/inflict upon an unsuspecting public, drop us a line. We'll post the best, and mock the rest.

Hey, what else are you going to do? Watch the games?

Devils 5, Sens 1: Seriously. What Do We Have To Lose?

Screw "tinkering" with the line up.

Bryan, listen to me. I want you to hit the airwaves tomorrow and declare that the entire roster has been sent down to Bingo. Then I want you to announce that the entire Bingo roster has been called up to play against the Stars.

Sure, we'll get creamed. But at least we'll get to watch a bunch of kids who actually care about the game.

If we're going to suck moose balls for the next four months, I demand that I be entertained in the process.

Hartsburg Rearranges Deck Chairs, Declares Team "Unsinkable"

Puck drop in ten minutes, so let us dispense with the buzzing noises, shall we?

"I want to see every line work," said a frustrated Hartsburg. "When we start to work every night, every shift and every line, then it will start to turn. We've got to spread those three guys around. Let's be a blue-collar team."

"We are just going to try to simplify the game and work hard," said Spezza. "The way we were doing it before, it hasn't worked consistently. You don't want to complicate things too much. (Ruutu and Neil) like to play a pretty simple game. It's up to me to adapt."

"I'm excited about it," said Fisher, who hasn't scored since Nov. 27. "Every line has got a bit of skill and has got some guys that can play physical. It's kind of a different look, which maybe we need."

Sing it with me, children! Blah...blah...blah.

7:00 p.m., SportsNet East or RDS, for those of you of the poutine and Pepsi persuasion.

Behind Enemy Lines: They were the first to say pretty things about your humble scribe way back in aught seven, so it's about time I show them the love. Please say hello to 2 Man Advantage. And maybe beg them for mercy while you're there.

How Much Is That Doggie In The Window? A Lot Cheaper Than You'd Think

Good evening Ladies and Gentlemen. On behalf of Mr. Mousebat, I would like to welcome you to Mousebat, Follicle, Goosecreature, Ampersand, Spong, Wapcaplet, Looseliver, Vendetta and Prang Auction House and Bordello.

As stated on your invitation, we are here to dispose of the superfluous horseflesh of one Mr. E. Melnyk, entrepreneur, sportsman, equine enthusiast and general bon vivant. Upon satisfactory inspection of the individual lots, you will be invited to place your bids in the space provided below, subject, of course to the stated reserve price*.

Let's get on with it then, shall we? I'm sure we all have better things to do. Like DYI appendectomies, for instance.

Lot #5: Our first item is an exquisite example of the classical Bavarian workhorse. Note the strong thighs, robust upper body, and broad shoulders. Can be skittish if disgruntled, but a firm hand at the whip in combination with a rigidly repetitive training regimen (this particular breed is not noted for its intelligence) will produce a solid addition to any plow team.

Reserve: Third round draft pick.

Lot #12: The only true thoroughbred among this evening's offerings, this gelding has speed to spare. Utterly loyal and completely fearless, his work ethic is beyond reproach and matched only by his baffling inability to accomplish anything despite his willingness to die in the attempt. While he has pulled up lame on occasion, he has never failed to recover...given enough time. All that is required to keep him content is an ample supply of good oats, and sufficient opportunity to distribute Gideon Bibles to inner city orphans.

Reserve: Prospect not born in Russia AND second round draft pick.

Lot #20: Like all Lippenzaners, he is beautiful (note the rippling chest and impressive leg definiton), and highly trainable, given the proper voltage. He is also somewhat delicate. Smaller than most specimens of his breed, his lack of relative size is more than made up for by the grace of his canter. While it is unlikely he will ever fulfill his considerable potential, he would be a fine addition to any stable, if for no other reason than his ability to excite brooding mares.

Reserve: Second round draft pick.

Lot #25: While perhaps not the most magnificent of creatures, this cross breed will surprise and delight any prospective owner. Combining the strength and persistence of the Clydesdale with the stubborness of the North American Jackass, he will require a firm hand to ensure proper behaviour and the patience to instill obedience. A new master must be prepared to repeat training sessions as often as necessary if any behaviour modification is to be achieved. And I mean often. Like, a lot. With much yelling.

Reserve: Third round draft pick AND a younger, less expensive but above all, smarter horse of similar mien and temperment.

Lot #29: Free to a good home.

Reserve: Um...some pucks would be nice. Maybe some tape. OH! And cookies...peanut butter, preferably.

Lots #17 & #45: Our last, and only combined lot of the evening. Whether through some comical miscommunication or gross misrepresentation on the part of the original seller, these two swayback mares were acquired by the Head Groomsman completely by accident. We'll let these two go on the cheap.

Reserve: Please take them. Pretty please?
*All transactions must be finalized no later than March 4th, 2009. Cash, or certified cheque only please. No returns, exchanges or refunds. All sales final.

Thrashers 4, Sens 1: Time To Blow It The Fuck Up

What happens when the fourth best PK lets the worst power play in the League beat you for two goals? What happens when your three best players, including the guy wearing the "C" and holding the express pass to the rafters can't seem to give a shit and are your biggest defensive liability? What happens when you can't beat a bottom feeding franchise that shouldn't even exist? What happens when a certain blogger has totally given up hope of anything good happening this season? You curse, you drink a lot, punch a few nuns, accept the inevitable and hang out the "For Sale" sign, that's what. Come back tomorrow for the fire sale. And believe me, everything must go.

There ain't no 2007-esque Miracle Turnaround coming for this team. Not this year. Blow it up Bryan.

Fuck, I hate this game.

Hawks 2, Sens 0: Excrement

The effort I've put into this post is in direct proportion to the effort I witnessed on the ice.

And we shall never speak of it again.

Panthers 4, Sens 3 (OT): This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

The hell? Here we were, thinking that you had finally figured it out. Everybody thought so. Four wins in five games meant that all was well, the corner had been well and truly turned and the rest of the year would be filled with sunshine, rainbows and lollipops. Then you go and shit the bed. Once more. With feeling. Don't make me sit you down again, boys.

The High:

• They'll LOVE 'em in Zimbabwe: Do you know what happens to all of the "Championship!" hats and t-shirts that get produced before the team they're produced for loses said "Championship!"? They end up in some God forsaken corner of the world where countries change their name at the whim of comically dressed strongmen, and the locals are too busy chasing cockroaches for food to worry about the fashion faux-pas inherent in their "19-0! Super Bowl Champion New England Patriots!" commemorative wife-beaters. Now that the "Back In Black" good luck charm is done, I fully expect to see an entire village somewhere in Buttfuck, Tanzania matching their (very) gently used "SENS" jerseys to their 2007 Stanley Cup Champion Ottawa Senators beanies. Make it happen, UNICEF.
  

The Lowest of the Lows:

• Viva Kuba Lib--Oh bloody hell...: I'm trying, Filip. I really am. Yes, the points are nice, and we certainly need them. So thanks for that. I've also come to reconcile myself to the fact that, despite your rather impressive dimensions, you will never make physical contact with an opposing forward. Ever. Fine. But do you know what else will make it exceedingly hard for me to ever like you? Jackass, dumb-as-a-bag-of-fucking-rocks, blind backhand neutral zone passes to nobody IN FUCKING OVERTIME! We have Jason for that.

• Great, now the OBC's gonna have m'a legs broke: Hi Cody. C'mon over here Roto. There seems to have been some misunderstanding. It was quite evident to me, as I watched Keith Ballard go coast-to-coast, over, around and through both of you before taking the shot that led directly to Michal Repik first ever NHL goal (also nice of you to let Master Repik stand around in the crease) that perhaps you didn't quite understand your roles. Here's a clue...HIT SOMEBODY!

• Surprise! The sucking will start......NOW!: On the upside, you all seem to be breaking the inevitable "oh, we don't feel like playing" portions of the game into manageable chunks. Ten minutes in the first, here...fifteen in the second over there... How very considerate of you. And a welcome variation for we home viewers, let me tell you. Watching you suck the hind end from a goat for entire periods at a time was getting pretty monotonous.
  

The Creamy Middle:

If this were any other season, I would happily write off the screw ups in this game...the three (THREE!) blown leads, the forwards' bewildering inability to adjust to the Panthers D jumping into the play (hey, that Bouwmeester dude is pretty good! We might want to keep an eye on him!), Kuba's brain fart in OT...to cite but a few...as just that, aberrant screw ups that are inevitable over the course of a long season. But this is NOT any other season. This crap has been going on for damn near a year. Not sure if you've noticed, gentlemen, but we're currently out of a playoff spot. Now I still have faith that we're better than that, but giving away points to the very teams who will be scratching and clawing for the 8th spot come March is a shitty way to prove me wrong.

Pithy Observations of Questionable Importance:

• The friend of my enemy is also...Wait. How does that go again?: Somebody want to explain to me why we're booing Bryan McCabe? For what? Not being flexible enough? Sure, he "played" for the Laughs. So did a lot of guys. But really, compared to Domi, Belfour, Tucker or Gary Fucking Roberts, hating McCabe is like screaming at the poor minimum wage bastard who has to answer the phone at a call centre. Sure, it may be satisfying, but he has nothing to do with the fact that you have been, and are likely still being, sodomized by Bell Canada.

• Thank goodness! I thought we were playing Jai Alai: Upon video review of K-Rock's goal to open the scoring, Head Zebra Dude Tom Kowal (who??) played to the crowd for a bit, and then deigned to announce over the mike that, since Jesse had been pushed into the goalie, Chris' tally was in fact a "good hockey goal". Oscar worthy dramatic pointing to centre ice thus ensued. Gee, Skippy, thanks for clearing that up. Here I was wondering what had happened to the base paths.

• Yeah, Sparky? I need eleventeen cases of toilet paper: We live in a world where devices the size of a matchbook can hold eight billion songs. Where I can sit almost anywhere in the world, plug a four inch stick into my laptop and download pictures of Britanny Spears flashing her woo-hoo to an adoring populace. So why is it that an NHL official can't talk to the video replay booth without donning gear that looks like it needs to be hand cranked by Radar O'Reilly or some Dickensian street urchin? "Review that goal for ya, Gov'nah?"
  

Up Next:

Tomorrow night, off to the souless edifice that is the United Centre, for a date against Marty Havlat (provided he doesn't hurt himself between now and then) and the Chicago Blackhawks (8:30 p.m., TSN2...for those lucky enough...like me...to actually get it). Ah...to harken back to those heady days of John Muckler, Brandon Bochensky and Tyler Arneson! On the upside, Bill Wirtz won't be around to yell at you for actually watching on that new fangled tee-vee instead of getting your sorry ass to the rink. Bonus? Pastry with the start! WEEE!

Behind Enemy Lines:

It's been so long that the Sens have graced the Windy City that I needed something special to mark the occasion. Please welcome Second City Hockey. You may leave your polyester wrapped tributes to Gilda Radner and Eugene Levy with the bouncers.

Enjoy the game, everybody. Well, as much as you can, anyway.

Sens 3, Pens 2: In Which We Compare And Contrast "Shits" And "Giggles"

Here's a hint. Giggles had the hat trick.

The Highs:

• This? 'Tis but a scratch!: Sure, the natural hat trick was nice. Congrats on that, Jason. So is your continued ability to make the Penguins your personal whores (27 points in 20 games). But do you really want to know how to make the mouth breathers who normally howl "we gotta trade his ass!" during the call-in shows check themselves? Get up laughing after taking the biggest hit of your career and proceed to send the opponents a giant SUCK IT! by scoring a goal. Again. That would be perfect.
  

• Your mission, should you choose to accept it...: Okay folks, we need a better nick name for the Big Line than either "pizza" or (ugh!) "CASH". They turned Atlanta into gooey piles of despair (but that was Atlanta) and followed that up by fashioning Julien's little boy toys into pylons while being among the toughest hombres on the ice (bonus points to The Captain for walking off a bullet to the top of his foot). I'm thinking "Two-Four". As in: If we're playing on Victoria Day weekend, it's because of this line.
  

• Screw secondary scoring. You boys just keep on keepin' on: We would be remiss if we didn't mention the contributions from the supporting cast. The Winch, Little Nicky and Chris "K-Rock" Kelly keeping the Pens hemmed in their own end most of the time while being general pains in the ass...Roto Ruutu and his sneaky little elbows (somewhere Gordie Howe smiles...and asks for more tapioca). Then there's our boy C-Bass. Did you know he was playing with a broken toe? Neither did I. He laces on a pair of skates and spends three hours catching 100mph slapshots with his feet. Me? I'm lying on the couch, popping vicodin like candy while Beloved starts looking for a divorce lawyer.
  

The Lows (only two of which deal with the Cee Bee Cee):

• Next time, just shoot the hostage: That was one hell of a dilemma, wasn't it Brendan? It certainly looked that way. How else to explain why, after watching your "pass" go squirting onto the stick of Jordan Staal like some palsy stricken wombat, you stood there, flummoxed, while Evgeni Freakin Malkin went streaking by you three feet to your right? Malkin's ensuing short handed goal to pull Pittsburgh within one with ten minutes to go in the game probably gave you a clue as to how to handle that particular situation in the future, yes? Look around, dumbass.
  

• HURRY HARD! And get the HELL off my t.v.!: Mother Corp has been broadcasting curling for many, many years. I should know. For as long as I can remember (which is quite a few more years than I'd care to admit), there have been many a time when I have been lulled into blissful slumber on a Sunday afternoon by the dulcet tones of Don Wittman (R.I.P). So with all that experience, you'd think the pinheads that run the CBC would know how long the average curling match will run, and schedule the remainder of their programming accordingly, right? Right? Wouldn't you think? Yeah, I'd have thought so too, until I missed the first three minutes of this game for the semi finals of something called the The Capital One Grand Slam Of Curling. Dear CBC: If it doesn't say "Brier" or "Scotties" on the trophy, move it to Country Canada or Bold or whatever the hell you're calling your crap cable channel this week, and give me my fucking hockey game.

• You're looking particularly amorphous this evening, Mr. Galley: I am the proud owner of a 56" High Definition television. Ma Bell extorts me to the tune of $110 a month for the privilege of beaming High Definition satellite signals into my home. The Canadian Broadcasting Corporation has an annual, taxpayer funded operating budget somewhere north of one billion dollars. HD cameras cost much, much less than that. So why did this game look like it was being broadcast from the bottom of a swimming pool?
  

Pithy Observation of Questionable Importance:

We are now 4-0 when wearing those hideous third jerseys. Now I don't generally subscribe to superstition (unless my lucky Redskins socks are involved) but if someone tells me the I'm going to die the Senators are going to lose unless I keep a bowling pin jammed up my ass they keep wearing that jersey...I'd have to think long and hard about it.

Creamy Middle:

Not as dominant as they were against Atlanta (but again...that was Atlanta) and there were times in the early going where it looked like the boys had slipped back into their evil ways of sloth, apathy and general crapitude AND Coach Craig's recurring habit of jamming on the brakes by throwing the trap onto the ice late in a close game still drives me batshit (safe is DEATH, Coach), but still a quality win. If the boys are on, as they were through a large portion of this game and as they were for the entire Thrashers game, it's obvious we can play with anybody. Sooner or later, they're going to start believing that. I hope.

Next Up:

The barrel of yuks that is Jacques Martin brings his Florida Panthers to The Bank on Monday night (7:30pm, Sportnet East or...RDS for you coalition types). Remember how Now Florida Head Coach but Then Nobody Peter DeBoer jerked The Bryan around for a month last summer before The Bryan finally said "fuck it" and signed Hartsburg? Yeah, me neither.

And hey! We finally get to see that Bowmeester kid! Don Brennan should have him traded to Ottawa for Jason Spezza, Dany Heatly, Daniel Alfredsson, the athletic staff and a small block of cheddar by the end of the first period.

Behind Enemy Lines:

Well, lah-di-dah, look who's made the big time! A scant six weeks after being mentioned on this very site, The Litter Box has been drafted into Mirtle's SB Nation army of hockey blogger brilliance. Coincidence? I think not. Congrats, Whale. Well deserved, indeed.

You're Next Sidney -- Fear The 'Stache!

Personally, I'd prefer the entire team follow Gator's lead and rock the badass Fu Manchu (except you Fish. Jeebus, you look like my prom picture...minus the mullet), but this works too. Think about it Neiler! It's like a codpiece! For your face!

I feel it. Can you? It's coming back. The mojo, I mean. The "Oh hells, we are SO better than this" feeling. We beat the Rangers. We beat the Leafs. Throw the last Islanders game out the window as the final lesson on how not to play a hockey game, a lesson well and truly learned. And we made Atlanta cry.

The Big Line is scorin'. Fish, The Winch, Gator and A-Train are rockin'. Oh, and before I forget, Roto, Neiler and C-Bass are a knockin':

Neil will likely skate on a line with Jarrko Ruutu and Cody Bass to see if they can create some energy against the Penguins.

So, Sidney. Y'all ready for this?

In Other News...Thrashers And Talons And Live Blogs, Oh My!

Yes. Well. With that wee bit of messy unpleasantness safely behind us (drunken midnight rantin' can be very cathartic, if a little hard on the laptop...personally, I blame Lloyd Robertson), we turn our attention to the next cellar dweller to kick our asses...the Atlanta Thrashers (Tomorrow, 7:00pm, on TSN in all of McGuire's screamy goodness).

The last time my rather well cushioned posterior (I prefer "Rubenesque", thank you very much) came into contact with an SBP seat, Atlanta was in town. As my reward for miraculously making it through yet another 365 days without a cardiac event of any kind, my Dad snagged us a couple of 100 level seats for my birthday. Ten rows up, just off one of the corners, they were sweet indeed.

And that night, so close to the ice, I gained an entirely new appreciation of just how stupidly, insanely good Ilya Kovalchuck can be when he wants to. You can't see it sitting in the rafters, and television will never do it justice. The one image indelibly burned into my memory is the sight of his taking a pass just inside his own blue line, not thirty feet away from me, and within two strides hitting full speed as he blew past all of our forwards. Seriously, the entire section made a kind of awed *ooof* noise, as we watched the hot dog wrappers get sucked into the vortex he left behind. Oh, and we lost the game.

My point? We're screwed.

Behind Enemy Lines:

As improbable as it may sound for a last place (until tomorrow...WEEE!) team that draws slightly smaller crowds than the local IHOP, the Thrashers are blessed with quite a number of quality bloggers. I'll highlight Do The Thrashers Have Large Talons here, but only because I love the name. But do yourself a favour and peruse the others in The Falconer's roll. Who says the South can't do hockey? Now that' enough out of you, Winnipeg...

Doin' it up, Cover It Live style:

Because we're suckers for punishment the OBC, led by our intrepid emailing machine, Dany Heatly Speedwagon, will once again be polluting the tubes with half formed opinion, off topic tangents about various foodstuffs and lots of ampersands cleverly disguised as curse words. Join us, won't you? If for nothing else than the inherent joy in slap-typing OH JUST STFU PIERRE!!! over and over again.

You Disgust Me

Note: The following has absolutely nothing to do with the Ottawa Senators, hockey or even sports. But it does have everything to do with my unending rage with what is going on with my Government. This is the only platform I have with which to make my views known. If you look up at my banner, it states "Combining Senators hockey with contempt of the human condition". This post is all about that contempt. If you're here for the funny, my apologies. Check back in tomorrow.

To Mister Stephane Dion, Mister Jack Layton and Monsieur Gilles Duceppe:

You disgust me.

I am a Civil Servant. The oath I swore upon joining the public service was to uphold, to the best of my ability, in an absolutely impartial fashion, the policies of the Government of the day, duly elected by the people of Canada. It is a duty I take very, very seriously. It is my job to respect and administer, regardless of my own personal politics, the wishes of Cabinet as expressed by the mandate given to it by the Canadian electorate. You, gentlemen, in your seedy, underhanded scheming grab for power, deserve no such respect.

All of this was brought about by the Tories' move to cut public subsidies to political parties, a subsidy I happen to support if only to keep the grasping influence of well funded special interest groups out of federal politics. But...

You have no mandate. Six weeks ago, the Canadian people voted for a minority government headed by Stephen Harper. Now, you three are telling the roughly eleven million people who cast ballots in that election, that we all made a terrible mistake and that you know better than the rest of us. Perhaps I haven't made myself sufficiently clear...WE DIDN'T FUCKING VOTE FOR YOU!!!! You disgust me.

Your "coalition" depends upon the support of a political party whose stated aim, it's very raison d'être, remains the secession of Quebec and the destruction of my country. You disgust me.

Your purported Prime Minister, Stephane Dion, leader of the Liberal party, the man rejected by the electorate, yet the man who you tell us is the best man to lead us out of the economic crisis gripping the planet, the man you say is best suited to navigate the quagmire that is Afghanistan, at the cost of 97 Canadian lives so far, will be replaced next May, barely six months into your eighteen month agreement, by a new leader. That leader will also become Prime Minister without even the slightest hint of any kind of mandate save the three thousand or so Liberal delegates at the convention. You disgust me.

This is nothing less than a political party making a deal with the devil in order to remain "entitled to its entitlements". This is nothing less than a group of vainglorious, pissant little cockroaches who have deluded themselves into thinking that they know better about what this country wants, whether we know it or not. This is nothing less than a naked grasp for power, for power's sake. This is nothing less than a Coup D'Etat.

You disgust me.

Isles 4, Sens 2 : We Officially Welcome You To The John Tavares Sweepstakes And Cooking Show!

AHA! I'm on to your little game, Bryan. Oh yes I am.

You thought you could fool me, didn't you? You clever, clever boy!! You made sure all of those press conferences were peppered with all of the right words like "concern" and "disappointment". You tsk-ed and tsk-ed and tsk-ed. TEEHEE!! And when the losing just keeps on keepin' on, you even throw out the possibility of a trade to keep it fresh! To keep me on my toes! Oh heavens, but you did have the players in a twist! My stars! HA-HA!! But I'm onto you now Bryan. Oh yes I am. You can't fool me anymore, you naughty, naughty man.

It's odd, really. No, not ME, silly. It's odd that I didn't catch on sooner. All of the signs were there. The little twinkle in your eye every time somebody asks you "what's wrong with this team??" Trading for Picard and Kuba. Somehow convincing Verms and Fish not to score any goals. Transplanting Jason's brain into Alfie's body...all the better to ensure that two-thirds of our top line make the same dumbass mistakes with the puck. And of course, there's the ice that everyone has been bitch-- *GASP!* That was you too, wasn't it?!?! My GAWD man!

But don't worry Bryan. This will be our little secret. I won't tell a SOUL. Honest. Honest and for true! HEE-HEE!! And just in case any of those nasty wasty prying peepers try to get it out of me...again...I'll be wearing one of these. Want one? Really. Go ahead. That lottery pick will be TOTALLY worth it!