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.