NHL Blues

Like most Canadians, I'm laying in my bed crying today over billionaires refusing to let millionaires play with pucks and sticks.
I simply do not know how I will cope this winter if hockey takes a holiday.
Wait. I have it.
Let's ask Madonna, Rosie O'Donnell and Geena Davis to put down their baseball gloves and pick up hockey sticks. They can wear short skirts and long underwear and pointy bras. We'll ask Nia Vardalos to talk to Tom Hanks about coaching.
We'll call our team something inappropriately aboriginal like The Canadian Squaws. They can spit tabacky through their front teeth and do commercials about their sisters, all of whom have a mental illness. You know who you are.
Who gives a shit?
Not me.
I only watch hockey during the playoffs like most Canadian wives. Mostly, I drink beer and watch for Don Cherry whom I find hilarious. Seriously, he could give Carson Kressley a run for his money in the fashion business, in the blatantly hetero blowhard department.
Maybe Canadians will be forced to find another sport to get excited about, like curling or synchronized swimming. Curling for the drinkers. Synchro swimming for the truly insane.
What galls me about these strikes is that it's all about rich dudes getting richer, not about entertaining youngsters and inspiring their parents to shell out two thousand dollars for hockey equipment and drink coffee at 4 a.m.
Scott likes hockey but we can't afford the tickets, so hockey just makes us feel like losers.
Except in a hockey strike.
Cause during a hockey strike, we already know what to do to fill our time.
America's Next Top Model!


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