This post has been a long time coming. Most of you stopped being regular followers some time back...right around the same time that content petered out from a trickle to an intermittent drip. And now, the last drop.
It's been a good run--4+ years--with some really good times. With some musical accompaniment, let's take a look back.
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Some stories are too big to pass up. Given the events of this morning, MYFO Alum Reasonable Doubt asked to re-assume his role as King Cock Knocker for a guest post.
During my recent stint in jail, I had a long time to think. I considered my actions in the past. I ruminated on my actions this past season. I pondered my actions last night. Among those thoughts, I came to one conclusion.
I. AM. AWWWWWWWWESOME.
Okay, first off, here's the deal. This was a nice, quiet party with some girls who just happened to be in town from the South Florida Institute of Dance and wanted to demonstrate the techniques they were working on. I don't know what the problem was. If playing "Pour Some Sugar On Me" and having nubile young women gyrate on a metal pole is wrong, then I don't think I want to be right. I mean, this is still America, right? Land of the Free? Home of the Brave? I thought once Colin Campbell stepped down, we'd all be able to have a little more fun out of life? Was I wrong?
I was sitting around over the weekend, catching up on my DVR'ing. It was after 10 p.m. (that's right, this party animal spends his Saturday nights re-watching Battlestar Galactica--get in line, ladies), when my phone buzzed with a text message, from a number I did not recognize. The following conversation ensued, verbatim (I actually do text in complete sentences, with punctuation. Yes, I'm a fun guy to hang out with, why do you ask?):
Unknown: Hey
LeNoceur: Who is this?
Unknown: Who is thiss?!
LeNoc: You started this.
Unknown: R u a dude or a grl?
LeNoc: Do you just text random numbers?
Unknown: Sumtimes I get bored
LeNoc: Well, go jerk off or something.
Unknown: r u a dude or a girl young or old?
Unknown: Im a girl
LeNoc: Suuuuuuure you are.
Unknown: lol im a rel girl what r u?
LeNoc: Dude.
Unknown: how old r u
LeNoc: 37
Unknown: Foreal?
LeNoc: Yep.
*several minutes pass*
LeNoc: Well, that shut you up, didn't it? no comments
Unknown: Hey
LeNoceur: Who is this?
Unknown: Who is thiss?!
LeNoc: You started this.
Unknown: R u a dude or a grl?
LeNoc: Do you just text random numbers?
Unknown: Sumtimes I get bored
LeNoc: Well, go jerk off or something.
Unknown: r u a dude or a girl young or old?
Unknown: Im a girl
LeNoc: Suuuuuuure you are.
Unknown: lol im a rel girl what r u?
LeNoc: Dude.
Unknown: how old r u
LeNoc: 37
Unknown: Foreal?
LeNoc: Yep.
*several minutes pass*
LeNoc: Well, that shut you up, didn't it? no comments
Back at MYFO 1.0, we had a "Not Hockey" tag, specifically so that we could digress on pet topics, such as Hope Solo's ponytail, and how it would look spread out on a pillow. Non sequiturially, today I'm going to write about baseball. I expect no one to read this.
Specifically, baseball as played by one Colby Rasmus, outfielder for the St. Louis Cardinals. For you hockey-only people, just think of your (least) favorite over-hyped and under-delivering young player, and add a perpetually slightly open mouth and a Georgia drawl.
Cardinal fans have been told, going on years, that Rasmus is the "total package." A "perennial All-Star." He possesses, they say, all five proverbial baseball tools. I;m not going to hate on the kid, but Lord do teams, in all sports, do players a disservice when they pump uys up like this to the fanbase. If you don't burst onto the scene with 30 homers immediately, people start whispering "bust." If you hit a skid, people start making unflattering comparisons to JD Drew, the poster boy for failing to live up to one's talents.
I'm going to take a look at Rasmus, with numbers.
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Specifically, baseball as played by one Colby Rasmus, outfielder for the St. Louis Cardinals. For you hockey-only people, just think of your (least) favorite over-hyped and under-delivering young player, and add a perpetually slightly open mouth and a Georgia drawl.
Cardinal fans have been told, going on years, that Rasmus is the "total package." A "perennial All-Star." He possesses, they say, all five proverbial baseball tools. I;m not going to hate on the kid, but Lord do teams, in all sports, do players a disservice when they pump uys up like this to the fanbase. If you don't burst onto the scene with 30 homers immediately, people start whispering "bust." If you hit a skid, people start making unflattering comparisons to JD Drew, the poster boy for failing to live up to one's talents.
I'm going to take a look at Rasmus, with numbers.
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It was the best of times, or at least good times. It was the worst of times, or at least very frustrating ones. This is the story of two teams. One East; one West. One that recently made the Stanley Cup Finals; one that hasn't won a playoff game since before the lockout. One big market; one small market. One that jettisoned its highly-paid stars; one that is resigning every single one of its RFAs.
OK, enough with the suspense--this is really a fascinating comparison of starkly different management approaches between the Philadelphia Flyers and the St. Louis Blues.
The Flyers, of course, are the rich team, who made the SCF just two years ago. They, were, seemingly, a team on the cusp, just a player (goalie) away from being perennial contenders. Their offensive stars were locked into long-term deals.
And they blew it all up and started over.
The Blues are a small-market, budget-conscious team that has been selling its fans promise over performance for several years. Last season saw them miss the playoffs--again--by a wide margin. Well, I hope Blues fans liked the 2010-11 version of the team, because they're all coming back, it seems. Oshie, Crombeen, Berglund--hell, even Vlad Sobotka, who's about the epitome of "replacement player."
The Flyers made their moves out of hunger and desperation--they are starving for a title, and desperately needed (or, at least, believed they needed) a goaltender to get them there, so they made it happen. The Blues made their moves out of necessity--they have little choice but to hope that the "kids"--although players entering their 3rd and 4th seasons in the league are hardly kids anymore--get a bit better, that everyone stays healthy (we're looking at you, TJ), that Jaroslav Halak turns into a franchise goaltender, that the magic all comes together, finally.
As a Blues fan, I hope it works, I really do. In some ways, it reminds me of the mid-80s Blues teams I originally fell in love with, the Bob Bassen-Rick Meagher-Brian-and-Rich-and-Ron Sutter-Gino-and-Paul Cavallini-Greg Millen Blues. They were run on a shoestring, had vastly more determination than skill, and won the hearts of the fans. The main difference, of course, being that those teams could at least get into the playoffs and win a couple of games before bowing out to powerhouse Calgary or Edmonton teams. These days, a second-round exit seems like a pipe dream.
While I'll naturally be following the Blues quite closely in 2011-12, I will also be fascinated by the Flyers, to find out whether the gamble pays off in the end.
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OK, enough with the suspense--this is really a fascinating comparison of starkly different management approaches between the Philadelphia Flyers and the St. Louis Blues.
The Flyers, of course, are the rich team, who made the SCF just two years ago. They, were, seemingly, a team on the cusp, just a player (goalie) away from being perennial contenders. Their offensive stars were locked into long-term deals.
And they blew it all up and started over.
The Blues are a small-market, budget-conscious team that has been selling its fans promise over performance for several years. Last season saw them miss the playoffs--again--by a wide margin. Well, I hope Blues fans liked the 2010-11 version of the team, because they're all coming back, it seems. Oshie, Crombeen, Berglund--hell, even Vlad Sobotka, who's about the epitome of "replacement player."
The Flyers made their moves out of hunger and desperation--they are starving for a title, and desperately needed (or, at least, believed they needed) a goaltender to get them there, so they made it happen. The Blues made their moves out of necessity--they have little choice but to hope that the "kids"--although players entering their 3rd and 4th seasons in the league are hardly kids anymore--get a bit better, that everyone stays healthy (we're looking at you, TJ), that Jaroslav Halak turns into a franchise goaltender, that the magic all comes together, finally.
As a Blues fan, I hope it works, I really do. In some ways, it reminds me of the mid-80s Blues teams I originally fell in love with, the Bob Bassen-Rick Meagher-Brian-and-Rich-and-Ron Sutter-Gino-and-Paul Cavallini-Greg Millen Blues. They were run on a shoestring, had vastly more determination than skill, and won the hearts of the fans. The main difference, of course, being that those teams could at least get into the playoffs and win a couple of games before bowing out to powerhouse Calgary or Edmonton teams. These days, a second-round exit seems like a pipe dream.
While I'll naturally be following the Blues quite closely in 2011-12, I will also be fascinated by the Flyers, to find out whether the gamble pays off in the end.
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Although you wouldn't know it from these parts, apparently there was a Stanley Cup Final played recently. Reliable sources tell me that the Boston Bruins are your Stanley Cup Champions. Bully for them.
The best part, for me, of the end of the hockey season is that I no longer feel compelled to write about hockey. Sure, there's a draft, and free agency and whatnot, but if you've spent any time around these parts over the four years you know that I don't give a crap about that stuff. At least not unless it pertains to my favorite team, and none of you--literally, not a single one of you--want my take on what the St. Louis Blues are doing. Which is perfectly fine.
So, this summer, I will be writing about nothockey. Oh, sure, maybe I'll do the occasional epic takedown on funny hockey names (Grant Clitsome! Joe Sakic! Gregory Campbell!). But I'm going to mix it up with some other stuff, too. Possibly some baseball. Likely some poker, leavening stultifying hand desriptions with wry observational humor, with the breathless excitement of Mike Sexton doing a Club WPT commercial. Probably some other random crap, too.
My goal, as it always has been here on MYFO, is to amuse myself. If some of you are also amused, all the better. Come hockey season, we'll see where we stand. no comments
The best part, for me, of the end of the hockey season is that I no longer feel compelled to write about hockey. Sure, there's a draft, and free agency and whatnot, but if you've spent any time around these parts over the four years you know that I don't give a crap about that stuff. At least not unless it pertains to my favorite team, and none of you--literally, not a single one of you--want my take on what the St. Louis Blues are doing. Which is perfectly fine.
So, this summer, I will be writing about nothockey. Oh, sure, maybe I'll do the occasional epic takedown on funny hockey names (Grant Clitsome! Joe Sakic! Gregory Campbell!). But I'm going to mix it up with some other stuff, too. Possibly some baseball. Likely some poker, leavening stultifying hand desriptions with wry observational humor, with the breathless excitement of Mike Sexton doing a Club WPT commercial. Probably some other random crap, too.
My goal, as it always has been here on MYFO, is to amuse myself. If some of you are also amused, all the better. Come hockey season, we'll see where we stand. no comments
Things seemed to be going so well a few days ago. The Vancouver Canucks seemed well on their way to winning the Stanley Cup. This pleased me, for two reasons. First, bitter disappointment for the Bruins would ease some of my personal anteconception bitterness occasioned by the above photograph.
Second, a Canucks win would silence perennial sourpuss Canadian hockey fans. You know the ones, always bitching and whining about all those teams in nontraditional southern U.S. markets (conveniently forgetting that the Original Six featured only two Canadian teams, and that the original NHL expansion in 1967 added exactly ZERO Canadian franchises, opting instead to expand to the U.S. West Coast and to what at least some consider the Near South, St. Louis). Lamenting the fact that no Canadian team had won a Stanley Cup since 1993. The ones with "But we INVENTED the sport!" tattooed on their pasty white chests.
The whining was all going to stop, at least for a while.
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In the luxury cabin of a Learjet, rocketing away from Winnipeg as fast as its twin turbofan engines can take it, in the direction of New York City.
Gary Bettman: Well, that's done, then.
Bill Daly: And well done, sir. Masterfully done. One might say cleverly ingenious.
Bettman: All right now, that's laying it on a bit thick, even for you. Still, it was quite a piece of work.
Daly: Brilliant, sir. You managed to come across as benevolent, yet stern. Prudent, yet adventurous. Compassionate, yet businesslike.
Bettman: All part of The Plan, Billy. All part of The Plan.
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Today, possibly in an arena near you...
STEVE STAMWALKER: It just isn't fair. Oh, Vinny's right. I'm never gonna get out
of the conference finals!
STEVE3PO: Is there anything I might do to help?
STAMWALKER: Well, not unless you can alter time, find some new refs, or
teleport me off this rock!
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So...the Thrashers might REALLY be moving to Winnipeg (suggested team name: the Turboprops). I'm a total geography nerd, so I can tell you that Winnipeg is much farther West than Atlanta. That would seem to throw a monkey wrench into that whole East/West conference thing. So, MYFO proposes, once again, blowing the whole fucking thing up and realigning EVERYONE. Our carefully-thought-out-and-in-no-way-ridiculous plan is as follows:
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