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By Natasha
- Moe's Tavern Shopper
- The Vacant Zamboni Edition
- Brought to you by Gary Bettman and Bob Goodenow
- Next time, guys, just drive a stake through my heart
- It'll be a lot less painful
I cared.
I promise I'll get to the meat of this Shopper in a moment, but first I'd like to say something to all the sports writers who asked if anyone would care whether or not the NHL played this season. I cared. I bought into all the eleventh-hour bargaining crap that's been thrown around for the last two days because I wanted to believe there was hope. Apparently I'm a rare breed, but I am a hockey fanatic. There's no such thing as summer for me until someone skates Lord Stanley's Cup around a frenzied arena. If I were decapitated by an errant slapshot while attending a playoff game, I would die happy. I named my cat Steve Yzerman. I don't know the exact date of my anniversary, I just know it's sometime during the Western Conference Finals. I cared, and continue to care, a great deal.
Give the Cup to Moes.
So here's my proposal to the Hockey Hall of Fame: screw the NHL. Since both
the players and the owners clearly are more concerned about money than
determining the best hockey team in the world, why don't you bring the
Stanley Cup down to Lincoln Park High next Sunday. I can tell you one co-ed
rec-league floor hockey team that will leave it all out there for the chance
to get their names etched on that puppy. And frankly, we deserve it. We're
undefeated through our first four games despite starting a different goalie
each time. We've only got two defenders on the roster, and yet we've given
up nine goals the whole season. We'll never turn up our noses at a $42.5
million salary cap proposal. Heck, most of us wouldn't reject a $42.5 salary
cap proposal as long as you sprung for a round of Points at the Beachwood.
Besides, "Steve Rhodes" is a lot easier to engrave than "Nikolai
Khabibulin."
When you're a Moe you stay a Moe.
It was nostalgia week at the Tavern as we were joined in victory by a trio
of Moe's hall-of-famers. Marty "Slapshot" Gangler stood in for the absent
Greg and once again filled opponents with dread. Jen "Casey" Casey joined me
on defense and played the whole stinkin' game without missing a beat. Last
but not least, Oxygen Emery backstopped us to a hard-earned shutout, and did
so without once riding the pony. I guess it's harder to do that when you're
wearing goalie pads. No offense to our plucky opponents, but neither Steve
nor I could remember exactly how many goals we scored. According to
SportsMonster, the final tally was 12-0.
Guinness Pub Draft Player of the Game
That's right, I'm splurging this week because I need a drink. It's been
noted in this space before, but it's worth repeating. When you slice and
dice your opponent into a delicate hockey carpaccio, it's sort of hard to
pick a player of the game. Still, it's hard to argue against the goalie in a
shutout, particularly given Eric's impressive displays of glove dexterity.
Quote of the Game
Casey: "This is a little different than the treadmill at Gold's Gym." I
heard that, sister.
On to the Future
Moe's Tavern is back in action this Sunday at 2:00 facing a team called "On
Tap." I don't know nothing about this team. I guess we'll learn. I have no
idea who will be tending goal for us, but all four goalies we've used so far
this season have kicked much in the ass department so I welcome any of them.
Please tell me Tricia is back. If you're not able to come this week, please
let Steve know.
And in closing, I'd like to say for the record that I don't wish death on either Gary Bettman or Bob Goodenow. That would not be very yogic of me. No, I hope both men live long and healthy lives during which they successfully dodge all but 6.5 million of the rotten vegetables hurled at them by disgruntled hockey fans.
[Shopper ends.]