The Bills are the worst football team in the history of time and space. Right?
I spent the afternoon practicing my viola while keeping one eye on the muted football game. At some point in the fourth period quarter I realized that for some time I had been sitting in front of the muted television, not practicing, my viola in my lap, with my mouth literally agape. That football was so bad that it was captivating, and then eventually hilarious.
Months after we all got sick of making jokes about him and his alleged public masturbation, HE’S CLEARED OF ALL WRONG DOING. It really WAS mistaken identity, probably with a dash of “unfair racial profiling”, and DEFINITELY with a hearty dose of “unreliable witness”.
I suppose there are worse things that could happen to an innocent man than being accused of masturbating outside the window of an old woman, but as far as false accusations go THIS ONE IS PRETTY BAD.
I hope that McIntyre is the recipient of some kind of delightful karmic compensation for this humiliation, because according to my scorecard, the universe owes this guy. Big time.
The Valentine’s Day related commercials that have been running on WGR are some of the most disturbing things I’ve ever heard. My least favorite is the one where the listener is encouraged to buy his girlfriend a stuffed animal in order to avoid her terrible, scathing wrath. The ad features two different versions of the “girlfriend”. In the first version she’s irrationally angry about the (non-stuffed animal) present she received, and in the second version she is cooing with love as she cuddles her new stuffed animal. HOLY COW is that commercial creepy.
Gentleman, if you suspect for even a SINGLE MOMENT that your girlfriend will fly into a rage if you don’t get her a stuffed animal for Valentine’s Day, you need to dump her, and then move and change your cell phone number- because that bitch is crazy.
Pregame
Mood: Cautious. I don’t trust these guys. It’s been a rough week for Buffalo sports, and my heart has hardened. I’m scared to love.
Favorite Sabre: I’m going back to basics. I may be scared to love, but I am not scared to HONK. Goose is my favorite Sabre.
Least Favorite Sabre: Derek Roy is the new Thomas Vanek. Incidentally, I am SO happy that Roy-Z has been moved down to the second line. I don’t want Vanek being tainted by Roy-Z’s suckitude now that he is showing signs of rehabilitation.
Summary of thoughts: I was recently thinking about the Sabres rivals. I think that as a Sabres fan I’m supposed to hate the Flyers, the Habs, and the Leafs. Now, I’m not going to cheer any of those teams on, but I don’t particularly hate any of them based on my season and a half of Sabres fandom. I honestly think the team that I hate the most based on the hockey I have experienced this year is the Boston Bruins. I feel like whenever the Sabres had a little momentum last season, the Bruins were there to smother it to death. They always beat us, and I hate them.
Animal representing my hopes of this game: Baby sea turtle
It’s a rough world out there, kiddo.
After the 2nd (4-3)
Mood: Totally amused.
Favorite Sabre: Lately I’ve been wanting to call Pommerdoodle “P-Doods”. I’m going to try it out tonight. P-Doods is my current favorite Sabre for being so blandly snazzy and for saving Vanek from the groady influences of Derek Roy.
Least Favorite Sabre: Sorry, Heather. Hank’s fired.
Summary of events: This game is BANANAS! P-Doods quickly scored (1-0), and then Hank quickly coughed up the puck so that the Bruins could score (1-1), and then Toni Lydman had a goal stolen away by Roy-Z (2-1), and then Numminen deflects a goal past Crunchy, then Vanek and P-Doods convince me they are the best line EVER. Then, all the Bruins decide to beat Petey up at the same time, which ordinarily I would object to, but it lead to a power play goal (4-2), so you won’t hear me complaining. Then, the Bruins score again (4-3) because apparantly the Hockey Gods want this game to end 12-11.
I think this game rocks, I don’t care what Lindy yells about in the locker room. And in Crunchy’s defense, at least two of those Boston goals were totally fluky.
Animal representing my hopes for this game: An older, chillax-ier sea turtle.
Do be doo. I’ll score on you.
Plee ploo plame. I love this game.
After the 2nd (6-4, Bruins)
Mood: I have to be honest here. I’m somewhat irate. The Sabres are supposed to be good, and they are not. At all. And they don’t seem like a team that will be fine as long as they just “stick to the system”. They seem like a shitty team. Worse, they seem like a bunch of assholes.
Favorite Sabre: Goose is not a diver. Eff you, ref.
Least Favorite Sabre: Oh, I don’t know. Mair? Peters? Crunchy? Kaleta? Timmy’s bones and muscles? Lindy? THE SYSTEM? Harry Neale? I don’t like the Sabres.
Summary of events: The Sabres ate a big piece of SUCK-ASS PIE and then vomited it back up all over the second period.
The Sabres are the bait.
At the end (7-4, Bruins)
Mood: Fuck
Summary of events: Misery
Solemn vow: I shall never love again.
Last night after my concert when I got into my car the score was 2-2. At the time I thought “Cool. I’ll get to watch the end of a feisty game at home before I go back out to meet my peeps for drinks.” In the time it took me to drive ONE (1) MILE, the Penguins scored three times. One mile. Three goals. The Sabres saved their meltdown so that I could fully experience it on my very short commute home from work.
Thank you ever so much, Sabres.
When I got out of my car at home, Blobby was waiting for me on the porch with a bottle of cheap red wine.
“Hey baby, long time no see! How was your summer?”
Is anyone else getting a sinking sort of deja vu feeling? The Sabres we’ve watched for the last ten games are awfully familiar, and not in a good way. The last time I remember feeling this way was right before Blobby stole my credit cards and used them to play online poker for three straight days. He finally stopped when I threatened to call his parole officer, but by then it was too late to make the playoffs get my money back.
1. Is Craig Rivet really the difference between complete awesomeness and complete suckiness?
2. Why didn’t my Mulligatawny soup freeze well? Why is it so gross now?
3. Am I going to have to go all “tough love” on Ryan Miller this season? Cause this shit won’t do….
4. When exactly did I shift from skeptical of the city-wide Lindy Ruff adoration to a full blown member of the “I Heart Lindy” cult?
5. Is this the stage of the season where everyone misses about 45 open nets a night? Already?
6. Is it time to start dying my hair to hide the grays? I don’t have a ton of gray hairs, but they are there and they are getting on my nervies.
7. Two games in a row like this? Really, Sabres? Really?
8. Can you believe tomorrow is Halloween? Where did October go?
9. Did Derek Roy eat some lead paint chips this summer or something?
10. Aren’t I glad I didn’t go to that game?
I hate to say it, but hockey isn’t doing it for me right now. This shit is no good without the Sabres! I can’t get a good fix. The highs don’t last very long, and the lows leave me feeling irritated but without any of that satisfying “woe is me” emotional drama. Without the emotional drama, these loathsome non-Sabres teams are no good to me! They’re just genuinely annoying. Bah. Phooey. Flibberty-floo.
I’m looking forward to missing hockey when it’s gone. Missing it while it’s still here is upsetting.
Oh, and Blobby called. He says he’s changed. He finally got his accounting degree from University of Phoenix Online and he says he quit smoking. He paid his mother back all the money he stole, and he is trying to make things right with his blobfish children. He wants to “talk”.
So, last week I had to kick Blobby out, because all he was doing was sitting on the couch, smoking cigarettes and drinking malt liquor. I only started hanging out with him because the Sabres were being so lame, and when the Sabres got a little spunky again, I realized I didn’t need someone as toxic as Blobby in my life. I kicked him to the curb.
Well, Blobby must’ve heard about the game last night, because look who showed up this morning all, “Don’t waste your time on the Sabres. Take me back. Lose the zero and get with a hero.”
Now, this has been a pretty rough season to become a Sabres fan, but even missing the playoffs is not enough to drive me back into the arms of a Sabre-less existence. I’m new, not stupid. Hit the road, Blobby.
Animal representing what the Sabres have reduced me to:
Blob and I spent the afternoon, hanging out, talking about how much our lives suck, and alternating salty and sweet snacks. Blob’s a really good listener, and when I told him about the Sabres, he nodded sympathetically and told me I deserve better. I feel like Blob really “gets” me.
On an unrelated note, I would like to welcome everyone who is visiting TWC for the first time after reading my latest contribution to Hockey Night in Blogdome on the New York Times website. This post (starring Blob) is pretty typical of the high quality analysis you can expect from The Willful Caboose, so don’t hesitate to ask any questions if you can’t keep up with the furious pace of my hockey intellect.
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