Cup Thoughts

Great day here. The deck and gate are finally in, making our backyard the private oasis we'd always envisioned it would be. I engaged in a stealth reline of the kitchen this afternoon, surprising the hell out of Eva when she got home. And now, hopefully, I get to see the Philadelphia Flyers crash and burn.

My allegiances have been shifting with every round of the NHL playoffs this year. In the pool at work, I selected Washington to win the Cup, making three years in a row my chosen 'winner' would crap out in the first round. I shifted to Pittsburgh for Round 2, and they were Habbed out of existence. I found myself cheering for Montreal in spite of a life's conditioning against the very notion. It helped, of course, that they were playing Philadelphia. I would cheer for a team of reptilian kitten-eaters

from another planet if they were playing the Flyers. Gionta and his giant-killers made a series of it, but Philly eventually (damnitall) prevailed. That left Chicago.

The Blackhawks were my uncle Ted's team, dating all the way back to Mikita, and that alone is a good enough reason to cheer them on. They're a good young squad that plays the game fast and hard; they're an Original Six team, too. Going by the complicated hierarchy employed by Canadians from coast to coast to coast, once the Canadian teams are out, an Original Six team always takes preference over a team that came later, especially if that other team owes its initial and continued existence solely to one Gary Bettman.

There are only two niggling excuses not to stand behind the Hawks. One is Marian Hossa. This is the third year in a row Hossa has been to the Finals, each with a different team. Something about that hired-gun mentality rubs me the wrong way, even if he's been a pretty fair judge of NHL team playoff longevity. Hossa hasn't won yet, though...and part of me doesn't want him to.

The other reason to root against Chicago, of course, is their futility. They haven't won it all since '61. If they win this year, that'll leave the Toronto You-Know-Whos with the longest active Cup drought. Sigh.

But they're playing Philadelphia.

Have I ever explained why I hate Philly? Probably not. Several reasons. I came of age as a hockey fan when the team was still known as the Broad Street Bullies, and while I have no problem with fighting in hockey, the gleeful abandon with which the Flyers brawled was disturbing: call it Psychopathy On Ice. Bobby Clarke, the face of their franchise first as captain and later as GM, epitomized douchebaggery. He broke Valeri Kharlamov's ankle with a vicious slash during the Summit Series when he was a young buck, and age didn't exactly mellow the man. One of his coaches, Roger Neilson, left the team to undergo cancer treatment. Said Clarke:

"The Neilson situation - Roger got cancer - that wasn't our fault. We didn't tell him to go get cancer. It's too bad that he did. We feel sorry for him, but then he went goofy on us."

Well, aren't those the musings of a gentle and compassionate person.

The thing is, the Philadelphia fans eat this crap up. They're the only fans I've ever seen who cheer when opposing players get injured (and boo if they regain their skates!) One of these days I fully expect to see a press conference detailing the newest Flyer promotional stunt: the Wachovia Center Kitten and Puppy BBQ...

GO BLACKHAWKS GO!