So… Kovalchuk, eh? Works for us! We asked for change, and we’re getting it in spades this summer, so much so that we’ve almost completely forgotten about the Arnott acquisition. If you can make us forget about that, you’re doing a damn fine job as a change-making GM, so kudos, Lou.
Because he’s going to be ours for the next 10,000 years or so, we figure we need to embrace Kovalchuk. There are a number of reasons why this should be easy for even bloggers as hard-hearted as we. First of all, he’s not Andrew Peters. ::brushes off hands:: Done and done! Welcome to the family, Chuckles! Second of all, we can call him Chuckles. And when he scores, he can score for a case of Chuckles. Chuckles are a rare candy where even the weird dark-purple-flavored color is still tasty. Sure Kovalchuk doesn’t seem like he belongs, but what the hell? Maybe he’s the dark-purple Chuckle and not the weird dark-purple Necco wafer (also known as “clove”. We know!!!! CLOVE!)? Or at the very least, maybe he won’t turn into the weird dark-purple Necco wafer until a few years from now. Because even though we’re really, really excited for a Kovalchuk signing, and we can’t imagine ever not loving our very own Chuckles, we can’t entirely forget that the last time we were this psyched for a free-agent signing the guy’s name rhymed with “Blian Blolston”.
But let us not dwell on such unpleasantries! Now is the time celebrate, and to get that “CHUCKLES” tattoo in gothic letters across our shoulders! Because a gothic-letter nameplate tattoo is forever, as is Kovalchuk’s alleged contract. No one living in ChucklesNation would be caught dead without one.
Ookies and Co. meet Chuckles at the airport, where they perform the traditional dance of ChucklesNation, demonstrating what wonders await those who sign with the Devils instead of the poopy old Kings.
