And in the substances that aren’t tobacco.
Archive for the ‘That Was Worth It!’ Category
Last night we had our traditional Draft Party at stately IPB Manor, with the togas and the dancing formations and the cymballs.
Last time we busted out this garb we got badly burned, but with a fourth-overall pick, there was no way this could go badly, right? Right! Look at what all our suffering from last season earned us!
Insert frenzied cymball crashing here.
Deploy cymballs! Let the bacchanalia commence! We have a new best player ever, and, if the thirty seconds of Pierre McGuire we were willing to listen to last night is any indication, he is going to give us many, many orgasms. (Our actual response to Pierre’s immediate, hysterical response to the Devils’ pick — Schnookie: “Pierre just came all over him! He must be awesome!” Pookie: “This is Pierre we’re talking about. I wouldn’t read much into it.”)
It’s probably not an overreaction to say that Adam Larsson is the Best Devil EVER.
Victory Euro Mats is rolling around in his lottery riches tonight!
This is going to be the best fourth-overall pick ever.
Every October we pop a bottle of champagne and toast NHL Opening Night with this passage from Halldor Laxness’s Independent People:
And when later in life he thought of those days of the face that reigned over them, then he felt that he too, no less than the blue mountains, had been fortunate enough to experience the holiness of religious contemplation. His being had rested full of adoration for the glory which unifies all distances in such beauty and sorrow that one no longer wishes for anything — in unconquerable adversity, in unquenchable longing, he felt that life had nevertheless been worth while living.
It might not have come from the Devils, it might not have come from the Sabres, it might not have come from the Stars, but yes. Once again, life has nevertheless been worth while living.
Literally the instant we hit “Publish” on this doozy of a post, Pookie remembered — kind of — what we wanted to write about:
We were discussing how Edmonton and Calgary could both have seceded from the NHL without us noticing this year, and Pookie marveled at how she was only discovering right then that Pat Quinn was coaching the Oilers. To which we wondered aloud who was coaching the Flames.
There was a pause.
Then Pookie smirked, “Oh yeah! I remember who! Heh heh.”
Then there was another pause, while Schnookie caught up.
And then Pookie said, “Brent Sutter. I like to think of him as the Kevin Constantine of the late Aughts.”
Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! Thank you very much!
And this is why they pay us the big bucks.