#its got me actually watching the playoffs without my dad

[stygiansauce]

It's Sports AU Summer, of course I started a hockey au

[wildlife4life]

Seven (+) Sentence Sunday

Tagged by the very lovely @rainbow-nerdss, @fortheloveofbuddie @wikiangela @evanbegins and @daffi-990. Thank you! Can't wait for all your upcoming works!

In honor of the NFL regular season coming to an end today and the beginning of the playoffs, I'm sharing a part of a fan favorite. That's right ya'll, its an NFL Buck snippet! WOOOOO! (And I know this wayyyyy more than seven sentences, but are ya'll going to complain about extra NFL Buck?)

Eddie wasn't lying when he told Chimney he loved football. He just didn't say how much. When Chim invited the newest member of the 118 and his son to a kid friendly sports bar to watch the Rams play the Colts in Indy, he was expecting to be turned down. Hen encouraged it, "He needs friends that enjoy what he does. And I really can't listen to another rant about football stats or how Dustin Watson isn't taking the Texans to the tournament." "Deshaun Watson." Bobby corrected from the kitchen, "And its the playoffs." Hen rolls her eyes, "Whatever. You both have Sunday free and Buckley is playing, Christopher's favorite player." "How do you know the Ram's quarterback is playing, but not the name of the man who got Buckley kicked out of Texas?" Chim teased. "Denny." His friend answers simply, "You know he likes all things LA Rams." "Then why aren't you inviting Eddie and Christopher to your place to watch the game with Denny?" "Because Howard," Hen remarks a little sharply, "I'm not off Sunday and Karen has yet to meet Eddie, so it would be uncomfortable for everyone to have him in our home without me. Why are you arguing about this? You were just complaining about how Eddie and I are all buddy-buddy the other day." "You two have a lot more in common and somehow I always seem to stick my foot in my mouth whenever I talk to the guy. I freaking outed the dude!" Chimney reminds them. Bobby steps away from the stove and joins the two paramedics at the marble island, "Eddie wasn't making it easy for any of us to get to know him. Hen was just braver than most to actually approach him. Now its your turn and football is a good jumping point." Chimney opens his mouth to try objecting again, "And it will help in making up for the whole outing incident and interrogating his kid."

Cap had him there "And you'll pay." Hen demands and when Chimney arches a brow of slight disagreement she just shrugs and states, "It'll help dispel some of the notion of being his boyfriend's sugar baby and his birthday is the same week, making this an easy gift." And Hen made the kill shot. So Chimney awkwardly approached Eddie in the locker room at the end of their shift and invited him and Christopher to watch the game. He was happily surprised when Eddie said yes and brought an equally ecstatic Christopher with him without hesitation. Chim was additionally surprised with Eddie's total enrapture of the game, even more so with his undivided attention to the Ram's new quarterback, Evan Buckley. Every play the man made, Eddie was on his feet making some sort of comment. Good plays came with shouts of, "Good boy Buckley!" and "Great throw man!". Poor plays, interceptions, or missed opportunities, were met with, "Shake it off Buckley!" and "You got this Evan!" And any missed or bad calls from the refs... well Chimney knew foul language when he heard it, no matter what language. "We have a swear jar at home. It gets donated to Evan's charity at the end of the season." Christopher explains when he catches Chimney's questioning side glance after his father's latest f-bomb. Ah well, at least there's some sort of consequence to cursing in front of a child. "I have to pay up too if I say anything like my dad does, but I've never come close to his number." Chris adds on with a giggle and Chimney joins him with a low chuckle of his own. A niggle of curiosity has him asking, "And what about Buck?" The younger Diaz gives all his attention to what remains of his fries and shrugs with one shoulder, "Um... well I've never watched a game with Buck, but he does always double the jars total when we donate it." Chimney really wants to push on the whole matter of Eddie's partner of 10 years never once watching a game with the kid, but he knows interrigating Chris (again) about Buck (who is off limits unless otherwise brought up) would probably put an end to Eddie and Chim's burgeoning friendship. So he goes for a joke, "He must live with soap in his mouth if your dad is to go by." Earning a full belly laugh from the teen and Chimney counts it as a major win when Eddie glances back with bright grin.

I feel like Eddie and Chim have the whole, I'm friends with you because of a Buckley and because we work together thing. So take away the Buckley and its a bit of an awkward friendship, which I wanted to highlight and improve. Hope you all enjoyed!!!! More NFL Buck can be found here.

Tagging (no pressure): @disasterbuckdiaz @elvensorceress @devirnis @lover-of-mine @exhuastedpigeon @jesuisici33 @jamespearce9-1-1 @giddyupbuck @malewifediaz @hippolotamus @thewolvesof1998 @jeeyuns @911onabc @911-on-abc @bekkachaos @loserdiaz @hoodie-buck @try-set-me-on-fire @spotsandsocks @theotherbuckley @ladydorian05 @bigfootsmom @watchyourbuck @eddiebabygirldiaz @spaceprincessem @thekristen999 @spagheddiediaz @monsterrae1 @rogerzsteven @eowon @honestlydarkprincess @eddiescowboy @vampbuckley @bitchfacediaz @buck-coded @housewifebuck @arthursdent @glorious-spoon @buddierights @athenagranted @prosperdemeter2 @gayedmundodiaz

[jessmakeszines]

This essay is about Vancouver, about hockey, and about the hardest trophy to win in professional sports. It was written in Halifax, Nova Scotia, on June 15, 2011, during the third period of last game of the Stanley Cup Finals. The Vancouver Canucks lost, 4-0.

It is dedicated to my dad, my brother, and my city.

itchio | ko-fi | i wrote a book!

I’ve known this city my whole life. Except for an aborted year at the University of Victoria, I have always lived in the suburbs outside Vancouver. From the other side of the river, every city looks like New York. That’s where every kid wants to be. That’s where I wanted to be.

When I left Vancouver this most recent time, the feature exhibit at the art gallery was a collective manifesto to the city. A documentary played in a dark corner of the gallery, black and white footage with writers, poets, artists talking about their Vancouver. It didn’t sound much like my Vancouver, and that’s when I realised I would have to leave this city before I could write my book about this city.

But I didn’t know when I bought my plane ticket that my last month in Vancouver would be the most Vancouver. I didn’t know it would be so hard to leave. I wanted the distance and the perspective, but as soon as I landed in Halifax, I knew my desire to be back there would be what got me writing.

The Olympics left us all with an odd feeling, that feeling when the rest of the world notices Canada is there, that Canada is winning.

Being from BC feels the same, only you’re waiting for your own country to turn its head. I don’t know how often you’ve looked at a map of Canada, but there’s an ocean on one side of BC, a mountain range on the other, and we border two US states, top and bottom. We’re cut off from everyone. It’s taught us to fend for ourselves, to make our own identity, a patchwork of all the refugees who find themselves knocked to the edge.

Nobody who cheers for the Canucks expects the rest of Canada to join the bandwagon on the way to the Cup. We’re delighted the Toronto media have made a story out of their own indifference of our Playoff run. Maybe we deserve it. We don’t like Toronto, let alone the Leafs, and our rivalry with the Calgary Flames is well-established. We can do this without you. Don’t worry.

But it would be really nice if you came along.

The games are all we have, really. For as much as Canadians love hockey—and we do. I grew up in a house where my dad played goal, and my brother played in the street because he couldn’t skate, and I still love hockey, though I hate watching it on TV.

As much as we love the game, we don’t actually create a lot of cultural product about it. I like The Hockey Sweater, and we all know the words to The Hockey Song, but most of our enthusiasm goes into the actual game.

I’m not convinced that’s the fault of our industry, though, of the way we’ve let American stories dominate our national identity. Rather, it’s our national identity summed up: we’d rather play hockey than watch.

Watching makes me nervous, more nervous than excited. Exhibition games or the playoffs, my stomach rolls and I have to watch between my fingers, out of the corner of my eye. If I don’t look directly at the net, maybe the puck won’t go in. I’m not one of those fans who yells at the screen. I know I can’t do anything to help them, and that’s why I worry.

Out on the streets, though, watching a game on the big outdoor screens, surrounded. It feels brand new, though our city has been here before. Last year, in fact. We’re remembering what it felt like to be Canadian during the Olympic Games. Any Canadian, from anywhere.

It felt OK, for the very first time. It wasn’t us, but we started to believe that maybe it could be.

The Olympics opened something inside all of us that hasn’t had time to close yet. Now, we’re filling up that space we opened for our country with our city, with our team. The Olympics happen every two years, and most of us don’t follow our Canadian athletes through their national and world championships, to the Pan-Am or Commonwealth Games. Most of us don’t know how to be a speed skating fan. But you can’t escape hockey in Vancouver.

The Olympics are big, but the Stanley

Cup Playoffs come at the end of a long, cold hockey season. The climax has been building since October. The rivalries have been building since the beginning.

It doesn’t matter to us if the rest of Canada is cheering along. It doesn’t even matter if they care. Because the streets of Vancouver are full.

My brother says I picked the wrong time to leave. I had been wanting to travel, to see something new. I wanted to leave two years ago, but the Olympics were coming.

I can’t leave before the Olympics, I said. My brother said, You can’t leave before the Stanley Cup.

On the other side of the country, in Halifax, I’m closer to Boston than to home. There are a lot of black and yellow jerseys on these streets. You can feel the energy of the finals, no matter. I can feel Vancouver cheering from here.

I found myself downtown during the last game of the Western Conference final. Not for hockey, but hockey is hard to escape in the city. I was there to meet a friend for a Shakespeare lecture, perhaps the exact opposite audience. Yet, before we entered the black box bunker of a theatre, they let us know Burrows had scored.

We got word before the Q&A that the Canucks were down by one. We stepped outside, and the bar across the courtyard, behind glass walls, was going crazy. I figured we had won.

Kesler had scored late, almost the latest you can score to stay alive. He sent the game to overtime and the whole city out onto the streets. I had just enough time to walk up to Granville where I knew the crowds would be for overtime. Eyes

darted towards every TV.

Every save—and there were a lot of

them in that first overtime period—was followed by “Luuuu” for Luongo. It sounds like booing to anyone not from Vancouver. It’s not.

When the game went to a second overtime, I walked a few blocks over to the CBC building. The plaza was packed. The streets were blocked. Despite the embarrassing history of the Canucks uniform, it was a sea of team colours.

I had an OK view, behind very tall teenagers, out on the curb, through the trees. Behind me, a husband asked his wife, Do you want to move where we can see? I turned around. I said, Don’t worry. When they score, you’ll feel it.

We felt it.

Not that we knew what happened. I don’t think Bieksa knows what happened, even now. I didn’t know it was his goal until after I pushed my way out of that sea of blue and green and orange and black and passed Luongo on the TV around the corner. I didn’t see the goal until I watched the highlights on YouTube the next morning. But that’s OK.

Because that goal doesn’t belong to Kevin Bieksa alone. That was a whole team willing the puck into the net, a whole city hoping.

There are some days when I regret not hanging the cost and getting to an Olympic game, any Olympic game. But those are very few days. Because I was there, in the city when Canada’s heart opened up. We felt the Olympics sweep across the city, the river, the suburbs, and the rest of our country.

When Bieksa made that shot, when he scored that impossible goal, the city opened up again. The crowd at CBC Plaza took a deep breath and cheered out loud. It felt so good.

It might just be that the best moment of the Playoffs doesn’t always come in game seven. Maybe the best moment was Bieksa’s impossible goal. Or maybe it was during the first series when Alexandre Burrows vanquished Chicago, in overtime, then left the building to meet his wife having their first baby.

Maybe it was that one game against Nashville where Kesler scored, took a puck to the mouth, then came back and scored again. Maybe it was that beauty of a Sedin pass, blind through Antii Niemi’s legs to Burrows’s stick, and into the net. Maybe we used up our good goals.

Maybe you only get so many best moments, and we used them all up before we got to the final game seven.

Because Vancouver isn’t used to being the best. We’ve had the whole season, listening to analysts telling us we’re going to win the Cup. Since January, seeing our name at the top of the NHL standings. They’re expecting us to win. But no one outside Vancouver really wants us to win.

Not a lot of us in Vancouver thought we could win.

We’ve been here before. We’ve been disappointed before, and we haven’t been far enough often enough to know how to get past it.

Canada likes to be the underdog. We get excited when the rest of the world sits up and notices us, but it never feels comfortable. Being a Vancouver Canucks fan feels the same way. Montreal, sure. They have more Cups than anyone else. Calgary and Ottawa have made the finals recently. Everyone who loves hockey remembers when Edmonton was Gretzky and the best.

Nobody thinks of Vancouver first. Nobody expects first from Vancouver.

We wanted it, though. I thought that would be enough. My dad came to Canada from England when he was 11. If he had stayed on that side of the Atlantic a little longer, I might be a soccer fan today. But my dad was 11, and three years later, the Canucks joined the NHL, and that was it. He was a hockey fan, became a hockey player. His first job was in the skate shop at our local rink.

Forty years ago this season, the Canucks joined the league, and my dad has been waiting all that time. I wonder if he held me in his lap when his team first made the finals in ’82. I know we watched the games together when they fought their way back in ’94. My brother has been waiting more than half his life to see them their again. We’re a hockey family. We wanted this.

We wanted this for Roger Nielson and Stan Smyl, who got us there the first time, Trevor Linden and Kirk McLean, who got us there the second. We wanted this for the four decades of Canucks who never had the chance. We wanted this for the city with the open heart. We wanted this for Canada, who hasn’t had it for 18 years. We wanted the Cup so badly, and it wasn’t enough.

Wanting isn’t enough in sports. It gets you halfway there, but you have to be better. This year, Boston was the better team. Tim Thomas was the better goalie, and when, in the second period of game seven, I realised he wasn’t going to let anything into his net, I hoped instead that Vancouver would be the better city.

The first photographs of the riots were posted before I went to bed on the east coast. My first thought was, Oh, Vancouver, this isn’t you. We left our hearts open, and maybe that was our mistake.

The city woke up limping. We had long suspected our team was limping, too. Ryan Kesler still won’t tell us how badly he’s hurt. Nobody outside that locker room will know for a long long time.

I thought Trevor Linden’s retirement was the end of an era for me. That retiring his number 16 was the end of my Canucks and the start of someone else’s. Not that I would stop watching the games or checking the scores. But I didn’t think the next generation of Canucks would make me feel the way that ’94 team did.

My brother sent me three emails from Vancouver. They weren’t about our parents, his job, his girlfriend. The subject lines read: Game 6, Game 7, Aftermath. He wanted to prove his point, that I had left too early. But he also wanted to talk to someone who was there with him, the first time around.

I had a Canucks hat with the old orange skate logo that I wore with my ponytail pulled through the back. I wore it until the black turned brown in the sun. That was 1994. My brother was 10; I was 12. Now we’re coming to the end of our 20s. We don’t want to wait that long again.

My memories of the ’94 Playoffs are sketchy. I’m not always sure what I remember and what I read in the commemorative books or watched on the highlight reels. I kind of remember Bure’s goals, but not in order. I can still hear Gelinas’s post.

I will always love that photograph of McLean propping up a beaten-down Linden, who carried his team on his back. (My brother says he would have scored. Even after retirement, not playing for the last three years, Trevor Linden would have scored in game seven against Boston.)

I remember the riots after we lost in ’94. Truthfully, the riots are what I remember best.

This year, I’m going to remember what happened after the riots. The thousands of people who showed up the next day to put our city back together. Seeing the love written on boarded up windows doesn’t feel like second place.

I watched the last game with a collection of far-flung Canadians and bemused Irish tourists in a downtown Halifax hostel. I had to leave the TV room as soon as the game was over. I didn’t watch a whole lot of the last period, either. I put my head down, and I wrote. I knew that even a glimpse Kesler’s face after the loss would devastate me.

I still haven’t watched the interviews, but there’s a 58 second clip on YouTube titled Canucks Salute Fans, and I thought I would be OK to watch 58 seconds. Even as the Bruins celebrated, the crowd kept chanting for their team. Go Canucks Go. They kept waving their white towels. Go Canucks Go. In Vancouver, the white flag doesn’t mean surrender. It means, together, we are stronger than you know. Go Canucks Go.

It’s been a long winter in Vancouver, the cold and rainy weather stretching far into the spring. Summer will be a long time coming.

Hockey will go away, but when it returns, we’re going to cheer. We’re going to wave our towels. We’re going to open our hearts and invite our team in.

The Vancouver Canucks will win the Cup. Some day. I know that now better than I did when this season began. We’ve been here before, and, together, we can find our way through.

[hockeygods14]

Tyler Seguin - Its Always Been You

Masterlist

Word count: 2,455

Inspired by: Marry me - Thomas Rhett

Tyler’s POV

She wants to get married, she wants it perfect

She wants her grandaddy preaching the service

Yeah, she wants magnolias out in the country

Not too many people, save her daddy some money

Growing up with two sisters was easy but growing up with Y/N right next door was something else. When we were younger she was always in her backyard with her stuff animals they were all sitting in rows and she would have this white dress on that was a little too big for her. She had a pearl necklace around her neck that was no doubt her mothers and the white heels were most likely her moms too. She would stand next to a bear that was wearing a black suit and I would watch her get married to the bear. I was in aw of her when I watch her the first time but when he saw me she had been dressed in a black suit and stand next to her and pretend we were getting married. Our parents loved it they still talk about it all the time when our families get together. 

Y/N sometimes would sit in my treehouse and tell me how she wanted her wedding. She didn’t want too many people only close family and friends. She wanted magnolias because her grandparents have them at their house. She wanted it to be somewhere in the country. Even at a young age, she didn’t want to spend too much.

Ooh, she got it all planned out

Yeah, I can see it all right now

I'll wear my black suit, black tie, hide out in the back

I'll do a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask

I'll try to make it through without crying so nobody sees

Yeah, she wanna get married

But she don't wanna marry me

I would be lying right now if I said I didn’t picture marrying Y/N one day.

I would put on a black suit almost like I wore when we were younger and almost like I wear on game day but nicer. I would have a black-tie on with magnolia on the jacket. 

I would be waiting with my groomsmen to walk down the aisle. I would look over my shoulder and Jamie would be right there giving me a big smile. He would hand me a flask for one sip to get me through this and to calm my nerves. My hand would be sweating and I would be shaking a little bit. I would probably look at my mom and she would tell me that she has never seen me this away not even before I won the Stanley Cup.

As I wait for Y/N to come down I would try not to cry because then I would never herd the end of it in the locker room. I would see both my sister walk in first they both say wait till you see her. I would be a goner when I see her and her dad walking down. Her smile is big and bright It would be just her and me against the world.

She’s going to have her perfect wedding one day but she won’t be marrying me.

I messed that up when I went to Boston.

My first season in the NHL I thought I had it all. I was wrong I didn’t tag to Y/N the whole time I was there and when I got traded to Dallas I tried to call Y/N but she would answer. I asked Candice why she wasn’t answering any of my calls, she told me I messed up and I need to fix my mistake and that’s what I didn’t. I went to her house and every day for three weeks until she would talk to me. When she did start to talk to me it took us a while to get back to us being close again and to where she could trust me. I was an idiot for what I did and I don’t blame her for not wanting to see or talk to me. I don’t deserve her as a friend.

I remember the night when I almost kissed her

Yeah, I kinda freaked out, we'd been friends for forever 

And I always wondered if she felt the same way

When I got the invite, I knew it was too late

There was one night after a game everyone was going over to Jamie’s house to celebrate that we made it to playoffs. Y/N was able to make it to the game it was very last minute but I was happy knowing she was there cheering me on. As I got dressed all I could think about was she was waiting for me outside that locker room.

“When are you going to tell her?” I look over at Jamie.

“What are you talking about?”

“When are you going to tell Y/N that you love her and not just as a friend but that you are in love with her? Because if you wait too long she’s going to find someone and that someone isn’t going to be the guy that plays hockey for the Dallas Stars and wear the number 91.” He grabbed his bag and walked out of the locker room before I could say anything. 

Would she find someone who is better than me? She could find someone that isn’t gone for most of the year playing hockey and training. She should find someone better than me but I would like nothing more than that someone to be me. 

I walked out of the locker room and I see Y/N standing there in my jersey with my name and number on the back and she could look hotter. I wouldn’t want anyone else down here waiting for me in my jersey than her.

“Tyler!” She yelled my name and ran up to me and wrapped her arms roundly neck and I wrapped mine around her waist and lifted her off the floor. “You had two amazing goals tonight!” I laughed and set her back down.

“I told you if you came I would get you a goal.” I put one arm around her shoulders and while she put on roundly waist. I pulled her a little closer and kissed her on the top of her head. “Some of the guys are going to Benn’s place to celebrate us going to playoffs you want to go?” I ask her really hoping she will say yes.

“Jamie actually already asked me to come and I told him I would but not for too long. I was hoping I could get a ride with you there?” I smiled at her she didn’t have to ask she knew she could get a ride. She could ask me for anything I would give it to her.

I was driving us to Jamie’s house, Y/N was sat next to me singing whatever song that came on. She was in such a good mood today. It was nice seeing her joking around with the guys and laugh with the other girls she just fits right in with everyone.

Once we got to Jamie’s house there were a lot more people than I thought there was going to be. I thought it was just going to be the team but I guess word got out and now it's one big house party. Y/N and I were walking up to the house when I felt someone grab my hand and interlace our figures together and I look down and see that the hand it belonged to was Y/N I smiled and lend us through the house to get something to drink. As we turned a corner I was pulled back around the corner and I saw it was Y/N that pulled me back.

“That girl that tried to get with you the other night at the bar is here,” I looked at her confused there are a lot of girls that come up to me at bars. Y/N rolled her eyes “The crazy one that said she went to school with you she wore that ugly green dress.” I thought back and now I remember. 

“Oh great now-“ Before I was able to finish I was pushed into Y/N which made her step back against the wall I had both hands planted on both sides of her head. Our faces were so close all I wanted to do was kiss her and it almost seemed like she wanted the same thing. I slowly started to lean in.

“Seguin!” I felt two hands go on my shoulders I turn and see its Radulov. I sighed and turn fully to him and great him. After he left I turn back to Y/N and see that she was gone.

I looked all over for her. Jamie ended up tell me an hour later thatch got an Uber home and that she didn't feel that well.

The next time I saw her she both acted like nothing happened. 

A week after that she told me she started seeing someone.

A year and a half after that I got a text from Y/N she sent me a picture. It was a picture of a ring on her finger.

Two months later I got a wedding invite.

And I know her daddy's been dreading this day

Oh, but he don't know he ain't the only one giving her away

I went back home to visit with my family. I had a couple days off. Mom and Dad were outback cooking. Candace and Cassidy were getting the plates and drinks to go outside. 

“Candace I think you got two too many plates there.” I look at the plates that she’s holding.

“Mom and dad didn’t tell you? Mr. and Mrs. Y/L/N is coming over.” I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of course they are.

I walk outside and see everyone out there sitting around the table. I took a seat in front of Mr. Y/L/N.

“Are you guys ready for Y/N to get married?” My mom asked 

“No.” I looked right across the table. “I’m not ready to give my little girl away.” He’s not the only one that’s not ready to give her away. 

Bet she got on her dress now, welcoming the guests now

I could try to find her, get it off of my chest now

But I ain't gonna mess it up, so I'll wish her the best now

So I'm in my black suit, black tie, hiding out in the back

Doing a strong shot of whiskey straight out the flask

I'll try to make it through without crying so nobody sees

Yeah, she wanna get married

Yeah, she gonna get married

But she ain't gonna marry me

Whoa, she ain't gonna marry me, no

She was getting married in our home town. She was having the wedding that she has always dreamed about. 

I looked at the pictures that were placed down the path to our seats I see her smile with her soon to be husband. All I can see is that it isn’t me that she’s marrying. 

All I want to do was to go find her and tell her how I fell but I know that would upset her. I couldn’t do that to her. 

I take out my flask because I wouldn’t be able to make it through this wedding without it. I see both of my sister giving me a look to put it away and I do. I stand up from where I was sitting and start to walk back up the path. I hear my mom and sisters calling out for me but I don’t turn around. I couldn’t sit there and watch the person I love marry some else. I could sit there through all that seeing her happy with someone else.

I pull up to my parent's house and walk around the back. I look up at the treehouse and I climb up and just sit there thinking about the time I would be sitting in here and Y/N would be telling me about her dream wedding that she would have one day. I take a sip from my flask. I look off to Y/N parents backyard and think about the wedding we had when we were younger. I take a sip from my flask. I look back at my parent's house and I see Y/N walking through the gate and looking up at the treehouse. She was in her beautiful white cinderella dress. I could tell she had been crying I hurried down.

“What are you doing?” I ask her leaving space between us.

“What do you mean what am I doing? What are you doing Tyler? I looked for you while was walking down the aisle and you went there.” I put my hand in my pockets and looked down at the ground.

“You came all the way to get me to your wedding?” I could look at her.

“That wasn’t my wedding Tyler,” I looked up confused. “My wedding is supposed to be with the person I love most. It's supposed to be with my best friend. That man that was waiting for me to walking down the aisle was not him. Yes, I love him but I’m in love with someone else.”

“What are you talk about Y/N?” I’m still confused.

“God Tyler when are you going to see it? I mean everyone else sees it. Your whole team knows I don’t know how you don’t. Tyler Paul Seguin you idiot I’m in love with you. I want you to be the one I marry. I want my dream wedding that I would tell you about in the treehouse. I want the wedding that I would set up and have you present to marry me but I don’t want to pretend I want to marry you for real. I want to be there when you come home for a road trip and just cuddle all night till we fall asleep in each other's arms. I want to grow old with you. I want-“ She was talking too much so I went up to her and grabbed her face and kissed her. I have waited years to kiss her and it was worth the wait.

“I love you Y/N. I have been in love with you.”

“What took you so long?” She asked me.

“I didn’t think you felt the same way.”

[welllpthisishappening]

So the stars lost and I’m very sad... if you could write anything fluffy from blue line I’d be eternally greatful. Maybe something with kissing....lots of kissing and maybe kissing that embarrasses their son Tyler Seguin — I mean Matt, I totally mean matt Anyways I love you

I was very sad for the Stars last night. So, I feel your pain here. Also, I realized after I wrote this that you, probably, were looking for something when Matt was slightly older, but that…didn’t happen. Because is it a prompt if I don’t really follow the prompt?

Anyway. Here is the following: Matt being a lil’ shit about sleeping, quasi-smut, cute kids, and wedding rings. I posted this at work.

(Someday I’ll also post all those one-shots I have where the kids are older and still just as scandalized by their parent’s inability to make out behind closed doors. Someday. Really.)

“Ok, Mattie, c’mon, we’ve got to go.”

He gaped at her – all wide eyes and mouth hanging open,breath coming in something far too close to pants, and Emma did her best tokeep her expression impassive. She’d known this was coming. Dropping gloves, orsomething.

But it had been a very long road trip and the western swingswere always the worst. Which was a very strange adjective to use when thewestern swing had ended in three straight victories and points in every one ofthose victories and Matt had spent the better part of the last week dissectingevery single facet of Killian’s game.

With more than a few interjections from Peggy.

Who had several opinions about angles and screening the netthat were, honestly, pretty goddamn impressive.

“I’m serious,” Emma said, trying to infuse as much honestyinto her face. “You should have been asleep, like, two hours ago.”

“I would have missed the last two periods then!”

Emma hummed, a quick nod and twist of her lips because hewas, as usual with most hockey-related things, very correct. She wasn’t surehow it was possible to be more than just straight-up correct, but Emma alsokind of wished she’d been asleep two hours ago.

She would have missed that goal, though.

It was a very good goal.

Matt was never going to stop talking about that goal.

“Yeah, I know, kid,” Emma mumbled. She reached out to tryand grab the stick out of his hand, but he had impossibly quick reflexes andshe’d never resented genetics more in her life. Peggy had fallen asleepsomewhere. God, she should know where her kids were falling asleep. “But it isvery late and—”

“—I don’t have school tomorrow!”

Emma made another noise – biting back an incrediblysarcastic retort her kid did not deserve because he was a kid and his dad wasridiculously good at playing hockey and she could just make out Peggy’s hair inone of the booths at the other end of the restaurant. She had her head restingon Ariel’s leg.

Ariel waved.

“Give me the stick, Matthew,” Emma said evenly, flutteringher fingers in open air. He sighed, but did as she asked, slumped shoulders anda sneer to his lip that they were going to have to do something about soonerrather than later.

“It is—what time is it?” She glanced around the restaurant,not sure what she was looking for, but maybe a more responsible adult and MaryMargaret held up one finger. There was another kid draped over her shoulder.“Oh my God,” Emma muttered, more hand movements and Matt slid off the stoolwithout much prompting. Maybe they were getting somewhere. “Let’s go.”

It took more time than she would have liked to get out ofthe restaurant, but Emma almost expected it at that point – far too many peopleand trying not wake up Peggy while still holding a stick because Matt woulddefinitely start shooting again if he held the stick again. But that alsodissolved into discussion of that goal because it was a really good goal andshe was going to have remember to ask Killian if he was aiming for the postthat way or if that was just luck and—

She didn’t remember falling asleep.

She had no intention of falling asleep.

She had every intention of sitting on that couch, somethingalmost resembling coy, which felt kind of like a lame word, but he’d been gonefor almost a week and Emma always got a little antsy on the western swings.

Falling asleep felt like snapping the win streak.

He laughed when he stopped in front of the couch, and shehadn’t even heard him drop his equipment bag, which meant several things thatEmma could not be expected to think about while she was still half-asleep, fartoo romantic, even after years and slightly petulant kids and—

“Hey,” she mumbled, one eye cracked open. It was enough tosee Killian’s lips turn up, not quite a full smirk because he was probablypretty exhausted too and the words playoffpush had been thrown around more times than she could count in the last fewweeks.

He crouched down. It was stupid. It was not stupid. So, itwas actually kind of nice, and Emma opened her other eye to find several piecesof hair falling artfully over his forehead and his tie already undone, eitherside hanging around his neck and she refused to be held accountable forwhatever noise she made as soon as his fingers grazed the side of her hip.

“Hey. Do we not own several different beds?”

Emma rolled her eyes, burrowing further into the severalpillows under her head. “You’re very funny.”

“That was a legitimate question.”

“Were you trying to hit the post?”

“You think I banked that shot in on purpose?”

“I mean,” Emma started, and she really could not think whenhe looked at her like that. A little incredulous. A little stunned. A littleoverwhelmed at finding her on the couch. Wearing his number. “Isn’t that acompliment?”

Killian tilted his head, which only made the hair move andthat was not fair and something about offside probably. She was losing her gripon these metaphors. “Ah, depends on the context, I guess,” he shrugged, fingersstill moving like they were following a pattern. Or just making up for a weekof lost time. “Although I think you might be giving me more credit than thatshot deserves.”

“Maybe I’m just very impressed by your clear hockey talent.”

“That so?”

Emma nodded, at least tried, pillows twisting and hearthammering erratically against her chest. Maybe western swings weren’t all that bad.If they ended like this. And only like this.

The win streak was back on.

Or, whatever.

“It was a good goal,” she reasoned, voice dropping low ofits own accord and the two sleeping kids a few feet down the hall. Who had onlyargued slightly about actually going to sleep. Peggy had woken up in the caruptown.

They’d watched the replay of Killian’s goal sixteen times.Emma had counted.

“It does sound like a compliment in this context.”

“Weird.”

“The weirdest,” he muttered, and his calves must have hurt,crouched like that, but he didn’t seem all that inclined to stand back up,particularly when he leaned forward to catch Emma’s lips. She made anotherridiculous noise.

She’d blame the time. And the couch. And that goal. God, itwas a good goal.

Killian grinned against her, whatever he did with his tonguealso pretty impressive in context and Emma hoped she didn’t fall off the couch.That would probably ruin the moment. It was, however, a precarious balancingact, Killian resting most of his weight on his heels with one hand in Emma’shair and the other trying to do something completely unfair to her shirt.

She twisted forward, slinging an arm around his neck and herfingers weren’t actually going for the tie, but they curled around the fabricand one of them probably laughed when she flung it across the room.

It landed on a hockey stick.

They owned so many goddamn hockey sticks.

“That aim, Swan,” Killian laughed, widening his eyes whenEmma clicked her tongue at the overall volume of his voice.

“I’m going to fall on the floor.”

“Less of a compliment, I’ll be honest.”

“Seriously, not that funny. And far too confident in yourown reflexes.”

Killian nodded, a quick quirk of his lips that was finally that stupid smirk and Emmaignored whatever was happening in the pit of her stomach. “I have veryimpressive reflexes that,” he paused to nip at her lower lip, hand finallyfinding its way under her shirt and Emma arched as soon as his palm flattenedagainst her back, “you are very into.”

“Very into?”

“That’s a fact, love.”

“Yuh huh, yuh huh,” Emma grumbled, but it was difficult tocontinue speaking in coherent sentences when his fingers were driftingdangerously close to the back of her bra.

He flicked the clasp.

She could still feel him smiling.

“Oh, shut up.”

“I didn’t actually say anything.”

“You were thinking it.”

“Ah, of course,” Killian said, rolling his shoulder forwarduntil she was on her back and the room felt like it was spinning. He stillcould not be comfortable, twisted over her until it felt like every inch of himwas touching every inch of her and her shirt was a lost cause. “You’ve got totake this off, love.”

“You are in the way.”

He did something absurd with his eyebrows, a flash in hisgaze that made Emma inhale sharply and she barely got her left arm out of thesleeve before his fingers were dragging over her stomach and drifting closer tothe top of her leggings.

“Tease,” Emma accused, just barely able to see Killian’stongue swipe his lower lip. She knocked a pillow on the floor when his teethfound the curve of her hip, barely grazing the skin.

There were goosebumps there now, though.

“Maybe you’re just a little greedy.”

“That is rude.”

“It’s not an insult, love,” he promised, but the words werehardly that when he continued to move further down her side, fingers splayedout on the inside of her leg. They didn’t seem to move with much purpose, justbarely making contact on the fabric there and Emma kept rolling her hips in thehopes of something, anything,happening, some kind of friction or movement or…anything.

Killian laughed again, darker and a little more determined,as if he’d been thinking about this for the last week as well and Emma couldnot be expected to cope with that. Not when he’d started moving his thumb aswell, tiny circles and a little bit of pressure and Emma’s teeth dug into herlower lip tight enough she was worried she was going to hurt herself.

“I hate you,” she muttered, the worst lie she’d told in, atleast, several seasons.

“That so?” Emma nodded, fully intending to respond, but thenhis hand moved again, and Killian glanced up, smiling like several differentclichés and metaphors that did not matter when his fingers pushed under the topof her leggings. Only to pull back out just as quickly.

Emma bit her lip. “Oh, I’m going to kick you.”

“Swan.”

“Right in the side of the leg. Where you blocked that shotin San Jose.”

“It’s actually not that bad anymore, actually. The oneyou’ve got to be worried about is, like, my lower left rib. I got checked therein the first period and it hurt like hell, but the last bruise is apparently agood color now and Red said—”

“—Hey,” Emma interrupted quickly. “Maybe we don’t mentionbruise color and Ariel while I’m actively trying to have sex with you, huh?”

Killian made a noise – not quite an agreement, but somethingthat was a bit more like hope and a week-long road trip and—“You know,” he saidslowly, dropping his head to mouth at the side of her neck and Emma was goingto permanent damage to her spine. If she didn’t fall off the couch. She wasgenuinely worried about that. “We really do own a bed. It’s bigger than this.”

“That a fact?”

“Swan, you’re really not playing along and it’s not as funthen.”

She might have giggled, but that also felt a little lame,all things considered and his eyes fluttered shut when she let her nails grazethe back of his neck. “Right, right, the winning hockey games wasn’t all thatfun, then?”

“What was that you said to me about being funny?”

“That was sarcastic.”

“Yes,” Killian nodded, nipping at the bridge of her nose andletting his thumb brush across the inside of her wrist. “So, thoughts? Bed? Thepresumed lack of clothing?”

Emma bit back a smile, but that was harder than she expectedand that was…wonderful. Really. “Do you usually have to make things so obvious,Cap?”

She wasn’t sure if there was actually a word for whatevernoise Killian made that time – half a growl and a bit of frustration and aneven larger hint of absolute, stupid attraction which was absolutely stupid andthe opposite. He arched an eyebrow, back on his feet with his tongue pressed tothe corner of his mouth.

“Do not make noise,” he muttered, all the warning Emma gotbefore she wasn’t on the couch, but hanging halfway in the air, a soft gruntout of him that might not have been a compliment and entirely his fault. Shegasped, despite her best efforts, eyes going wide and arms clinging to him likethere was actually any kind of imminent threat.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Impressed?”

“You are an idiot. How many minutes did you play tonight?”

“Ok, but do you not know that?” She did. Always. Or forever.Or whatever. She tightened her arms. “Swan, this isn’t actually going to workif you choke me before we get to the fun part.”

“Oh, my God.”

“You’re charmed, love, you can admit it.”

“If you strain something I refuse to be held accountable forany of it,” Emma said, but they both knew it was a ridiculous lie and it wasn’tall that far too their bedroom.

At least, usually.

At least when there wasn’t a kid standing there.

“Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad,” Matt chanted, running forward beforehis whole expression changed and Emma had to bury her face in Killian’s neck.Mostly so her kid could not see her blushing. Her shirt was yanked halfway upher body. “What are you guys doing?”

Emma’s whole body shook when Killian started to laugh, notquite parental, but it was the middleof the night and they’d agreed. Sixteen replays and then sleep. “What are youdoing out here, kid?” Killian asked, voice still shaking just a bit and Emmatried to move her shirt. “Swan,” he hissed, and Matt’s eyes should not havebeen that wide.

Matt shook his head slowly, mouth hanging open for a totallydifferent reason than it had in the restaurant. And it wasn’t really the firsttime it had happened. There’d been close calls and they were exceptionally badat not making out in a variety of NHLarenas, but Matt was older now and probably understood a few more things andEmma’s face felt like it had burst into flames at some point.

“What are you doing up, kid?” Emma asked, desperate to soundlike some kind of authority figure when her bra was barely staying on her body.“We did this already.”

He nodded that time. The movement was still impossibly slow,as if the moment was imprinting itself on his brain and subconscious and Emmaknew she needed to get back on the ground, but she had some dim memories aboutgravity and she assumed none of them were working in her favor right then.

“Yeah,” Matt mumbled, digging his toes into the carpet,“but, well, then I heard you and Dad talking and—hey, Dad.”

“Hey, kid,” Killian said, smile obvious despite theabsurdity of the situation. Because it was absurd. But it was also kind of niceand as expected as taking twenty minutes to get out of the restaurant. “Notcool coming out here when you should be asleep.”

“You just got home, though!”

“Yeah, that’s not how it works.”

Matt opened his mouth to argue, but Emma didn’t actuallyhave to turn to know Killian’s eyes had gone thin and his brows had pulled lowand that always worked. Even when hemoved her, trying to shift herfurther down his chest and towards the legs he kept rocking back and forth on.

And if she thought about the reason for that for too long,Emma was sure, she was never going to stop laughing.

“It was a good goal, though,” Matt added, quieter than he’dbeen all night, like he knew he was breaking the rules. And possibly ruiningthe moment. “Were you trying to hit the post?”

Emma cackled. Honestly, that was the only word for it.Killian barely kept his hold on her, eyes widening in unspoken warning becauseher shirt was in a particularly precarious position at that point, and he’dplayed nearly seventeen minutes that night, it was only a matter of time beforehis forearms gave out.

“I told you,” she muttered, stabbing the middle of hischest. She could feel his wedding ring hanging there. That felt heavy-handed.And nice. Really nice.

They’d totally scandalized Matt.

“I was not trying to hit the post,” Killian answered. “Butthat would have been pretty cool, right?”

Matt’s eyes brightened, the latest head shake a return toenthusiasm and a complete disregard for his parents attempts at romance. “Yeah,yeah, yeah,” he shouted, and it was really only a matter of time. The footstepsraced down the hallway, Emma’s quiet ohmy God barely audible when her head was pressed into Killian’s shoulder andit was much harder to get back on her feet than it should have been.

“Daddy,” Peggy cried, taking off almost immediately and itsounded as if all the air in Killian’s lungs flew out of him as soon as shecrashed into his chest. He wobbled on his feet slightly, but managed to catchher without much threat of injury or further damage to his ribs, hitching herfurther up his side when his arm found its way under her legs. “Hi!”

“Hey little love. You should be asleep.”

“But you’re home! You’ve been gone forever.”

“That’s not entirely true, Pegs, it’s—” He cut himself offwhen he glanced at Emma, whatever reaction her face was staging entirelyunexpected and not at all planned, because this was part of the deal, literallyand metaphorically, but she hated the western swing and—

“Felt a little like forever,” Emma whispered with a shrug.

Killian shook his head, somehow managing to find a bit moreoxygen so he could immediately let out it, a soft sigh and what might have beenpure, unadulterated happiness. Even when Emma tried to rehook her bra.

“Something about all those wins, right?’

“That’s not even clever.”

“You’re into it.”

Emma couldn’t argue. She was stupid into it. “Yeah,” shenodded, moving back into his space and it wasn’t easy to kiss him with a kidhanging off one side and the one kid gagging like his whole life was beingruined, but neither of those kids had wanted to go to sleep without seeingtheir dad first, so Emma figured it was a wash.

“Can we watch the goal again?” Matt asked, already sprintingtowards the coffee table and the team-provided tablet there. He nearly knockedboth things over.

“Oh my God, Mattie,” Emma sighed. “And it’s probably dead.”He spun on the spot, dangerously close to distraught and she was going to beparental. She was going to be an authority. She was really glad neither one ofthem had missed the last two periods. “My phone is on the kitchen counter.”

Matt sprinted across the apartment.

And Peggy was already starting to fade, curling closer toKillian’s side with her fingers gripping the front of his shirt. “How manytimes?” he asked.

“That confident, huh?” Emma asked. He couldn’t shrug with asleeping kid draped across him. She was definitely asleep again. “This willmake seventeen.”

Killian grinned, careful steps back to the couch and theygot through several rewatches of the goal and a few other highlights beforeMatt’s eyelashes started to flutter, head on Emma’s leg and arm flung acrossher middle and—

“I think we may be stuck, Cap,” she muttered, surprisinglyalmost comfortable despite the knee threatening to push into the generalvicinity of her spleen.

“Ah, not the worst thing. Here,” Killian added. It took a momentto twist, muttering quiet words into Peggy’s hair when she started to stiragain, and Emma’s heart flipped and flopped and possibly exploded as soon as hegot the chain over his neck. “You impossibly charmed, yet?”

“Getting there.”

“A work in progress, then.”

Emma rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t bring herself toactually deny it, the ring back on his finger and her head lolling towards hisshoulder, an exhaustion that was almost as deceptively comfortable as the couchand possibly their lives and winning three on the road like that would definitelyhelp the playoff push that season.

[holidaywishes]

the on and off thing

Part four: the on and off thing

  Summary: You’re back home in BC and finally starting to deal with your breakup when your Mom invites Brendan for dinner when he comes home

  Warning: some swearing, angst, some fluff, mention of Car Accident (to be continued)

  Author’s Note: I had originally planned for this chapter to have more of the car accident in it but decided to instead move it to its own chapter because I liked the suspense of the ending of this one instead.

  masterlist

  You had been to every game or at least watched every game. Even though he wasn’t yours anymore, you still wanted to support him; you still loved watching him play. You stayed in Montreal for a few months after the break up because you couldn’t just quit your job and leave but after what happened, after telling him you didn’t love him, the city became dark and lonely.

  So, you left. You seemed to be doing that a lot. Leaving. But this was the best thing for both of you. Distance would prove to be the best decision. But it wasn’t easy. Montreal had been your home for four years and every part of it had good memories but so many of those memories belonged to you and Brendan and you just couldn’t look at those parts of the city without seeing him. And leaving those memories behind hurt almost as much as leaving Brendan behind. The Canadiens were on a pretty good streak for a while, only losing one away game, but they ran into some bad luck in the first round of the postseason.

  “They lost…” your Mom said as you stared blankly at the T.V. screen

  “What?” you asked, shutting it off and walked over to the window

  “Montreal, they’re out of the playoffs again,” she answered and you stared out the big bay window in your family room, “that cup seems like an impossible dream at this point huh?”

  “The season is over. They’ll get over it. Try again in October…” you said absentmindedly, watching the squirrels chase each other up the tree in your parents front yard.

  “You gonna see him?”

  “Huh?”

  “Gally… when he comes home. Are you going to spend some time with him?”

  “No, Mom. I left. I told him I’d give him space…” you sighed, rubbing your temples

  “You’ve given each other months of space and you see how well that’s gone for him. And you’re not any better off either…”

  “Mom, please. Don’t start this again…”

  “I just think you should give him another chance,” You stormed out of the room, intending on hiding out in your room until she let this go but she blocked your path, “he was the best thing that ever happened to you…”

  “I’m over this conversation with you, Mom! We broke up. We’re not getting back together. I’m sorry that upsets you so much. I... have to get out of here..”

  “(Y/N)! Wait, stop! Come back here” your Mom called after you as you stormed out of the house, your feet starting to quicken their pace without you realizing. You were pissed at your Mom. You hated when she did this. She thought it was fate that the two of you lived two towns apart growing up but only met when you decided to go to a Habs v Canucks game one day; becoming immediately smitten with him. You never expected your Mom to get so invested in the relationship and yet, she seemed to be taking the break up harder than you. You knew she was probably calling him right now, talking about how sorry she was they weren’t in the playoffs this year but that she’d love to see him and he’d say he’d be in BC to see his family soon and he’d love to stop by and you weren’t prepared for it. You began mumbling things to yourself when a text came in from Max

  “Why did you say you didn’t love him?”

  “Max, I had to. It’s hard to explain…”

  “Then it’s not a good enough reason”

  “I’m sorry you guys are out of the playoffs but we do not need to be having this conversation…”

  “He’s my friend you know. And a good guy, I’m just looking out for him” You raised your eyebrows in disbelief at the words you were reading and you weren’t watching where you were going

  “I know it’s hard to believ--” an arm abruptly stopped you, making you drop your phone, but ultimately saving your life

  “You should probably watch where you’re going…” the stranger said, an annoyed smile on his face

  “I’m so sorry, thank you..” he nodded in appreciation and went on his way. You picked up your phone to find it completely shattered with no sign of you being able to use it again, so you wandered around town for a little before eventually heading home. To no one’s surprise when you got home, your Mom had called Brendan and told him to come visit all of you when he was in town and he happily agreed; you on the other hand, rolled your eyes and tried to come up with an excuse to leave the city before he got there.

  A week had passed and you hadn’t heard anymore from Brendan which made you think he wasn’t going to see you but rather meet up with your Mom somewhere. Your Dad talked you into leaving the house with him and going to the arcade and you laughed, agreeing whole heartedly; it had been ages since you had been to the arcade.

  “I always win at skee-ball, you ready to make a bet?” he teased

  “You’re on!” you joked

  “Loser has to buy the winner a beer...”

  “Seems pretty tame Dad”

  “Okay.. how about loser pays for dinner. For everyone…”

  “Okay…? I thought you would’ve said something like, I don’t know, loser runs through the park yelling profanities at the cops,” you laughed but, when you got no reaction from your Dad, you furrowed your brow, “what’s going on?”

  “Your Mom is still upset…” he started, eyes still staring strongly out the windshield, “she doesn’t understand the breakup. I mean she understands it but she wishes you would change your mind. You’ve barely said anything to her this last week and she wants this dinner to be a nice one…” You huffed, anger filling your body as you rolled your eyes when it suddenly hit you

  “She fucking invited him didn’t she?”

  “Yes…”

  “God damn it, Dad!”

  “Enough with the language, (Y/N)!”

  “Why are you agreeing to this? Why are you trying to back me into a corner like she has?”

  “We’re not! Your mother just wants you to give Gally a second chance…”

  “Stop the car”

  “What? No, we’re almost to the arcade”

  “Pull the car over, Dad, now!”

  “(Y/N), don’t be upset”

  “STOP THE GODDAMN CAR!” You shouted and he did as you wished, pulling over to the curb where you got out and started to walk back to your parents house before your Dad cut you off with his truck.

  “(Y/N), stop, come back here. Talk to me!” he shouted as you walked around the big, grey vehicle

  “Why? So you can just ignore what I say and do whatever the fuck Mom feels is best for me?” you shouted back at him

  “Baby, we love you. We hate seeing you in pain..” he tried

  “Well you’re gonna have to deal! Brendan and I broke up. It sucks. It hurts. But she can’t just manipulate us back together!!”

  “She’s not trying to”

  “Are you sure? Because it sure as hell feels like it. Calling, texting him while I’m here, inviting him over and to this stupid family dinner? I needed to not be around him for a while. I lost my freaking apartment, my home, when I lost Brendan. I left my job because I couldn’t stand to be in that city anymore without him by my side! But I come back here to sort out my shit and she brings him up every chance she gets. I get it. He was her favourite. But it’s over…” Tears had started to escape your eyes without you realizing and your Dad walked over to wrap you in a hug

  “It’s okay, sweetheart…” he said, rubbing your back as you sobbed

  “I miss him everyday, Dad, but we both need just a bit more time. Before we’re stuck in an awkward situation together…”

  “You sure you don’t want to get back together with him?”

 “I don’t know..” you confessed, “I just don’t really want to do the on and off thing…”

  “Maybe 2nd times the charm?” your Dad said, trying to lighten the mood and you pulled away to look at him

  “We’ll see I guess..”

  The dinner went almost exactly how you expected. You didn’t speak to your Mom much and you shifted in your chair as you watched her watch the door to the restaurant. Then he showed up. And you had forgotten just how handsome and charming he was and it was like you were meeting him for the first time again. Your face was flushed, your breathing was shallow and staying mostly in your chest and you couldn’t stop staring at him. Crap, don’t let Mom see, you thought to yourself, snapping your gaze to your plate.

  “So, Brendan.. How are you doing?” your Mom said sympathetically, the way all mother do when they pry

  “I’m fine,” he said once he swallowed his bite of steak, “yeah, I mean it sucks we’re not in the playoffs again but there’s always next year…” he caught your eye briefly and you smiled sadly at him, knowing he was putting on a brave face about this like he had been doing for years, “besides, how much of an ego would KK have if we won the cup this early in his career?” everyone at the table laughed except you.

  “(Y/N), you’ve hardly touched your food,” your Mom motioned to your plate, causing a scowl to creep over your face, “everything okay?”

  “Guess I’m just not very hungry…” you replied

  “Well, I think you should eat some. We don’t want to waste any food…” she countered

  “I could always just take it to go, Ma”

  “Yes, I think that’s a great compromise,” your Dad chimed in, hating the tension, “so, who’s ready for skee-ball?” Since you and your Dad took so much time on your way to meet your Mom, you never actually went to the arcade but instead decided to save it for later, which also meant that Brendan would be joining you. As the four of you walked through the arcade, you noticed Brendan fall back a little and you habitually fell back with him.

  “Hey…” you nudged him shyly

  “Hey” he said back simply, not even a trace of a smile on his face

  “I’m sorry. That you had to come here. I know it’s awkward and weird…” you started, “I know my Mom roped you into it. So, for her sake, thank you for coming…”

  “I mean it’s not like I was bummed that I’d get to see you…” You blushed but did your best to change the topic

  “How have you been anyway?”

  “Fine. Good, I guess. You seeing anyone?”

  “Uhm,” you stammered, “no, not seeing anyone. Are you?”

  “Nope” he said, popping the ‘P.’ The two of you walked silently for a while before eventually stopping at skee-ball

  “Alright, girlie,” your Dad taunted, “ready to get beat?”

  “Ready to beat you!” you laughed, teasing your dad before looking back at Brendan quickly to gauge his reaction. The game went on for a few rounds before your Mom got bored enough to take Brendan on a walk through the arcade to ‘find a game that better suited them,’ whatever the hell that meant. Before too long, you and your Dad wrapped up skee-ball and tried to find the two remaining members of your group; whack-a-mole is what they chose, interesting choice…

  “Who won?” You heard your Dad say before you could make any quips

  “I did, of course” Brendan said triumphantly and you noticed the pout on your Mom’s face; you had to force yourself not to make fun of her. Your Dad directed the four of you up to the prize table to exchange the winning tickets and you were pulled back by your Mom, completely catching you off guard.

  “Talk to him” she whispered to you and you rolled your eyes

  “I have been talking to him, Mom…”

  “And..?”

  “And nothing. It’s weird. You gave it your best shot and that’s all we can ask for” you teased, placing your hand on her shoulder, earning a disapproving stare from her as she knocked your hand away.

  “And there you go!” Your Dad said happily as he gave your Mom a plush cat, with neon ‘fur’ and a weird grin on its face.

  “Wow, thank you honey. This is.. somethin’” she teased but gave him a loving kiss, walking ahead to the car, leaving you and Brendan alone to walk together.

  “Did you drive here?” he asked you, pointing in the direction of the parking lot

  “I came with my Dad..” you answered, “he’ll drive me back…”

  “Sounds good. Did you have fun today?” he said quickly as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly

  “I did! Surprisingly, did you?” you turned to him just as you got out into the bright BC sun

  “I did.. I uhm..” he stammered, shifting on his heels in front of you, “I wanted to give this to you. I saw it at the table and thought you might like it. He handed you a small black box and your heart stopped for a second, hoping it wasn’t what you thought it was, but you opened it to find a heart shaped key chain.

  “It’s a Sweetheart for my sweetheart…” he said, squeezing his eyes shut at how dumb it was. God you missed that.

  “It’s adorable. Thank you..” you said, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek as a goodbye, when he moved just enough that his lips connected with yours. The kiss was soft. Soft enough for you to break away like you thought you would but you stayed there, embracing his lips with yours and beginning to wrap your arms around his neck as his hands settled on your hips. The two of you were being bumped occasionally by the crowd exiting the arcade but nothing pulled you apart until you heard your Dad honk his horn.

  “I should go…” your arms were still wrapped around his neck, his hands sliding up to your waist and your faces incredulously close.

  “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?” his eyes bore into yours and you were back to the girl who turned to jelly every time he smiled at her.

  “Maybe…” was your only response before your Dad honked his horn again

  “Bye” he said, holding onto your hand lightly until you were far enough away that it slipped away. You were in a trance. You hadn’t been like this in so long but you knew the feeling all too well.

  “She’ll drive with me. You have to go to the store anyway…” your Mom called to your Dad, forcing you to change the direction of your feet when you heard your Mom call out to Brendan, “you can follow us home Gally!” Your eyes darted to where he was, climbing into his car, and you saw him nod in agreement. You jumped in the front seat of your Mom’s prius and buckled your seatbelt, waiting for her to get in the car; surprised when she didn’t immediately ask a million questions. The ride was only quiet for about five minutes though, when she decided she’d plan your entire relationship from scratch.

  “What did he give you anyway?”

  “What?”

  “I saw him give you a box, was it a ring?”

  “A ring? From the prize table? Yes, Mom, but it was a Ring Pop and it fell and broke on the concrete..” you laughed at your own joke but your Mom was not as amused

  “Don’t be smart, (Y/N), I think it could really happen. I think he probably has something planned for later…”

  “Hold on, what?”

  “He’s in love with you and he has been since day one”

  “But we broke up”

  “But you’re not broken up anymore!”

  “Yes, we are”

  “You don’t kiss someone like that if you’re broken up”

  “That kiss was not what it looked like Mom. It’s complicated…”

  “Then un-complicate it!” She was starting to pick up speed because she was getting frustrated and this stretch of road always made you uncomfortable, having known so many friends who turned the bend too fast or couldn’t stop fast enough

  “Mom, slow down…”

  “I just don’t understand why you keep sabotaging this relationship!”

  “Mom, please, slow down” your voice was beginning to hitch and you were terrified that she was going too fast

  “You love him. I know you do or else you wouldn’t fight me so much on all of this!”

  “You’re right, okay. I love him. Now will you please just slow down?!” you shouted back at your Mom who told you to calm down as she took her foot off the gas pedal slowly and pressed on the brake.

  “We’re fine, Okay?” she said and you sighed, still nervous about the long stretch to go, “but I’m glad you finally admitted your feelings…” She put her foot back on the gas, not going as fast as before but still going faster than she probably should’ve been and then continued to nag you.

  “You promise you’re not going to sabotage this?”

  “Sabotage what?”

  “The proposal?!”

  “Proposal? What proposal?!”

  “Oh, (Y/N), really… You never listen!”

  “I told you, we’re broken up. He doesn’t have anything planned for tonight. That would be impossible.”

  “The impossible is still possible”

  “Who are you, Mary Poppins?”

  “He’s going to propose and you’re going to say yes…” It sounded like a threat, which you desperately wanted to call her out on, but when you saw a car fast approaching from the left, all you wanted to do was avoid a collision

  “Stop!” you yelled

  “(Y/N), I’m serious”

  “No, Mom, Stop the car!” you yelled, eyes growing wide and the last thing you remember was the sound of wheels screeching as your car toppled over itself.

[dicapriowleo]

Deaded Deals II Legot

Who: Margot Robbie ( @marg-robbie ) and Leonardo DiCaprio Where: NYC What: After a run-in at a local bagel shop in New York, Margot comes across pictures of Leo with her dad. The conversation leads to closed deals and a new found maturity between the ex-couple.

Margot: Being in NYC always felt like home. It had been awhile since Margot had lived there, but every time she came back, it just felt right. It was way more comfortable for her than LA. She loved everything about it: the hidden gems that had the best food, the hustle and bustle, the liveliness, the New York Rangers (who didn’t make the playoffs, sadly), the diversity. It felt like home, but during this trip, not so much. That could be largely due to the fact that she left Conor and their son behind in Ireland, what with Conor still trying to lay low ahead of his court date and not wanting their 8 month old to do any unnecessary traveling (nor did they want to expose him to the harshness of the paps. With the recent events, they were more brutal than ever right now) That’s probably why she found herself in a familiar spot: her favorite bagel shop. A way of trying to cheer herself up and ease the homesickness. “Everything bagel, toasted, with cream cheese and a small coffee, please.” She was more of a tea girl, but when in Rome, right? The blonde handed over her credit card to pay, then made her way to the other end of the counter as she waited for her order. Looking down at her phone, she opened a text from Conor. Her lips instantly spread into a smile as a picture of CJ smiled back at her on the screen. God, she missed them.

Leo: After a few days in Australia, Leo felt at ease being back in NYC. It was home, it always will be home. He loved the fact that he could walk around or bike in the city without being bothered. It was a lifestyle he genuinely took to because at the end of the day, Leo was a private person who hated being in the limelight unless he purporsely placed himself there. The weather was gorgeous out in the city, and Leo wanted to take advantage of that since in a few months, he'd be starting filming again. Not to mention, he'd be producing a new movie as well. It seemed like he only had a handful of free days left. Grabbing his wallet, Leo walked outside and down the street to the local bagel shop. He loved that everything he could possibly need was literally around the corner it seemed. As he walked inside, he placed his order of a small black coffee with an egg and cheese on a plain bagel. He paid the cashier and and made his way down to the end counter. He wasn't paying much attention, his gaze focused on his phone as his assistant texted him about his upcoming schedule the same time. It wasn't until the cook at the back called out Margot's name to give her her food that Leo's head lifted to notice the younger blonde. "Fancy seeing you here, kid" He said with a smile as his blue eyes landed on her.

Margot: If Margot hadn’t been so focused on her phone and texting back Conor about CJ, she would have heard the familiar voice. But she was zoned in. Hearing her name being called out for her order, the blonde looked up and smiled. “Thank you,” She told the man behind the counter as he handed her the order. Just as she was turning to grab a seat, she practically ran into someone. A familiar someone. An apology was about to escape her lips, but then she realized who she nearly bumped into. Letting out a small laugh, she held up her bag a bit to motion to the bagel inside. “Still the best in New York, I can’t help myself..” Thanks to Leo, this was her go-to place to grab a bagel ever since the first time they came to NYC together. Even after they split, she still found herself stopping here every time she was in The City. Bagels in LA, or anywhere else for that matter, just couldn’t compare. The Aussie tucked a piece of her short blonde hair behind her ear, and glanced over to the counter as Leo’s order was called. Margot stepped aside, allowing him to get his food before they continued a conversation. They had run into each other in LA recently, just before the Oscars. Before that, they hadn’t seen each other since just after they filed for divorce - that night in Australia where they (very drunkenly) spent one last night together, despite the two of them knowing it was over. Coincidentally, that was the night before Margot had met Conor - or, well, messaged him without any shame. “Think they’ll ever set up shop in LA?” Margot questioned as Leo rejoined her, talking about the bagel company. It was small talk, and she really didn’t know what else to say, despite having some normal conversations lately. Perhaps it was good to get all of that out of the way before they had to work together again.

Leo: As Leo made eye contact with Margot, he couldn't help but chuckle to himself as she mentioned it was the best in NY. "It is, it is. This place really is a diamond in the rough" He said, looking around at its worn down demeanor. As he grabbed his food, he thanked the cook and left a hefty tip for the man before he nodded his head in the direction of an empty booth off to the side. "Wanna join me?" He said with a friendly grin as he walked over and placed his items down. "They might. But it won't be as good. Bagels taste good because of that New York water" He said in a thick brooklyn accent, trying to lighten the mood as bit as he sat down and took a sip of his coffee. "It's nice to see you though, you look good, kid. How've you been?" He asked, noticing his phone buzzing off with a million messages from his agent, but he decided to ignore them.

Margot: “Sure,” Margot smiled, accepting his invitation to eat with him. Might as well, since they’d be seeing a lot more of each other soon. The actress took a seat across from her ex- husband, placing her food and coffee down. She couldn’t help but laugh and sarcastically roll his eyes at his comment about the water. “Pretty sure they said the same thing in Entourage. You New Yorkers are all the same.” Which wasn’t shocking since his best friend was part of the cast. “It’s good to see you, too. I’ve been good, I’ve just been-” Leo’s phone was buzzing, which was a bit distracting, but not far off was her phone. “Sorry,” Pulling out her phone with one hand, she took a sip of her coffee with the other. It was terrible table manners to be on your phone or allow it to make as much noise hers was making, no matte how well you knew the person you were dining with. Margot went to switch off the volume, but Veronica’s name was all over the screen. “..just one sec..” It had to be important if she was going this crazy. The paps had caught her leaving Ireland yesterday, but nothing too crazy happened. They just yelled some stuff about Conor’s court date and asking how she felt about it. Besides that, everything was relatively chill lately, what with Conor and Margot laying low. Reading over what Veronica sent her, she almost couldn’t believe it...but then there were the pictures. The man sitting across from her, the man she called her ex husband, pictured with her...father? Her father whom she didn’t speak to, whom she hadn’t seen in years. There was no way to explain this. Her blue-green eyes looked at Leo, unsure what to say. She didn’t want to cause a scene, nor did she have it in her to fight with him right now. “I can’t believe you’re still talking to my father,” A laugh of disbelief, rather than humor, escaped her full lips. “All those years and I didn’t even know you two were friends behind my back,” She corrected with a low, non angry tone. Her tone was soft, yet filled with confusion and hurt. With a shake of her head, the woman stood up, not even bothering to take her uneaten food or her coffee with her. “I have to go,” With that, Margot turned and walked out of the bagel shop, her head reeling from the news. Raising a hand as she saw a taxi approach, she quickly got in and gave the man the address of the Manhattan condo she shared with Conor. She was in disbelief, feeling betrayed after all this time. They weren’t even together anymore, nor had they been for years, yet Leo still found a way to hurt her.

Leo: Some things never changed, considering both their phones were going off like crazy. As Margot took the chance to check her phone, Leo decided he'd do the same. Instantly his heart dropped as his agent began to send him pictures of himself with Margot's father. "Fuck.." Leo said under his breath, closing his eyes as he pressed his lips together and shook his head slightly. If his phone was going off with this news, he knew right away what Margot was looking at as well. Maybe they weren't as off beat as they thought. At her words, it came as no surprise to Leo. The pictures looked bad, but it wasn't what she thought. It was far from it, actually. Just as he was about to reply, Leo saw the younger blonde get up and scurry away. No matter where they were in their lives, seeing that image of Margot just leaving was not only deja vu, but it still stung just like the first time. Letting out a sigh he didn't know he was holding, Leo grabbed his cup of coffee, as well as Margots, and quickly followed behind the blonde actress. He couldn't let her leave without knowing the truth behind those pictures. He watched as she got into the cab, and he quickly maneuvered himself to the other side of the backseat. He opened the door and slid into the car - just as the driver pulled off heading to Margot's destination. "You left this behind." He said calmly as he handed Margot her cup of coffee. "Can you please just... hear me out?" He asked, his tone soft and full of regret. "It's not what you think, I can assure you that much."

Margot: The last thing Margot expected was for Leo to get into the cab with her. Before she could get out or protest, the cab was already in motion. She silently and hesitantly took her cup of coffee. /It’s not what you think./ The photos looked pretty bad. Maybe not to anyone who didn’t know who the older male was in the photos, but for Margot, what else would she think? It looked like two pals, hanging out. Her ex husband and her father, for lack of a better word, who had left her and her family when she was only four. However, here they were, in the back of a cab with no where to go. With the years that past came maturity. The blonde wasn’t the same woman she was back when she was married to the man beside her. She had grown up. She didn’t have the urge to fight him on everything..or anything at all. So, as Leo asked to explain himself, she nodded. Margot wasn’t about to ask the cabbie to pull over so she could find another ride home, nor was she about to yell at the man for betraying her. And the fact that Leo was in the cab with her, trying to calmly explain himself, meant that he had matured as well. “Okay,” One simple word, and she allowed him to tell her his truth behind those photos.

Leo: The older actor was bracing himself for a complete screaming war - even though he didn't have the energy to do so. But when he heard Margot simply said okay, he was surprised. Time really had made both change their ways, and it was for the better. "Not that this is going to sound any better than the word 'friends'.... but..." Leo's voice trailed off, clearing his throat as he sat up straighter, a lame excuse to buy a few more seconds of time. "But ever since that night you saw your father with me last year, well, he walked away that night because I paid him off to leave you alone." Leo's head lowered, as he played with his fingers out of anxiety. "Then... he kept contacting me and kept saying he was going to see you. So, I've been consistently paying him off to keep his distance from you."

Margot: It was obvious Margot’s dad came back around a couple of years ago for the wrong reasons. He wanted to conveniently come back into the actress’s life just as her career was skyrocketing. She had two summer blockbusters coming out that year, and suddenly, the man who walked out of her life when she was just a kid was wanting to reconnect? Margot didn’t buy it, and she even offered to pay him off that night. However, instead, she had run back into her hotel room, needing to get away from the man. Little did she know, Leo had actually paid him off that night. If it stopped there, she wouldn’t be surprised or upset, but the fact that he was continuing to do so, despite their divorce? That wasn’t normal. “You’re still paying him off..” She said out loud, trying to comprehend it. Paying him off kept him away, but it didn’t stop Doug Robbie from talking to the press about her. Not long after CJ was born, he was telling the tabloids that he knew Margot was a great mum, and he always knew she would be. Talking about her was one thing, but when he brought her son into it? That pissed her off. “Leo... I’m engaged. I have a son. You’re my ex husband. Don’t you see how inappropriate this is?” There was no doubt Conor wasn’t going to be happy about this, and she knew she couldn’t keep this kind of information from him. Letting out a sigh, her blonde head shook. “Look, I know you’re still trying to protect me in a way, but this has to stop. You can’t keep paying my father off to leave me alone. Protecting me isn’t your job anymore, Leo..” The funny thing was, Margot knew this wasn’t some ploy for Leo to try to win her back. It was obvious he was trying his very best to keep this a secret from her, to protect her because he knew her history with her father. They had both moved on after years of trying to make their marriage work. Margot found the person she was meant to spend her life with and started a family with him, and Leo had moved on in his own way. Whatever the man’s intentions were for doing what he did, it was still inappropriate in Margot’s eyes and, in a way, disrespected Conor...even if that wasn’t Leo’s intention. "He's a manipulator.. he manipulated you into giving him more money. I know money isn't an object for you, but still. He doesn't even deserve that. Trust me when I say he's not getting anywhere near me."

Leo: Hearing Margot's words, Leo nodded. In no way was he ever trying to hurt Margot or win her back. He just wanted to make sure that the man who caused her the most pain would stay away from her. He didn't really keep up with her dad and what he said in the tabloids aside from the man calling whenever he was 'running low'. Which always seemed to baffle Leo because what exactly was the man doing with all the money in the first place? It wasn't his business regardless. "No, I understand. And I hear you. I'm gonna stop, alright? It was never meant to cause any harm. Just a way to make sure he kept his distance is all." He said genuinely, taking in a deep breath. He tapped the cab drive gently on the shoulder. "May I get off here, please?" He asked, quickly paying the cab driver. As he stepped out of the cab, he looked bad at Margot. "Congrats on the engagement by the way. I'm happy for you, honest to God" He said, giving her one of his charming smiles before he closed the door of the cab, making his way over to one of the citi bikes a few blocks away.

[mtorn21]

Blog Post 1

Before I write this blog post let me preface this by saying I do not have a HBO Max subscription. I’ll look into it for the next blog post; so there could be a carbon copy of me in the show Euphoria but I wouldn’t know. Also I’m bad with names which you will see from this post. With that being said the character I related to the most was Telle from kids (just kidding that guy was the worst). Really I related to a couple of characters in the movies. From The Breakfast Club I related to both the jock and the weird girl in a way; which is funny because they ended up together at the end. The jock, besides just playing sports, had a hard time thinking and making decisions for himself. Instead of doing what makes him happy he tries too hard to please other people. I feel like I can relate to that a lot. I’ve had 4 majors in college so far because of what other people wanted, and felt like I should do. I went from Engineering, to physics, to math, until I finally decided to do what I wanted to do. With the weird girl, I am a gigantic introvert so I was always seen as weird in that sense. I didn’t eat cereal and sugar sandwiches or anything but I was seen as weird for my quietness. So I was a combination of doing what other people wanted me to do and very quiet. That is not a great combination, I was a big pushover growing up but I’ve gotten much better. With mean girls I related with everyone just experiencing how extremely fake some people are like the plastics; but really everyone is not as great of a friend as they should be. For mid 90’s, I related to sunburn at the beginning when he was just introduced to the group. I was the youngest kid on my block growing up so I can relate to awkwardly just shifting your way into a group until you’re accepted. I don’t relate to all the other stuff he did with the older kids but I can relate to initiating yourself into the group. Finally for Kids I can thankfully say that I do not relate to anyone in that movie. I certainly didn’t relate to them when I was a middle/ high schooler. 

A couple of common themes I saw throughout the movies was growing up too fast/losing that childhood innocence. That is obviously littered throughout the movie kids. A bunch of kids doing adult activities.  “ When the film was released, many adults found its depiction of casual sex gratuitous and lewd, but from a modern perspective, it’s easy to see how the film’s honest approach actually served as a dire warning against unsafe sexual practices”(Indiewire). Girls quite literally losing their innocence to Telle. This is all fun and games for these kids until they experience adult consequences like they overdose, or get arrested, or like shown in kids they get the HIV virus. I think this is also shown in mid 90’s where sunburn is a 13 year old kid drinking, getting high, and having sexual experiences. These movies make the viewer uncomfortable at times with how young they are. It makes the viewer want to say hey go home you idiot you got the rest of your life to do adult stuff be a kid now. I think that was the point to make the viewer uncomfortable because of their age. Another theme I saw was be true to yourself and don’t care what others think. I think this was very prevalent in mean girls and the breakfast club. In mean girls Regina and the rest of the plastic’s whole characters were based on caring what other people thought about them. They even had rules to keep up the perception of them with the whole wear pink on Wednesday thing and other rules. This getting caught up with the glamour of caring what people think about you eventually led to kady driving away her actual friends. It is not until the end, where everyone is true to themselves, where everyone is actually happy. In the Breakfast Club the popular girl says straight up to the rest of the group that she’d ignore the rest of them if they said hi to her in school. She cared too much about what people thought about her to even acknowledge one of her friends. The jock cares so much what his dad thinks about him that he reluctantly bullied a kid for him. The nerd wanted to take his own life because he was afraid of what his parents would think about him after one bad grade. I think the weird girl is quiet and reserved because she’s afraid of how other people think about her. It's not until they overcome this that they become happy. Finally, another theme I saw was how looks can be deceiving.  “ Like many teenage movies and TV shows (Mean Girls, Glee), the use of stereotypes is used frequently because it enables people who watch them to form an opinion of the characters and their beliefs just from seeing them before they may have even spoken and sometimes just from the way they walk and are spoken to by other people”(themes).  I think this is best shown in breakfast club how everyone already has these preconceived perceptions about each other. They’re labeled from the beginning as the nerd, the princess, the criminal and so on. Once they got to know each other really though they realized they’re all pretty similar and their assumptions were wrong. For mean girls, Regina and the plastics are idolized by pretty much the entire school. Everyone wants to be them until they realized hey they’re not very nice; hence the title mean girls. Also in the math playoff thing both teams picked the girls because they assumed they were dumb. For mid90’s the mom assumes the skater group is nothing more than street rats; which is kind of justified because her 13 year old son came back wasted after hanging out with them; however, when she sees them passed out at the hospital she realizes oh wait they actually really care about my son. For Kids, its more in a literal sense of this looks like a good time just me having fun but oh wait the other person has the HIV virus.

I think a soundtrack is monumental to a film’s story. It can sway how you’re feeling. Just think how differently a movie like Jaws would be without the classic  “duuun dun duuun dun” (Jaws). I think soundtracks are great when they’re either very memorable like the Jurassic Park theme song or the Dark knight soundtrack for me or not memorable at all because you didn’t even notice the soundtrack. When the soundtrack goes so seamlessly with the story that you don’t notice it it's perfect. It’s when the soundtrack sticks out like a sore thumb where a film gets in trouble.

So I’m weird and not really big into music so finding music that’ll define my adolescence  will be difficult but I’ll do my best.

Cats in the cradle by Harry Chapin. I’m pretty close with my dad and I used to imitate him a lot. The only music I somewhat know is classic rock because of my dad. Always really liked this song.

Hourglass by squeeze. My dad played this once when driving me and my friends around when I was like 10. The song is just so weird that me and my friends loved it. We still listen to it when we hang out. 

Enter Sandman by Metallica. This just represents by sports fandom. This was mariano Rivera’s entry song for the Yankees.

Power Rangers theme song. I was quite a big power rangers fan. I was also obsessed with dinosaurs so when they made one with dinosaurs I peaked in life.

Spongebob theme song. Me and my friends quote spongebob way too often. Its actually a problem.

Happy birthday song. Birthdays were always fun growing up. So many things happen in life, its nice to have a day that is just about you once in a while.

Mr. blue sky by electric light orchestra. I just liked this because it is the happiest song ever.

Don't stop beleivin by journey. This represents the awkward middle school phase because this song played at the end of every middle school dance.

Never gonna give you up by Rick Astley. I was a big internet kid so that means memes.

The party’s over by Willie Nelson. This just represents my childhood ending.

[mrtroy]

The Scores Have Changed, My Childhood Is Over, and I Think I Might Understand How Other People Look At Sports

Originally from December 5th, 2010

To say that the last twenty plus years of my life have been completely and  hopelessly consumed by sports may be the grossest understatement I have ever put into print, yet until just recently, I don't think I had a grasp on what a more "normal" sports following could be like. I'm still not sure I am willing to accept this concept of "social sports fan-dom" as I'll call it, but it might be worth a prolonged look.

Let me explain.

I suppose that to best understand where I'm at now, it might be best to understand where I am coming from. I think I need to blame my mom for setting me off on this crazed obsession, or maybe the blame should go the  Oakland A's for the utterly disappointing display they put on in the 1990 World Series. As I had really started to get into baseball in the Summer of '90, Mom had the great idea of taping the World Series. While other 5 year-olds were perfectly content watching Mr. Rogers zip up his cardigan every morning, Mom knew that if she was lucky a good World Series could provide my baseball fiending mind with seven games of pure VHS-driven bliss. At roughly 3 hours a game, played back ten times each, Mom would have 200 hours of fodder to answer the question, "Mom, when are they going to start playing new games again."

And then, Jose Rijo, Barry Larkin, Chris Sabo and the Don't Stand A Chance Reds had to ruin everything. It wasn't so much the fact that they won the series as it was that they did it in such decisive fashion that added insult to injury. Four games, and it was over. The minimum. The very least. And worse, Game 1 was a 7-0 blanking, and Game 3 was a convincing 8-3 rout in which the Reds put up 7 in the third, and the rest of the game was a mere formality. Translation: My to-be friends of 18 years later,  Nathan Clinkenbeard, and Nate Kohrs, rejoiced as their Reds won it all, but more relevant to the situation at the time, I was left without much good winter baseball to tide me over until April.

I watched the tape, and all I wanted to do was to be able to break a bat on my back the way I had seen Reds journeymen outfielder Glenn Braggs do it. I emulated the overly pronounced batting crouch of Rickey Henderson, and began to wonder how Harold Baines could hit a ball so far, despite never looking like he was even swinging hard enough to hit the ball as far as I did in T-Ball.

In '91 things worsened. For some reason I got the Pittsburgh Pirates lineup in my head, and every day in the back yard I would  throw the ball up to myself, hit the ball, run around imaginary bases, take a break to become an imaginary outfielder to retrieve the ball, and then switch back to being the base runner to continue running. Every day, it was Cubs and Pirates. I can remember getting mad at myself, and actually sitting down and pouting for extended periods of time because when it came time for Sid Bream's at-bat I ran too fast. Sid was a notoriously slow runner in real life, and I wanted to maintain a certain level of realism in my one-man re-enactments. Apparently in my excitement  I had forgotten who I was supposed to be impersonating, and run too fast. In my six-year old world, this was enough to ruin my day.

The Fall came, and with it a Fall Classic for the ages. Why Mom didn't tape this one, I'll never know. Although, if she had, I may still be watching it. The Braves and Twins treated me to seven games of pure ecstasy. Although, all I cared about was the sweet headstand that Greg Olsen went into after a collision at the plate. Sports Illustrated put Olsen on the cover, and I spent all winter trying to duplicate the feat in my basement. Here's a look at the photo; it's a miracle I didn't break my neck. ( http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/vault/cover/featured/9301/index.htm )

It was also in '91 that I first realized there were other sports other than baseball, as the Bulls were on their way to capturing their first title. I don't remember much of the season, other than laying on the floor with a basketball in my hand trying to mimic the Michael Jordan poster in my room.

History seemed to repeat itself over the next few years. The Bulls won another title and the Braves were in the World Series again in '92. I was incredulous to the fact that Otis Nixon would try and bunt his way on while representing the Atlanta's last shot to extend the series. I was mad about that until about March of '93 until  Mom and Dad packed my brother and I into a conversion van and we set our sites on Mesa, Arizona for Cubs spring training. We ran into Cubs' pitcher Mike Morgan in the parking lot, he gave my mom his hat, and sent me into a swoon of idol-worshiping that would last even longer than Morgan managed to bounce around the big leagues.

**Side Tangent** I remember being in a bar in the Phoenix area eating dinner, and everyone was going crazy about the Phoenix Suns as they were on their way to meeting the Bulls in the Finals. And yet, all I cared about was that Steve

Buechele, Cubs third baseman was sitting a few tables away. I remember my French fries getting cold because I was too mesmerized to eat.  

Later in '93 the Toronto  Blue Jays won another World Series, and I began to understand for the first time what it was like to feel compassion. Mitch Williams gave up the famous home run to Joe Carter that sent  Canada into a a frenzy, and while everyone was celebrating, all I could think about was how mad people were going to be at Mitch Williams for blowing it.

1994, my life almost came to a screeching halt. The day before I turned 9, the Major League Baseball Players strike started, and eventually culminated with the cancellation of the World Series. You may as well have cancelled my birthday, Christmas, New Years, Easter and any other meaningful holiday. We're talking total devastation.

Luckily in '95 baseball came back with a new playoff system, and I had spent the entire off season reading. It was about this time in school that we had to do free reading every day, and we had to write about it. Our school library had a seven or eight book series highlighting the different aspects of baseball that someone could be good at. The books were entitled, "Speed," "Power," "Pitching" etc. I read these books over and over. They were large format books that I think I would consider to be rotating coffee table material if I came across them today. Little matter, I read them cover to cover, and they had these charts that listed the all-time leaders in many of baseball's statistical categories. After a while, I'd just read the charts. Time, and time again. For some reason, knowing who was the best at certain things excited me. Even if this person had been dead for 60 years. The pages came alive in my mind, and even though I had never seen Ty Cobb play, never known anyone who had, or had any rooting interest for his team, the Detroit Tigers, I was fascinated by what  the numerical data next to his name could teach me about him. I would later go on to read that Tyrus Raymond Cobb (I developed a penchant for knowing players full names) was not so much of a good guy, but actually was a mean spirited bigot. It was at this time that I remember being glad that many of his most hallowed records had been broken.

Around this time I also discovered that each morning the glorious, glorious sports editors at The Chicago Tribune published box scores for all the major sports action from the night before. It was an unbelievable development. Now I had happened upon a way to read new and evolving history, every morning. League leaders in all the statistical categories, short recaps of what had happened, and overall numbers galore; every day was better than the last. Ken Griffey Jr. was tearing up the American League with home runs on what seemed to be a daily basis. On the other side of the page in the paper, Greg Maddux was shutting down the National League, and further cementing himself as the best pitcher of his generation, (in my mind at least) and elevating himself to Greek God-like status in the mind of my father.

It was at this time that the foundation for my current sports revelation first planted its seeds. Although, I didn't know it at the time. I was too busy counting home runs to realize what was going on, but inside there was also this great love of Maddux developing as well. This really had nothing to do with Maddux himself, as he had moved on from the Cubs to the Braves a few years earlier, and I could no longer watch him on a day to day basis. This had all to do with Pops. Seeing my father get such enjoyment out of simply reading that Maddux shutout another opponent was very cool to me. And, as is the case with many father-son duos, I loved Maddux because Pops loved Maddux.

These trends continued. I read as much baseball statistical data as I could get my hands on, and I looked to Pops to find new interests to follow in the paper each morning.

Lots of guys rose to prominence at this time. But it wasn't necessarily the guys that were established that caught my eye. It was the young guys. Despite the fact that Maddux would go on to play for more than twenty years, he was old news by the time I really got into following this sort of thing. He was Pops' guy. Pops didn't much care for the new-age stars like a Ken Griffey Jr., but we could agree on a guy like Chipper Jones, the all-American can't miss kid, or Derek Jeter the emerging star of the Yankees. We weren't fans of their teams, but they were in the post season every year, and it was easy to watch them progress.

Then came the star of stars for Pops and I. Tiger Woods. Pops had been reading up on him for years, and by the time he burst onto the scene in '96, Pops had already drank about six quarts of the Tiger Koolaid. Every week our love grew, with every major championship, it wasn't just that Tiger had won, it was as if Pops and I had won. We won because we had followed him, we had read about him, and along with millions of others, we knew  he was going to be good. And, every time he won, he elevated himself further into this land of unthinkable admiration. Never before had there been an athlete of whom I had come to expect so much from that had actually been able to deliver. Not only had he been able to deliver, but each time he delivered, he seemed to do it in such a way that I couldn't help but just think, man, I love this guy.

Time continued on, and my enthrallment with the games that these men played continued to grow. '96 marked the beginning of the Yankees run of dominance, and with it much reading of Yankee lore. Also I remember teaching Mom how to keep a proper score book for a baseball game. We'd watch the World Series, and while she didn't know Mariano Duncan from Duncan Hines, she came to learn that if there was a ground ball to Mariano at second, she would enter a 4-3 in the score book as soon as he recorded the out at first base.

As the  numerical world inside my head  expanded further, It may not shock you to learn that my abilities on the field experienced an inverse reaction. Once in possession of an above average fastball and an hefty appetite for shagging fly balls, by the  time freshmen year of high school rolled around, my role on the high school baseball team had been reduced to pencil pushing scorekeeper, infield practice facilitator, and blowout mop-up inning specialist. This didn't so much bother me, as I recall an instance where I rushed out of an early season practice so my mom could drop me off at a fantasy baseball draft where I was the youngest guy in the room by about 30 years. (I picked up  Mike Sweeney late in that draft, and was smiling cheek to cheek all season as he hit well over .300) My uncle Tony was nice enough to let me tag along in his fantasy league for years, and I remember the best day of the week being when the old stat packets would show up in the mail, and I'd spend all afternoon breaking down what the other team owners were doing, and what we could do to improve on our perpetual 7th place standing. This was before all of the fantasy sports had moved to the Internet, and while I have come to appreciate the ease in which I can stay connected to fantasy sports nowadays, there was something magical about tearing open that envelope to find out that we'd moved up a half a point, and were now only a point and a half out of 6th place!!

Eventually the Internet won out for statistical tracking, and while I was sad, this transition gave me access to entire portals of data that were completely dedicated to my passions. Living with my buddy Ed Liss my freshmen year of college, he must have thought I owned a partial stake in www.basketball-reference.com. While I wasn't much of an NBA fan at this point, the historical standings, all-time leader boards, and player searching capabilities kept me occupied for hours on end. In fact, my choice of the University of Illinois to go to college in the first place was a choice that I made in large part due to the Big Ten sporting atmosphere that I knew I'd experience while I was there.

Jeff Renfro and I lived and died along with every play of the Illini's historic run to the Final Four in 2004-05, and  I'll never forget going to games in the years following with Melissa Colgan, Suzan Balch, Gregg Conn, and countless others. I wore my Luther Head # 4 shirt to every game, and for something like 41 times in a row, if I wore the shirt, the team didn't lose. It was unbelievable.

In 2008, the Illini football team made a rare appearance in the Rose Bowl, and took on the heavily favored Trojans of USC. The family made the trek out to Pasadena for the game, only to watch our team get  thoroughly trounced. Walking out of the stadium, if I would have had a tail, it would have been tightly tucked away between my legs as if I were a puppy who had just ruined a garden full of freshly planted petunias. The Illini had been humiliated, and so too had I.

I'm not sure if my transformation really started because the teams I rooted for never won, or if it was just gaining a new perspective that can only come with growing up, but I started to realize, maybe the keys to the games didn't so much lie in the encrypted world of statistics.

Time passed and one by one, the sports heroes of my childhood faded away. Maddux retired after the '08 season, and watching Ken Griffey Jr. limp through his final days in Seattle early in the 2010 season really put the nail in the coffin of my childhood. Sure, I was 25 years old at this point, and far from actually being a child, but here was the guy whose jersey I had, baseball cleats I had, video games I played, baseball cards I collected, and the guy who I had simply first known as "The Kid." And here he was, 40 years old and unable to keep his legs healthy enough to play every day. I may not have been a kid anymore, but Ken Griffey Jr. was my childhood.

And so I thought, "This is what it was like for Yankee fans as they watched Mickey Mantle hobble around the bases in 1968? This was the anguish of watching Johnny Unitas try and hang on with the Chargers, or Willie Mays with the Mets?" The unmistakable ending of an era, right before your eyes.

It was awful.

No amount of statistical data could save me, either. On the stat sheet, Griffey Jr. may have hit 630 career home runs, but that was just it, at this point, those were just stats. They were history. The guy who could never get old, got old. And just like that, he was gone. Next thing I knew, Chipper Jones tore his ACL, and there is a good chance his career could be  coming to an end shortly. Somehow Derek Jeter is 36 now and has just negotiated the final contract of his career. All of these guys that I associated with my childhood, they're old. Sure, there are always new players, and there will always be guys to make assaults on the record books, but unfortunately for me, for every new young star that comes along, I'm no longer going to be that little boy who  doesn't know any better than to worship the ground on which he stands. The innocence it takes to one day envision yourself running the bases at Wrigley Field or Yankee Stadium, these thoughts can only be conjured up by the mind of a pre-pubescent teen. I'm sure a new young star will enter the game in the coming years, and there's a good chance I'll admire the level at which he's honed his skills, but there's no way he'll turn me into a major leaguer, the way I thought Ken Griffey Jr. could.  

Maybe that's why golf, despite being what most would call a boring game, has endured over time and remained relevant. In no other sport can a guy like Jack Nicklaus win major championships 24 years apart, or a guy like Tom Watson compete a few months shy of his 60th birthday for an Open Championship. For any average 50 year-old watching Watson toil at Turnberry, an opportunity arose for them to remember back to when the same guy did they same thing at the same course- when they were in high school. Just think of that.

All of this leads me back to Tiger Woods. My sports equivalent to a Lord and Savior. Mine and Pops guy. The same guy who prompted Pops to call me in June of 2008 when I was at the College Baseball World Series in Omaha, Nebraska, just so Pops could channel his inner Dan Hicks and give me the play by play of Tiger's famous  putt.

"He's lining it up. Now he's walking around it. You know, looking at it from every angle, like he always does. He really seems to be taking longer than he usually does on this one..."

At this point, the baseball game I'm watching is in between innings, and not much was going on, but Pops continued.

"Alright, I think he's finally ready. I think it's about 18 feet or so. He putts it. And....Ohhh my gosh Matt, HE MADE IT. HE MADE IT. I CAN'T BELIEVE IT. HE MADE IT!!"

At this point, I let out a loud cheer 450 miles away in Omaha. I'm sure the people around me were looking at me like I was crazy, but at this point, I didn't care. Tiger had done it! The guy was playing with a torn ACL, and a broken leg, and the next day he would go on to with the U.S. Open. This is the kind of legend that Mark Twain couldn't write, and Steven Spielberg couldn't make any more sensational.

A year and a half later when the world came to find out that Tiger wasn't exactly the guy everyone thought he was, I was crushed. While his feats on the golf course should not be diminished in light of the details that came out of his personal life, the mystique and the aura that he carried with him could never be the same. Steroids rocked baseball, the NBA after Michael Jordan lacked the luster that it once had, the NFL, while great, had never had quite standing in my sports universe, but this was more than those combined. This was fifteen years of bonding between my father and I that all the sudden seemed hollow. Sure, those events that we cheered about still happened, but the big part of what made it so special was the fact that it was Tiger, and up to that point, he had represented all of the things that my parents had tried to teach me to be. A hard worker, a fierce competitor, and a well-rounded individual away from sports. I should be clear in emphasizing that my parents never told me to emulate Tiger, or any athlete for that matter, yet his case just so happened to be one was easily relate-able. With the deeper meaning of what Tiger meant to my father and I now in question, I was sent searching.  

This all helped me realize that being a sports fan is not about the people who play them, or the stats they accumulate.

You can say that I'm going "soft," or that in this moment in time I must be feeling overly sentimental, but, I think I'm ready to come to grips with the fact that being a sports fan is about sharing your rooting interest with those around you.

Really? You had to spend thousands of words to figure that out, genius?

I never thought I'd say it, but being able to share these moments with others means more than a box score ever could. Sure winning helps, but the jubilation I watched my friends experience when the White Sox won the World Series in 2005, or the way people partied when the Bears advanced to the Super Bowl after the 2006 season, none of that would have existed in a vacuum. Sure, you'd be excited if a team you'd rooted for your whole life finally achieved their goal and won something, but being able to call up your dad, or party with your buddies, or text your uncle, those are the things you remember.

I look back fondly on that U.S. Open, not for how it turned out, but for the memories I have with my father. I think back to the Final Four with Renfro reduced to tears as we watched players from North Carolina cut down the nets. I remember an Illini basketball game where it appeared as though Rich McBride had hit a last second shot to beat Penn State. The shot was later overturned, but my memory of clutching the arm of my friend Jessica Young, hoping against hope that somehow they'd overrule the call can't be taken from me. The Rose Bowl from '08, my most indelible memories are of my friends Tim and Meghan Michaels having a comical battle with their GPS as we drove around LA. To this day I don't watch an Illini fooball game without thinking of Steve Contorno and his detest for my old E.B. Halsey Illini football jersey. Halsey has moved on, and the jersey is gathering dust in my closet, but that one little morsel of a fact has been enough for Steve and I to remain friends five years after the fact.

The fantasy sports I play today, I no longer have  rabid tendencies to devour stats, or prove to anyone that I'm smarter than they are. In fact, the playful ribbing of a Steve Hild, or the incessant banter of Jeff Lizzo, Kevin Barry and Drew Stiling mean more to me than winning a fantasy league title ever could.

I often wondered as people sat in the stands at games, or watched on TV, how they could fully enjoy the experience without knowing that the last time there had been a statistical oddity like this or that was in 1974, and before that 1921, and so on and so on. Rather, I've moved on. Beyond all the statistics, and all the analysis lies the significance of human emotion. And while I may never be able to quantify it, and it may have taken me longer than most to come to this conclusion, it really is what sports are all about.

[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 13 - ARI - 9-2-2

Is this a trap game? I’ll admit I’m not familiar with the concept. Arizona has been on the edge of competitive since… always? Yeah they had that conference final appearance but we’re all kinda conditioned to think they’re bad. It’s the teams that you think you should beat but have a high likelihood to surprise you that constitute trap games, right? The Yotes had a rough start but have managed to off the likes of Nashville and the Rangers to arrive in Buffalo 6 and 4. Like the Buffalo Sabres everyone is still wondering if they might actually be good. Another thing these two teams have in common is a man named Phil Housley. After bouncing around a little bit following his firing from the Sabres Head Coach position in the Spring he finds himself the assistant Coach of the Arizona Coyotes. They are certainly trying to recapture his coaching talent from his time with the Nashville Predators where he benefited a lot from a stacked defense. When Lance Lysowski, the last good hockey writer at the Buffalo News, asked Housley if he would make any changes to his time as Sabres bench boss he responded: “Those are things I’ll keep to myself”. If there’s anything Phil Housley is good at its dodging the meat of a question, eh? All kidding aside that is the best possible answer to that question. What is he going to do, activate all the suburban hockey dads and roast one of the talented player’s compete level? I think it’s safe to say he’s done with Buffalo and really doesn’t want to be pressed into any talk about it. I put the feelers for what Sabres fans feel about Phil Housley on twitter. In the most unsurprising chain of events since missing the playoffs most of y’all responded with “tHe DaY hE gOt FiReD!” There were a couple interesting responses I’ll throw in at the end of this postgame. For now let’s dive into the Sabres Episode XIII: the Return of Housley!

The Sabres came out crisp as the Autumn air in the first period. They outshot and out-chanced a Yotes side that was up to the task. Arizona made the first mistake however when Lawson Crouse got called for tripping Evan Rodrigues. The powerplay has been a canary-in-the-coal-mine for the Sabres in the early going this season. If it’s firing bangers in the first period you can tell it will be a good game for us. The games the PP wasn’t exactly spinning well were the not so pretty games a la New York, LA, Detroit and Anaheim. Mind you they won half those games. I had hardly vocalized this thought when Jack Eichel gets kicked out of the faceoff circle and proceeds to score immediately thereafter with that classic slapper. It’s Eichel’s 23rd birthday and evidently he had not scored on his birthday yet in his career on this team. There it is, Happy Birthday, bud. The game evened up a bit down the gut of the period while the Sabres still got the prettier chances. It would be another pretty goal from the increasingly nice Marcus Johansson Jeff Skinner duo. They shut down some quality O-zone time for the Yotes and went off on the rush down ice. Skinner gave the puck to Johansson who didn’t skate too far before returning it to Skinner to tap it in. They did a little crisscross in the middle there and it was just so pretty. They were out to 2-0 lead, but again the Coyotes were not missing their chances either. In spite of being boxed out over and over again by Jack Eichel and Jake McCabe, old friend Phil Kessel got his looks. Victor Hinostroza seemed to be breathing down Hutton’s neck whenever he was in the zone. This Arizona side has allowed the fewest goals in the league so far, you have to be careful with them when they do get their chances. Before the first ended Carter Hutton let in a Conor Garland tight-angle shot that was less than stellar. It was hard to see how it went in from most angles but one at ice-level showed a big 3-hole. It was 2-1 through 20 minutes of play.

The home team came out hot in the second period as well. There was a push of play in the first ten minutes where the Sabres hemmed Arizona in their zone for 1:40 continuous minutes! It got uproarious cheering from the home crowd and to be frank it sent a shiver up my spine. You watch that kind of multi-minute dominance and you almost don’t recognize the squad in front of you. They were winning quick puck battles and nailing very tight passes. They looked like they were on a powerplay, but they were roasting wolf meat 5 on 5 in that stretch! Its that kind of peak “play connected” competitiveness and actualization of real skill that makes me believe this hot start is for real. In that glorious stretch I felt this squad was really and truly back from the darkness. I think they’re for real and I feel more confident than I ever have after that stretch. Unfortunately there is somehow always a reason to be a disappointed Sabres fan and we found it as Buffalo was not rewarded for the frightfully good first half of the period. Arizona pushed back, reclaimed the edge in shots and eventually got a fluke equalizer off Hutton’s ass. It was tied at 2 going into the third period and I’d like to share Rob Ray’s joy in saying this was the most fun Sabres game yet this season but I just can’t. The third period was vintage Sabres. When I use that phrase I’m referring to the 2010s Sabres. They had no lead but decided to more or less retreat into a defensive shell. They had let the expected goals darling of this young NHL season back into the game and in the third they let them take over. Every player wearing Blue and Gold on that sheet of ice saw their corsi percentage implode and had it not been for Carter Hutton standing on his head at times there would have been no loser point as solace. Evan Rodrigues started the game out hungry. By the third period he disappeared. Jake McCabe and Rasmus Ristolainen simultaneously decided to forget two respective lifetimes of hockey training and could not pass a puck without a turnover for the life of them. Now one might say the Sabres began playing for overtime. One word answer there pals: unacceptable. Regulation wins are the currency of dynasties and I don’t care how good the Sabres have looked in extra hockey so far this season. Stop with that garbage.

Arizona earned their overtime point having shelled Buffalo with shots at a 2-1 rate in the third. In overtime they registered the only official shot on goal. Apart from an Olofsson ringer of the crossbar this was the worst overtime period I’ve seen from this new Sabres squad. As with the regulation portion of the night if Victor Hinostroza or Phil Kessel converted any of their chances this would be a darker story. At one point even Hutton caught the turtle bug and turned over the puck in the corner almost gifting the Yotes an overtime winner. It was a jaw dropping overtime in more bad ways than good ones. It went to the shootout and all it took was Nick Schmaltz outmaneuvering Hutton to sink one to seal the visitor’s victory. This one ended 3-2 Coyotes and looked like a microcosm of the Sabres play through its now completed first month of the season: gloriously fun and evidently more cohesive as a team but very much still bearing the toothless mistrust of themselves and propensity to fail to complete games. They end October 9-2-2 and I think that record is very telling. They’ll will have to sit on this surrender until Friday when they travel to Washington to take on the Capitals. I think the last third period plus of this game earned them every little bit of the nagging sensation this outcome will weigh on them in those intermittent days.

So back to the Housley memories: he got some applause when the video tribute came on the jumbotron and I don’t necessarily hate that. BUT, and this is a big but, most of us Sabres fans simply will not remember him fondly, at least for his coaching tenure. One @alexa_mallare replied with her photo of the Fire Housley sign her and her family made and put up in the 300 level for a few glorious minutes at Fan Appreciation Night last season. According to her Rasmus Ristolainen caught sight of it during warmups and got a chuckle out of it. Alexa says the team staff held Housley in the tunnel while they were forced to take it down. Heroes! Heroes, I tell you! Those last few months of the season were so catatonic someone had to show signs of life and it ended up having to be us fans. @depressedbflos replied with the Rob Ray quotes that got dug up and promptly reburied before the Housley firing. Evidently Ray was not treated right as a rookie by Housley during their playing careers and Ray still holds it against him. The quotes were from a 2003 Buffalo News piece that someone rediscovered as Housley dug his own grave that Spring. I think that was the moment that I personally realized he was done. When you’re so reviled by the fanbase you got signs going up, 15-year-old quotes coming out AND the team is losing at a record clip its over. Unfortunately Housleyisms like throwing Sobotka out there in the dying minutes of a 2-2 tie aren’t lost on Ralph Krueger. However I think we can all agree this new guy is a whole lot better at… well… everything? Everything right?

The one guy who replied a positive gif of the former coach made sure to qualify afterward that he did not endorse the coaching acumen of Housley. What a crazy time we lived through, eh? This has been the roast of Phil Housley. Thank you for coming, please like, comment and share this blog on your way out. Should we be concerned about this current team? Eh, yes in certain places. Do I think they’ll win at this clip in November: no. Do I think they’ll win more games than they lose: yes. I really feel as though 9-2-2 is something to believe in. This club is really something new. I believe it and you should too. They’ve got two games left this weekend and then it’s off to Sweden. I choose to believe, and risk being hurt. I suggest you do too. What fun would this be if we all played it safe?

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. Happy Halloween everyone.

[mbtizone]

Nathan Scott (One Tree Hill): ESTP

Dominant Extroverted Sensing [Se]: Nathan is a natural athlete and the star of the Tree Hill High basketball team. One of the first things we see Nathan doing is stealing a school bus for a joyride with his teammates. He’s impulsive and lives in the now. Nathan often makes choices that he later regrets because he lacks the foresight to think about how his actions will impact him later. When he’s depressed about Haley leaving, he visits some relatives and drives race cars for fun. When the race is over, Nathan continues driving, going faster than he’s supposed to and crashes the car. During the school shooting, Nathan realizes that Haley is still in the building and goes in after her. When Lucas asks him if he has a plan, he simply says, “Yeah, I’m going to the tutor center and I’m gonna get Haley.” Lucas criticizes him for going up against a gun with a baseball bat, but Nathan doesn’t care. On the day of his wedding, Nathan and Haley are nearly in a collision with Cooper and Rachel. The limo they’re in goes off the bridge and into the water and, without hesitation, Nathan jumps in after them, saving both of their lives. While Nathan and Haley are having money problems, Nathan turns to a loan shark named Daunte, who is willing to give him money if Nathan agrees to shave points, which Nathan initially does. When he’s asked to throw the State Championship, he agrees, but in the moment, changes his mind and the Ravens win the game. Nathan fails to consider how Daunte might retaliate afterward. Daunte tries to hit Nathan with his car, but Haley sees and pushes him out of the way, and she gets hit instead. Nathan runs to the car, pulls Daunte out, and brutally beats him. While at a bar celebrating Nathan’s new shoe deal, fans of a rival team begin taunting him. He almost walks away, but when they bring Haley into it, he defends her honor and gets into a fight, which leads to Nathan getting thrown through a glass window, temporarily disabling him and effectively ruining his basketball career. When Jamie is missing, Nathan jumps in front of a police car to get them to stop and help, nearly getting himself killed. He sees opportunities and acts. If someone he loves is threatened, he reacts, usually without giving himself time to think.

Auxiliary Introverted Thinking [Ti]: If something makes sense to Nathan, he does it. Nathan perceives Lucas to be a threat and comes up with what he judges to be the best way to keep him from taking his life. Nathan gets to the point and expresses himself clearly and concisely. He does whatever he believes to be the best course of action. Nathan often thinks that he knows the best way to handle something, and can become stubborn once he reaches his own logical judgment about a situation, shutting out the thoughts and opinions of the people close to him.

Tertiary Extroverted Feeling [Fe]: When he was younger, Nathan used his Fe to get under people’s skin. He knows how to play on feelings to get a rise out of people (particularly Lucas). Nathan is charming and can get people to like him if he wants them to. When he first pursues Haley, he does it to upset Lucas, and he gets her to play right into his hands. He can be sweet, complimentary, and thoughtful when he wants to be. As he grows, Nathan begins to use this function in healthier ways. He becomes selfless, putting others and their welfare before himself. He also gets better at expressing his feelings, especially as his relationship with Haley progresses and he falls in love for the first time. His Fe develops even further when he becomes a father. He wants to help the people he cares about and becomes a shoulder for the people in his life to lean on. He is supportive, generous, and takes care of his loved ones. Nathan is fiercely protective and will spring into action if someone hurts his friends or family (Se-Fe).

Enneagram: 8w7

Inferior Introverted Intuition [Ni]: Nathan knows that he wants to someday join the NBA and he works towards this goal throughout high school and college until he makes it a reality. However, due to his often reckless behavior, he has major setbacks because he fails to consider his long-term objective when he acts on his impulses. He sees a future for himself and Haley and he looks forward to spending the rest of his life with her. At times, Nathan can lose sight of his vision for his future and get sidetracked, but once he regains his motivation, he works tirelessly to make his dreams come true.

Quotes:

Nathan: You have one chance, one life, and what you do with it is up to you.

Cop 1: What the hell are you doing? Nathan: My son is missing. Cop 1: Right, calm down. You could’ve got yourself killed! Nathan: We just left the wedding okay, all the guests are gone and my son missing. He’s four and a half years old. Cop 2: Have you been drinking sir? Maybe been to the reception? Nathan: What kind of question is that? ‘Have I been drinking?’ Cop 2: You need to listen to me… Nathan: No you listen to me! My name is Nathan Scott okay? My father is Dan Scott, he was arrested for murder, okay? He’s a bad guy and he was here today. Now either one of you two idiots gets on your radio right now and finds my son or I’ll knock you both out and I’ll do it myself!

Chris: Ah! Stop hitting me! Nathan: Stop kissing my wife!

Nathan: You know what? Tragedies happen. What are you gonna do? Give up? Quit? No. I realize now that when your heart breaks, you gotta fight like hell to make sure you’re still alive. Because you are. And that pain you feel? That’s life. The confusion and fear, that’s there to remind you that somewhere out there is something better. And that something is worth fighting for.

Brooke: Hi, Nate. Come in. It’s a tough day, huh? Nathan: Yeah. Brooke: I wish there was something I could do for you or Haley or Jamie. Nathan: Well, actually we were wondering if there’s anything we could do for you. Brooke: How do you mean? Why me? Nathan: We know that your mom has been pulling some stuff with the company, and I don’t know, I guess having dealt with parent insanity I wanted to check your head. See how you’re doing. Brooke: I’m fine. Really. Nathan: That sounds like something I would say. Look, this thing with losing Quentin, it-it’s hard. And I have a feeling its gonna be a pretty prominent thing in our lives for a while, but that doesn’t mean that your problems are any less important, that all of us aren’t here for you. Brooke: Look, like I said… Nathan: You’re fine. You can handle it. Its all good. Look, I hope that’s true and maybe it is but the thing is, the two of us have been down very similar roads. We were in the same cliques first, we both felt the same pressures, the same expectations. Our parents were like children and we both grew into kind of bad versions of ourselves way too fast. So I think you know I get it. Brooke: They never really gave us a chance did they? Our parents? Nathan: They didn’t know how. Look, the thing is, you made your dream happen, alright? And even though I didn’t quite get there, when it was taken away from me I dealt with it alone. That was stupid, selfish, and wrong. So if your mom tries to take your dream away from you and you feel the same pain I did, I’ve sorta been there, okay? And I’m gonna be kind of pissed off if you don’t come talk to me about it. Anyway, thank you for coming today. It means a lot. I know you didn’t know Quentin, but it doesn’t surprise me that you’re thinking of other people when all this stuff is going on with you. That’s not bad for a girl who never had a chance. Come here. [Nathan and Brooke hug]

Haley: I need to know that you’re going to let me in, Nathan. I mean, all the way. Nathan: I will, okay. I’ll – I’ll let you in if that’s what it takes, I’ll let you in. It’s just… sometimes I’m afraid that if I do, you’ll see the real me. The guy I was before you. And I’m not proud of that person, okay; the one that I used to be. But if I have to be that guy to keep you safe, then that’s who I’m going to be. Look, if you want me to apologize for defending you, or for fighting back when somebody hurts you, then I can’t do that – I won’t do that, okay because the truth is: that’s a guy I’ll never be; a guy that just stands by and watches while the world hurts you. Can you understand that?

Nathan: It’s the oldest story inn the world. One day you’re planning for someday. And then quietly and without you ever really noticing someday is today and then someday is yesterday and this is your life.

Nathan: Every choice you make shapes your future.

Nathan: People just go through things, challenges that make them stronger.

Nathan: I am the kid, Hales and I’m sick of dealing with my parents’ problems. If it’s not my dad with a restraining order, it’s my mom with a glock. They’re unbelievable. My one saving grace. My one way out is if I play halfway decent in these playoffs, I can get a scholarship and I can get the hell away from both of these lunatics. Should my mom have a gun? No! But am I going to let her stupidity or anything else stand in the way of my dreams? Not a chance.

Nathan Scott (One Tree Hill): ESTP was originally published on MBTI Zone

[junker-town]

Tiger Woods did not win The Open but his Sunday was a triumph

It feels like Tiger Woods is going to win again, and that feeling alone is the great achievement of the final stage of his career.

A defining trait of the first decade of Tiger Woods’ career is that he took situations that felt like they needed a miracle and made them inevitable. This happened time and again and without fail. This ball is in a funky lie on the side of bunker and needs to fly 200 yards to get to the green? That seems impossible but it’s definitely happening. This putt from 40 feet is like a 1-in-20 chance but it’s definitely going in to force a playoff. These situations ranged from specific shots to entire rounds to entire months, and Tiger just overwhelmed the odds with an inevitability that never quite computed.

After the last five years of back surgeries, golf embarrassments and personal embarrassments, it seemed likely last summer that Tiger would never play competitive golf again. The thought that he would win again was a hopelessly romantic notion. The thought that he would win a major again was the province of only the most delusional and scary Tiger-fanboy corners of the Internet.

We overhype and over-critique everything related to Woods. Trying to seriously frame an accomplishment or failure in the world of Tiger, which has a 20-year library of overhype and overreaction, is fraught with pitfalls. Tiger left without the Claret Jug on Sunday. In a prior act of his career, that would be a failure. Now? The experience of the day, the solo lead on the back nine of a major, is a triumph.

These last five years of injuries and ignominy were an inexorable plunge on the way to forced retirement and disappearance from public life. A year ago, the proper position was that it would take a miracle for Tiger to win again. It now feels inevitable that he’s going to win again, maybe as soon as next week at Firestone. I don’t know that it’s going to happen, but it feels like it will. And Tiger just getting us back to that feeling is one of the great achievements of his career.

Here are five more thoughts on Tiger’s Sunday at the Open.

1. I think Tiger set out the template for how he’s going to try and do this going forward. It’s far different than how he won his first 14 majors and also a sign that greatest golf mind ever has been re-activated.

It was fascinating to hear him say he was trying to “build his way” into the championship. When he was 30, he’d grab control of a major over the first two days, hold a nice cushion, and spend the weekend slowly bleeding out the rest of the field. He’s never won a major coming from behind, but in all likelihood, that’s what he’s going to have to do to get one in this late stage of his career. There’s too much talent in the game now and Tiger is not capable of dominating a major like used to.

This week he hung back for two days, then got super aggressive in the middle of his Saturday round to charge into contention, and started Sunday letting the leaders fall apart ahead of him. It worked for 64 holes.

2. In the moment, Tiger’s round was a fun Sunday high. All the soaring words about how great it was to have him leading on Sunday of a major again were appropriate, even in the overwrought world of Tiger. After coming down from the high though, it also feels appropriate to acknowledge that Tiger’s still not fully there on the closing stretches of tournaments.

The intervening injuries and miserable play of the last five years obscured the fact that this was also mayyyybe kinda sort of a problem back in 2013 when he was healthy and generally playing well, as he did this week. It’s really been an issue throughout the post-hydrant era (Alan Shipnuck’s term), certainly at the majors.

Golf Channel’s postgame show, Live From The Open, heaped praise on how Tiger swung and looked on Sunday. But they also entered a few things into evidence to support the argument that he is still having trouble closing. Brandel Chamblee said he hit five or six fairways on every nine this week, until the final nine, when he hit just one. He’s also made a whole bunch of messes all season on the final 9 of 72 holes. There was that ball he pumped out-of-bounds at Bay Hill. And the water balls at The Players.

Here’s a graphic from the segment, which I think is worth watching for even the most ardent Tiger truthers.

This is not just to pour cold water on a great day. On balance, Tiger’s Open, and his entire season, is an amazing accomplishment. But once he had the solo lead and we got to the back nine, the charge went off the rails with a 3-over stretch in two holes. It’s worth acknowledging that recent history as you examine if and when and where Tiger can win again.

3. I am going to detour into the feelings zone so if it gets a little too treacly for you, feel free to hop off and meet us up at the next stop. I won’t be offended.

The odds are, you will never be able to do a thing as well as all of these pro golfers do their one thing. Some fly around the world in private jets. They make great money playing a game. It’s not a relatable existence. But most of them, even the richest and most talented, have a relatable tentacle of some sort.

Tiger Woods is not one. He’s been groomed in a bubble to be a golfer since he was a toddler. His social life was abnormal or nonexistent. Then he became the most famous athlete in the world and it became even more abnormal, and shielded. Tiger is an ultra-famous automaton that doesn’t seem relatable in any way.

My five-year-old is starting to watch pro golf, pick up some of the names, and get into it a little bit. He watched Sunday and when I put him to bed, he exclaimed, “Hey did you know Tiger Woods is a dad and a golfer?” He was so excited to tell me this and discover it on Sunday when he saw Tiger with his kids after the round.

Tiger-as-dad is the most relatable part of the 14-time major winner. In his post-round press conference, talking about his kids and putting on that Sunday show for them, was the most emotional I can recall seeing him since he won his last Open. That was 2006, his first major after his dad’s death, and he burst into tears on his caddie’s shoulder. At this press conference, he had to stop, his eyes got a little watery, he gulped multiple times, and he had to stop as he pushed out his thoughts.

“I told them I tried,” he said about meeting his kids on the 18th green. “I know that they know how much this championship means to me and how much it feels good to be back playing again. It’s so special to have them aware because I’ve won a lot of golf tournaments in my career but they don’t remember any of them. For them to understand, what I was doing early in my career, the only thing they’ve seen are my struggles.”

This is a variation of what Tim Rosaforte relayed before the round and what Tiger told us last November, when he said his kids have only known him as a “YouTube golfer.” Watching him get emotional about his kids was relatable. That stated reward of being able to show out for them feels genuine, and motivating.

4. We’re off the saccharine stuff and on to an important investigation that the R&A, and really the entire country of Scotland, must commence at once, if they haven’t already. Have we ferreted out who shouted from the corporate chalets in the middle of Tiger’s back swing on the 18th tee? We can track down anything with today’s technology. I’m assuming we can isolate at least which corporation had that specific chalet. My money would be on a little outfit out of Austria, Red Bull GmbH, and I’d expect nothing but the harshest sanctions.

5. Tiger keeps repeating that this year is a “gift” and a blessing. He said the thought of even playing in the British Open, let alone leading on a Sunday, seemed unlikely to him at the end of 2017, as he waited to see if he’d ever be able to take full golf swings again.

Golf was in a fine spot with so many young superstars. The game is as deep as its ever been. The Tiger era was an anomaly you can’t replicate. Those TV ratings are not coming back and it’s futile to try and force it with this next generation of stars. But the gift, for that next generation and us, is that we now have a competitive Tiger actually joining the battle in a real way.

With Tiger back playing well, some of the young stars are more candid about just how uncompetitive he was the last few years. Dustin Johnson, Rickie Fowler, and Justin Thomas, who played with him off-camera down in South Florida, have all hinted at it with some gentle “yeahhhhh it wasn’t very good” comments. They have said they wanted the “real” Tiger back on a leaderboard so they could face him.

Now they’re getting it. We had Jordan Spieth, Rory McIlroy, and Tiger Woods all on one leaderboard on Sunday. That is a gift, y’all. The younger players seem to know it, too. Jack Nicklaus would always talk about how he’d look at a leaderboard and only pick one or two players (and sometimes none) that really worried him and he felt he needed to beat. McIlroy said he now throws Tiger in with the DJs, Spieths, JTs et al as one of the real contenders he looks for on a leaderboard. Spieth was grinning as talked a discussion he had with his caddie as they looked up at the leaderboard and saw Tiger coming at them. That is very cool.

Those are two already Hall-of-Famers, 15 to 20 years younger than Tiger, relishing the experience of Sunday almost as much as the fans watching from home. Tiger coming back and being competitive in any context is an incredible story. The cross-generational battles it might yield, however, should not be an overlooked side effect. Players like Spieth and Rory make the Tiger comeback even more appealing, positioning him as this old man underdog,

We may never get Sunday at the Open again. That may be Tiger’s last, best chance at a major before some other injury creeps in or his game recedes or the younger players just run away from him. But it’s unlikely. It seems like we’re going to get Tiger in contention again with some consistency. Tiger has turned what a year ago felt like a fantasy — real, competitive golf, Sunday back nine major leads — into a feeling of inevitability. Whether he wins another major or not, in the context of this stage of his career, for that reason alone, he’s back.

[daleisgreat]

Major League

Last weekend I made it to one of my two annual summer treks out to catch a Minor League baseball game and while getting swept up in the spirit of watching a live baseball game it reminded me that is has been a couple years since I have seen a baseball film. Longtime readers here may recall it was almost an annual tradition to recap one here during baseball season. While making our way out after the game it suddenly clicked that 2019 marked the 30th anniversary of my favorite baseball film, the original Major League (trailer) from 1989. For the first time in the five and a half years after starting this blog I will have to break my rule and watch a DVD/BluRay from my collection that I have already viewed and is not in the backlog box, but trust me it is worth it and I am long overdue for another viewing! I have a unique history with this film frachise. The sequel in 1994, Major League II was the first film I saw in the series and I specifically recall my dad taking me to it at the theaters when I was 11 and super gung-ho into baseball, baseball videogames and baseball cards! Needless to say I fell in love with the film and its diverse range of flamboyant long-shots help what would seem like the helpless Cleveland Indians make it to the World Series. My dad saw how much I loved the movie and shortly after it hit video he went to a friend I recall he told me had what seemed like an infinite supply of movies on tape. I remember he took me there once and I was too young to realize it then, but looking back he was the local go-to guy who hooked everyone up with bootleg VHS tapes filled with a few movies on them in super low quality SLP playback. My dad got this guy to make a tape that contained what would wound up being 11 year-old Dale’s four favorite movies at that time in the first two Major League films and both Wayne’s World movies. I cannot tell you how many times I watched that tape all the way through, except that it was well into the double digits.

That tape was how I originally saw the first Major League and I was blown away by how much better it was than the sequel that I already cherished. Who was this Wesley Snipes fellow who is a vastly superior Willie Mays Hayes compared to Omar Epps in the sequel? After misplacing that tape after several years, the original Major League was one of about ten VHS tapes I bought before I was able to save up to buy my first DVD player. I snatched up the bare-bones original DVD release of the film the week it came out, and bought it again several years later when it got a ‘Wild Thing Special Edition’ jam packed with extra features and a killer slipover turf cover! A couple years after that in 2009 Paramount re-released the Wild Thing edition on BluRay, but without the turf cover I adored so I made sure to save my DVD turf cover and slip it over the BluRay in my collection like any diehard Major League fan buying the movie for the fourth time on home video would! I still love the old timey song, Randy Newman’s “Burn on” being used in the opening of the film to set up the sad state of the Cleveland Indians in 1989. The opening montage brilliantly interspersed newspaper clipping about the owner passing away and how his widowed wife, Rachel Phelps (Margaret Whitton) cut most of their top talent and replaced them with has-beens and long-shots in hopes of tanking the team enough to move them to Miami. Shortly after that is a great start of spring training scene introducing the dynamic cast of hopefuls such as the Mexican League wash up Jake Taylor (Tom Berenger), California Penal League pitching sensation Rick Vaughn (Charlie Sheen), surprise walk-on Willie Mays Hayes (Wesley Snipes), superstitious slugger Pedro Cerrano (Dennis Haysbert) and stock market guru Roger Dorn (Corbin Bernsen). They are managed by former Dunlop Tire specialist Lou Brown (James Gammon).

For a film that is a little over an hour and a half it does a bang-up job at managing to capture the feel of a whole baseball season from spring training all the way up until the post season. Like most sports movies, it has a predictable format, but the journey there is well worth the ride as we see early season struggles with this unique clash of styles not gelling whatsoever to all of a sudden the team eventually starting to click and gain momentum before having a one game playoff against their heated rival, the Yankees, to get into the ALCS in a thrilling final act of the film. Throw in a supplemental arc of Jake chasing down his old flame Lynn (Rene Russo) for some breathing room between all the heavy doses of baseball and it adds up to establishing one of the most tried and true formulas in sports films. I love how all the on-the-field action is shot as it not only captures well choreographed baseball, but also captures the unique characteristics and mannerisms from this bombastic roster. Hayes has his vintage batting stance swivel, Taylor taunts opponents behind the plate to throw them off their game, Pedro has his rituals in order to hit homers and overcome the dreaded curveball and Vaughn has his trademark frames and “Wild Thing” walk-on song. Combine all this with unforgettable commentary from the loveably quotable Harry Doyle (former ball player and hall-of-fame announcer Bob Uecker) in the press box. On top of that is a memorable original score that kicks in at all the right moments in montages and especially in the final game with powerful beats hitting at the precise moment in Jake Taylor’s pivotal at bat to close out the game!

Time flies as I cannot believe it has already been 30 years since the first film in the franchise just as I am still shocked MLB allowed an R-rated movie featuring its brand to make its way out into the public. Major League is filled with the players drinking and smoking in the clubhouse (and press box), dropping nonstop F-bombs and all other kinds of colorful language throughout. In the commentary David Ward stated he did this to originally capture the spirit of the players in the clubhouse, and regretted it after the fact when he was confronted by many people saying they wanted to take their kids to see it, but did not because of the language. I am guessing that is why the sequels dialed it down to a PG-13 rating. David Ward is joined by producer Chris Chesser on the commentary and the two are primarily subdued as they state after a few lulls that they were taken in again by watching the movie for the first time in many years. Lulls aside, the duo have a fair amount of production facts to share from Milwaukee being a great host city primarily filming in to having to reshoot the ending after the original failed in test screenings. The original twist ending is part of the rest of the fair amount of extras. There are three main behind-the-scenes features that make up most of the bonuses. Just a Bit Outside is a must-see 12 minute extra interviewing Bob Uecker on his evergreen quotes and how he landed the role. Major League Look at Major League is a 14 minute bonus interviewing MLB players on what the film meant to them and their favorite moments and lines and reflecting on how spot-on some of the movie is in actual baseball. Finally, My Kinda Team is the featured bonus clocking in at 23 minutes of cast and crew interviews nearly 20 years after the film released and reflecting on training for the film and many other fascinating anecdotes from the production. All three are recommended viewing for any Major League enthusiasts.

30 years later and Major League holds up splendidly! It and Field of Dreams came out within a year of each other and are likely the catalysts for many other fondly remembered baseball films that hit over the next several years like The Sandlot, Rookie of the Year, Little Big League, A League of Their Own, The Scout and naturally, Major League II. All these years later and Major League remains one of my all-time favorites and I can only give it the highest of recommendations! Other Random Backlog Movie Blogs 3 12 Angry Men (1957) 12 Rounds 3: Lockdown 21 Jump Street The Accountant Angry Video Game Nerd: The Movie Atari: Game Over The Avengers: Age of Ultron The Avengers: Infinity War Batman: The Killing Joke Batman: Mask of the Phantasm Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice Bounty Hunters Cabin in the Woods Captain America: Civil War Captain America: The First Avenger Captain America: The Winter Soldier Christmas Eve Clash of the Titans (1981) Clint Eastwood 11-pack Special The Condemned 2 Countdown Creed Deck the Halls Die Hard Dredd The Eliminators The Equalizer Dirty Work Faster Fast and Furious I-VIII Field of Dreams Fight Club The Fighter For Love of the Game Good Will Hunting Gravity Guardians of the Galaxy Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 Hercules: Reborn Hitman Indiana Jones 1-4 Ink The Interrogation Interstellar Jobs Joy Ride 1-3 Man of Steel Man on the Moon Marine 3-6 Metallica: Some Kind of Monster Mortal Kombat National Treasure National Treasure: Book of Secrets The Replacements Reservoir Dogs Rocky I-VII Running Films Part 1 Running Films Part 2 San Andreas ScoobyDoo Wrestlemania Mystery The Secret Life of Walter Mitty Shoot em Up Skyscraper Small Town Santa Steve Jobs Source Code Star Trek I-XIII Take Me Home Tonight TMNT The Tooth Fairy 1 & 2 UHF Veronica Mars Vision Quest The War Wild Wonder Woman The Wrestler (2008) X-Men: Apocalypse X-Men: Days of Future Past

[areswriting]

a x e : xxxix

“No, I don’t think she’ll mind,” I say, looking between them. Ellie’s face is pained, while Elise’s is stretched wide with enthusiasm. “Gigi loves the holidays because it fills up her house…”

“See?” says Elise, wrapping her arms around Ellie’s shoulders. “There’s no reason to go to Boston, when Boston can come to you.”

“Elise, I seriously doubt my dad is going to travel during Thanksgiving,” says Ellie “I mean, have you been through TSA during the holidays—oh no, of course you haven’t.”  

“Actually,” I say, leaving them to rummage through the refrigerator. “Elise went through customs around Christmas three years ago. She even flew coach.”

“I really would rather not think about that, thanks,” says Elise.

I hear Ellie snort. “Sweetie, that’s your life now. Get used to it.”

“We need to go to the grocery store,” I say, closing the door on the old Chinese take-out, eggs and expired milk. “We’re out of everything including alcohol.”

Elise pushes Ellie toward me. “Ellie wants to go.”

I shake my head, leaning past Ellie and onto Elise. “I want you to take me. We can put Ralph’s on our list.”

“Can you not?” laughs Ellie, ducking under my elbow and out of Elise’s grasp.

“Do you and Keating not have a list?” I say. “Or does he have to take the blue pill and you get it when you can?”

Ellie rolls her eyes as Elise lunges after her. “How about you two go out, and I call Mr. Hughes and invite him to Gigi’s?”

“Actually, I have plans,” says Ellie, glaring at Elise. “Time sensitive plans.”

“Did Keating take a pill?” I snort.

“Abram, hush,” says Elise. She grabs Ellie’s hands, eyes pleading. “Please—go out with Abram. I’ll help you reschedule.”

“Reschedule?” I say.

Ellie sighs loudly. “Fine, but I’m taking your car.”

△ △ △

“Why are we playing put-put again?” I say, watching Ellie’s golf ball roll three feet past the hole.

“The real question is why are you, a hockey player, so bad at it?” she says, following the ball.

“Well, for one, I don’t want to be here,” I say.

“That makes two of us,” mumbles Ellie, aggressively striking her plastic club against the ball. It flies over a poorly made dinosaur figure and out of view.

“Then why are we here?” I say. “All I wanted was groceries and beer.”

Ellie sighs. “Little Allaire needed a break.”

“Little Allaire?” I say. “Who is that—”

“—Elise’s vagina, Abram,” snaps Ellie.

Four parents and their small children turn and look at us before urging their kids away, one loudly asking “What is a bagina?”

“What do you mean….she needed a break?” I say, cheeks burning.

“I think she’s being a wuss,” says Ellie, shrugging. “I mean, I wish someone wanted to have sex with me non-stop.”

“We’ve done other things,” I say, folding my arms. “Just the other day we—um—we went to class!”

Ellie laughs. “When is the last time you went a day without sex?” When I hesitate, she shakes her head. “Fine, two days…Three days? God. I didn’t realize you were being that excessive.”

“Hey!” I say, “She wanted it, too! I’m basically her bottom.”

“That’s because you’re screwing her in bathrooms and confessionals! She’s probably at home icing her vagina with a bag of peas!”

We are immediately escorted out and banned for life from Castle Glow Park, and Ellie and I laugh about well after we leave Ralph’s and arrive back at our apartment. Ellie recounts the story to Elise, while I put our groceries away and open up a beer.

I leave them to talk and turn on the bath water, and when it burns my skin, I know it will be a comfortable temperature. I call for Elise, who reluctantly opens the door.

“You want to take a bath?” she says, eyes flickering from me, to the water and back again.

I shake my head as I move toward her. I pull her shirt over her head and kiss her cheek. “I’m running it for you.”

“You don’t want to join me?” she says, relieved.

I smile as I bend down, pulling her leggings off of her hips.

“Oh.”

“No,” I say, looking up at her. I kiss between her thighs and stand back up. “You relax. I’m going to kick Ellie’s ass as Black Ops.”

Elise bites her lip and sighs. “She told you, didn’t she? I’m sorry—I just—it’s bruised.”

I silence her with a kiss on the lips, then on the forehead. “Its fine, baby. I’ll let you initiate when you’re…healed.”

△ △ △

“When is the last time you showered? I still see glitter in your hair.”

I pull my hood over my head, ashamed and fully aware that it has been over a week since I last showered, and even longer since I brushed my teeth.

“That night was a lot of fun,” Brantley goes on. “I didn’t think we’d ever be cool like that.”

I force out a laugh, because I feel like that’s what I’m supposed to do. “Sometimes, you just need to punch someone, I guess.”

“I wanted to say thanks,” he says, glancing over at me. “For not telling anyone about—you know. I’m not out yet, I mean not completely. My little sister and a few of my friends know, but I know how homophobic some of the guys are.”

“I’m from Boston,” I shrug. “Besides, before my best friend got his first girlfriend, everyone, including my mother, thought we were boyfriends.”

The pedestrian sign changes and Brantley and I walk shoulder to shoulder across the street.

“I know you’re like super rich, so is that how you’re getting us into this?” asks Brantley as we approach the Beverly Hills Hotel.

I bite the inside of my cheek and shake my head. “My best friend? He’s their goalie, and their captain will end up being my father-in-law.”

Brantley’s reaction only sours the taste in my mouth, and when we enter the Kings brunch, I double fist mimosas and actively avoid Brody, who is laughing between Tyler Toffoli and Drew Doughty.

“Abram!” says Simon, throwing his arms around me. I know he’s a few drinks in. “I’m glad you made it. Elise said you’d be running a little late because of practice.”

“Fortunately for us, there wasn’t much traffic,” says Brantley.

I introduce Simon to Brantley, and he holds his composure much better than I did the first time I met him.

“You two can sit with me,” says Simon. “That’s where Elise and her friend will be.”

“Her friend?” I say, looking around the room.

“Hunter’s ex-girlfriend,” he replies.

“Where are they—Ellie and Elise?” I say.

Simon turns a complete circle, confusing etching his features. “They must still be in the bathroom. It’s been like half an hour.”

“Excuse me,” I say, brushing between them. I hear Brody call my name but I ignore him and walk straight toward the women’s bathroom, pushing the door open.

“Elise?” I say.

“Abram?”

“Ellie?”

I hear two sets of dry heaves, then sick splattering into water.

“Elise? Ellie?” I say again.

“Oh my God, Abram, shut up,” says Ellie between gags.

One of the toilets flush, and the door opens slowly, revealing Elise, and I rush toward her.

“I’m fine,” she says before I can say anything.

“Simon said—”

“I’m fine,” she says again. “I’m not the only one throwing up.”

I bite back but you’re the only one with an eating disorder and let out a loud sigh.

“You’re drinking?” Elise says, taking a step away from me. She gags, then runs back into the stall, leaving the door open behind her. I watch her fall to her knees, praying to the only God I think she’s ever known.

A second flush and I look to see Ellie leaning against the door like all of the life is drained out of her.

“I wouldn’t get too close,” she says, shaking her head. “I think we have food poisoning.”

“You can’t catch food poisoning,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Plus, we all had the same thing for dinner.”

“Please, don’t say anything else about food,” says Ellie. “Elise is fine. I promise, Abram. I’m going to take her home.”

I open my mouth to object, but the bathroom door opens and a girl with curly blonde hair steps in hesitantly. “Um, am I interrupting something?”

“He was just leaving, Nichole,” says Ellie, waving her in. “Weren’t you, Abram?”

△ △ △

(texts—Brody)

Can you come to tonight’s game? Big cellie after, even if we lose.

(message read)

Hey, we’re at Island’s for dinner. You coming?

(message read)

You wanna come over for Thanksgiving? Natasha’s back in Boston… we can get Korean barbecue and play fortnite.

Sorry, going to Gigi’s.

Ellie is coming too so I figured you wouldn’t want to come.

I’m sure some of the teammates will have you over?

Are you being PA right now?

(message read)

△ △ △

At Gigi’s request, Elise, Ellie and I come to her house a day early to help her prepare, though I don’t think any of us are prepared for the crowd when we arrive.

Jason tackles me at the door, while Sophie nearly knocks Elise over with how fast she runs to hug her. From the ground I watch Ellie roll her eyes and step over us, announcing our arrival and that she brought plenty of wine.

“I can’t believe how much I missed you,” says Jason, finally pulling himself off of me and onto his own two feet. He offers a hand to help me up, but I get up on my own. “You never respond to my Snaps anymore, man.”

“School has him really busy,” says Elise. “We just had mid-terms this week, and in two weeks we have finals.”

“I’m sure hockey has been hell, too,” says Jason, smiling widely. “I can’t wait to tell you about this season—it’s been insane so far.”

I tune him out after he tells me how many points he has, and how the Bruins are guaranteed a second seed playoff spot if they keep up with how they’re playing. Everything else is just grinding salt into my wounds. I nod when I’m supposed to, I even smile and laugh as I pour both of us a glass of wine, willing away the want to crack the bottle over his head, only to get him to shut up.

“There’s my other brother from another mother,” says Sienna, dancing through Gigi’s crowded kitchen. She pulls me into a hug. “Is Jase still bragging?”

Yes.

“I’m not bragging,” says Jason. “If Abram were playing for the Bruins, I’d want to hear every story he’d tell me.”

“In that case,” I say, “the only story you’d hear is me trying to get myself kicked off of the team.”

Sienna snorts. “Please—you men are desperate. You’d join the first team that would take you and you know it.”

I inhale sharply and press my lips into a thin line. I try to reason with myself—surely she didn’t mean anything by it, but it goes over me like nails on a chalk board and I feel my face contorting and burning red.

“Abram.” I hear Ellie before I see her pop up on the other side of the island. “Gigi is asking for you in the kitchen.”

I respond only by turning my wineglass up and draining it in one gulp. Sienna and Jason continue going back and forth after I walk away, and the quiet in the kitchen is more than welcome.

“Do you care to help me?” says Gigi, somehow knowing I’m in the room even though I haven’t spoken.

I set my glass in the sink, wash my hands, and roll up my sleeves. “What do you need?”

She sighs and turns her head. “Your mother used to make a pie, and I’ve tried for the last two years to recreate it and I cannot. It doesn’t taste right.”

“Which pie?” I say, picking up an apron and sliding it over my head.

Gigi ties the back for me. “The pumpkin pie with the Mousse.”

I smile. “Harvest pie?”

“That’s what it’s called,” she says, throwing her head back. “I made one this morning and it isn’t quite right. I thought maybe you could taste it and see if you know where I went wrong.”

Though she looks mortified when I cut a piece out of the center, she doesn’t say anything, but watches me chew with her eyebrows creased tightly together.

“It isn’t bad,” I say, licking the whipped cream from my lips.

“But?”

“You need Nutmeg,” I say. “And less clove.”

“Ah, you brilliant boy,” she says, grabbing me and kissing my cheeks. “Thank you.”

“You want me to help you make it?” I say.

“Send in Elise,” she says. “I think she should learn.”

When I find Elise, she is wedged between Sophie and Ellie, both of which seem to be fighting for her attention, but she only gives it to me. She snorts into her glass of champagne when she takes in the sight of me in a floral apron, and stands onto the tip of her toes to kiss me.

“This might literally be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” she says.

“Mm.” I shake my head and pull the apron off, only to drop it onto her shoulders. “Now this is a sight.”

“Oh, no,” says Elise. “I don’t cook.”

“Yeah, do you want her to burn down your grandmother’s mansion?” says Ellie, red-faced and heavy eyed.

“Funny story, actually,” I say. “Gigi wants you to help her.”

“Abram,” she says again. “I wasn’t joking, I don’t cook.”

“She wants you to help her make a pie my mom used to make,” I say.

[flauntpage]

Big Plays in Big Moments – Observations from Sixers 117, Nuggets 110

On a night when Joel Embiid was dealing with illness, having had recent trouble holding food down, according to Brett Brown, JJ Redick did the heavy lifting for the Sixers.

Redick poured in a season-high 34 points, carrying the new-look Sixers into the fourth quarter, where the entire starting unit made contributions to close out the second best team in the west, a Denver squad playing without the services of Gary Harris and Paul Millsap.

With the Sixers holding a four-point lead at the 1:52 mark, two huge sequences won the game:

A bread-and-butter ’12’ pick and roll that resulted in a dunk and free throw for Ben Simmons

A massive Embiid block on Malik Beasley, with Tobias Harris keeping the loose ball alive. The Sixers came down the floor, Embiid hit another jumper, and the game was essentially over.

Big plays at the biggest moments. That’s how you win against top teams like the Denver Nuggets, especially when you’re trying to incorporate four new players who were just acquired this week and haven’t even had a chance to practice yet.

Play #1, which I mentioned above, is the same exact play they beat San Antonio with, the same blown defensive sequence, only this time Simmons was the guy given the space instead of Redick:

Simmons Stop, Go, Smosh pic.twitter.com/wkVeSkYjYW

— BBALLBREAKDOWN (@bballbreakdown) February 9, 2019

Instead of a blown switch, Denver blew the non-switch and Simmons took it himself.

I asked both Ben and JJ about the play.

Ben:

That’s the first time we’ve run that in a while, so I was kind of excited to get that back. As soon as I saw an opening, I took it to the rim. But there are so many different things we can get into and we’ve got to continue to build with the chemistry we’ve got here, Tobias and I, Boban, everybody we’ve got now, things are gonna keep going and we’re gonna get better.

JJ:

It’s just one of our finishing plays. That’s the same play where I got the four-point play to beat San Antonio. It’s just about putting the defense in a position to make difficult choices. They opted not to switch. I can listen to what my guy is calling. Sometimes he calls ‘switch,’ in which case I’m going to slip. If he’s calling ‘slip,’ then I know I can set a screen and Ben can make the decision. Sometimes that’s kind of hesitation and a late drive, sometimes it’s hesitation where the defense has a screw up and I’m able to slip for a late three.

At that point, Jimmy Butler jumped in and said, “there’s a lot of ambiguity to that play,” to which Redick replied, “I taught Jimmy that word the other day.”

As for the Embiid block and bucket, here you go:

Great defense from all five guys on the floor, and Joel is there to meet Beasley when Redick is beat off the drive. Harris keeps the ball in play, they move it up the floor, and I like the mental acumen there to slow it down and get the ball in Joel’s hands for the dagger. Embiid did all of that while being really damn sick last night. Before the game, he had a band aid over his left arm where the Sixers staff had hooked him up to an IV for fluids.

Gutsy performance from Joel last night at much less than 100%, a solid win, and great atmosphere at the Wells Fargo Center.

More observations:

Tobias Harris

They ran him through a horns set on the first play of a game, but couldn’t get a tough bucket near the rim. Still, it was the same way they incorporated Jimmy Butler, by getting him at least one call on the play sheet for his Sixers debut.

Harris hit his first shot on a transition three coming from a cross-court Simmons pass, then backed down Will Barton on the next possession to get a five-footer to fall. His next play was an assist on a Redick three, forcing a Denver timeout at 14-6.

It’s great to see your 6’9″ power forward identify a mismatch, back his guy down with relative ease, and get a shot to fall:

In the second quarter, he had another nice dribble-drive against a mismatch and then threw a cross-court pass to James Ennis for three ball on the next sequence. His ability to put the ball on the floor is excellent, night and day compared to watching Dario Saric try to do the same thing last year.

Harris finished with 14 and 8 on 6-12 shooting last night while hitting 2-3 from deep. He had some good things to say after the game about the crowd, the feeling of appreciation, and how every guy in the starting unit made plays down the stretch.

Harris on the starting five:

Especially coming out in the fourth quarter, I think that’s the big thing about our game today, you can play all types of ways, but when the fourth quarter comes its like well who’s going to get the looks, who’s going to get the shots for the team? What I really liked about the fourth quarter is just kind of like, ‘OK, it’s your turn, no it’s your turn, no it’s your turn, no it’s your turn,’ and we were all able to make plays and live with those plays, so I thought that was awesome to see in the fourth quarter to have the ball continue to move and hit the right hands and make the right shots, so that was big for us.

A story:

After the game somebody texted me and had a video of me smiling after a play. They said, ‘this is literally the first time I’ve seen you actually smile in a game,’ and I was like, ‘you ain’t lying.’ So it was cool to see that. I really had a lot of fun tonight. Just the team, the potential of us, the reaction from the fans. It feels good to be appreciated. I really felt that tonight and it was big for me.

Welcome aboard.

Boban Marjanovic

First big off the bench last night, and it made sense since Denver has been playing rather large through both Jokic and Plumlee. On other nights, Boban is not going to be the best matchup against smaller units.

He scored his first bucket as a roll man on a Butler PNR:

He’s a pretty good roller, isn’t it?

His first shift was about four minutes, then he back in around the seven minute mark of the second quarter and put together a couple of decent defensive possessions against Nikola Jokic.

But you see he’s pretty slow and fairly limited. He’s not gonna close out anyone on the perimeter, and I think he got whistled for a defensive three second call last night. Brett played him 14 minutes or so, and I think that’s probably on the higher end of what you’re going to get from him this year. If they can keep him in the 10-14 minute range and use him to spell Embiid and keep him fresh heading into the playoffs, that’s probably the best course of action with a massive guy who is a great rim protector but historically has had problems when people are able to move him around a bit.

James Ennis

He came off the bench with Boban in a swap for Joel Embiid and JJ Redick.

I thought he quietly had a really nice game, hitting a pair of open corner three pointers and grabbing three rebounds in 14 minutes of play. Both three pointers were chucked from the weakside corner on plays where Tobias Harris and Jimmy Butler sucked in the defense off the dribble-drive:

You’ll take that all day long from a veteran wing coming off the bench.

Ennis’ pick and roll and perimeter defense was very good on the evening and he got the admiration of the crowd with a nice second quarter hustle play and third quarter steal. He’s been around for a while, and if Ennis does what he did last night, that’s exactly the kind of bench production the Sixers have been lacking for some time now.

Mike Scott

The last of the new guys to come on, he was later put into a lineup looking like this:

T.J. McConnell

J.J. Redick

Furkan Korkmaz

Mike Scott

Joel Embiid

Those Korkmaz minutes will likely go to Jonathon Simmons moving forward. I think Simmons will make his debut on Sunday against Los Angeles.

Quiet night for Scott, who only shot 1-4, but he gives you some grit and some defense off the bench, and if he shoots anywhere remotely close to the 39% he’s averaged from three over the last three years, then it’s an upgrade over Mike Muscala and/or Wilson Chandler coming off the pine.

Other notes:

There was a portion of the third quarter where Brown ran out Butler with four bench guys (Scott, Ennis, McConnell, Boban). Not sure I’d put out any lineup without two starters on the floor, especially on a night like this one where you’re trying to work in a couple of new guys. Kyle Neubeck asked about it after the game and Brett Brown was a little bit flippant in his response, joking about how “you guys love to point that out,” or something along those lines. Funny, sure, but when you’ve got four stars in your rotation, shouldn’t two of them always be on the floor at the same time? I dunno, it’s the first game with a new group, so he’ll figure out the rotation moving forward.

Allen Iverson was REALLY into last nights game. On a late Tobias Harris three-pointer, he got out of his seat, walked 10 feet down the floor and said “mother fucker.”

Some dude in the lower bowl was being an insufferable prick, yelling at the dunk squad and telling them to sit down, yelling at the crew bringing in the Moses Malone halftime ceremony equipment, and yelling grade school level insults at the Denver bench. At some point, the guy sitting next to him (might have been his dad), caught a loose ball and rifled it back at the security guard before mouthing a cuss word at him. Both guys were total clowns.

Embiid shot 4-17 from the floor, but finished with 15 and 12 on the strength of 7-8 free throw shooting.

The Sixers were excellent from the foul line overall, hitting 29 of their 32 looks. That’s good for 90.6% and fifth best free-throw shooting night this season.

Korkmaz and McConnell didn’t miss last night, going 4-4 from the floor in limited minutes. Furkan had a nice put-back dunk to end the first quarter.

Butler took the fewest shots of the starting group, just 9, but went 14-14 from the free-throw line, which is ridiculous. He was again somewhat deferential shooting the ball, but contributed 22 points to finish behind only Redick last night.

I’d like to wish a happy weekend to everybody except that one guy in the comments section.

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[andrewuttaro]

New Look Sabres: GM 53 - CAR - Chasing Two

We meet again, Canes of Carolina. Your 53 is our 53 now as we meet for the 53rd game of the season. We already did playoff trash talk for the Canes but I got a feeling there will be more coming down the stretch here. Why do we hate the Hurricanes so much right now? The Skinner stuff is behind us and I suspect his extension will soon be as well. It’s probably the gull of a team as consistently bad as Carolina, perhaps longer than Buffalo has been bad, deciding this is the season to get in our fucking way. Unless one of Pittsburgh, Boston or Montreal hits the skids real hard down the stretch it’s you, me and Columbus for the one wildcard spot left in the East. So fuck you Carolina: this Sabres team has been shit for a solid two months straight but whatever hope I can muster that they still got a chance at the playoffs this year I will sharpen into a fine shiv and run into this cage match with. That hope could have died tonight. For some of you reading this it may have. This game was about chasing two straight wins – two straight wins which would be this club’s first two wins in a row since December. Perhaps they ultimately didn’t get there because they were doing too much chasing so to speak. But what occurred last night was not the performance of a club accepting its fate and tapping out of the playoff race. What happened last night was enough to make the Spartans at Thermopylae proud. Sure, once you explained ice hockey to them and they observed it long enough to understand what being good at it looks like they may have had some thoughts on the Sabres first period and most of their third; but CHIN UP I say to you! Chin up because this Sabres club is not going down without a fight! Honey, we’re going down swinging!  

The Carolina Hurricanes came out shooting like lax southern gun laws to start the first: every puck that a Sabre was not on was scooped up by Hurricane and blown into the zone closest to Linus Ullmark (Thanks Coach, I knew you would make the right goalie decision). The Canes did what any team who watches this Buffalo club knows is the Sabres biggest weakness as of late: turnovers, unforced and not. The team from south of the Mason-Dixon Line capitalized in this brutal stretch when North Carolina’s favorite soft boy Sebastian Aho served up the juiciest pass from behind the net to a streaking Justin Faulk. Ullmark couldn’t get to the other post in time and Faulk buried it. Well beach bodies: up here in New York we got this thing called ice, the game is actually played on it. What followed shortly after the Faulk goal was a penalty on definitely-moonlighting-as-a-vampire Jaccob Slavin which led to a powerplay for the home team that froze Carolina up like a Buffalo Ice Storm. The powerplay was fruitless but the Sabres poured shots on Curtis McElhinney for the rest of the period. Teuvo Teravainen tallied a second goal for Carolina early in the second period. At this point in the night I’m listening to the game on the radio driving up the 190. WGR 550 has these musical interludes as the broadcast returns from break and at this 2-0 dire moment in the second period one of those interludes was a section of “Slide” by Goo Goo Dolls. My throat got real dry and I shed a tear. Is it because I’m an emotional wreck paying attention to the Sabres these days? NO! But a good guess. NO, it’s because I visualized the playoffs like Jack tells us to and I felt it slipping away! But then what happened? Jack’s team came back.

HUT HUT, FIND A HOLE! The McElhinney wall has to come down! FIND A HOLE! Ristolainen from the line: save; puck to Conor Sheary in front: save; puck to Evan Rodriguez who holds and sweeps that puck into the hole like the beautiful Canadian Sniper he is! Now the Canes really froze up like they’d never seen ice before because seven minutes later resident Dad-Bod Jason Pominville collected his own rebound and tapped an equalizer past McElhinney. Tie game you fair weather mother fuckers! Believe it or not it’s hot here for a couple months in each year and you know what I spend that time doing? Oh, not going to the playoffs? You’re funny: you’re a real piece of work for giving more of a shit about NASCAR than the variable 1970s strong man competition of a gun show y’all have for a lineup! Oh, but when hockey players clap a little and slide down the ice into the goal like it’s a slip-and-slide after wins all you guys come running to the arena! I hope y’all don’t make the playoffs just because you’re a bunch of fucking ungrateful slow talkers who like Duke! The game was tied! It was tied going into the third! And then what happened? Well: a relative menagerie of frat-boy-looking Hurricanes capitalized on the Sabres doing Sabres things like turning over the puck and chasing it around like they’re fishing catch-and-release! First it was wrestling team captain and beer-pong champion of the Carolinas Greg McKegg who polished in a loose puck behind Ullmark after being giving ten fucking years to put it in and still bounced it off the post! Then Jeff Skinner had a fucking hulk moment and realized the profundity of the situation he was in and flew off on a breakaway to guide the puck in like a clumsy baby giraffe. Oh no, I know it was art. Please sign soon, Jeff.

Stop those warm feelings for sweet sweet Jeffery because Fergus, Ontario’s High School Quarterback and favorite ginger son Brock McGinn cleaned up a Jordan Martinook rebound right in front of Ullmark to get the visitors ahead 4-3. Do they even have American Football in small town Ontario? Whatever because here comes the President of the punchable face club Nino Niederreiter to capitalize on the powerplay and put the Canes up 5-3 with five minutes left in regulation. Now here is really the moment when I realized this team isn’t going down without a fight: down by two goals (again, which is a concerning problem all its own) this team did not quit. Jeff Skinner emerged from the box beaten but not defeated. But before he gets his time against his former team it’s time for irony to a drop kick you in the balls. Marco Scandella, in a move that will certainly earn him starts for the rest of the season over far more deserving defensemen, gets the puck from Sam Reinhart and shoots low. The puck went in and it was a one goal game now. Irony has a name and it is Marco Scandella. Perhaps it was too late as time now ticked into the double digits in regulation with the Sabres down by one. Guess who you butter-binging, Trump-voting motherfuckers: JEFF MOTHER FUCKING SKINNER! Collect the puck, toe drag, bender: tie Game! It’s like the third act of fucking Miracle beating the team in the red jersey! There was 56 seconds left on the clock! This one goes to OT. And there, well there Teuvo Teravainen streaks into the Sabres defensive zone 2-on-0 and dekes out Ullmark for the game winner. That’s the way the cookie crumbles in this league: one good rush in OT and it’s all over. Carolina wins 6-5.

The Chase for Two straight wins falls flat; but you know what didn’t fall flat? Yea, the Buffalo Sabres. Yeah, they really stunk up most of the third and looked like they were playing hot potato with the puck for most of the first but you know what: that was one hell of a comeback, two if we’re counting game deficits here. Imagine Jeff Skinner pots the OT winner for a hat trick and the Sabres get two points out of this game instead of just one. It’s a whole different conversation then, isn’t it? I’m not rationalizing the many mistakes or playing the what-if game. I’m calling the glass half full and I don’t know about you but I’m not holding my breath tomorrow waiting for Jason Botterill to make a trade as if 95% of the trades he could reasonably make would have any effect on this team down the stretch. We got what we got right now folks and trust me; I am dying for the playoffs too. What happened last night was not nothing and we didn’t get nothing for it either. Carolina, you better watch your back because we’re breathing down it and every game between now and March 16th is going to be an assault on your chances to take that spot from Columbus. The Sabres can certainly get three points out of this weekend’s two matchups and Carolina only has one game in that same stretch so there’s a scenario where we’re sitting here Monday morning and the Sabres are 1 point back of that playoff spot and ahead of Carolina again. Yea, I’m not broken yet and neither should you be. Honey, we’re going down swinging.

Of course everyone in the locker room is going to be disappointed with that result and that emotion is good even if Savior Sam is misdirecting it at Ullmark. Phil Housley was the only postgame interview I was at all embarrassed by. He’s the one misusing players out the wazoo and throwing forward line combinations at Velcro board and seeing what sticks. Put out your best lineup, Phil. This is the team now and I’m not saying it is good enough to make the playoffs having won 9 of its last 28 games but teams not good enough make the playoffs all the time, you can ask New Jersey about that. And I refuse to hop on the locomotive of self-loathing Sabres twitter seems to be on. This game just gave me too much to chew on. Well like, comment and share this blog even if you think I am insane. With this team: sometimes I feel like it. This frickin team! They hurt me over and over and lord knows I’ll still be watching them at my in-laws this weekend. This frickin eternally ass team: Oh the shit I would do for a playoff berth. OH THE SHIT I WOULD DO! Go Sabres! If they make it by one point this game is going to be my masterpiece. Oh god I need them to make the playoffs. Go Sabres! I’m going to repeat it like I’m trying to remember it: Go Sabres! Go Sabres! Don’t go breaking my heart.

Thanks for reading.

P.S. Sara Civ is a great follow on twitter. She is one of the better hockey beat reporters out there and if it weren’t for her covering that frickin team I’d probably be mentioning her more.