#every goalie minors in emotional support

[sevennone]

240505 VGK@DAL | last game

[huuuuughes]

Chills - Chris Driedger x Reader

Pairing: Chris Driedger x Fem!Reader

Summary: You just can't seem to stay away. Good news is, neither can he.

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: angst. this is v angsty and im so sorry!!! but its not all bad i swear

A/N: posting before he possibly isnt with the birds/kraken lololol. also i know the birds didn't win the cup this year but this is my fic and my dream so just pretend shhhh

also thank you to the lovely @knivesareout for being my beta for this and for being my bff ilysm. this is for and dedicated to you <3

also (again lol) this is lightly inspired by the song Chills by Down With Webster linked here

Chills

My hearts racing trying to catch up to you

The light that you give off is gold

I can’t shake this feeling it fills the room

These chills didn’t come from the cold, they came from you…

You told yourself you weren’t going to come after what happened. You weren’t exactly part of the WAGS anymore after your most recent breakup with ‘he who must not be named’, but you were still friends with a few. Watching hockey felt bittersweet, knowing it was your happy place but also the reason you’d experienced such a rollercoaster of emotions in your personal life.

You just couldn’t stay away. No matter how hard you tried to, the thought of him was always in the back of your mind. You were just tired of coming in 2nd place to him. Of course you knew hockey came first during the season, but you should be next in line. You were supposed to be planning your life together- the ring on your finger still stared back at you. You couldn’t get yourself to give it back. He hasn’t asked for it, but you knew it was the right thing to do. 

Staying away from the arena and the game was the smart option, but part of you, for lack of a better term, just wanted to feel something. So you packed up your stuff, and got in the car. You called Coach, knowing he knew what had transpired. He understood- you wanted to be there, just under the radar. Just because your future with him was uncertain, didn’t mean you didn’t want to be there to support your friends. Playoffs meant everything to the Firebirds, they had so much to prove and everything to gain with this series. There was a ticket waiting for you. On the glass, right behind him. You wore everything you could to disguise your face, and covered your hair. 

You didn’t want him to know you were there but you couldn’t bear to be farther away. You just wanted to matter, and be supported as much as you gave. He had the kindest heart and you felt like the intent was there, but you knew athletes weren’t the brightest in the love life department. He didn’t want to admit his wrongs and you could tell the frustration was building up in his game play. 

You took your seat among the crowd, blending in and sinking into your seat behind the goal. You watched as he did his creases into the ice, his normal pregame routine. The arena filled with chants of his name, the name you once proudly wore on your back to every game. Driedger. 

Chris Driedger. Number 60 and starting goalie for the Coachella Valley Firebirds. You’d met soon after he moved to the Valley. He accidentally picked up your drink at the coffee shop and the rest was history. You were inseparable. Your job was work from home and that allowed you almost too much freedom, letting you become immersed in the world of minor league hockey. With his gear on he looked larger than life, but underneath the goalie mask were the most beautiful eyes and stunning smile you’d ever seen. He was like a magnet, sucking you in any time you were remotely near. 

Lucky for you he didn’t spend much time turning around and hadn’t noticed you sitting in your normal spot. You couldn’t help but wonder if he had looked anyway, knowing the secret part of his routine. There were the parts everyone knew, and then there were the ones just for you. Every time he came out into the ice you made sure he saw you. You always made sure that he knew that even if he felt unsupported or alone that you were right there behind him. Sometimes all it took for athletes was knowing that at least one person in the room was there just for them. 

Transfixed on the game, you almost jumped out of your skin when an arena employee you recognized tapped you on the shoulder. 

“Sorry to bother you Miss, but he wanted you to have this.” They handed you a paper bag, and nodded their head in sympathy before walking away. It wasn’t like the breakup was very public but somehow every person who worked at Acrisure knew already. You opened up the bag, and it was his jersey. Not just a jersey from the shop with his name, but his jersey. It was his normal away game jersey which was so big it was essentially a dress on you. This told you one thing: he knew you were there. Either Coach had ratted you out, or that sixth sense he always claimed he had began working. You didn’t draw attention to yourself but yet, in your lap, the jersey sat like a weight. 

Taking it out of the bag, a note began to fall from the sleeve. 

Thank you. Meet me after, win or lose. - C.

His handwriting was instantly recognizable. He loved to leave you random love notes all over your apartment together. He wasn’t always the best at saying how he felt out loud, so the notes were his way of telling you how he felt. This one felt different- he liked to remain in the zone before and after games. This told you all bets were off. Putting the jersey on you felt a wave of relief come over you. You were the only two people in the room, or at least that’s how it felt. He was your home base and safe haven. You knew you were first in his heart but you needed him to show it. He had to fight for the two of you just as hard as he did. This jersey was his version of a white flag, so to speak. The break up was supposed to be good for the both of you. It was the worst kind of breakup. The kind where you were still in love but you were supposed to be letting them go.

My world came crashing down right under you,

These chills didn't come from the cold,

They came from you.

It was kind of incredible when you thought about it. Someone who is a stranger one day, can walk into your life and turn your world upside down. The center of your universe changes, and the feeling in your chest doesn’t want the center to change. It was never going to. You couldn’t ask someone to change overnight. 

He was playing so well. He remained one of the best goalies in the entire AHL but there was something about him today. If you didn’t know him well, one might not even notice it. His movements were a second too slow, almost too late. The game remained tied at 0-0, but that wasn’t going to be enough, something had to give. It was frustrating that they weren’t making any progress halfway through the second period. With one minute left in the period, the announcer shared with the crowd that there was such a time remaining. The buzzer sounded a minute later, and he didn’t even look back. The team made a beeline for the locker room and you didn’t even hesitate to get up. You made your way to the tunnel where you could access the facilities underneath the bleachers. Flashing your ID that you were supposed to give back, the security guard recognized you and let you pass.

You didn’t even know what your plan was. You just needed to get to him. Now was probably not a good time to try and get to him, they should all be focused on the game. You were going to have to beg Coach in front of the whole team to let you speak with him, which was going to be embarrassing enough. Except when you reached the end of the tunnel and turned the corner, there he was. Still in full gear, helmet still on. His head is bowed down, but at the sound of your shoes his head bolts in your direction. You can feel his gaze through the mask, his eyes like daggers following you as you got closer to him. 

“What are you doing out here?” You asked, after finally managing to speak. 

“I could ask the same question about you being here.” He was hiding the emotion in his voice as best he could.

“You and I both know I wouldn’t miss this game, whether we’re together or not. This team is still my family.”

“Then why did you sit in your normal seat? You could have sat anywhere else in this arena. You didn’t even need to be here. Why there, when you know I can see you?” 

“You should be watching the puck Chris, not me. You have an entire team you’re supposed to be working for.”

“How can I focus when you’re right behind me? Do you think that it’s been easy for me, being without you? I knew the moment you walked into this arena. The moment you sat down. You have been the only thing on my mind for weeks. You are the only light that I notice when you’re in the room. It is maddening to think I am not with you or have you because I can’t seem to get my shit together.” His tone had gotten louder the more he spoke, filling the empty hallway you were occupying.

“You have me! That’s what I came down here to tell you. I thought being apart was the better thing for us. I thought you needed to get it together and so did I. But all of those problems seem small now. I want you to be the best version of yourself. You have earned that cup, you and I both know that. So stop making stupid mistakes. I know you’re holding yourself back. You’re hesitating. I know you’re tired. I know it’s been a long road, but you have 20 more minutes between you and the cup. Do what you do best, please.”

“I- what?” Based on the expression on his face, he wasn’t expecting that response. 

“I will be right here at the end of this game, win or lose. Regardless of the outcome, I am proud of you and I love you. But I know your team would appreciate it if it was a win.” You smiled, and he finally took off his helmet. You could see him, truly, for the first time since you walked into the tunnel. 

“You’ll be right here? You love me?” He smiled and stepped closer to you. 

“Your team needs you now. I suspect Coach will come out here and have my head if you don’t get back in there.” He didn’t need to hear the confirmation, but you could tell in his eyes that he wanted it. He put on a protective shell for everyone else, but only you were the one who could see the little breaks where he let people in. 

“Driedger get your ass back in this damn locker room before I die of old age!” 

You were really gonna miss him next season.

“That’s my cue.” Before you could say no, he leaned in and placed his hand on the side of your face bringing you closer to him so he could place a kiss on your forehead. “See you in 20 minutes.” 

The rest of the game was absolutely electric. You could almost feel the arena vibrating beneath your feet. You wore his jersey proudly, bragging any time he made a save that he was your man. You could almost feel your heart beating out of your chest with every second that passed on the clock. 30 seconds left, a tie score, and the only thing between the Firebirds and a win was just a single goal. 

It was like the next 30 seconds passed in a blur. Hershey pulled their goalie in a desperate attempt to get an extra skater on the ice. Out of the corner of your eye you could see Chris leaving his goal like he was going to the bench but that wasn’t what he did. Shore passed him the puck from down the ice, the goal was left unattended, and the next thing you knew the arena exploded. The entire team jumped from the ice and you couldn’t see him anymore.

“ITS OVER ITS OVER, COACHELLA VALLEY IS A CITY OF CHAMPIONS FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THEIR TEAMS HISTORY WITH THEIR FIRST GOALIE GOAL!” 

The scoreboard read 3-2. 

If you could have jumped the boards you would have. But you ran to the tunnel as fast as your legs would allow. You had to wait for the trophy ceremony and pictures and all of the other hockey politics before it was just the players and their families on the ice. Everyone on the team was telling him how well he did but the only person he had eyes for was you. 

“Were you saving that goal for a special occasion?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I gotta keep them on their toes.” He crossed the remaining space between you, and kissed you differently than he had before. This one said he wasn’t letting go.

“AYEEE DRIEDGS GET A ROOM MAN!”

“GOALIE GOAL’S GOT HIS GIRL!” You knew it was Stezzy just from the accent. You continued kissing Chris but also managed to give Aleš a very nice middle finger out of love of course. 

“Oh, and I love you too.” This man would be the death of you.

[coffee-at-annies]

Penguins for the ask game (I need to know who all the guys are)

every hockey blogger has their: Pens Edition

feral guy: I love a fiesty feral jew (Frieds)

emotional support goalie: it’s been Mouse Boy since all the way back when he was in the minors more than he was here. Flower is my emotional support former pens goalie.

little guy: my first instinct was Shears which shows where my brain is but I think my second choice is Jakenbake. I think it’s the muppet energy tho. Runner up is Heino. No one tell me how tall anyone is

pretty princess: Jars is the prettiest pretty princess. other options discussed in the gc were DOC and Heino but they are very different pretty princesses vibes-wise

pathetic man: ah fuck. Okay so to be real I don’t think I have one. The closest was kappy and I didn’t even like kappy that much his vibes were just soooo pathetic. I’m gonna take a mulligan on this one I have no idea who’s still on the pens and equally as pathetic.

handsome prince: POJ (look at that smile and tell me he isn’t a handsome prince)

just some guy™: Chad my beloved

every hockey blogger has their: offseason ask game

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

Golden (Sidney Crosby Imagine)

I’ve been working on this for weeks, and I wouldn’t have made it through without @staviastar who helped me write and beta’d! There’s an optional smut scene at the end, that’s marked off with a warning.

Rating: T (main) / E (optional end scene)

Pairing: Sidney Crosby/fem!Reader

Words: 4388 (w/o optional scene) / 7543 (full piece)

Warnings: minor language, somewhat unsafe sex

Requested: yes/no

Summary: “ hey so I found out recently that last week was the 10th anniversary of the Golden Goal (Crosby winning gold in overtime back in the 2010 Olympics) and I was thinking, maybe a fluffy (perhaps smutty?) imagine from that moment? “

It’s been a hard-fought game, excellent playing on both teams, though you’re tempted to say Canada has been playing just that much better. Your best friend being on that team has absolutely nothing to do with it, obviously, because that kind of bias wouldn’t stand in measured debate. Except the fact that you’re friends with most of Team Canada, and Sid being their star player might maybe- maybe, have something to do with why you’re on the edge of your seat five minutes into overtime, watching your friends from either side flit around the ice in a careful, frenzied dance. It’s not quite Miracle stakes, of course, but Canada vs. the United States is always an intense game to watch.

You could say something sappy, like that Sid is a poet on the ice, in a delicate ballet spanning all 200 feet, but you’d be lying. He’s plenty elegant, but more in the way of an engraved wrecking ball; pretty but too sturdy to be kept from getting where he wants to go. Maybe that’s poetic too, in its own way. Whether others would agree or not, it’s beautiful to you, the way he plays. The surety of his movements, the precision of the angle of his blade, the awareness of where anyone on the ice is at any given time. It’s a joy to watch him play, and that joy doesn’t fade no matter how many times you get to see it.

Six minutes into overtime, and it’s a constant roar of the crowd. The puck moves back and forth between teams, no hesitation where there isn’t room for it, the crowd cheering and booing in turns. Nash takes a solid shot, but it’s blocked just as solidly. Kessler starts taking it back down toward Canada’s side, and as they fly around with just enough control over the puck, you’re beginning to think this might go beyond overtime. But Canada takes the puck, skates it around in circles just long enough that you don’t notice what American player it is that Staal jukes expertly, taking just enough of a pause that they can regroup. Then there are passes and a steal and a blocked shot, and the USA has control again, barreling toward your net and almost scoring on a shit block, but the goalie comes through.

Then your breath is caught in your chest as Sid approaches the net, nearly barreling through a Team USA player to get close enough to pop off a shot, though it’s blocked. You make the mistake of taking a breath upon hearing his scream of “Iggy!”, and Sid doesn’t give you - or anyone for that matter -�� the time to fully exhale before the puck is in the net.

The arena explodes. Erupts. Goes absolutely, unstoppably, wild. You’ve never heard so much concentrated noise, and you’d cover your ears if you weren’t so busy sucking in a breath so you can scream along with them. Canada v. USA and your best friend just scored the game-winning goal. In overtime. The Golden Goal, though no one in hockey really called it that yet.

You’re not terribly close to the ice, though not far, and virtually no one you know is seated near you, but everyone is hugging and kissing and twirling each other around, and you’re no exception. You hug the person to your right, and when you turn to the one on your left, he spins you around as your matching Team Canada jerseys smash together. The guy in front of you, unfortunately in blue, shakes your hand solemnly before sitting back down. At least he’s a good sport. You’re not keen on seeing what chaos is going on in the upper decks right now, honestly.

But beyond the revelry and camaraderie, your main goal is to get the hell out of here. Because there, somewhere under your seats, is the place where you’ll meet Sid and your other friends. Where you’ll get to see their faces for the first time in a long time, and hug them, and congratulate them to the best of your ability. But there’s still all the pomp and circumstance to get through, for the players at least, so you have a bit of time. Time enough to get rows down to the wives and girlfriends, so at least one of them can vouch for you to come back outside the locker room. The girls are already gathering their things by the time you get to them, because you’ve spent enough time watching the spectacle that it’s almost over. Sid just looks so happy, and you couldn’t bear to look away.

As you make your way over to the WAG’s section, you spot Ryan Whitney- one of Sid’s teammates on the Penguins- and you’re not sure what he’s expecting from you. The officials award Team USA with the silver medals, and he looks, for the most part, downcast. But as soon as he makes eye contact with you, you see the recognition, the fondness, the mischief. You know Whitney is one of the worst about chirping Sid (and you) about your “relationship”, so you don’t return the expression, only allowing a delighted smile in support of your boys. You can already predict the amount of chirping that he’ll give Sid once they reunite as teammates, him and the rest of the Penguins always being one to harmlessly tease you both in your relationship. 

Once you’re sufficiently close, one of the wives notices you and beckons you closer, pulling you in once you’re within arm’s reach. You get along well enough with most of them, Sid having invited you to enough of various team events to at least meet the majority of Canada’s WAGs. At least, this Team Canada’s WAGs. You’re not really one of them, but they’ve welcomed you heartily, always cooing over Sid and you as if you were some oscar-winning love story for the ages just because you’d been friends for years.

They vouch for you with security, and they’re kind enough to let you go, despite not having any special identification like the others. You probably would have had something, if Sid had known you were coming. But as far as he knew, you were still on the east coast, working on your post-grad. But the majority of the team (and their better halves) had insisted you come, and, well, you weren’t exactly opposed. But they thought it would be nice if you were a surprise, so you hadn’t been able to tell him where you were, despite being in the same city. Everyone figured if Canada lost, you’d be there to soothe the sore loser Sid inevitably was, and, hey, if they won, you could celebrate together. Luckily, it turned out to be the latter. Sid always turned to you first when he was overwhelmed; proof validated when he saw you outside of the locker room after the 2008 Stanley Cup Finals, practically breaking down into tears as he collapsed into your arms. Now, anyone with a mature sense of mind would see this as an emotional, iconic, heartbreaking moment for Sid the Kid - and it was - but they clearly didn’t witness the bitchier, grumpier side of him when you returned to Mario’s house, criticizing himself and the (debatably) dirty tactics of the Red Wings during the game. For your part, you just sat there on that couch with him, letting him lie down as if it were a therapy session, his head in your lap, and vent; occasionally agreeing and reassuring and doing your best to put his criticisms to rest, until the sun came up and he finally gave in to exhaustion. You didn’t want to openly admit it (and neither did anyone else), but your presence during that difficult time had done wonders for him. 

You chat with the gals as you all wait for the guys to talk to the media and get changed, discussing the oncoming celebrations as the guys, no doubt, have an initial celebration on their own. As much as you love talking to the girls, you can’t help but think about how happy Sid had looked, how overwhelmed with accomplishment and satisfaction. Knowing his penchant for never being content with himself, it’s all you’ve ever wanted for him.

Finally, the players start emerging from the locker room. They each go to their support in turn, wives and girlfriends and family. You’re waiting, waiting, waiting, until Sid eventually wanders out, backpack slung over his shoulders. He greets a few of his teammates’ family members, before his eyes finally catch yours. You feel your face break into a broad smile, whether you gave it permission to or not, and watch his own do the same. His smile is blinding, all-encompassing, seemingly more stunning than it had been even on the ice after his goal.

“Hey Sid,” you greet, easy as anything despite the way your heart is threatening to beat out of your chest. Sid is everything to you, always has been. Even since you were kids shooting at an old washing machine, since you were teenagers too anxious about being bad at it to kiss anyone, since you’ve reached adulthood and both of you were too unsure to make a move, he’s always been everything to you. And he always will be. Because he’s Sid, and you’re you, and that’s just the way of the world.

“Hey,” he greets in return, unable to make his face behave, though you can see him trying. It seems he gives up on that, because instead, he decides to close the gap between you as quickly as possible, sweeping you up in his arms and spinning you around. Where you would normally just giggle, you laugh out loud, taking part in the unrestrained elation of the group. And that which you feel growing in your chest with every second you spend near Sid.

“I thought you were working on your research,” he says after he puts you back on your feet, keeping you held close enough to his chest that you can feel the vibrations of the words.

“Never said I couldn’t work on it from Vancouver,” you reply, cheeky in a way he’s come to expect from you, but that hasn’t ceased to make him smile even wider. There’s nothing to say then, except everything. I’m so proud of you. You did an amazing job. You are amazing. I’m so in love with you. I have been for so long I think I was born loving you. But you don’t say any of that, because you’re not an idiot. You just hold him close until some of his teammates start whistling and egging you on to kiss. You plant an overdramatic kiss on his cheek to satisfy them, finally pulling away as much as you’re willing.

You know he’s socially obligated to spend some time with the team out at the bars, but you’re not particularly in the mood for even more noise. But it’s Sid, and he’s holding your hand as he leads you along, so you can’t imagine not agreeing to go. It’s just a blur of noise and congratulations and dancing and far less drinking than you’d imagined. At least on yours and Sid’s parts. Everyone else seems to be getting properly wasted, but Sid only has as many drinks as you do, and you intend to remember tonight, so you don’t have that many.

Eventually, Sid takes your hand again-- or maybe he’d never stopped holding it-- and tugs you toward the door, giving an uncharacteristic middle finger to his team when they cheer (and chirp) at the two of you leaving. You follow him outside without resistance, knowing anywhere Sid takes you is somewhere you want to go. That place ends up being the Olympic village, a place you never could’ve dreamed you’d see. But here you are, with Sid leading you back to his room like it’s nothing, like his team clearly wasn’t expecting something you hadn’t dared think was a possibility.

Once he pulls you into the room, he holds you close, just squeezing you tight and breathing into your hair for long moments. You let it be, savoring the moment of closeness, appreciating the fact that you get to have this. If nothing else, if you spend the rest of your life pining after him as you have for years, you get to have this.

“I’m glad you came,” Sid says, after an indeterminate amount of time.

“I am too,” you reply, meaning it more than you’ve meant much anything else in your life. You’d assumed you would actually be back home now, working on your project, until seemingly everyone you knew insisted you had to be here. You’re sure they hadn’t meant here, in Sid’s hotel room, in his arms, but they’d meant here nonetheless. And where else could you have possibly ended up? Alone at your own hotel room, sure, if Sid wasn’t Sid, and you weren’t you, and the two of you weren’t who you are, together.

“I scored that goal and all I could think is how much I wished you were there to see it,” he continues, nosing under your ear, “And then you were.” You chuckle gently like you always do when he gets like this, all sentimental and soft. Such a tough, emotionless boy to the world, but they didn’t know him like you did. No one knew him like you did.

“I’m always gonna be there, Sid,” you say, and you mean it. You’ve both been through enough over the years for you to be able to say that for certain, and even if you hadn’t, you still feel it deep in your soul that it’s true. You’d cross oceans for him, climb mountains, take a ten hour flight alone across a continent. For him. Always for him.

“I know,” he replies, like it’s that easy. Like following someone across half the world is easy, like loving the most loved (and most hated) man in the world is easy.

“I appreciate it, y’know,” he continues, interrupting your slightly bitter thoughts, “Everything you do for me. All of it. I see it. And I’m so grateful.” Okay, that’s a little better. Or a lot better. Or enough better that your heart is starting to melt again, as if it’s ever been solid around Sid to begin with. You just bury your nose in his hair and try not to gasp when he places a soft kiss against your neck. The two of you have done many things together; playing, studying, sharing a seat, sharing a bed. But that’s just how friends are, especially in hockey. Maybe it means something to you, maybe his lips soft and wet against your skin send a message, but surely not one he means to send. He’s Sid, and Sid’s never been good at communicating with people, or socializing, or whatever. You’re used to it.

“You smell,” you say, perhaps a bit desperate to break whatever this moment is. He doesn’t actually smell that badly, clearly having taken at least a cursory rinse in the locker room showers earlier, but it’s as good an excuse as any. May as well get another shower at this point, with the slight crowded-bar-smell hanging on him. He just laughs into your skin, which doesn’t help much, and sways the two of you back-and-forth.

“Can’t get rid of me that easy,” he says, before pulling away to look you in the eye, “Unless you want to.” Which, like, what? Who would want to get rid of him?

“ ‘Cause if you don’t feel the same, I get it,” he continues, babbling in that way he does when he’s nervous, “But I feel like you do, and I do, and you flew across a continent to be here, and you’re the only one I care about being here, and I just--” He won’t stop unless you stop him, and you’re still too scatter-brained to parse what he’s trying to say, so you just put a finger to his lips to silence him. He shuts his mouth immediately, looking into your eyes like he’s waiting for direction. Like you’re the only one who could give him direction.

“Shower first,” you say, not quite sure where else to go with this. Luckily, he nods mutely, following easily when you lead him into the bathroom by your linked hands. He’s obviously not going to start, and you’re still trying to remember how to think, so you’re the first to begin stripping. After your shirt is on the floor and your shoes and socks are on their way to join, he finally snaps into action. He tears off his own clothes and shoes with an urgency you don’t feel quite yet. It’s almost like when you were little kids, and getting showers together after mud fights didn’t have any kind of connotation or expectations.

But then he’s naked, and you’re naked, and you’re not kids anymore. He’s a grown man, carefully built for his career in a way that’s just a touch too appealing, and you’re a random post-grad who happened to be lucky enough to know him before he was him. But again, you’re not who you used to be. Does he find who you are now attractive? Are you worth his time? Or are you still just a friend? Not that that would be a bad thing; no, being Sid’s friend was one of the greatest honors of your life, it’s just. That’s not the extent of what you want him to see you as. You don’t want to be eternally nine years old, shooting pucks and shooting the shit in his driveway. You want to be someone he admires, someone worth talking to, someone worth knowing, someone worth spending time with after he scores the game winning goal in overtime at the goddamn Olympics. Which, it seems, you may be.

But he doesn’t say anything, so neither do you. You just take his hand yet again and lead him into the spray of the now (by far) warm water. For long moments, you just look at each other, letting the spray douse you. But his eyes are dark, and you’re caught between knowing what that look means and not believing it, so you grab the standard issue shampoo and force his head down enough that you can lather his just-long-enough curls. You have to pull him close to rinse, but then put him back into place to get a second lather going, knowing how greasy his hair can get, and how much he appreciates you massaging his scalp. After the second rinse, you take the bar soap in your hand and halt, not sure you can still wash him down without a feeling that wasn’t there when you’d first faced this task. You stand there with soapy hands and helplessly open eyes, simultaneously praying he doesn’t recognize what you’re conveying, and wishing he would finally see through you. You stare and stare, and he stares back, before placing a hand on your hip and the other on your jaw.

“You know why I was so happy you’re here?” he asks, and you’re not sure you want to answer. Because you’re his friend. Because you’re the only thing he has from back home. Because you make him feel safe.

“Because I love you,” he says, his voice hushed and eyes half-lidded, when you refuse to answer. You can feel your mouth drop open just the slightest, and your eyes get a bit too wide and watery for your own comfort. It’s-- no. Sid is. He’s just being Sid, appreciating a friend, letting you know he cares and your trip wasn’t for naught. Just. Anything but what you hadn’t dared to hope.

“Like,” he continues when you don’t respond, “Love you, love you.” That’s not-- you aren’t-- you and Sid aren’t like that, except he continues, “Like more than a friend.” And that’s-- that’s everything you’ve wanted to hear from him for years, but everything you can’t believe. Because even though you knew him when he was still gangly and painfully awkward, he was always still the Next One, in your mind, at least. You always knew he was going to be something special, something amazing, and you were just. Just you. Just some random post-grad who still wasn’t quite sure where she was going with her life. Except, maybe, that it would follow wherever Sid led.

“I’ve loved you for a long time,” he says, just keeps going, like he’s not rewriting every fact you have in your head about the two of you, about how you’re the one who loves him and not the other way around, “Pretty much as long as I’ve known you.” For a moment you think this is all a joke, but you can’t imagine Sid doing something that cruel to you. Leading you on for his own amusement.

“You’re everything to me, Y/N,” he brushes his thumb across your cheekbone and you still can’t breathe, can’t imagine how this is real, how this is your life.

“All I’ve ever wanted was to give you a reason to love me,” he continues, like that’s not absolutely ridiculous, like he hasn’t given you every reason to love him every second of the day for the last fifteen years. Like he didn’t call you during Juniors to ask how school was, even though he was doing something more important. Well, maybe not more important, but more prestigious at the time. He had been there for you when you needed extra practice, when you needed someone to hold up flash cards, when you needed someone to make you laugh when no one else could. That’s not really what Sid was known for, honestly, but that’s how you knew him. The one person who could walk into a situation and make you laugh like none of your problems even existed.

The point is, it’s you who should be confessing your unconditional love for Sid, not the other way around. And yet here he is, as he’s always been, one step ahead of the curve. Telling you he loves you as you debate whether you can wash him off without giving yourself away.  Doesn’t matter much now, does it?

“Really?” you ask, just to be sure, to make sure this isn’t some cruel joke, to protect yourself one last time. Sid’s eyes go from determined to unbearably soft, running both hands down the line of your neck.

“Of course,” he says, without hesitation, “Of course. Who else could I possibly love?” Your breath, your words, your entire being, gets stuck in your throat. Who else? Who else? Anyone! Anyone else! Your eyes are beading with tears and you’re glad there’s water running over the both of you, because otherwise it might get embarrassing pretty quickly. He could love anyone else, because anyone else wasn’t you. And isn’t that how love always goes? The one you love is always, in some way, better than you, and they always fall for someone better. Because you sit there and believe that as much as you love them, as much as you care for them and protect them and adore them, that there’s someone else better suited for them. And you give up the fight. But.

It’s Sid.

It’s Sid and he’s your best friend, and you haven’t been able to give him up until now, and you still can’t even give him up as he makes the biggest mistake of his life. But maybe loving you isn’t a mistake, because who knows him better than you? Who knows that he likes balsamic vinaigrette with a touch of whole grain mustard on his salads? Who knows that he walks an incredibly specific route around the Penguins arena to get to the room, and who is willing to take that route with him every time? Who knows that he’s so terribly afraid of not being enough that he puts everything he is into being the best, just to be worth something, that they work out with him during the summers, no matter how badly it hurts? Who better for him than you?

You laugh. It’s all you can do. You laugh and laugh and gasp for air and cling to him like he’s the last tangible thing on this planet until you can control yourself enough to look him in the eye. It takes many long moments of resting your head on his chest to get there, but his skin is warm and soft and yields against the careful presses of your lips.

“God, Sid,” you gasp, finally looking up into his dark, dark, scared, eyes, “Fuck.” His lips are soft when they meet yours, and you don’t see the look on his face, because you can’t keep your own eyelids open to watch. Because you’re finally kissing him, and he’s kissing you back,  and he’s clinging onto you like his life depends on it, and his dark lashes flutter open just a second behind your own, like you’re still in sync after all these years, like your souls could never be parted by anything so simple as time or distance.

“Took you long enough,” you say, laughing, despite the thoughts racing through your own head. I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I’d travel the world over to see you. I’d do anything for you. I love you.

Suddenly you’re both laughing. Maybe it’s not the time or place to do so, maybe it should’ve “ruined the mood” or something like that, but it’s the way you’ve always been and the way you hope you’ll always be. At first it starts out quiet and breathless as you part for air and look at each other in a newfound light, only to turn to bashful giggling and beautiful characteristic giggle-honks as you lean into each other, foreheads gently pressing together in an all-too-familiar way, eyes squeezed shut. Soon enough, your laughs echo off the walls as you hold each other under the warm spray of water cascading down your bodies and you’re both so terribly vulnerable, so open and bare to each other in this moment, but you can’t make yourself wish that this would ever end.

.

.

Optional Smut Scene Written Below (So we can possibly incorporate it into the main fic somehow if we plan on writing one):

Now that you’ve finally gotten to do it, you can’t quite help yourself from kissing him again, and again and again. His lips are slightly chapped from incessant cold, yet somehow still soft against yours. Both of your bodies are warm from the spray of the water, and you think you might die of heat stroke if you stay in the shower much longer. Besides, you’re not really trying to injure the hockey world’s sweetheart in a bizarre shower sex incident, so you don’t intend to stay in for much longer. Two minutes ago you might have questioned that thought, that you were about to have sex, but there’s no use in denying it now. Sid loves you. He loves you, and you love him, and nothing in this world or the next could stop you from getting him off.

But you can’t quite get yourself to stop kissing him long enough that you can bring up a venue change, because you’ve been thinking about this as long as you’ve known what kissing was for, and now you finally have it. So you hold him close and kiss him hopefully as senseless as he’s leaving you, only kind-of ignoring the press of his growing erection against your hip. You can’t fully ignore it, because it’s, like, there, and it’s Sid, and it’s for you.

Eventually he must have the same thought of the perils of shower sex, becuase he gasps out “bed” against your mouth and you’re helpless but to nod. You reach behind you to shut off the water, and he leads you out of the stall with deep kisses and wandering hands. It’s only when the backs of your still-damp knees hit the bed that it sets in, yeah, you’re going to do this. You’re going to fuck your best friend, and you’re going to do it because you’re in love.

He uses a hand on your back to lower you onto the mattress, like you’re something precious he doesn’t want to break. You can only laugh, making him bend over for a kiss before you scoot to straighten yourself out on the bed, and he follows like he couldn’t imagine an alternative. There’s more kissing, enough that you’d be sick of it with anyone else, and he’s working your breasts like your body is his thesis, rolling and flicking your nipples until you moan into his mouth. You can feel his smile at that accomplishment, and don’t resist giving him the satisfaction again and again.

It could be minutes, could be days, before he moves to your jaw, your neck, your shoulders, kissing and sucking and biting like he wants to leave marks, wants everyone to know you’re off limits. You’re not exactly opposed to the idea, but it is a bit tacky to show up with hickeys everywhere. Still, you’re not complaining. It would be kind of funny to see him all flustered when the guys chirp him half to death about it, anyway. It’s only when he reaches the base of your ribcage that he stops, pulls back enough for you to whine. What the fuck.

“I don’t have a condom,” he says without prompting, and okay, that’s kind of a good reason to pause. Fuck, why doesn’t he have one? Who doesn’t carry around a fucking condom?

“I uh,” he continues, cheeks flaming red from their previous pink flush, “I haven’t really wanted to sleep with anyone else, so.” Oh. That’s pretty sweet, honestly, and just enough to soothe the part of you that wants him inside you, like, now. You force him to meet eyes and smile.

“That’s pretty cheesy, Sidney,” you tease, running a hand through his curls. He buries his face in your stomach and mutters a “shut up”. Maybe you should’ve told him you were coming, so he could be prepared. No matter what you could’ve done, you can still work with this.

“Well,” you sigh overdramatically, “I guess I have a mouth.” You can feel his cocktwitch against your leg as he whispers a heartfelt “Fuck...” under his breath. There’s always tomorrow, you suppose, and it’s not like going down on him is going to be a hardship. Or maybe it will? You’ve never really done… all that, so maybe it’s harder than it looks? Shit, Sid is probably well seasoned in sexual aspects, and you’re gonna look like a fool. Except-

“I uh,” Sid starts, pauses, continues, “I haven’t really… with anyone.” Which is like, mind-blowing, cause he’s Sid and he’s hot and lovely and if you’re understanding him correctly, how has no one jumped on that?

“Haven’t what?” you ask, just for clarification. Good to know exactly what you’re dealing with.

“I’ve never, uh,” Sid seems hesitant to say it out loud, like he’s talking to his teammates and not you, who has known he’s a dork since you met him, “I’ve never had sex.” That’s, um. That’s certainly, something. Like, to be fair, neither have you, so you don’t have much room to speak, but you’re not a world famous athlete with women of all ages banging down your door to fuck.

“Why, though?” you ask, because your brain to mouth filter has been shot since he first kissed you. That’s a pretty personal question to ask, and you kind of feel bad. Until he responds with more ease and grace than you’d ever have expected.

“I always kind of hoped it would be you,” he says, and if he were anyone else, you’d probably try to act smooth about it - but you give him a blushing, broad smile instead, one that you’re sure shows a hint of feeling humbled and a bit over-complimented. Call it sappy all you want, but it’s true. He’s had all the opportunity in the world to have sex and he hasn’t, simply because he wanted it to be with you. You’re much less afraid of being bad at sex now, knowing that you’re on the same level, and it makes you even more eager to get down to it. And if he feels the same way you do- that there’s not much short of serious bodily injury that could make this any less perfect- you don’t have much to be worried about.

“I, uh, I haven’t either,” you respond, ignoring his wide eyes staring up at you, “I was kind of hoping it would be you, too.” In any other situation, it would be humiliating to admit, but, for the millionth time, it’s Sid, and that makes it okay. Sid makes everything okay. He looks hungry, suddenly, in a way he hasn’t yet, and you can only hope you live up to what he’s been imagining. Because he’s been imagining, Jesus Christ.

“Do you, uh, want to… go first, or?” you ask, not quite caring what he decides. But you’re on your back and he’s halfway down your body, so it seems pretty clear what should transpire next. Unless he’s into getting his own first, which is definitely valid, but you’re kind of hoping he wants you to get off first, just so you can focus on giving him the first time that he deserves.

“Fuck yeah,” he breathes, which isn’t much of an answer, because it could easily mean getting or giving, but any doubt you had about his answer is quickly answered by the way he continues to trail down your abdomen. So okay, yeah, he’s definitely going to eat you out, and that’s like, the subject matter of almost every dream you’ve had for the past five years, but it’s cool. It’s totally cool, and you’re cool, and not short of breath at all.

He spends almost too much time at your pelvis, sucking marks into the delicate skin of your hips and inner thighs, making you squirm with nothing but the heat and pressure of his mouth. It would be embarrassing, probably, with anyone else, but Sid has always had this air of earnest, unabashed passion that makes you feel like you’re allowed to want. And he seems happy enough about it, proud that he’s apparently as good at this as anything else he tries, if the noises you’re making are any indication. The faintest voice at the back of your mind hopes that you can hold up to scrutiny when it’s your turn, but mostly you’re just desperate for him to get on with it already.

“Let me know if it’s good?” he requests, the first outright sign of insecurity he’s shown since getting you into bed. You’re not sure it’s possible for him to mess this up, honestly, because it’s like. It can’t be that hard, right? And at first, he confirms these assumptions, running his tongue over your labia, just enough pressure and slickness to make it work. He uses his hands to spread your thighs more, baring more of you to him. And it’s... Okay, it’s good. It’s like, really good. But it’s not enough. He’s running his tongue through your folds and sucking and you’re making noises that surely couldn’t be attractive in any other context, but it’s not enough. If he wanted to keep you here for the next year, eating you out, this would be perfect, but you’re kind of looking to come, and this just isn’t gonna get you there.

“C’mon, Sid,” you plead, “More.” At that, he works his way higher, like he’s searching for- oh. Okay. Yeah, that’s your clit and he probably only knows it because he read about it somewhere, because he’s a nerd and you love him for it. Except the single-minded attention is just a bit too much at this point, and you have to push him away when he tries to suck hard at you, too much too soon, despite feeling like you’ve been ready forever.

“Just, fuck,” you curse, not sure how to direct him. But he seems to get the message, going back to alternating wide stripes up your folds and directionless swiping with a pointed tongue. Eventually, he gets up the nerve to dip into you with his tongue, and it’s just enough that you buck into his face. He takes this as encouragement, as he should, so he continues interspersing his licks with deep strokes of his tongue. You can feel your orgasm building in the curve of your hips, the back of your neck, the ends of your teeth, when he meets your eyes once again. You just nod, and he seems to get the message, going for your clit again. He licks and sucks and whereas it was too much before, it’s just enough now. You can’t help the way your hips move incessantly toward his mouth, desperate for anything he’ll give you, and let your orgasm wash through you in cresting waves that mimic the rolling of your hips. You wish you’d been looking him in the eye, something romantic like that, but it is what it is. And what it is, is the best orgasm you’ve had in your short life. You could probably die riding his face, fingers clenched tight in his dark curls.

Eventually, you have to push him away, too sensitive for him to keep going. You’re not exactly ready to jump back into action, too wrung out by all of it to immediately spring up and suck him off. Which is definitely something in the future, because he’s pressing the heel of his hand to himself, and you’re pretty sure he’d come at any moment if you could just manage to get down to it. After long moments catching your breath, you’re finally back to earth enough to move. It seems as though that’s not really a problem, though, because Sid has been watching you intensely since you separated, like your pleasure was his own. He kisses you deeply, and you can’t decide if the taste of yourself on his tongue is sexy or weird. Probably sexy. Kind of hot. Definitely hot.

It’s easy enough to sit up and push Sid back, laying him flat to switch the dynamic enough that you can kiss him breathless. You mimic his movements, drawing long lines along his neck and collarbones and chest with your mouth, like you’re trying to make a topographical map. God, he’d probably love that, huh? That shouldn’t be hot, but it kind of is, like everything about Sid, so you let it slide. Thinking of maps isn’t the way you thought this would go, but knowing Sid, you probably should have expected it. If he’s a nerd, you are too.

Almost as soon as you’d started, you’re at his hips, teasing him with sucking kisses and light bites as much as he had you. He doesn’t get the reference, or at least doesn’t make it a competition, as you’d almost assumed it would be, rolling his hips toward you far more smoothly than you’d anticipated.

“Been practicing?” you ask, sucking a mark at the base of his dick. You kind of hope he hasn’t, because you haven’t, but you wouldn’t fault him for the experience.

“Might have watched some videos,” he grunts, throwing his head back at the suction to the crease of his hip, “Thought about it.” You’re over being surprised that he’d thought of you, because he’s said it enough, but the statement still shoots straight to your own groin. It’s all you need to duck down and take the head of his dick into your mouth. You huff out a laugh at the sound he makes in response to your lips, and you hope he knows it’s not mean-spirited. You’d laughed at each other plenty over the years, and you hope you don’t have to stop now that this is a… thing. You run your tongue down his length and back up, trying to the best of your ability to be sexy, but you’re not sure if it’s working. He groans and closes his eyes as he throws his head back, though, so you take that as a good sign. After lavishing the base with as much attention as you’re willing with how badly you want him in your mouth, you finally take him down as far as you dare. It’s not necessarily impressive, but it’s enough to make him take hold of your head. You don’t expect him to force you down, and he doesn’t, though you kind of want him to. Logically, you know you don’t have the experience to resist gagging if he did, but the possibility is definitely something to work on.

You try it yourself after a while, curious as to how much you can take. You’d gladly take whatever he gave you, but you’re pretty sure your gag reflex would disagree. But it ends up that he just twists his hips in smooth arcs, more interested in the fact that it’s you getting him off than anything else. It’s kind of heady, to know that he’s turned on by your presence more than what you’re doing, but also a challenge to your over-competitive soul. If he’s going to come for you, he’s going to feel it.

So you pull out all the tricks you’ve heard about, teasing the head and the base with your tongue and fingers, twisting your wrist, making as much eye contact as you can manage. Sid has waited his whole life to have his first time with you, and you’re going to make it as good as you can. Not just out of competitiveness, but out of adoration.

He digs his fingers into your scalp when he’s close, mumbling something incoherent, and you don’t bother even trying to pull off. He comes into the back of your mouth and down your throat, and you’re glad you’d stayed on, just to see the look on his face when you do. He’s beautiful like this. Like anything, really. Put together or torn apart, he’s perfect in your eyes. Maybe it’s sappy, but it’s true.

You gently slide his cock out of your mouth, your tongue sliding against the still-hard erection as you finally release him. Licking your lips, you hummed to yourself, surprised at how tolerable he tasted. You’d been under the impression that it would be gross, but it honestly wasn’t that bad; a little salty, a tad bitter, but overall fine. Possibly just because it’s Sid, but fine either way. ‘Yeah,’ you thought. ‘I’m doing this way more often.’ Suddenly the realization hits you: this may very well be the first of many times you’ll get to do this. Your cheeks burn a little bit hotter than they do already as you try to hide your giddy smile.

Your thoughts are suddenly halted once Sid tugs you up towards him, connecting your lips once again. You’re a bit surprised at how deeply he kisses you-- as much as you’d enjoyed the taste of him, you hadn’t expected him to be interested in even the possibility of the same. Nonetheless, he kisses you just as he had before, like he’s still amazed he gets to have this, and he’s trying to make the most of it in case it’s taken away. After you pull away for breath, he moves to plant kisses on your cheeks, your forehead, your nose. You giggle and lightly smack his chest, burying your face in his neck to hide your smile. No part of tonight has been anything you’d imagined, from his goal to where you are now, together, but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Hey Y/N?” he says, once your giggles have calmed and you’re left breathing against his skin. You hum, not quite up to the task of speaking yet. He nudges you until you lift your head, so he can look you in the eye in that way that makes you feel like he’s seeing straight into your soul.

“I love you,” he says. You don’t even have to think about it.

“I love you too,” you reply, easy as breathing. Broad smiles break over both of your faces. You know you both mean it, more than you’ve meant anything in your lives. He kisses you again, just lazy movement of lips against lips, so warm and comfortable you don’t bother wondering how long it goes on for.

“Sleep time,” you demand, eventually. He grins and tosses you around until he’s spooned up against your back, arms wrapped securely around you. You take deep, steady breaths until you’re just on the edge of consciousness. He says “I love you” again, whispered into the back of your neck like he thinks you’re already asleep. You mumble it back, before allowing the darkness to take you. You’ll have every moment of the rest of your lives to prove it to him, if you have any say in the matter.

[inazumafocus]

So many characters so little time

Hello there my dearies, I’m here today to talk about one of the biggest problems we have in the current Inazuma season aka Orion:  character development! Simply put, I’m going to show you in details WHEN during OG the members of the Inazuma Japan had a character development and why back then they were able to manage those while in Orion they seem to be a problem. This will be a veeery long list so you can skip to then end where I’ll explain everything further!

Endou Mamoru:

FIRST APPEARANCE S1 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: s1e1 establish base for the character, s1e2 first defined characteristics (never giving up), s1e12 first doubts showing his humanity and inner struggle, s1e15 and s1e17 interpersonal relationship with troubled friends, s1e24 we can see him doubtful and troubled about himself, s2e46 the depressed side of Endou and how he comes back to his feet. Overall in both season we follow his growth. MAJOR DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e83 bettering himself as a captain, s3e88 bettering himself as a goalie, s3e123 ultimately understands what it means the be the captain of a team. MEDIUM DEV

Kazemaru Ichirouta:

FIRST APPEARANCE S1 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: s1e2 establish base for the character, s1e15 Kaze’s internal conflicts, s1e16 his own resolve, s2e33 first big signs of distress, s2e45 peak of distress and depression showing the character’s insecurities and weaknesses, s2e63/64/65 deeper understanding of Kaze’s human and dark side. MAJOR DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3ep77 bettering himself as a defender. MINOR DEV

Kabeyama Heigorou:

FIRST APPEARANCE S1 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: s1e2 establish base for character, s1e6 character’s fears and him winning them in the end with newfound resolve, s1e16 bettering himself as a defender. MINOR DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e89 shows his helping side, s3e95 bettering himself as a player. MINOR DEV

Tsunami Jousuke:

FIRST APPEARANCE S2 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: s2e47 establish base for character, s2e49/50 going in deeper on the character’s difficulties and desires, s2e55 shows even better the helpful spirit of Tsunami. MEDIUM DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e70, his resolve to better himself, s3e71/72 growing stronger as a player, s3e89 more insight on his good nature. MINOR DEV

Kurimatsu Teppei:

FIRST APPEARANCE S1 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: mood-maker throughout all s1 which establish his character, s1e15 his concerned and less joyful side are shown when a pillar of the team threatens to leave, s2e45 weaknesses revealed. MEDIUM DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e69 bettering himself as a defender, s3e89 helpful side, s3e95 self sacrificing attitude. MINOR DEV

Kogure Yuuya:

FIRST APPEARANCE S2 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: s2e35 establish base for character + shows lots of info right away on his behaviours, sad past and will to play for real, s2e36 conquering a bit of his fears and slightly opening up to others. MEDIUM DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e89 his helpful side is shown, s3e95 bettering himself as a player and person, s3e100 during the kappa accident we can see more of his soft side for once instead of his prankster one and get to know his wishes to be like every normal kid and not just an abandoned child. MINOR DEV

Tobitaka Seiya:

FIRST APPEARANCE S3 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: NO DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e68 establish base for character, s3e71 a bit of his past is revealed, s3e73 more insights on his lone wolf personality and ties to street gangs and to Hibiki, s3e75 more about his past and injury to his leg and also why did he decide to change his life + bettering himself as a defender and teammate thanks to Endou + starting to see soccer as a fun thing as well, s3e81 he is now willing to fight for his team + getting back to good terms with his old friends, s3e83 wanting to do good but still failing and being visibly upset by it, s3e84 finally find the power in him to unleash his first hissatsu, s3e85 he proves to have grown quite a lot since he gives supports and encourages Tachimukai to do his best and telling him that it’s ok to mess things up a bit, s3e101 his caring, helpful and intuitive side is shown, s3e113 we can see how deeply he cares for Hibiki and just how emotional he can get. MAJOR DEV

Fudou Akio:

FIRST APPEARANCE S2 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: s2e37 character debut not really valid to establish a base for the character given his altered state. NO DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e70 show to actually care a lot about being in the national and him training far before the others did, this establish a base as him being quite the elusive person, s3e83 debut as a player + playmaker skills + past revealed + beginning to gain trust and give trust, s3e88 him on the same level of Kidou as a playmaker, s3e90/91/92/93 revealed his loyalty to the inajapan + his complete detachment from Kageyama + his helpful cooperative side, s3e105 show his trust in others, s3e110 we can see his hate towards evildoers, s3e119 more of his helping side towards someone that isnt Kidou. MAJOR DEV

Fubuki Shirou:

FIRST APPEARANCE S2 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: s2e32 establish base for character, s2e33 more insights on Shirou’s character + more hint to his other persona, s2e37 Shirou opening up more, s2e38 Atsuya being less aggressive towards teammates as well as kinda protective, s2e39 Atsuya and Someoka find balance, s2e41 first signs of Fubuki being unstable, s2e42 his background is shown + his perfection complex, s2e43 first signs of weaknesses, s2e45 internal conflict + passing out due to an injury after a breakdown + his duality is explained, s2e51 nervous breakdown due to the feeling of not being useful, s2e57 more insight on his breakdown, s2e59 we learn his fear of being alone, s2e61 he is now able to control himself and becomes complete + better himself as a teammate as well. MAJOR DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: better himself as a player with new hissatsu. NONE

Gouenji Shuuya:

FIRST APPEARANCE S1 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: s1e1 establish base for character, s1e2 we can see a bit of his struggle and will to play, during the rest of season 1 we can see him grow more fond of his team and considering them friends + why did he quit soccer back in the days so a bit of his past as well, s2e30 we can see the sadness in his forced decision, hence him caring for what he’s about to lose, s2e52 we can see his new resolve to play soccer with his friends to his heart content. MAJOR DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e79 we have a clearer view of his past and his troubles with the father, s3e80 his distress is shown by him failing hissatsu during training, s3e81 he’s hasty and makes mistakes due to the pressure he feels, s3e84 he’s finally able to play and discards his worries + his father approves of him keeping to play soccer, he keeps on bettering himself with new hissatsu. MEDIUM DEV

Utsunomiya Toramaru:

FIRST APPEARANCE S3 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: NO DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e68 establish base for character, s3e73 insights on his daily life and helpful willing nature, s3e74 his past is revealed and he is now free to play however he wants because he win his fears over, s3e101 we can see him suffer again because of his mother’s health and by being homesick but also his renewed resolve to play and be a kid, he also keeps on improving himself, s3e126 he became Raimon’s ace shooter. MAJOR DEV

Hijikata Raiden:

FIRST APPEARANCE S2 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: s2e48 establish base for character + we can see how caring he is almost like a father/big brother figure, s2e52 shows us Hijikata caring and helping Gouenji, someone he barely knew, s2e53 his past with Gouenji and his humble and easily embarrassed selves are revealed. MEDIUM DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e113/115 we can see him helping a complete stranger again + how much he values family and to what extent he is willing to help them. MINOR DEV

Midorikawa Ryuuji:

FIRST APPEARANCE S2 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: given his altered state the dev is NO DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e69 establish base for character + we can see Mido’s true happy go lucky side instead of his aline persona, s3e73 a bit of his insecurities are shown alongside how he seem to not enjoy soccer to the same extent as before + getting injured because of the pressure he kept his body under, s3e76 more of his insecurities and self deprecating attitude come out as he has a nervous breakdown during practice + he starts to remember what was like to play soccer for fun, s3e77 he is now able to play again to his heart desires with less worries, s3e82 he is shown to still overexerting himself, s3e101 in the letter Midorikawa states that he is now re-learning to enjoy soccer at his best and we can see him being happy with that. MAJOR DEV

Kidou Yuuto:

FIRST APPEARANCE S1 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: s1e10 we can see that unlike his first appearance he actually has his doubts about cheating, s1e11 establish base for character as we are shown a more human and troubled side of him, s1e12 actual manifestation of his will to play fairly + detachment from Kageyama’s plans, s1e13 going as far as to be injured in order to get his sister back + his attachment towards Haruna is better shown, s1e17 frustration and sadness over defeat + feeling guilty for his friends going to the hospital but him surviving + more of his backstory and new resolve, s1e18 learning more about a new type of soccer, his ties with the teammates grow into a friendship, s2e35 more of his relationship with Haruna and his soft side are shown + more of the backstory, s2e37 remorse and guilt + him bowing asking for forgiveness for his selfishness, s2e38 more about his twisted feelings for Kageyama are shown, s2e56 his feelings of uneasiness towards his former teammates and fear to not being forgiven + the difference of ties he has with Teikoku and Raimon. MAJOR DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e82 growing as a playmaker, s3e83 surpass his own dislikes in order to better himself as a teammate, s3e90/91/92/93 more of his relationship with Kageyama and his own self trust issues are shown and then ultimately won, s3e105/106 growing as a player and person, ultimately shown his affection for Kageyama despite everything and the grief after his death, s3e110 more about his affection for Haruna and the new friendship with Fudou, s3e126 is shown how he can cry and be very emotional as well. MAJOR DEV

Sakuma Jirou:

FIRST APPEARANCE S1 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: s2e37/38 establish base for character because we are shown his most inner and hidden secrets aka his low self esteem and how he suffered from always comparing himself with Kidou and deeming himself not at his level + his new resolve to play for himself a good soccer, s2e56 his forgiving and friendly side. MEDIUM DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e69 despite not winning to Kidou he’s now at peace with himself and knows his self worth, s3e90/91/92/93 we can see how much he cares and actually knows Kidou + we can see him starting to trust Fudou a bit, s3e119 he is now in more friendly terms with someone he greatly disliked. MINOR DEV

Someoka Ryuugo:

FIRST APPEARANCE S1 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: s1e4 establish base for character aka strong willed + not keen to changes but understanding and in the end accepting his own mistakes in judgment, s2e31/32/33 we can see how deeply he cares for people he sees as friends and deems amazing players and again is not so keen to change, but how in the end he is reasonable and can give other a chance, s2e37 ultimate acceptance and newfound happiness despite changes, s2e37 ability to adapt and growing as a player, s2e38 self sacrificing nature, s2e39 we can see that his strong will can be too much and brings him to overwork his body, s2e55 his more tender, loving and caring side surfaces when verbally trying to help a friend and we can also see how easily embarrassed he gets at his own awkward attempts to cheer someone up, letting us know he has that in him but avoids because of social awkwardness, s2e64/65 ultimately we can see his dark most insecure side, the one that deemed himself not strong enough compared to the other strikers. MAJOR DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e70 despite not being chosen he does not resent the decision nor is he angry or sad, he instead decides to work even harder in case a spot on the national will clear one day, throughout the serie he better himself as a player even when in the national. MINOR DEV

Kiyama Hiroto:

FIRST APPEARANCE S2 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: s2e45 establish base for character, despite him still being part of Aliea Gakuen we can see a glimpse of his caring nature since he is worried for someone he doesn't even know, s2e62 we can see again that he worries a lot for others as he didn’t want to release the limiter of Genesis’ players and ultimately understands the importance of friendship, s2e63 despite everything that he has done, Hiroto still loves his father, showing a very high level of forgiveness and unconditional love. MEDIUM DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e76 is the only one who noticed Midorikawa being troubled by something, showing us his observant eye and protective nature + how reliable and mature he is given the way he tries to comfort and motivate the friend, s3e100 his caring nature is shown again, s3e112 we can see his hacking abilities alongside his wanting to help strangers once again. MINOR DEV

Tachimukai Yuuki:

FIRST APPEARANCE S2 DEVELOPMENT BEFORE INAJAPAN: s2e43 establish base for character, a shy and intuitive kid who aspires to greatness and is very talented already on his own, s2e46 we can see he has the heart to never give up, no matter how many times he fell and how many times he failed, he kept on practicing until he made it, s2e55/56 his determination just kept on growing despite hardship + we are shown once again that his intuitiveness is very high as he’s quickly catching up on how to perform the new hissatsu, he also grows as a player. MEDIUM DEV DEVELOPMENT AFTER INAJAPAN: s3e89 we can see his determination into learning an hissatsu completely unique in order to differentiate himself + how much he is willing to train and fatigue his body in order to do so, he just keeps on trying until he succeeds. MINOR DEV

SO!

If you took the time to read aaaall this, you may have noticed how the development was redistributed throughout the three season, if you haven’t (which is totally understandable, this was an insane job on my part even if I don’t regret losing sleep for this-) I’m going to explain.

OG InaJapan had 18 players but only FIVE of them had a major character development during the FFI season. 5 out of 18 is a really low and doable amount of work to put in a 60 episode long season, you can afford to spent some time on them because the other 13 have already been covered in the previous two seasons (aka in the previous 65 episode of he whole show) or are secondary character with a simple medium need of development!

Now, if you instead look at Orion, the new InaJapan currently has 23 members (and still one free spot) and the only one already covered with a major/medium development during Ares are Haizaki, Nosaka, Norika and Hiroto because we know about their past, we’ve seen an established base for their character and we were shown their interaction with others plus some development (Hiroto starting to trust others, Haizaki beggining to open up, Norika’s will to fight, Nosaka’s understanding of what’s right and wrong). But what does this mean?  It means that only 4 out of 23 players already had some more insights and development, so we are left with 19 characters who need focus to get to know them better. And if we count the OG characters off, we are still left with 10 development-less players!  To cover TEN characters is VERY hard, if you want to do it well and if we consider that in 33 episodes we had almost none of them explored (Asuto and Hikaru’s plots are in motion but there’s still lack of an actual character arc and development), it’s hard to believe they’ll be able to do it in the remaining eps. Let’s remember that in OG they covered 5 people in 60 episodes and even if Orion will actually be longer than that, I higly doubt any development will feel less than a bit half-assed because they will STILL be cramped all ten of them together. And why this? Because they went for the FFI IMMEDIATELY after Ares! Think about it, OG had 65 episode before the FFI and they had only 5 characters (Endou, Kazemaru, Gouenji, Kidou and Someoka) with a major development started in s1 and only ENDED in s2 plus one medium development of Kurimatsu and a minor one for Kabeyama almost entirely in s1, only Shirou with a major development in s2 and 6 medium development during s2 (Tsunami, Kogure, Tatsuya, Hijikaya, Sakuma and Tachimukai). S1 had 26 episodes while S2 39 and 65 episodes for 6 major development plus 7 medium ones are very reasonable. But how many episode did we had before the new FFI?  26 26 episodes and only 4 medium developments plus some minors. This stats may have been acceptable ONLY if another season of maybe 40 episodes would have divided it from the FFI one. Sadly this isn’t the case.

All of this to prove a point: if you want to do an all stars season you first need to have done other seasons to explain and develope the majority of the characters you want to put there.  And Orion didn’t. Which is honestly super dumb since they already did and all stars season during OG, so they should know how to handle it-

So yeah, if you’re wondering why your fave hasn’t had the spot light yet or why they were put in a corner for a while and their plot left to stagnate... this is why. They have far too many characters in need of an arc and they’re apparently not able to handle them well.

I’ve been Nene, thank you for coming to my extremely long and oddly specific ted talk, I will now go die on my bed.

[sassysweetstories]

All I’ve Ever Wanted

Request: “Hi darling. If it’s not too much trouble I was wondering if you can write a Malia x Fem!reader where the reader has always liked Malia but was too afraid to show it. Maybe she kept it bottled up because Malia was dating Stiles? Sorry if this doesn’t make sense but Malia honestly deserves more imagines.”

Ship: Malia x Stiles (minor), Malia x Fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, swearing, bottling of emotions, minor kissing, yelling, fighting, cussing, etc. 

Notes: none of these gifs are mine, credit to owners. 

Tagged: @bailey-hoover @kiralivelove @thalia-prior-of-ravenclaw @anamcg317 @bellasett @queentiffanyyy @archer-whovian-violinist @beingmadinwonderland @princessisabelle19 @violence-and-velvet @lachicadelamanzana

Third P.O.V

God, she looks so beautiful. Malia thought to herself as (Y/n) walked in, Scott and Stiles on either of her sides. Every time she looked at her, it was like one of those scenes in the movie where the girl looks at boy of her dreams, the golden guy everyone wanted. Except this story was ragingly gay. As they got closer, Malia noticed the faint glimmer change in (Y/n)’s eye shadow. The inner crevasse sparkled a deep gold that only made her eyes shine brighter, something she hadn’t thought was possible. How could someone look so god damn enchanting? She pondered as the three musketeers made their way over to her. When their eyes connected, Malia couldn’t help but swoon. That was until Stiles her in for an unexpected kiss. 

She could have sworn she saw (Y/n) look away with disgust. But she wouldn’t be able to tell, her lips too busy pressed against Stiles’. God, she wished it was hers. The second he pulled away, her eyes tore away from him and went back to her, glancing down at her plump lips. They looked so soft, so luscious. Before she knew it, Stiles was dragging her away to their shared first class. Stiles was a great guy, a phenomenal boyfriend, it’s just- she was so gay. But there was no way she could come out, especially to (Y/n), the girl of her dreams. What if she didn’t feel the same way? That would literally crush her heart and soul. But as Malia begrudgingly went to class, the other girl stood next to Scott with a sad expression on her face. Simultaneously, they walked to first period and her friend felt for her. 

Scott had always known how much (Y/n) liked Malia. So when Stiles decided to get over Lydia, even though he still has feelings for her, it broke (Y/n)’s heart. It hurt even more when the other girl said yes. Two months so far they’ve been together and every time she looks at them, her heart drops to the pit of her stomach. She had to rely on her friend, Scott for reassurance that things would be okay. But the longer things went, the more hopeless she became. At this point, the only thing reassuring her was the idea that she would evidently leave Beacon Hills for college, for a new life and new opportunities, maybe even a new girlfriend? How could that happen though if Malia was all she thought about? The way her beautiful mixed hair fell on her shoulders. The brutal and blunt words shared but were hilarious nonetheless. How could she move on from someone so perfect?

Watching them eat together drove her fucking bonkers. She wanted to be the only one to make Malia smile that way, to make her laugh so hard she’d have to clutch her stomach for support, while her eyes glimmered with delight under the sunlight. And to see someone else give her that, made (Y/n) fume in her seat. Just when (Y/n) got up the courage to ask her out, Stiles, her fucking best friend, swooped in from under her nose and took Malia from her. She shook her head in disgust as she remembered the first time they kissed. Clenching her fists, she stood up, leaving the pack at the table abruptly, not bothering to listen to their cries of detest. She needed to get rid of her pepped up anger, happy to have another match tonight. 

When Malia had arrived, she was exhausted from arguing with Stiles. They had been doing it on and off for a while now. She knew he still had feelings for Lydia, could smell the chemo-signals from him. Of course she was kinda hurt but not by much. And she hadn’t had a reason to act rude due to the fact that she had been looking at someone else as well, his best friend. The breakup wasn’t as bad as she had thought it’d be. It was mutual but just only slightly frustrating. But up until now, she hadn’t realized that she was single. The thought made her practically jump for joy. Malia could finally get the girl of her dreams. Taking her seat next to Lydia who cheered for Stiles, she looked out onto the field to see her girl. No more holding things back. She thought to herself. 

The players were playing dirtier than ever and (Y/n) only added to that mix. Her anger and rage landed a few boys with several fractures. Nobody wanted to get in-between her and the goal, not even some of the biggest boys on the team. But the entire time, she caught herself glancing at Malia, hoping for her to call her name- “GO (Y/N)!!!!” Holy shit. . . (Y/n) turned over her shoulder to find the girl of her dreams cheering for her, wearing her scarlet number with pride. Had she broken up with Stiles? Hope soared in her heart. Glancing at Lydia, that only confirmed her suspicions. She sported his number. D-Did that m-mean? Malia was cheering for her. . . With happiness in her heart, she looked back at the players and knew she had to make this goal. (Y/n) hadn’t even heard the whistle go off before she flew past the players, ball in hand as she dodged the other boys with ease. 

When she gets close enough to the goalie, the only she can hear is the thumping of her heartbeat as she takes the shot. BEACON HILLS VICTORS! The sign screams from above with flashing, ostentatious lights. Ripping off the sweaty helmet, everything moves in slow mow. Her teammates lift her to the sky with big smiles but she’s not up there long before running towards Malia. All she wants to do is be in her arms. The coyote runs at her before jumping into her arms and slamming her lips onto hers. They’re just as moist and warm as she thought they’d be. Setting her down, (Y/n) deepens the kiss as she wraps her arms around Malia’s waist, pulling her close to her chest. The boys hoot and cheer with bright smiles. “I-I thought you wouldn't want me?” (Y/n) said softly, glancing down at the girl of her dreams before she replied promptly, “You’re all I’ve ever wanted, (Y/n). .” Malia says as she pulls away from the kiss only to come back for more. 

(I hope you guys liked it! PLEASE. FUCKING. COMMENT)

[capath]

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DGB Grab Bag: Predator Fans, Fan Voting, and Bettman Handoffs

Welcome to Sean McIndoe's weekly grab bag, where he writes on a variety of NHL topics. You can follow him on Twitter. Check out the Biscuits podcast with Sean and Dave Lozo as they discuss the events of the week.

Three stars of comedy

The third star: These two Predator fans – It was fun times all around in Nashville. Good presence of mind to slow down when the helmet almost slipped off.

The second star: The catfish has a hat – He also has a tiny stuffed penguin but we can only focus on so many things at one time.

The first star: Bike Guy – The NHL combine was this week. That's the event where the top draft prospects gather, compete in a bunch of physical tests, and then get made fun of for not doing enough bench press reps by out-of-shape sportswriters like me. The highlight every year is the Wingate bike test, in which prospects cycle furiously while a scary guy yells at them.

It's all quite terrifying. But this year, the Golden Knights decided to put the guy's talent to some use by getting him to yell at random Twitter users to be more productive.

Well, I just cleaned my whole house. For some reason I also just studied for all my exams, of which I have none. The guy is good.

Outrage of the week

The issue: We just had two Stanley Cup final games in Nashville, and all the fans there were really loud and into it and just generally having a great time. The outrage: None, of course. Literally nobody could be mad about this. Is it justified: Phew, dodged a bullet there. OK, on to the next section where we can… The issue: We're tired of hearing about how great Predators fans are. The outrage: Seriously, give it a rest, cheering on your team in the Cup final doesn't make you great fans. Is it justified: Wait, what? Is this actually a thing? Are people actually saying that? (Checks.) Yes, apparently they are. This is a bad take. The issue: Anyone criticizing Nashville as a hockey market is wrong! The outrage: In fact, it's always been a great market, and anyone who ever doubted it sure looks silly now. Is it justified: And then, right on cue, here's comes the backlash to the backlash. Look, can we all enjoy what's happening in Nashville right now while also acknowledging that it really did look dicey for a while there back in the day? That seems fair, right? The issue: The Predators have the greatest fans in the world. The outrage: If you deny this you are a terrible person and also probably Canadian. Is it justified: See there is a middle ground where we could… The issue: Predators fans are front-runners who only support their team when it's playing for the Stanley Cup. The outrage: Real fans are there for their team through good and bad, they don't just hop on the bandwagon when times are good. Is it justified: Well, first of all, that thing about Predators fans only showing up now just isn't true. But yes, they're more excited now because of the playoff run. Isn't that how it's supposed to work? The issue: Nashville had thousands of empty seats back in 2010. The outrage: If you don't sell out the building every night you're a bad fan base. Is it justified: Well, fine, but then you're throwing stones at just about everyone, including places like Chicago and Boston and basically everywhere outside of the really die-hard Canadian markets. But sure, fine, if it will get everyone to stop complaining and hyper-analyzing every hockey market, then we'll agree: Only Canadian fan bases that sell out every game are good fans. Can we all please stop this now? The issue: Canadian fan bases that sell out every game are pathetic sheep and the reason the country never wins the Stanley Cup. The outrage: A real fan base would only support their team when they were in the Stanley Cup final. Probably by being really loud and maybe throwing some kind of fish on the ice. Is it justified: I hate all of you. The issue: Hockey fans can never just let their fellow humans be happy about anything. The outrage: It's tiresome, predictable, and the reason why nobody likes us. Is it justified: Yes.

Obscure former player of the week

Penguins' goalie Matt Murray is trying to win his second Stanley Cup as a rookie, which doesn't sound like it should be possible. But it is — a player's status is determined by his regular season play, so it's possible to have two or even more postseason runs as a "rookie".

The list of goalies who've actually done it isn't all that long, but Murray's certainly not alone. It's been done by Ken Dryden and Jacques Plante (who I wrote about earlier in the week), as well as fellow Hall-of-Famers Ed Belfour and Martin Brodeur. Jake Allen did it three years apart, with appearances in 2012 and 2015, and Corey Crawford and John Gibson are also in the club.

As you might expect, the list also includes a few less well-known players. That includes this week's Obscure Player, Daniel "The Bandit" Berthiaume.

You may remember him from the Bob Miller tribute a few months ago, in which we all learned we'd been pronouncing his name wrong all along. But his career began when the Jets made him the 60th pick in the 1985 entry draft, a few picks behind future Conn Smythe winner Bill Ranford. He debuted in Winnipeg a year later, seeing his first action in the 1986 playoffs before he'd ever even played a regular season game.

He followed that up by earning regular duty the following season and splitting time with Pokey Reddick, who I just realized has never been an Obscure Player and we will damn well fix that over the summer. Berthiaume joined the rookie two-timer club in 1987, playing eight games as the Jets won a playoff round for the second (and last) time in Winnipeg NHL history.

From there, Berthiaume began a tour of the NHL; he was traded twice in 1990, first to the North Stars and then to the Kings. He spent a few years backing up Kelly Hrudey in Los Angeles before being dealt to Boston, where he had a falling out with the team during the 1992 playoffs. He was later traded back to Winnipeg, but never earned a roster spot, and by the start of the 1992-93 season he was plying his trade in Europe.

But the expansion Senators came calling, and Berthiaume signed with Ottawa to back up Peter Sidorkiewicz. He wasn't very good, winning just two of 25 games, but nobody on that year's Senators was. Here's a fun clip of Berthiaume trying to pretend he's not miserable in Ottawa. Berthiaume closed out his career with one of the sadder season stat lines in NHL history. In 1993-94, he appeared in one game, played exactly thirty-nine seconds, faced two shots and allowed two goals.

That made him the only goalie since the save stat's been recorded to give up goals in a season in which he never stopped a single puck. Even in the high-flying early 90s, a save percentage of ".000" was considered bad, and Berthiaume's NHL days were done.

He'd kick around the minor leagues (as well as some professional roller hockey) for another decade before hanging up the skates in 2005. He was inducted into the ECHL Hall of Fame last year.

The NHL fans actually got something (kind of) right

As part of their 100-year anniversary celebration, the NHL unveiled a fan vote to determine the all-time 10 greatest teams. And everyone immediately went "Oh no, this will be terrible."

After all, the league made a minor mess of its Top 100 players list, and that was an unranked list put together by experts. This was a ranked list, and it would be determined by fan vote. If the last year has taught us anything, it's that nobody should ever be trusted to vote for anything. And that's especially true for hockey fans, who'd no doubt cast their ballots for the 2015 Blackhawks or 2016 Penguins or a write-in vote for "Whoever just beat the Leafs, lol they suck".

This week, the final list was unveiled, and the winner is: the 1984-85 Edmonton Oilers. That's… well that's not terrible, is it? You can defend that pick. That team had 109 points, scored over 400 goals and lost just three games in the playoffs, never facing elimination. It was the Gretzky/Messier/Kurri/Coffey core at the height of its powers.

It's not a perfect pick — you could make a case for one of the late-70s Canadiens teams or maybe one of Al Arbour's Islanders Cup winners, and the 84-85 team might not even have been the best Oilers teams of the era (it was the only one between 1984 and 1987 that didn't finish first overall). But still, it's not a cringeworthy pick. As far as fan voting goes, that's progress.

So let's focus on the positive and take our wins where we can get them. And let's definitely not look at the rest of the list, which is like half Oilers teams and ranked an 87-point team as the second greatest ever. They got the winner reasonably close to right. We'll take it.

Classic YouTube clip breakdown

Win their win last night, the Penguins are now just one win away from a championship. That means the Stanley Cup will be in the building on Sunday night in Nashville. And that means Gary Bettman will also be in the building, ready to do his annual awkward Cu handoff while being booed.

A few years ago, I celebrated Bettman's 20th anniversary on the job by ranking every one of his handoffs so far. Today, let's take a look back at the handoff that ranked number one on that list, and remains to this day the most awkward Bettman Cup moment of all-time.

It's June 19, 2006 and the Carolina Hurricanes have just defeated the Oilers in game seven to capture the Stanley Cup on home ice. The crowd is roaring, friends and family have poured onto the ice, and emotions are running high. Who wants to hear a corporate executive deliver a rambling speech?

We actually start off with Cam Ward being interviewed by Ron MacLean. Ward's just been named the Conn Smythe winner, but he informs us that the honor is "completely irrelevant". He then adds "Unless I'm mediocre at best for the next ten years but keep getting huge contracts, in which case I guess it will turn out to be pretty relevant after all".

As Ward talks, we get a shot of Rod Brind'Amour talking to somebody, who starts laughing. Presumably, Brind'Amour has just told him what he's about to do.

The Cup is ready to make its way to the ice, so Ward has to get back to his teammates. Sadly, MacLean does not end the interview by poking him in the tummy.

And here comes the Stanley Cup, carried as always by its two longtime keepers: Phil Pritchard, and the other guy who apparently doesn't have a PR agent and almost definitely secretly hates Phil Pritchard.

Something to note: With this being the year after the lockout, the NHL broke with tradition and didn't introduce Bettman or have him announce the Conn Smythe. Instead, they introduce the Cup, and then Bettman slips in while everyone's cheering. Whoever it was at the NHL office who came up with this plan was immediately fired for making a good decision.

I think having an ominous thunder and lightning sound effect right as Bettman begins speaking is a little on-the-nose there, guys.

Oh good, it's the legendary "Peter Karmanos had a dream" speech we all learned about in grade school.

At this point, Brind'Amour has had enough and decides to just skate over and interrupt Bettman, because Rod Brind'Amour IS A FREAKING HERO. But Bettman hilariously shoes him away, admonishing him with an annoyed "I'm almost done" into a live microphone. This causes Brind'Amour to have to stand there awkwardly, and causes me to laugh so hard my lungs hurt every single time I see it.

That face where you're ready to go but your partner wants to talk for a while first.

Brind'Amour gets bored and decides to start randomly pointing. Bettman speeds through his last few mentions, and gets ready for his very favorite moment of the year: The handoff. Seriously, Bettman lives for this. He knows fans hate it and wish he'd give the job to someone else, but he doesn't care. Once a year, he gets to pick up the Stanley Cup and hand it over to the winning captain. And he always milks the moment for all its worth, mugging for photos and refusing to let the Cup go for as long as humanly possible. I honestly think this moment might be the only joy Bettman gets out of his job. He lives for it.

NOT THIS YEAR GARY.

In a moment that should absolutely have resulted in his instant induction into the Hall of Fame, Brind'Amour grabs the Cup off the table before Bettman can get to it. You can tell that Bettman realizes what's happening, but speeding through his speech has thrown him off and now he's caught still holding the microphone in his trophy-grabbing hand. It's a small delay, but it's all Brind'Amour needs, and he just straight up jacks the Cup before Bettman can do anything.

This may be the greatest moment in Stanley Cup history. They should have the kids in that bank commercial act it out for the next chapter.

Also, Brind'Amour proceeds to kiss the Cup on the neck instead of the main body, which always seemed weird but that sentence is already making me feel uncomfortable so let's just move on.

The rest of this clip is just the Hurricanes skating around the ice with the Cup, occasionally pausing to step over a sobbing Fernando Pisani or the remnants of Dwayne Roloson's knee ligament. Glen Wesley gets the OGWAC first handoff honors, Ray Whitney swears on live TV, and the whole thing is one long exercise in going "Wait, that was the 2005-06 Hurricanes roster? They really won a Cup with those guys?" I don't recommend any of it.

As an epilogue, I highly recommend watching Bettman's handoff with Scott Niedermayer one year later. Niedermayer tries the Brind'Amour yank move, but this time Bettman is ready for him and holds on. You know he worked on that all year long. Defending Cup yanks is basically Bettman's version of having to shake hands with Donald Trump.

Have a question, suggestion, old YouTube clip, or anything else you'd like to see included in this column? Email Sean at nhlgrabbag@gmail.com .

DGB Grab Bag: Predator Fans, Fan Voting, and Bettman Handoffs published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

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We’ve Gone Too Far

I’ve been thinking about writing this post for a little while now.

Six years ago, in 2011, each of the four major sports teams in Philly were perhaps the most antiquated in their respective leagues.

The Phillies were in the midst of their historic run and were, as it turns out, the last team in Major League Baseball to have a sustained period of success and win the old-fashioned way (with good pitching and the three-run homer). They had fully gutted their farm system in an attempt to keep open their window of opportunity.

The Eagles were in the doldrums of the end of the Andy Reid era, which had stalled itself into a frustrating tailspin filled with the same predictable cock-ups that plagued Reid’s entire tenure here.

The Flyers had just signed Ilya Bryzgalov to a $51 million contract.

And the Sixers were still owned by Comcast, which seemed content to let the team play itself to an eight seed every year.

In this old school, stubborn town, our teams were a reflection of the city– resistant to change, archaic in their thinking, and the real-world equivalent of a government website designed in 1998. The Phillies were basically an animated GIF that said “Print!” in big green letters.

There was a groundswell, particularly from Phillies Twitter, of support for the local teams to embrace analytics or otherwise turn the page. Each team, perhaps reacting to their untenable existence and public outcry, swung the pendulum about as far forward as it could go.

The Eagles became the first to do so, in 2013 hiring Chip Kelly, who implemented what can loosely be defined as football and initiating a wave of sports science and nutrition advancements at the NovaCare Complex, ridding the place of Taco Tuesdays, Whiskey Wednesdays, Tortuga Thursdays and Fat Ass Fridays.

Then the Sixers followed suit, when Joshua Harris bought the team and hired Sam Hinkie, who undertook maybe the most progressive endeavor in NBA history with his tanking and a process that literally resulted in him writing a deranged yet brilliant 13-page manifesto as he rode off into the sunset, which was actually a home in Silicon Valley, where Hinkie has since shaved his head, grown a beard, and basically turned into Gavin Fucking Belson.

Then it was the Flyers, who oddly promoted failed GM Paul Holmgren to President and tapped Ron Hextall as their savior GM. Ironically, one of the most OB players of all-time, THE FLYERS FIGHTING GOALIE, was tasked with recreating the way the franchise did its business, by building through the draft and off-loading the downright idiotic contracts handed out by his predecessor and boss.

And then the Phillies came around, firing Ruben Amaro, bringing in Andy MacPhail and Matt Klentak as John Middleton Game of Throned his way into becoming the controlling owner, and embracing analytics, which are now a necessity for every team in baseball. Since then, the Phils have undertaken their own tank of sorts.

In a way, you can say that each of the teams – especially the Eagles and Sixers – became the most progressive in their respective sports. But how has it worked out?

The Sixers are obviously and clearly positioned to become a great team, with an infrastructure and business arm to match. If they can keep their young players healthy, it’s possible they can become the model for a successful sports franchise– winning team, premium facilities, excellent branding, a diverse business portfolio (e-sports, incubator), and a highly-profitable sales structure.

However, despite the fertile land in which their seed is being gestated, even they went too far. Old-timers in the city revolted. The league and other owners got squeamish about Hinkie, forced Harris’ hand to fire him, and the team brought in the league-approved Colangelos to run things. Bryan Colangelo will, undoubtedly, accelerate the process to some degree and return the team to some level of conventionality. But the fruits of Hinkie’s labor, developments in sports science, and investment in progressive business interests will remain. If we’re grading on a scale from 1 to 10, with 1 being OLD FASHIONED and 10 being JOAQUIN PHOENIX IN HER, the Sixers are sitting at a solid 8.

The results when it comes to the other teams are a bit less defined.

The Eagles realized that they swung the pendulum way too far. Like, off the meter into a binary simulation far. Kelly proved to be too much for the NFL. His emotional intelligence was nil, players accused him of being racist, pictures of Bart Simpsons turned out to NOT be the best way to signal plays, and, mostly, his offense was just flat-out predictable and bad in the NFL. Especially in a city like Philly, which is willing to let a mad scientist tinker with its basketball team but most definitely not the football team, Kelly was destined to fail. Of course, he didn’t have much more success in San Francisco. Actually, he didn’t have any success and now he’s on ESPN.

Jeffery Lurie acknowledged the error the only way he knew how: by turning the clock so far back that he rebuilt The Vet, undid the housing crisis, and made Judd Apatow relevant again.

Like the Sixers, the Eagles have kept vestiges of the more modern era– sports science and nutrition. But they are at no more on a 4 on our 10-point scale.

The Flyers made the welcomed change to stop trying to buy and bruise their way to a Stanley Cup every year and undertook a more measured approached. Thus far, the results are mixed at best. They do have a plethora of young talent, but they regressed in the second season under science project head coach Dave Hakstol. Their remaining core, which is now in its supposed prime, has won one playoff series in five years. And the biggest trump card they own, the second pick in the draft this year, was obtained through dumb luck. They are positioned to be good over the next few years, but they are one more missed playoffs from both Ron Hextall’s and certainly Dave Hakstol’s jobs being on the line. And then what?

The Flyers are maybe a 6 on our scale.

And then there’s the Phillies. Holy fuck there’s the Phillies. Baseball, more than any other sport, requires patience if you’re going to build through the draft. Like, maybe 20 years patience. More than the other three sports, it is very difficult to predict draft success and player development in baseball. It has only been two years since Klentak has had a chance to make his mark. But worse than the positively awful on-field product is the fact that the Phillies’ most recent batch of future stars look like anything but, and their minor league prospects are hardly wow-ing so far this season. Worse, and more applicable to this topic, the Phillies have the means to buy their way into respectability while at the same time allowing their prospects to develop. And yet, this season, the product that has been put on the field – a combination of homegrown talent, acquired assets, and free agents – is purely dreadful, looks disinterested, and is a basic affront to sports fandom. Ruben Amaro certainly “did it wrong,” but there are no signs thus far that Klentak, his Newtown’s Third Law mandate, is doing it any better. The Phillies are maybe a 6 on our scale right now, but at times they feel like a 9 stuck in a 2’s body.

So what’s my point here? In just the span of a few years, Philly teams went from stubbornly old-fashioned to radically progressive. What we’ve learned, though, is that perhaps the best version of sports falls somewhere in the middle. Look at recent champions. Theo Eptstein, largely credited for being the first to win with analytics, in Boston, has said that the Cubs’ success is as much about human intelligence as it is newfangled thinking, partly because the edge in SABR is gone and a marriage of human observation and data is best. The Warriors, arguably the most progressive on-court product in basketball and maybe the greatest team ever, lost to superstardom, effort and size last year. On no planet were the Cavs better, but LeBron’s will to win trumped the Warriors’ three-point formula, which was rendered utterly useless the moment Steph Curry needed to be an Alpha male late in Game 7 and dribbled away their season into nothingness.

We’ve seen both ends of the spectrum, from maddeningly old school to shockingly, uncomfortably forward-thinking. Neither is best. The answer, as it always seems to be, is somewhere in the middle.

We’ve Gone Too Far published first on your-t1-blog-url

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We’ve Gone Too Far

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  I’ve been thinking about writing this post for a little while now.

Six years ago, in 2011, each of the four major sports teams in Philly were perhaps the most antiquated in their respective leagues.

The Phillies were in the midst of their historic run and were, as it turns out, the last team in Major League Baseball to have a sustained period of success and win the old-fashioned way (with good pitching and the three-run homer). They had fully gutted their farm system in an attempt to keep open their window of opportunity.

The Eagles were in the doldrums of the end of the Andy Reid era, which had stalled itself into a frustrating tailspin filled with the same predictable cock-ups that plagued Reid’s entire tenure here.

The Flyers had just signed Ilya Bryzgalov to a $51 million contract.

And the Sixers were still owned by Comcast, which seemed content to let the team play itself to an eight seed every year.

In this old school, stubborn town, our teams were a reflection of the city– resistant to change, archaic in their thinking, and the real-world equivalent of a government website designed in 1998. The Phillies were basically an animated GIF that said “Print!” in big green letters.

There was a groundswell, particularly from Phillies Twitter, of support for the local teams to embrace analytics or otherwise turn the page. Each team, perhaps reacting to their untenable existence and public outcry, swung the pendulum about as far forward as it could go.

The Eagles became the first to do so, in 2013 hiring Chip Kelly, who implemented what can loosely be defined as football and initiating a wave of sports science and nutrition advancements at the NovaCare Complex, ridding the place of Taco Tuesdays, Whiskey Wednesdays, Tortuga Thursdays and Fat Ass Fridays.

Then the Sixers followed suit, when Joshua Harris bought the team and hired Sam Hinkie, who undertook maybe the most progressive endeavor in NBA history with his tanking and a process that literally resulted in him writing a deranged yet brilliant 13-page manifesto as he rode off into the sunset, which was actually a home in Silicon Valley, where Hinkie has since shaved his head, grown a beard, and basically turned into Gavin Fucking Belson.

Then it was the Flyers, who oddly promoted failed GM Paul Holmgren to President and tapped Ron Hextall as their savior GM. Ironically, one of the most OB players of all-time, THE FLYERS FIGHTING GOALIE, was tasked with recreating the way the franchise did its business, by building through the draft and off-loading the downright idiotic contracts handed out by his predecessor and boss.

And then the Phillies came around, firing Ruben Amaro, bringing in Andy MacPhail and Matt Klentak as John Middleton Game of Throned his way into becoming the controlling owner, and embracing analytics, which are now a necessity for every team in baseball. Since then, the Phils have undertaken their own tank of sorts.

In a way, you can say that each of the teams – especially the Eagles and Sixers – became the most progressive in their respective sports. But how has it worked out?

The Sixers are obviously and clearly positioned to become a great team, with an infrastructure and business arm to match. If they can keep their young players healthy, it’s possible they can become the model for a successful sports franchise– winning team, premium facilities, excellent branding, a diverse business portfolio (e-sports, incubator), and a highly-profitable sales structure.

However, despite the fertile land in which their seed is being gestated, even they went too far. Old-timers in the city revolted. The league and other owners got squeamish about Hinkie, forced Harris’ hand to fire him, and the team brought in the league-approved Colangelos to run things. Bryan Colangelo will, undoubtedly, accelerate the process to some degree and return the team to some level of conventionality. But the fruits of Hinkie’s labor, developments in sports science, and investment in progressive business interests will remain. If we’re grading on a scale from 1 to 10, with 1 being OLD FASHIONED and 10 being JOAQUIN PHOENIX IN HER, the Sixers are sitting at a solid 8.

The results when it comes to the other teams are a bit less defined.

The Eagles realized that they swung the pendulum way too far. Like, off the meter into a binary simulation far. Kelly proved to be too much for the NFL. His emotional intelligence was nil, players accused him of being racist, pictures of Bart Simpsons turned out to NOT be the best way to signal plays, and, mostly, his offense was just flat-out predictable and bad in the NFL. Especially in a city like Philly, which is willing to let a mad scientist tinker with its basketball team but most definitely not the football team, Kelly was destined to fail. Of course, he didn’t have much more success in San Francisco. Actually, he didn’t have any success and now he’s on ESPN.

Jeffery Lurie acknowledged the error the only way he knew how: by turning the clock so far back that he rebuilt The Vet, undid the housing crisis, and made Judd Apatow relevant again.

Like the Sixers, the Eagles have kept vestiges of the more modern era– sports science and nutrition. But they are at no more on a 4 on our 10-point scale.

The Flyers made the welcomed change to stop trying to buy and bruise their way to a Stanley Cup every year and undertook a more measured approached. Thus far, the results are mixed at best. They do have a plethora of young talent, but they regressed in the second season under science project head coach Dave Hakstol. Their remaining core, which is now in its supposed prime, has won one playoff series in five years. And the biggest trump card they own, the second pick in the draft this year, was obtained through dumb luck. They are positioned to be good over the next few years, but they are one more missed playoffs from both Ron Hextall’s and certainly Dave Hakstol’s jobs being on the line. And then what?

The Flyers are maybe a 6 on our scale.

And then there’s the Phillies. Holy fuck there’s the Phillies. Baseball, more than any other sport, requires patience if you’re going to build through the draft. Like, maybe 20 years patience. More than the other three sports, it is very difficult to predict draft success and player development in baseball. It has only been two years since Klentak has had a chance to make his mark. But worse than the positively awful on-field product is the fact that the Phillies’ most recent batch of future stars look like anything but, and their minor league prospects are hardly wow-ing so far this season. Worse, and more applicable to this topic, the Phillies have the means to buy their way into respectability while at the same time allowing their prospects to develop. And yet, this season, the product that has been put on the field – a combination of homegrown talent, acquired assets, and free agents – is purely dreadful, looks disinterested, and is a basic affront to sports fandom. Ruben Amaro certainly “did it wrong,” but there are no signs thus far that Klentak, his Newtown’s Third Law mandate, is doing it any better. The Phillies are maybe a 6 on our scale right now, but at times they feel like a 9 stuck in a 2’s body.

So what’s my point here? In just the span of a few years, Philly teams went from stubbornly old-fashioned to radically progressive. What we’ve learned, though, is that perhaps the best version of sports falls somewhere in the middle. Look at recent champions. Theo Eptstein, largely credited for being the first to win with analytics, in Boston, has said that the Cubs’ success is as much about human intelligence as it is newfangled thinking, partly because the edge in SABR is gone and a marriage of human observation and data is best. The Warriors, arguably the most progressive on-court product in basketball and maybe the greatest team ever, lost to superstardom, effort and size last year. On no planet were the Cavs better, but LeBron’s will to win trumped the Warriors’ three-point formula, which was rendered utterly useless the moment Steph Curry needed to be an Alpha male late in Game 7 and dribbled away their season into nothingness.

We’ve seen both ends of the spectrum, from maddeningly old school to shockingly, uncomfortably forward-thinking. Neither is best. The answer, as it always seems to be, is somewhere in the middle.

  We’ve Gone Too Far published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv