I'm about to go America all over somebody's ass.

Saturday, September 25, 2004




There will be no shorthanded goals. No 50 goal season. No overtime. No game-winning goals. No no-look backhanded assists. No bench clearing brawls. No five minutes for fighting. No wicked slapshots. No crosschecking, forechecking or backchecking. No "he shoots, he scores!" No penalty kills. No power plays. No offsides. No icing.* No double minors. No training camp. No hat tricks. No penalty shots. No ricochet off the boards. No glancing nervously at the game clock, watching time tick away. No lucky bounces of the puck. No shutouts. No glove saves. No 5-hole. No cool, crisp stadium air. No sound of a single blade gliding across untouched ice. No goal judge. No penalty box. No division rivalry. No puck sailing, slow motion, into the back of the net. No celebrations on the bench. No arenas that smell like a clean sheet of ice. No sharpening of skates. No taping of sticks.


It's going to be a long winter.


*I'm fighting off every urge to make a Leon Stickle reference right here.

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