Yay, dear friends, do not despair, for I have not forgotten you. The news -- the glorious news -- of the Swedish Messiah's arrival on the West Coast last night has left me faint. I could barely finish my red meat-laden meal with The Driver, let alone the vodka-grapefruit chasers.
O, let us come and marvel at the Canucks' new deity. Let Mike Gillis swaddle the saviour's alabaster skin in polyester jerseys, then nestle him in a manger outside GM Place for all media to worship.
Praise him! Praise him, damnit! He is your king now!
(You know, at least until he blows out a knee or something.)
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