The Universal Cynic

...because I'm back. Let's not make a big deal out of it.



What can I tell you? Well, in the last three months, I a) have morphed approximately 75% of the way into a Blackhawks fan*; b) would give anything to be back in La Jolla right now (go Spunt!) and c) finagled Team Scott Norwood into covering the 2009 Entry Draft in Montreal for Kukla's Korner, where we got to see Boo Boo sporting a Family Guy t-shirt at Newtown.

(If that doesn't top your high comedy list, check this no-I'm-not-kidding seating arrangement at the prospects luncheon: Greg "Puck Daddy" Wyshynski, my partner Patrick Williams, The Globe and Mail's Eric Duhatschek, Boo Boo and myself. Oh yeah, it was epic...and really comfortable. On the plus side, there was a poutine station at the lunch buffet. I think someone caught Pat Hickey drinking out of the gravy boat, but don't quote me on that.)

All right, that was then and this is now. I don't want this to head into Bill Simmons-esque territory, so I'm going to cover the two topics that matter. You want to hit on anything else, you know where the commentary goes. Let's get to it.

Dany "Notice Me, Give Me Attention -- I Don't Get Enough At Home" Heatley: I know you've all been e-mailing with your thoughts on the matter, and were curious as to mine -- which I haven't shared until now. Here's the thing: I already went through this once this year with the Denver Broncos. Remember when Jay Cutler tripped out and demanded a trade due to new babyface head coach Josh McDaniels (and the rumours that the QB was expendable)? Remember how it turned out? This is my freaking quarterback now:



In short, I'm trying to tell you that I already have an idea of how badly these things can end. That may not really come as a shock to you, but this might...

...I don't really give a damn how this particular tale ends.

Here's the thing: I haven't felt an affinity for Heatley in any way, shape or form since late December, 2006. What was so special about that time? That's when Jason Spezza went down with a knee injury and was out for 14 games, from just before Christmas, until the end of January. Heatley was forced to move ahead without his partner, and showed that he was capable of functioning as more of a complete player. He -- for whatever reason -- was willing to work at both ends of the ice, and it made me realize that he could be contributing so much more. So what happened when Jason Spezza returned to the team? No. 15 slipped back into his old ways, and I was left thoroughly disappointed, but not completely surprised.

Everyone talks about numbers, particularly about Heatley's capability to score 50 goals in a season, but they don't discuss the type of goals that they are. Are they clutch goals? Are they go-ahead goals with five minutes left in the third? Every once in a while, but the majority of the "sniper's" goals are garbage shots from down low, or right beside the net. There's a reason why this guy is dubbed a floater. He pads the total -- good on paper, but he's not an elite player. He's not a Crosby, and he's not an Ovechkin. Truth hurts, kids.

At this point, I would be heartily content if Bryan Murray flipped him for a handful of high draft picks and called it a day (even if I did want to see the GM tackle Ladislav Smid's name at least once). All of this "disappointment" from the front office and owner, combined with butterknife-edged response from the local media is so tired. Get rid of the cancer. Yesterday.

But you might want to have another round of chemotherapy on standby, because straight from the 514....here comes...Alex Kovalev!

(Whaa?)

Various deities bless the self-indulgent social media application that is Twitter. Watching the Kovalev news break was like a car crash that Sens fans couldn't turn away from. Right now, there are so many unanswered questions. Will he show up for road games? Will he and Jason Spezza fight over hair product? Will there be enough alcohol in Kanata to sustain his defensive foibles for two entire seasons? Welcome to Turnover Country, Ottawa! It'll be the mad hotness.

(Oh, and can someone be a dear and get me the season ticket sales for 2009-10? I've got it at 9,000 [taking the under] and I'd like to add a parlay of Spezza and Kovalev hitting 125 giveaways by January. Thanks, dollface.)

I know it's not enough after so long, but it will have to do for now. It's good to be back (reprise), and in the meantime, your punk asses can follow me over here.

More later.

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* Don't be coming at me with any "postseason bandwagon" nonsense. This has been several years in the making -- I wrote about it in the old column, for God's sakes. For the record, bank says I'm the only one in the city with a Patrick Sharp t-shirt.

...because we're dedicating SNFU's "Black Cloud" to Wade Redden.

Alright, so I promised you Hockey Night in La Jolla, right? A little background: The last time The Driver and I went to San Diego, we found a skating rink plopped in the food court of an outdoor mall. There was some feebly arranged peewee hockey being played, and the goalies didn't even wear pads or masks. That being said, the parents and rest of the food court was totally into it, and I thought, "How cool is this?" I made sure to seek out the rink the next time we came down, in the hopes that I'd be able to catch some more hockey, however pathetic.

This time around it was beer league -- proper equipment, although just as brutal. I wasn't planning on staying long...that was, until I saw the guy on the left skate past (click to enlarge):

The name on the back of his jersey was "Spunt". Best. Freaking. Name. Ever. Unfortunately, the dude skated like Brian McGrattan on muscle relaxants, but somehow that made me love him even more. Maybe it was all the beach time or my slightly sunburnt forehead, but I went into puckbunny mode -- chasing back and forth with the camera attempting to get photos while Sephora and Victoria's Secret bags dangled from my wrists.

(Aside: Despite the blog, column and my false bravado, I am still a chick who cares far too much about uncomfortable underwear and overpriced makeup. This is also worth mentioning: The Driver came into VS with me, and spotted some hot pink and black lingerie on display. He pointed at it and stage whispered to me, "Hart Foundation!" I didn't know what to be more embarrassed about -- the statement itself, or the fact I knew exactly what he was talking about. )

Anyway, back to the game. We were facetiously speculating on the past of the guy in the Phantoms jersey, when all of a sudden he fell about six times in a two minute span (including backwards through the gate in a move that was reminiscent of Midori Ito). The whole thing was so atrociously bad, I couldn't have possibly enjoyed it more. If you're ever in San Diego, track down the University Town Center mall and see it for yourself. It's totally worth it.

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As for tonight...I don't know what to tell you, kids. Some of the things being said in the media have left me completely perplexed. Sarcastic or not, you can't encourage vicious injuries to the opposition. Furthermore, do you really want to see this team spend time in the box with three of its best PK men out with injuries? Shake yourself.

It's the defence that truly has me intrigued. The pairings are all over the map: 6-24, 4-44 and 14-55. It's the last one that really freaks me out -- if anything, Lee's got the calmer head of the two, but this is the playoffs and he's a neophyte.

Speaking of neophytes, can someone explain how Sidney Crosby gained a wealth of experience in five playoff games last year? "He's not green anymore! Look out!" I know his hockey intelligence is unsurpassed, but how's about we save these threats until he's played in the post-season for a few years?

Back to the D for a final thought: The blueline has got to step up their grit for this series -- it was an integral part of the team's success against Pittsburgh last year. I was talking to a friend about Phillips the other day and we both came to the same conclusion: Why doesn't this guy realize how effective he is when he plays with some toughness? Has he not been praised enough when he's done so? It's like dog training -- give the guy a ton of positive reinforcement when he hits someone. "Good boy, 4! Play that man!" Slap him on the ass, and send him out again. By the way, if Phillips were a dog, he'd be a St. Bernard. Yeah, don't tell me you can't see it.



Looks like Spunt needs a break, and frankly so do I. More later.