Continuing satire on my attempt to bring hockey to Tahiti. A blog filled with Star Wars references, hockey pundit commentary and rubber gloves.
Author's note: The following is either satire, hockey prognostication, an angry rant or just errant observations...anything factual or actually insightful is unintended
This series is a continuation of Saturday's blog:
The New NHL Market.
There is a long list of outraged people in this world. There are those who are outraged that the US government has taken huge leaps in liberties with the rights of not only it's own population, but have sunk it's claws into it's neighbors as they sift through the fear and paranoia of this new world. You can be outraged about how the Xbox 360 hasn't had a quality game in over 8 months. Some are still outraged over Brett Hull's foot in game 5 of a Stanley Cup final.
Personally, I am still outraged that George Lucas made Greedo shoot first in those horrific special edition movies he put out, marring that famous scene with him and Han Solo in the Cantina. I was further outraged with Episode 1 through 3, as Lucas tramped through my childhood love of Star Wars by making a Dawson's Creek retread in a Galaxy far, far away.
So many things to be outraged about. One can be outraged that I decided to do another satire series than do some hockey reporting these past two weeks. C'est la vie.
So, upon the latest outrage and debate over ownership and how little the NHL has grasped of the US market these days, where we constantly hear about new teams coming to Las Vegas and perhaps Kansas City, as huge hockey markets get ignored North of the Border...it was clear to me that we needed to leave both behind and come into a new place who hadn't had a clue of what hockey was. Such was my epiphany that Tahiti needed some hockey. And that during my honeymoon there, I would smuggle some hockey equipment and paraphernalia as to make this happen. That while hockey fans argued about what markets hockey should be coming into, or leaving, that there was a brave new world just waiting to be tapped.
However, how does one smuggle hockey equipment to the tropics? Would the Tahitian customs official be on edge, thanks to a wild and crazy world-at-large, and be prepared for me? Would they take me to a backroom, dim the lights, and play me soft music as they put on a white rubber glove? And of course, if they did, I hope they played some Mile Davis or John Coltrane.
So as most groom's panic about cold feet and the commitment of matrimony, I sat amidst charts and piles of hockey jerseys, trying to figure how I'd get them into our suitcase. I hounded fellow bloggers and hockey pundits on how to go about my mission:
"Dude, you are nuts?"
Eric Engels, Montreal team blogger.
"Please remove me from your email address list!"
Pierre McGuire, hockey analyst.
"YOU STILL OWE ME $200, YOU FIEND!"
Garth Snow, Islanders GM
"I let you write for us???? Seriously?"
Eklund, Hockey Insider
"If I ever see you again, I'm going to pop you with a mallet so hard you have less teeth than Theo Fleury,"
Don Cherry, irritable hockey icon and pundit
"You want my advice? You, who wrote about me losing a fight against a muppet??!?!?! GET BENT!"
Gary Bettman, NHL commissioner
"This is not the hockey information you are looking for. Move along,"
Scotty Bowman, from a Toronto Leaf's email address
With this guidance and support, I felt I could not be stopped. I packed 10 suitcases full of hockey paraphernalia. As the big day came, I said "I Do" with visions of plump Polynesians skating around my head. I saw coconuts being bounced on sticks like pucks by Tahitian kids after school during the first dance. By the time we ate wedding cake, I saw the Bora Bora Tiki Gods raising their first Stanley Cup, beating the Buffalo Sabres.
Oh, glorious hockey was coming to those islands. As sure as another work stoppage in lieu of the next Collective Bargaining Agreement.
To be continued . . .
B.D. Gallof
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