Black Ice Vancouver

“A system of morality which is based on relative emotional values is a mere illusion, a thoroughly vulgar conception which has nothing sound in it and nothing true.” –Socrates

How shall we then fare from here, dear Vancouver, how shall we then fare?

From the minute the puck dropped tonight, every indication pointed toward another classic rout by a Colorado Avalanche squad steeped in surpassed expectation.

For Vancouver, stringing together a winning streak these days is a little like trying to have sex on ecstasy, however easy it is to derobe a woman is equally countered by a bereaved inability to keep the cock up (or in for that matter).

So two bad penalties in the first 10 minutes and once again the Canucks are climbing the Mt. Everest of emasculation (see: Iain MacIntyre).

Keep the sex on ecstasy metaphor in your head for a moment. Last Saturday we beat the Aves 8-2 = derobing, down two goals tonight = impotence.

Still with me?

Now, whether it is a shared emotional value or just an illusion (since I’m the writer and that makes me god I’m not telling) out of the thin gray dome entombing the Fraser Valley arrives a savior in the form of a Viagra shaped 25 year-old German offensive defenseman.

His name folks, Christian Ehrhoff.

Never one, as a staunch Protestant, to defend an Aristotelian reading of the Holy Scriptures it behooves me to believe that the heavens — much like writers themselves — can’t still survive on subtle use of the mixed metaphor.

Jesus saves, Christian scores.

Socrates shoots, Christian scores on the rebound.

Bernier scores, Christian tallies the indelible rebound.

I’m not sure who it was on Team 1040 during the post-game that christened him Bobby Orrhoff (I hope it was Tom Larschaid) but it’s classic Vancouver. “I’m high bitch, let’s fuck!” In the end we got the prize (perhaps at the risk of losing our soul [should one indeed exist]), a 5-2 vindication of whatever the hell needs to be vindicated while high on drugs.

One question remains. Now that the Canucks can get it in, will they be able to, um, finish? If the weather tonight is any indication, then I would say they are in good form.

But this city still might need protection.

Next Up – Chicago

“A change in the weather is sufficient to recreate the world and ourselves.” -Marcel Proust (Remembrance of Things Past)

Vancouver is a city whose serotonin transporter is directly affected by two things: the weather and hockey. Coincidentally (or not) two things that the average citizen is unable to control.

In search of lost time:

Back in 1915, with the help of a sniper by the name of Cyclone Taylor, the Vancouver Millionaires became the last professional hockey team in the city to win the Stanley Cup. A Vancouver club has since challenged for the Cup on five other separate occasions, losing each time (three more as the Millionaires and twice as the Canucks). That means no generation in Vancouver, since the end of the Great War, has tasted the champagne of victory out of Canada’s holy grail.

Sadly, the bitterness of defeat is all this town truly expects these days.

The Vancouver fan can be compared to the jilted love from time-to-time, swooned by an appetite for victory and all her splendor, yet unprepared for the gamble that is at the root of any infatuation. Like we’re some sort of Jane Austin meta-fantasy whereby Darcy perpetually asks Elizabeth to marry her and then perpetually skips town before the wedding.

The art of being a Canucks fan is based around how one braces for crushing blows.

Once bitten, twice shy they say — but in the land of Canuck it often feels as though the fanbase is feeding off her own body, tearing herself apart limb-by-limb like an autocannibal, thirsting on the taste of her own blood.

Oh negative:

Whatever the reason, the culture of losing is so rampant here that it seems as though defeat, while still disappointing, is almost a point of collective pride for the city. Yeah we lose, fuck you, we got mountains and tonnes of green shit, and no snow an shit…fuuuuuuuckkk (said in a drunken bridge-and-tunnel slur). It’s almost like we have twisted our inability to win into a deftly accrued ability to lose.

And the rest of the country scoffs, rolling their eyes at our self-inflicted-delusion.

A few questions for you Vancouver: Are you even interested in winning? What would you do should the occasion actually arise? Could you handle that much joy Vancouver? Have you possibly dug yourself an existential hole of self-loathing so deep (hypothetically anyways) that you are now too petrified (or disinterested or too comfortable) to dig yourself out?

The one thing important to keep in mind during this week of remembrance is that this team might be ready to win: maybe. Although I highly doubt it. Coach Vee could manage to staunch the flow of blood oozing out of this bitch and slap her with identity harder then a trick walking away from a free blowjob — but that is a gargantuan if. (We’re talking Cinderella-bringing-her-pumpkins-home-to-roost type shit.)

Mike Gillis with his methodical approach to steering the ship; Vigneault with his steady precision keeping the boat on course; Forsberg with his annual will-he-or-won’t-he-sign Canuck cocktease — all of them leaving anything possible behind in their wake.

Might:

This team might win a championship one day but not before they find a city worth winning one for. That, however, is something the average citizen does have control over.

Next Up – Colorado

(Note: I’m becoming formally aware of my growing endearment to fellatio themed images. I imagine it will continue. If you don’t like it you can suck my cock.)

Try to name the three NHL teams that don’t end in S*.

In the time it took me to answer that question last night the Vancouver Canucks (yeah that’s right, we’re not one of them) gave up four goals on 13 shots on the way to a 6-1 roast by the home team — the St. Louis Blues.

Vengeance is mine saith Murray:

The loss was inevitable — Vancouver a tired road-team — St. Louis a team tired of losing.

Lest we forget last spring, where broom jokes were flogged like dead horses.

Alexandre Burrows must have been celebrating his O/T winner from Game Four still because he was on the ice for three of the Blues first four goals. Along with Henrik and still obviously flu-swined Steve Bernier.

All scored within seven minutes of the opening faceoff.

And Andrew Raycroft, clearly pissed that Luongo is back from injury, did his best to insure a Vancouver (hel)l by stepping aside from an Andy McDonald knuckle-puck .18 seconds into the first period.

Fuck the horse, let’s blame it on the pigs.

And make no mistake, we’ll flog this swine flu until the next intifada wrestles back control of the newspaper headlines.

Or balloon boy gets molested by Michael Jackson on the steps of Congress.

Or the economy jerks off into the mouth of the New York Yankees.

Or to heaven we fly on the wings of a pig (thanks Steinbeck!)

And the game last night. Or the team these past couple of road-games. You inquire dear reader?

Not their greatest work. Not their greatest work by far. But rest assured, like every other conflict or controversy we hear about in this 24 hour news cycle, it it will soon be eclipsed by something else, something far more urgent, something far more  breaking, something far more new[s].

Next Up – Detroit

*Wild, Avalanche and Lightning

“The team was good offensively, they could score goals, but they played by the seat of their pants. And the goaltending was never up to snuff. I called Steve [Yzerman] in and I said, ‘you have a lot of good individual stats, but if you don’t play a lot more defense, then the rest of the guys are going to keep playing the way that they are.’” – Legendary Scotty Bowman on the pre-dynasty Detroit Red Wings of the 90’s

Ryan Kesler, in his six year tenure with Vancouver (four with the Canucks, two with the Moose) has been more of a well guarded treasure than a well kept secret.

Never was this more clear than three years ago when Philadelphia Flyers’ feisty GM Bobby Clark offered Kesler 1.9 million to defect east and play a year on Broad Street.

It would have been a match made in hockey heaven, but the nuptuils never materialized.

Thanks-be-to-god that Dave Nonis had the wherewithal (despite this being the dawn of the penny-pinching Salary Cap era) to counter the offer sheet. A tense standoff between front offices was soon resolved but not without a very important footnote to NHL history being added to the annals of its business dealings (later to be dug up and slugged out by Brian Burke and Kevin Lowe during their now famous feud).

To the Vancouver Canucks, however, Ryan Kesler has risen from fledgling rookie with speed and potential, to defensive specialist extraordinaire (capped with a Selke nomination this spring), to offensive dynamo, carrying the load of a team seriously handicapped by injuries to the top-six corps and impotence from the bottom-six.

Roberto Luongo may be the face of the franchise, but Ryan Kesler has slowly but surely become the heart-and-soul.

And now to that period last night. It is almost like Coach Vee did a Bowman-about-face this summer, took Kesler aside and said, “look Ryan, your defense is spectacular, but your offense is suspect, the team is going to follow your lead, so if you score more goals, so will the team.”

Sunday night, Tanner Glass scored his first of the season.

Tuesday night, Rick Rypien had his first of the season and Mikhail Samuelsson potted two to lead the Canucks past the New York Rangers in a re-match of the ‘94 Cup final. All three of those goals were assisted by Kesler who hit, blocked shots, created space for his team and finished with practically every box on the score-sheet filled out in his name.

That is the type of player that wins championships, the one that captures the heart and minds of both the fans and the players.

Now it just remains to be seen: will the other Canucks keep up.

Next Up – Minnesota

“Just another day in medical hell for the Vancouver Canucks.” Elliot Pap on Vancouver’s mounting injury woes.

After suffering not one but two cataclysmic Halloween hangovers over the weekend at the hands of my amoral troupe of friends, it was only possible to witness the Canucks play the Aves the old-fashioned way — laying on my bed with a naked girl, eating Chinese food and listening to the game on the radio.

Fuck pay-per-view for this many reasons:

1) The god-awful Canucks TV segments featuring Dan “Smurf” Murphy. The one reason the Canucks continue to employ this faux-hawked midget must be due to some inside-joke nepotism that clearly assumes the team brass.

Sort of hockey’s equivalent of the village idiot, every town has one, or some other Goldberg variation therein.

I would be compelled to feel sorry for Smurf, however, my aforementioned hangover dictates the most lethal of attitude toward everything small and wimp-like.

Besides, throwing shit at the radio is way cheaper in the long-haul then if I ever get off my ass and buy a digital cable box.

2) God-awful digital cable boxes. If you don’t have one of these little faggots then you have to sit in a Vancouver sports bar (or your equivalent substitute for hell) and watch Smurf and Co. along with the hoi polloi from hell (i.e. Vancouver hockey fans).

Avoiding the pay-per-view Ponzi scheme is something I consider to be a civic duty. While Shorthouse and Garret do the call (and Shorty is the best behind Jim Hughson), it’s all  that surrounding clap-trap the broadcast provides which sends me into hallucinations of competing irritations.

Apart from listening by the fire in the comfort of your own living room, the next best thing I suggest is watching the game at the peeler bar.

3) Paying to watch a god-awful team (purported to be a contending team) playing a contending team (purported to be god-awful).

Now to the Canucks faithful, annual crushing disappointment is paramount. The season of 2009-10 is no different, pegged by pundits to finish top five in the league, the Canucks are off to an acceptable 8-7-0 start. The injury problems facing the team have been no secret and the high expectations for Vancouver (and Calgary) seem to have allowed Colorado to slip under the radar and start the year with an eye-jerking 10-2-2 record.

So while the Canucks could very well manage a respectable run in the near future, the parity of the league in the modern NHL allows devastating upsets to abound.

Two years ago the Canucks made a similar start to the season, went on a decent run in February and then missed the playoff by one point in April, simply by not winning against teams like the Avalanche.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, they did beat the Aves, I fell asleep in the comfort of my own intoxication.

Alas.

Next Up – New York

How bad can it get?

A 2-0 lead in the first period turned into a 7-2 route by the Anaheim Ducks as Vancouver coughed up an early advantage on a balmy evening in Orange County.

What started out as decent, turned into to pre-Halloween nightmare for the .500 Vancouver squad.

The Canucks started strong getting two quick goals in the first, trying to take advantage of a Ducks team that hasn’t won at home in five games.

After that it was all Duck. Giving up seven unanswered goals to a famished Anaheim squad that took advantage of a Canucks team that is missing five regular forwards and their star-goaltender.

The anemic Perry-Getzlaf-Ryan line finally got a chance to juke their stats, earning a combined eight points on the night and steering their own ship out of trouble, all-the-while watching Vancouver struggle to wade above their own .500 mark.

It seems like Vancouver, after gaining lead, forgot about their own scoring woes (remember all those forward out with injury) and gave the Ducks every chance available to get on the board, thereby sending Vancouver back north with a two-game road split.

A certain degree of hubris set in after getting the early lead, this helped the Ducks dictate the rest of the game.

Again I ask, can it get any worse?

It could, but for the Canucks what is worse then terrible is mediocrity. Unfortunately it is the mediocrity that Vancouver has excelled at for so long that makes them doomed to saddle themselves in defeat for many years to come.

To Vancouver, worst is not bad, and that sucks.

Next Up – Colorado