Issue #63 — Warrior-poet
I got hit in the head with a puck yesterday.
My face split open, the bone above my eye was exposed, blood pooled around my head like an ever expanding circle of crimson.
It was the best feeling ever.
I feel like a warrior-poet every time I strap on the pads and hit the ice. Like some kind of futuristic winter gladiator.
I told the guy beside me on the bus the other day, “we need a war, our young men are bored, they have nothing to do.”
“Well, they’re killing each other anyways,” we replied.
“Exactly.”
At the end of the day Tampa Bay has two top-10 point producers in the league yet they sit in 11th in the East.
My question is: what is Vancouver gonna do with our Art Ross winner and Gold Medal winner in this rust-age of parity?
Next Up — San Jose
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