Black Ice Vancouver

It was announced the other day that long time Canucks radio color-commentator, Tom Larscheid, would retire. He will be replaced by Deutsche Eishockey Liga stalwart, Dave Tomlinson. There seems to be evidence that Larscheid was given the slip for a younger, prettier (imagine Tomlinson’s blue eyes piercing through your radio) model.

Larscheid was a goof, albeit a loveable one. Tomlinson may be Ferraro-lite, but he still has this up on the former Whale:

The former Alder Mannheim Eagle frozen in time right before he is sent to Germany.

He won a number of championships and accolades during his hockey career in Europe, but you know that in his heart-of-hearts he was thinking the whole time, “one day I’m gonna go home, usurp a local media legend, then call the color on local radio when the hometeam wins a Stanley Cup in their 40th season in the NHL.” It brings a new meaning to hockey cliche No. 36 – great vision for the ice.

Larchaid had a fine run and some memorable quotes and antics and but he was just another cog in the loser wheel this city has been spinning for a  long time. Out with the old and in with the…let’s see those retro jerseys again:

Okay, now I have the metaphysical grip to win a Stanley Cup.

Oh, and who gives a holy shit who calls the shots when/if the Canucks ever manage to win. They win. Right? So fuck you bloggers, eh. I’m tired and I’m now going to bed.

“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