While I’ve got my derogatory nicknames  at the ready in case the big
additions to the Canucks’ defensive corps prove useless (Hamhouse, Keith
Dullard), there’s really no reason to be anything but optimistic about that
end of the ice this season. Willie Mitchell’s big smiling face will be
missed, of course, and swapping Shane O’Brien for Andrew Alberts is sure to
be a lateral move barring some big surprises, but overall, bearing in mind
the frankly weak back end the team iced at the end of last season one could
only see this summer’s acquisitions as a big step forward.

It’s clear that the demanding fans will be holding both Ballard and Hamhuis
to high standards as soon as the puck drops, and as a city we’re not known
for being fair to our hockey team, but I’m going to flip that shit around
and state unequivocally that I love them already.  Why not? They both put up
good numbers on teams with no real shot, they’re strong, young, and they
want to be here. Through the first two games they’ve shown signs of the dependability and authoritative physical presence Vancouver needs. I freely admit to an unhealthy appreciation as a fan of
players who were either ineffectual (O, Magic Mittens) or a straight-up
liability (still on your side, Brent Sopel), but I’m also a fan of
Kasparitis-quality hip-checks and good solid workhorse defense. Alberts,
since he deserves some mention, just has to be a #6. To be the supposedly
worst player on this Canucks blue line isn’t an unenviable position, with
the calibre of talent they’ve got on paper. The obvious holes in the team
have been filled, so I’m going to be a little disappointed if there isn’t
one total fuck-up in the roster just for comic relief. What I’m saying is, I
can’t say I wish him ill, but no matter how well Alberts plays I’m going to
miss Shane O’Brien.

So I’m devoting this afternoon to sitting in my underwear reading stats,
smoking cigarettes, and trying to think of *endearing* nicknames, like Beef
Ballard and The Ham Sandwich. Those really could go either way, now that I
think about it. Maybe I’m just hungry.

–Clayton Pierrot

There is little point for in-depth analysis at this juncture in the NHL season. The Canucks have stunk it up pretty bad the past two games, but that’s all it is — two measly games. The sum total of 2.4% of the season has now past us and the Canucks dwell where they dwell best. Need I remind everyone (I am not to the exclusion of this reminder) that there are 80 games left to go. 80 plus more hours of shinny to tear at the fabric of our collective civic mental health.

We are about to see what sort of mettle this team is made of. Unless their mettle is already apparent.

This team is almost identical to last year. Apart from new regulars joining at the forward, defense and backup goalie position the team has changed little from four months ago. This begs the questions, is this the same team that lost 11 games-in-a-row last year only to roar back in March to win 9-in-a-row and clinch the division title? Because that team had Vancouver Canucks written all over it, bold, italic and underlined. That team was the embodiment of what this club has stood for for the past 40 years:

Marginal play with flashes of brilliance followed by soul crushing defeat.

If the answer is yes, this is the same team, then there is little adjustment to be made. My suggestion to Vancouver sports fans this winter is to find a new hobby, much like your humble correspondent, in order to deflect the looming evisceration of defeat.

If the answer is no, this is not the same team, then folks, that article has not been written yet. Like trying to predict what my life would be like if my parents hadn’t gotten a divorce and I was born and raised in the sub-Saharan African village of Djenne, Mali. I could describe what that feeling could be like, but the futility of the venture would soon exhaust all repose and we would all be left standing proverbially with our balls hanging out.

I would assume immediately that if this is a different team then the past 38 teams the Canucks have iced, then Tony Gallagher is out of a job. And Willie Mitchell’s parade route is quickly implemented into the City’s engineering plans. And the bridge-and-tunnel carpet(douche)beggary on Granville Street is amplified 100 times.

Apart from that, we sit and wait. Hope that the thin tissues in your mouth are able to twart an attack from your teeth as you chew on your gums in rapt attention. Drink plenty of beer. Possibly abstain from coitus (or preferred form of stimulation) for 24 hour before each game. Carry gauze with you. Bring a friend.

Rhetorical question: how easy is it to lose three games in a row?

Next Up — Columbus

Articles of Intrigue — Hockey really is a rich man’s sport.