Archive for the ‘best shape of life’ Category

Throwing caution to the wind: Puck Huffers give their controversial All-Decade Picks

February 28, 2009

(Big thanks to the great duo of ZoĆ« and Kim from Puck Huffers for this great group of picks. We’d say they have balls but … uh … they don’t. Make sure that you follow their hysterical coverage of the Pittsburgh Penguins.)

We thought about this from many different angles. In the end, however, we decided to create the team that we, as human beings, would draft for fun, i.e. in order to piss everyone off. We have strange fixations and obsessions in the world of hockey that not even we understand, and an opportunity like this to indulge them is too great to pass up. If you want us to seriously apply our honed judgments of the league and talent as hockey fans, you’re out of luck. We have decided instead to have the times of our lives.

First, our all-decade forward line.

It would be centered by Mario Lemieux, because he is obviously still in the best shape of his life.
His wingers would clearly have to be people of amazing talent, skill, and virtue. Not many people deserve to play with 66.
We have, in an unprecedented decision, chosen Rick Nash of the Columbus Blue Jackets and Cal Clutterbuck of the Minnesota Wild.

Rick Nash is pretty much the guy on your floor at college that didn’t do anything except drink beer and watch sports obsessively, saying things like “fucking Madrid FC” regarding games that no one watched except for him. We think he would be tons of fun to hang out with.
He also has great hands and great skill and could probably take some sick passes from Mario. He makes plays that no one on his team even thinks of because, let’s face it, while CBJ may be the hardest working team in hockey (and we’ll take that assertion with us to our deaths) they’re not the most talented by any means. Seeing Nash with Lemieux would just make us happy. Even if it really doesn’t make any sense.

Clutterbuck is pretty much a thug. He currently leads the NHL in hits, surpassing the glory of Brooks Orpik, which we don’t approve of at all. But. . .if anyone deserves it. . .it’s Cal. The boy is a 20-year-old wrecking machine, but he knows how to cash in on his goals as well. Really, we’re just kind of amused by him. We’d like to see him plow into some fuckers and basically decapitate them, then take a sweet pass from Nash and sneak it in off the post. This also makes no sense, but we are satisfied with our choices. His name is also amazing.



For our defense, we pick Sergei Gonchar because he’s amazing and we’re homers, and we also pick Scott Niedermayer because he’s sick and denying it would be stupid on our part. They’re both consummate defensemen–potentially lethal offensively, and also quite responsible in their own ends. They’re also veterans, clearly. On our team, Gonchar would wear the C. He is a fucking warrior. Sorry Scott, you are too. . .just not in the same way that is close to our hearts.

If you read our blog, you know that we have invented our own little universe in which John Curry of the Wilkes-Barre/Scranton Penguins is God. We worship goaltenders. If John Curry is God then Steve Mason is Jesus Christ. We’re still reeling from the photo shown above, in which he stones Henrik Zetterberg like an honest-to-god PIMP. No goaltender in the league has a more promising future, and no goaltender has come along in a looooooooong time with that amount of raw talent, skill, intelligence, and athleticism. Plus, we have an ongoing love affair with everyone who wears a Blue Jackets uniform. (Even R.J. Umberger a little bit, the slimy bastard.) Mason is glorious. Better than any of your false idols. It’s called blasphemy, everyone. BLASPHEMY.

Okay, so, we’re cheating a little bit here. Herb Brooks coached the 1999-2000 Pittsburgh Penguins and that was the last NHL team he coached before his death in 2003. It was a weird year. No one hit 100 points, but Jagr took home the Art Ross. Pittsburgh made the playoffs and lost in six games to the Flyers in the Semifinals. . .gross. Luckily, thanks to Philly’s long tradition of choking in the playoffs, it couldn’t get any weirder when they played eventual Cup champs New Jersey. But anyway. If you don’t want Herb Brooks coaching your team, we question your sanity. Honestly, the Penguins could probably have used him this season. Michel Therrien or Dan Bylsma he is not. He’s scarier. He knows what the hell is going on. Even in death.

Oh, Matthew Barnaby. . .your name warms our hearts verily. You can be our all-decade loudmouth/pest/badass.
We’re pretty sure by this point a love of Matthew Barnaby in Pittsburgh is genetic.
A person from southwestern Pennsylvania who doesn’t like Barnaby is not to be trusted.
We have to pick him for this.
Our genetic makeup won’t let us do otherwise.

Tie Domi fought you and he didn’t give a shit how big you were. He was 5’10” and he was going to murder you.
Or at least show you what he was made of.
Courage like that is necessary on a team.
Put him on the ice with either Cal or Barnaby. Instant line brawl.
We don’t support in any way the idea that the NHL needs to turn into a circus, but line brawls clearly don’t happen enough anymore.
He could teach Steve Mason how to throw ’em down and then we’d really be in business.

We can’t imagine a better, more lovely team than this.
We’re sorry we cheated, made irrational decisions, and picked guys whose careers’ golden ages had long passed by the turn of the century.
But man. . .we had fun doing it.