Canucks - Where Are They Now? Dan Cloutier, A Beach Ball & History

Like most of you, I have no aptitude for mathematics or the sciences. However, I am a lover of the brown liquors and I do a passable imitation of Ted Kennedy. And not that post Chappaquiddick, Kennedy either. It’s all chow-dah.

Today at, Kneel Before Rod, we’re going to begin the first in a semi, bi monthly, weekly segment in which we highlight one of the Canucks of yesteryear and see what they’ve been up to since they wore the giant whale….

The year was 2002.  Vancouver was awash in, “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” fever and Avril Lavigne’s song, Complicated became the anthem for urban youths ready to rebel against the status quo with clip on nose rings and black Chuck Taylors.

On the local sports scene, our boys in the blue and green had taken a 2-0 game lead in their first round playoff with the much favoured, Detroit Red Wings. Optimism was high as the Canucks skated onto home ice poised to take a stranglehold on the series.

The game started on equal footing, but at the 24.6 second mark of period two, Nicklas Lidstrom took an innocent slap shot from centre ice which sailed over the impotent catching hand of Dan Cloutier and into the Canuck’s net. The Wings won the game, but more importantly, they had taken back the series. The Red Wings went on to win the next 4 straight games, dispatching the Canucks from the post season.

It wasn’t long before pictures of Dan Cloutier showed up on the internet with a kaleidoscopic beach ball getting by him and into the net. Cloutier? Well, he went on to play in the NHL for a few more years, but he was never the same. More importantly, what happened to the beach ball? 

I had a chance to catch up with, Pierre LaPlage during a layover in Houston. The following is an excerpt from his New York Times bestseller, Red, White, Blue, Yellow and Green Like Me – My Life and Times as a Beachball

“People say that the two best things about Paradise Waves, Florida is the day you leave.  A working class suburb of Orlando, Paradise Waves is best known for making the personalized license plates found at theme park gift shops all over the U.S.”

It was here that, I spent my childhood years. The son of Polish immigrants, I always had a flair for the arts. While other kids were emulating the running style of the local High School quarterback, I spent my days floating in the family pool reading, Proust.”

Me: Pierre, it’s good to see you again. Catch us up a bit. What have you been doing since the 2002 season?

Pierre: Thanks, Steve. Well, currently, I’m on the last leg of touring with a, Spin Doctors tribute band. You know, I get up late, do some hot yoga, play 18 holes, and then I’m batted around by the crowd for a few hours. I can’t complain, I’m really enjoying the second half of my life.

Me: Is that your forte, Pierre?

Pierre: No, this is more of a lark.  I was actually classically trained on the English stage. I studied under Olivier and was quite content doing, Hamlet or Ibsen 6 nights a week. Very, very terse material

Me: That’s such a departure from the Pierre we knew back in 2002. How on earth did you come to be associated with the Canucks?

Pierre: Ha, you know, like most things, it was pure happenstance; complete serendipity.  I was in Vancouver for a good friend’s son’s Bar Mitzvah. Do you remember the movie, Victory? Well he was the soccer ball that Pele bicycle kicked into the net during the film’s climax. I was actually in the film, but my scene got cut out. The Director’s idea for a pool party didn’t’ flow with the continuity of a POW camp. 

Anyways, that’s how we met, and we’ve been lifelong friends ever since.  So, I was in Vancouver, and I was just exploring the city, you know, letting the wind roll me wherever I needed to go, and a rather sudden gust picked up under me and I was blown into a yard where I proceeded to get stuck in a tree.

Well, I must have been there for hours. Luckily, a couple of kids got me down with a stick, wiped me down with a damp rag and brought me inside. I thanked the kids and prepared to be on my way, but the Mom, a lovely woman, mind you, recognized me from a production of, Godspell, I had done years ago. She asked if I had ever modeled.

Now, I hadn’t heard that question in ages. I mean, I had done some rather tasteful nudes back in the 70’s and there was an especially progressive shoot I had done for, Toys R US, but this wasn’t certainly a vocation, you understand.  Well, it turns out her husband was a disgruntled Canuck’s fan and had need for a beach ball. And the rest, as they say is l’histoire.

Me: Ha, fascinating. So, it was all done spur of the moment, no rehearsing, no premeditation?

Pierre: Oh God, no! We did it one shoot and I was eating Kosher brisket one hour later.

Me: Did you know at the time what you were doing? Were you thinking, “Wow, I’m making history here.”

Pierre: Not at all. It was a favour for some people that were more than kind to a wayward beach ball. I had no idea what it even meant until months later when I was on the road touring with a off Broadway production of CATS.

Me: When did you find out?

Pierre: Well, I was in Toronto, and me and some of the other cast members were unwinding at a local Pub and we were just chatting in a booth when these free drinks kept arriving at the table. Now, I’m all too familiar with the largesse of my fans. To this day, I make a healthy living at Comic-Con taking pictures and what not as the original ball that Elliot rolls into the garage in E.T. Ha, during my thinner days. Well. So the drinks kept coming, and finally some beautiful lass approached the table and asks me to sign her picture; and there it was.  I would have taken her back home, had I not done a dinner theatre production of, The Crucible with one of her implants. We’d been an item back in the, Studio 54 days, so no love lost there.

Pierre quit the theatre, found a local agent and began touring Canada, as “the ball.” Pierre was enjoying his new found celebrity as mentioned in this excerpt from his book:

As soon as we touched down in a new city, it was a non-stop party. My assistant was responsible for pouring 25 year old Scotch in my blow hole and she never disappointed. One morning in Winnipeg, I woke up with two women, some tennis balls we’d met the night before and a bocce ball there on a student visa. I didn’t even know their names. There I was, living every guy’s fantasy, and I couldn’t even remember it…

Unfortunately, for Pierre, soon other Photoshopped images and internet clips would begin to surface, and like so many that experience the pinnacles of fame, he was about to feel the fall to the bottom.

Me: Pierre, when did you know it was starting to get away from you, when was the ride beginning to slow down?

Pierre: It was the fall of 2004 and I was sitting in my apartment, I had just gotten a call from my agent, I’d been bumped from the centre square on Hollywood Squares, because of a .gif of Ken Hitchcock morphing into Mayor McCheese. I just couldn’t compete with that. I knew then, that things were beginning to unravel. People began to call me a “one hit wonder” and I was replaced on the touring circuit by the fireball that was made to look like it was coming out of John Tortorella’s mouth.

With his fame waning, his earnings all but depleted, Pierre decided to grasp for the brass ring once more, and tried to insert himself into the glove of Moises Alou during the NLCS series best known for the Steve Bartman incident. It was a colossal failure. Pierre was now broke, unemployable and even worse, had become hooked on purified air in order to keep him inflated.

There was a failed mismatched roommate sitcom with the baseball that went through Bill Buckner’s legs that didn’t get picked up, and a severely panned country western album. In this excerpt from his book Pierre has sunken to rock bottom.

It was after playing the part of the volley ball in the gay porn version of Top Gun: volleyball scene that a broken, Pierre’s life took a dark, twisted turn.

“… as I was getting dressed, I caught myself in the hotel mirror. I was a phantom of my former self. The purified air had drawn out my colurs, and my once deep voice, was mow a hiss. I had it all, I was a God among backyard playthings, and now here I was turning tricks in a seedy hotel room in Miami. I felt so dirty, so violated, my mouth hole was chapped and bleeding. I needed help. I needed a release. I tried several times. The wind just blew me off the bridge and even my attempts at deflating had gone for not. I needed help…. I needed help….”

And help did come. Years earlier, Pierre had met Wilson, the Volleyball during an appearance on, The Tonight Show. They’d hit it off, and kept in contact over the years. During a chance meeting at an airport in Cleveland, the two good friends became reacquainted and have been inseparable ever since.

Me: Today, you’re happily committed to Wilson, you’re clean and sober, you’ve got a successful career, and you’re about to become a father for the first time. Would you change anything? Any regrets?

Pierre: You know, Steve. I’d like to say, I do have regrets, but everything happens for a reason, and I wouldn’t be the person I am without going through all the trials I did. I’m happy. I’m happy.

Pierre LaPlage’s book “Red, White, Blue, Yellow and Green Like Me – My Life and Times as a Beachball is on sale currently…

You can follow me on Twitter @SteveintheKT . Look for my exciting one on one with the banana that got thrown at Wayne Simmonds.

  

How the World Has Changed Since Sidney Crosby Has Been Gone

 I’ve mentioned before that I’m a huge fan of movies. I’m willing to always suspend my disbelief providing it can be presented in a way that seems actually plausible. But even I can’t buy into the fact that there’s not one piece of comfortable furniture in, Superman’s “Fortress of Solitude.”

I mean this is an entire planet that perfected interstellar travel, and they’ve never heard of a futon?  You’d think someone would have said, “Hey, you know, before we bust out the whole spinning hula hoop prison and the rocket that looks a Vegas hooker’s earring, maybe you can take a look at this thing I’m working on. I call it a couch.’

No wonder, Zod wants to take over the earth. Wouldn’t’ you want to enslave a people that were responsible for the recliner or bean bag chair?

I’d have fond the plot to Superman way more believable had he gotten so pissed about putting together a book case from IKEA, he flew around the world, thus going back in time, just so he can order something from Pottery Barn.

What’s my point? My point, Clark, is this…. Sometimes, it’s the simple things that matter.

Sidney Crosby is inching ever so close to returning, and it might even be this week.  As excited as I am, I’m also very concerned.

If movies about thawing out dudes found trapped in ice (Captain America, Encino Man, that weird spider thing from, The Thing) have taught me anything, it’s that you have to go slowly and keep it simple.

Sid’s been gone for awhile (…no word on whether he shines shoes anymore or not) and the NHL is a whole new game. Let’s ease him in shortly like we would if he was encased in ice. Here’s what scientists did for the “iceman” found in Europe several years ago, and heres what we should do for Sid.

Iceman – Scientists spend days trying to convince him about wondrous “flying machines” and “doors that open as if by magic.”

Crosby – Chris Kunitz spends hours trying to convince Sid that the Leafs are leading the Northeast Diviosn.

Iceman – Communicating with a crude series of grunts and hand gestures makes his assimilation into the new world difficult.

Crosby – Becomes frustrated after asking Kevin Weeks to repeat himself for the 3^rd time in the media scrum.

Iceman – Paints a series of pictures on his cave wall depicting a stark existence in a frozen wasteland fleeing from feral beasts.

Crosby – Just got his itinerary for his first game in Winnipeg.

Iceman – His body is not accustomed to the various bacteria and microbes that did not exist during his time and could become very ill, and even possibly die.

Crosby – Has told James Neale to stop flossing in the sauna for about the hundredth time.

Iceman – Becomes frightened and agitated at the loud, jarring noises that permeate our new world.

Crosby – Looking forward to playing in Columbus.

Iceman – Wears the skins and furs of animals to keep from freezing to death in the harsh climes of his world.

Crosby – Goes out of his way to avoid a welcome back hug from Max Talbot.

Iceman – Describes to scientists, his tribe’s strategy for hunting animals that have attacked their village.

Crosby – Circles his first meeting with David Steckel on the calendar.

Iceman – Exhibits extreme confusion and attempts to destroy the images, when he’s shown TV for the first time.

Crosby – Fast forwards, through the NHL on NBC’s studio show after Mike Milbury calls Shane Doan a pussy

Iceman – Paleontologists flown in to lure him out of his cave with fruits, meat and other delicacies so they can study him to learn about the origins of our species.

Crosby – Worried about getting hit in the head with an errant cup, during the Islanders, nickel beer night.

Iceman – He’s constantly on alert, ever cautious, watching for giant, savage animals on the prowl for food.

Crosby – Coaches remind him that Jordan Staal’s still not familiar with using a towel in the locker room.

Iceman – Theology experts brought in to try and explain why he is praying to a large rock, devoid of emotion, substance and thought.

Crosby – Trainers remind Sid that he moved out of Mario Lemieux’s house a few years ago.

Follow me on Twitter @steveintheKT. I've been linked to 2 of  the 3 Teen Angels

Sure Bob Cole Has A Good Beat, But He's Hard to Dance To

I’m not exactly what you call a “music guy.” As a matter of fact, my I-Tunes account is nothing but podcasts and songs I’ve downloaded for the kiddo’s, “I-Touch”. Seriously, if I put one more song on there by the Jonas Brothers, I’m going to have to invoke Meaghan’s Law on it.

 Here are three things I just don’t get about music…

1.      Bjork. It’s like one of those weird Japanese game shows had a baby with Meg Tilly and set it to music. I don’t want to listen to anyone whose name sounds like something you’d find at IKEA.

2.      Singing shows. I am apparently the only person in the world that doesn’t’ have aspirations to sing. And even if I did, I’d win hands down. You know why? I’d have a hook. Who cares if you can sing, you’ve got to have a good back story that keeps people interested. “Yeah, I know, I butchered that high note, but I’m only here because it was my dying Grandmother’s wish before she left for Iraq. Oh and she raised me, and she has ADHD.” Winner!

3.      Tom Petty – When Steve Buscemi’s wife fantasizes, she closes here eyes and thinks of Tom Petty. 

In closing, get off my damn lawn! Enjoy this week’s, “Fun with Audio”

Princess Pat and the Ric-A-Dam-Doo

When my brother enlisted in the Canadian Armed Forces back in 1983, I remember my Mum was against it. She knew things had been tough for Dave. We were aware that he had a learning disability, and that the prospects for college, something my parents wanted for all of us, was not in his future. But being a career military man was definitely something she did not want.

My Dad had gotten Dave a couple of jobs, but none of them with the promise of rising above their blue collar yoke. Instead, Dave chose the military. “…serve my time. Get my pension.” was what he told my Mum to assuage the doubts and pangs of guilt she’d been feeling.

I still remember the solemn, wordless ride to the airport, and the quick, almost ethereal way he seemed to vanish through the security gate. It was the first time I’d ever seen my Dad cry. For a 13 year old boy, whose every idea of what it took to be a man, it was humbling. I had no idea just how much he loved us. I guess we never do.

Dave did well in the military. He quickly rose to Master Corporal and became one of the highest ranking flight technicians in the Canadian Armed Forces. More importantly, he was excelling. The specter of any learning disability had evaporated with every award and achievement he added to his collection. He was excellent at his job, and was flown all over the world to do it.

David was eventually sent to Sarajevo as part of the United Nations peacekeeping contingent during the hostilities there in the early 90’s. When he came back to Canada, back to Mum and Dad, he was different.

He spent more time alone, more time away from friends. Drinking more than he should have, getting into a rage one moment, a melancholic stupor the next. People are always so quick to label those that come back from serving their country with clinical assertions like, “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder” without ever really sitting down with them, talking to them and finding out what’s really wrong. We knew he was different, we just didn't know why.

The only thing I did know, was that something had stolen David from us, and replaced him with this hollow changeling.

David and I were never the best of friends. We were brothers, but a falling out years ago had made reunions between us silent incarcerations, rather than joyous homecomings. I don’t think you could have imagined two more different people in the world then David and I. As mechanically gifted as Dave was, as adventurous as he was, I was bookish and immensely gifted at only calling for estimates.

October 7, 2007, the week before Dad’s birthday, David was making the drive to Kelowna on a motor bike he considered his pride and joy. We don’t know his mood at the time or how fast he was going, but we do know that he hit something on the road, and crashed his bike into a light stanchion. His heart stopped immediately. David Peter Shalagan 1964-2007

Watching  my Mum and Dad saying goodbye to a son before their time is one of the most haunting images of my life. I have a picture of my Mum in her understated black garb, only causing the paleness of her English color to be amplified. What made it harder, I guess if that’s even possible, was that Mum and Dad couldn’t have kids, so they adopted David. (I came along later. I referred to myself as “The Miracle Child” I was also beaten into submission every day with a Fisher Price helicopter until I was 10). He was their first, their joy of joys.

I was in Houston the day David died. The phone call came at 6:23 AM, and my Dad’s quivering voice was all I needed to hear to know that something horrific had happened. After we hung up, I sat in my office at the house for hours, not really even aware of what had happened.

David was the biggest hockey fan I knew. He played in the local house league when we were kids, and no matter what was going on in our lives. Hockey was always a common ground for us. It seemed like those quiet car rides to the rink, or hot chocolates from the snack bar brought us together moreso than anything else did.

Like most men, sports were a bridge for us, a way to channel our feelings without having to actually talk about feelings. David and I had always been huge Canuck’s fans. We fell and rose with each game. Hell, sometimes it went from shot to shot. Even when he moved to Oiler or Jet country, he still kept his love of the boys in blue and green alive.

And like every other part of our muddled relationship, we argued over the Canucks too. “Why is Garth Snow in the net?  “The Keenan Era will be a glorious time for Canuck’s fans.” were some of our more celebrated arguments. It never seemed to matter what the situation was, we were just predestined to be on opposite ends of it. I miss that.

Today, we’ll wear our poppies, Today, we’ll hear “In Flanders Field”, and mourn those who paid the terrible price for our freedoms, but there’s so much more we can do for the men and women who have sworn to watch over us, to protect us.

For those that have chosen this life, the least we can do is pay them back.

Here are some links to hockey related charities throughout North America: that support our military.

www.defendingtheblueline.com – An organization that provides hockey equipment, coaching, clinics, etc.., for the children of military personnel.

www.nhlpa.com – The National Hockey League Players’ Association has a strong commitment to helping the military community.

www.nhl.com – The NHL is devoted to helping and celebrating the men and women of the Armed Forces.

Don't Panic. Now is the Time to Panic!

Irving Berlin was famous for telling young, ambitious songwriters to “…write what you know.” I hope this isn’t true because I don’t think the world’s ready for an erotic thriller adapted from old, Gentle Ben episodes.

Here are three of my other ideas that didn’t exactly bear fruit:

1.      Snackster – Hot on the heels of Napster, my idea was to make use of all those unused condiments in the door of your refrigerator by letting users “share” them.  Right? I mean we’ve all bought a jar of mango chutney because we wanted to see the hot girl from, Top Chef  in her bra.  Users could trade condiments back and forth all the while providing me with a small fee for locating them.  The result? It barely got to the Beta stage, it seems room temperature tartar sauce and bubble wrap combine into something the CDC is calling Hepatitis J. 

2.      Clapster – OK, yes, it’s true, I have a thing for putting “-ster” on the end of things. Honestly, I think it takes something rather common, and classes it up a bit; like polishing an old lamp or Paris Hilton’s vagina. My idea was a simple but timely one:  I would contract with various daytime talk shows, town hall meetings, infomercials, executions, etc… and supply them with studio audience members. The pricing was very easy:

• $50 for a standard audience member
• $100 for an “intense listener”
• $250 for a vigorous head nodder.
• $500 for someone to ask a question that makes the audience clap emphatically.
• $750 for a concerned housewife to interrupt the speaker with a “What about the children!” blast.
• $1000 for someone willing to be tased and or removed by security.

3.      Common Sensinator 2000 – Perhaps my greatest and most unfulfilled idea. High profile clients would pay handsomely to keep me on a 24 hour, 7 day a week retainer.  I had one job and one job only. Anytime said person is about to put a shark tank in their home,  grow a creepy beard, meet up with a stripper behind a Taco Bell or star in a reimagining of Annie with robot orphans, they’d look over at me and I’d just shake my head. Problem solved.

What’s my point? My point is this… Sometimes the heart of an idea gets lost in the details.

The Canucks have gotten off to a rather tepid start and the hockey loving public in Vancouver is not taking it well. Check out the message boards on online forums, turn on the radio or just approach, Gina in Accounting, and you’ll soon learn there’s a dark blue and green cloud hanging over the city.

But is this just the usual panic of a fan base known for making something like a slow start and some defensive setbacks into the equivalent of “Jonestown” on ice? (…and yes, it’s a musical.) 

I’ve decided to gauge the temperature of the typical Canuck’s fan, and see if they really are as hysterical as the rest of the NHL makes them out to be.

I’ve put together a random sampling of everyday situations. Some are innocuous, some inflammatory, and some are even just plain old silly. Armed with the hypothetical situations, I took to the local malls and asked typical Vancouverites their reactions to said stories. I then asked those Vancouverites wearing Canuck’s gear their responses to the same situations.  

Here are the results….

Q. You’ve locked your keys in the car. What would you do?

Typical Person: “I’d probably call a locksmith or someone that had an extra key. And just wait quietly.

Canuck’s Fan: “What? My keys!!! IN the CAR!! SOMEONE HELP ME TIP THIS DAMN THING OVER AND LIGH IT ON FIRE!!! THEY’RE MY KEYS!!!!

Q.  Your son or daughter has been an exemplary student for years. She recently brought home a C+ on a paper. What would you do?

Typical Person: Tell her to maybe study harder, but a C+ is nothing to really worry about. It’s still well above normal, and she’ll correct it next time around.

Canuck’s Fan: After the rigorous series of paternity tests were done, I’d put a wadded up pile of bills in her hand, give her a hunk of jerky, and send her on her way. If you want to be a Peterson, you know it’s all about, “…what have you done for me lately?”

Q.  You’re at a restaurant and the Waiter brings you the wrong entrée. What do you do?

Typical Person: “I would explain the error to the Waiter, and ask to have it replaced. I would hope the Manager would buy us dessert or perhaps a gift card or something.”

 Canuck’s Fan: I’d call the Waiter over and point out the mistake. By “point out” I mean launch it across the table and then try and choke him out. I’d get the Manager involved, and declare a Jihad on the kitchen staff. I don’t need your free “Chocolate Lava Cake!!”  And the next time I show up at that restaurant, that Waiter better be gone!!!

Q: You’re at a reception for one of your children’s school activities. Someone at your table disagrees with your opinion. What do you do?

Typical Person: While I believe strongly in my convictions, I understand that people have differing opinions. I wouldn’t let it bother me.

Canuck’s Fan: Obviously this guy’s a dick! I’d probably write him a letter or call him later or go online and make sure everyone knew what an idiot he is, because he had an opinion that’s different than mine. Oh, let me guess, he’s probably from Toronto. Yeah, big shot, elitist jerk.

Q. How do you feel about suicide cults?

Typical Person: I think they’re sad, horrible organizations that pray on the disturbed and disenfranchised.

Canuck’s Fan: Is this almost done, I have to pick up my game worn, Peter Nordmark jersey and get to the big tweet up!

Follow me on Twitter @SteveintheKT. I feel your pain. I do!!!!

The Celebrity Name for Kardashian & Canuck Breaks 13 Obscenity Laws

Look, it’s early, I know that, but I’m just going to say what we’re all thinking at that time of year; Valentine’s Day is a scam!

Sure, I’m not exactly what you call a “romantic”, I mean, haven’t we all been escorted out of “Build A Bear” for recording selections from, 9 1/2 Weeks to stuff into a unicorn. No just me? Probably, just me?

I just don’t get it, why do we set aside just one day to profess our love for the person / Lindsay Wagner cutout we’re with. Why do we put ourselves through the agony of pretending to listen about young pinots, or listening to jazz, just in the hope that tonight’s the night she’ll let you call out Jill Whelan’s name in bed

Hey, guess what? Cassanova didn’t have to worry about the prix fixe menu or man-scaping, and you know what? I’m not either. I’m out, Sherman. I’m out. I’m done with this thing called love.

You can catch me stenciling Sylvia Plath quotes onto conversation hearts.

Yep, it’s all different from here on out. You won’t find me reading from Sonnet 18 today. I’m going with Sonnet 11A – That’s a list of Shakespeare’s nicknames for boobs: Capules, Rosencrantz & Guildenstern, etc…

There’ll be no cute treasure maps tucked into your purse leading you to a romantic picnic lunch; instead mine will lead you to the shallow graves of rough sex workers or missing interns.

You can forget rose petals strewn across the bed and backlit by jasmine scented candles. Nope, the only concern I’ll show will be the whipped soy butter substitute I’ll lean the copy of “Last Tango in Paris” against.

I’m not calling to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, rather to ask for bail after being arrested at a Godiva’s after an altercation over their refusal to inject ether into the truffles.

Do I have a point? Yes, yes I have a point! And my point is this: It’s all about how you see the world.  Some people think an open window is an invitation to engage in witty banter with Vinnie Delpino, whereas I see it as the springboard to go from creepy anonymous drifter to trade marking the term, “John Mark Karr-iffic.”

Look, I get it, there’s a nothing a guy won’t do to seem more attractive/interesting to a woman. And let’s face it, crying during Ryan Gosling movies and a tribal tattoo just ain’t cutting it anymore.

I’m just going to tell it like it is gals. You’re smarter than us; plain and simple. As a matter of fact, we may not even crack the top three species, let alone being in the top two genders. I’m pretty sure there’s a waterskiing squirrel or a chicken that plays tic-tac-toe at a state fair out there that has a little something to say about that.

Case in point, last week, a guy in Ohio killed himself and released his menagerie of wild animals loose on the public. I'm willing to bet that when it's all said and done, at the root of his problems was a Josh Groban  album playing, and a love unrequited. I just don’t get it. I mean, what's the fascination we have with trying to domesticate wild animals? 

Sure, a lot of people see Diane Fossey living with gorillas, and they think “grand sociological experiment,” but let's call it what it really is, the ultimate Furrie fetish. What she accomplished with years of smearing herself with gorilla feces and beating her chest, I knocked out in a weekend with Craigslist and some Mexican vicodin.

Look, we get it, wild animals are majestic, chimeran, beasts that we long to understand, but unless you can use them as slot machines or vacuum cleaners like in, The Flintstones let's just let them be.  I'm sure every white tiger and silverback gorilla's dream is to be ogled by some guy and his yard long margarita at the Bellagio.

You know who's to blame for all this, don't you, don't you? Stringent animal rights laws. If Marlin Perkins had been allowed to trap and tag surly waitresses and hookers like he wanted, then none of this would have ever happened.

Anyways, athlete sexing enthusiast Kim Kardashian is back on the free market and the Canucks should use the remainder of the salary cap to jump all over her. Uhhm, figuratively.

If Kim Kardashian was a Canuck:

·         We’d instantly have a player who has experience with several rings.

·         Staph outbreak in the locker room would be the least infectious thing for the Canucks to worry about.

·         Pucks going in the nets off of back end deflections would be a thing of the past.

·         Khloe  = Semenko

·          Team unity at an all time high. Kesler no longer feels awkward being the only one who waxes.

·         Luongo no longer blamed for clogging the drain with hair in the shower.

·         HBO’s 24/7 series picks Vancouver for their next installment. It will be shot entirely in night vision.

·         Bulky shoulder pads blamed for concussions to be replaced by sleek, stylish looks ready for brunch or the beach.

·         Instead of playing a song when a goal’s scored they go right to body shots.

·         Power play percentages soar when Sean Avery is penalized 8 times for delay of game as he tries to exchange moisturizing tips with her.

·         Alain Vigneault catches himself midway before he tells her to ride the bench. You just never know how that’s going to play itself out.

·         Anson Carter asks for, waits, demands a professional tryout contract!

·         Luongo’s focus improves as Kardashina takes every interview, media request, photo shoot, for herself.

·          Closed door meeting after she keeps referring to Henrik and Daniel as Khloe and Khourtenay.

·         Canucks are the only team in the league with a category for “picking the right shoes” for the skills competition.”

·         Equipment moved out for new Canuck’s VIP Room. Ballard and Hodgson not on the list.

Follow me on Twitter @steveinthekt. I’m an Autumn

 

Fun with Audio 2 - Don Cherry, Glen Ross

So, my Dad called me last night and wanted to know why Don Cherry hates these cans. It took me a while to figure it out, but I think my Dad wanted to know why Don Cherry hates the Canucks.

If you missed it, hockey and French whorehouse upholstery enthusiast, Don Cherry let everyone know just what the Canuck’s deal is.  (5:00 mark)

The Canucks, and especially Ryan Kesler were unfazed by Cherry’s criticism which can only mean he’s about to take it one step further (louder).  It seems for this week’s, Coach’s Corner, Cherry’s added a wrinkle to his schtick.

According to an inside source, he’s (Cherry) gotten legendary scribe David Mamet to write a response to Kesler and the Canucks. Luckily, I know one of the guys from Industrial Light and Magic who works one of the remotes for Ron MacLean’s face. I think he’s the “intense stare” guy.

Anyways, I’ve gotten an advance copy. I just hope it’s not incendiary or anything

Again, Big thanks to my friend @mackarelsoda for the impressions. He's a great follow!