:: An intelligent discussion on riots, and how to prevent them ::

Scotty: What did you get for your birthday, Canucks tickets for the next four rounds?
Me: Ha, no, I got a watch. But going to games cuts into my rioting time anyway.
Scotty: You're the third person who has said that to me today.
Me: Haha.
Scotty: It's pretty bad when you have to have anti-rioting commercials.
Me: I know, so dumb. I mean, listen, if I'm gonna riot, I'm gonna riot*. I'm not going to pull the gas-soaked rag out of the police car gas-tank just because I suddenly remember that Kevin Bieksa told me not to.
Scotty: I know... I can't be responsible when I'm liquored up.
Me: No, of course not. If you were down there last year, every cop would have been Boston Crabbed to death.
Scotty: How fitting, too.


*Dear law enforcement and other Internet do-gooders: I'm not actually going to riot. Chill out.

:: The Day After ::

I'm sure at some point in the future, I'll write something longer about the end of the Canucks' playoff run, the Game 7 collapse, and the riot that, quite frankly, I'm already sick and tired of hearing and reading about. But not today.

Today I don't feel like doing anything.

Today, I'm just so God damn sad.

:: End it Now ::

I can't take this anymore.

Can't take the cheering, the stomach knots, the eating, the drinking – Oh God, the drinking. I can longer survive through these ultra-highs and ultra-lows that come with having a team in the Stanley Cup final.

You think the players are tired after playing this long into June? Well, we're not used to having to cheer this long, either. And to be completely honest, I'm nearly ready for it to be done, as much fun as it may be. And make no mistake, it's been one helluva run.

But for the past two months, it seems like all I've done is eat pub food or pizza (or both), surviving on a diet of light beer, bring-your-own-appy platters and never-ending hope.

And when I haven't been eating or drinking – and watching my bank account dwindle as a result – the emotional strain has been too much. I can't sleep the night before games, I wake up early and with a nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach on game days, and I can't focus on much else other than the game. And in the rare moments not spent thinking about Tim Thomas or the power play, I spend planning for the next time I'll be thinking about Tim Thomas or the power play.

Where are we watching the game? How am I getting there? Do I have to leave work early? How early? How will I get home? Who will feed the dog? Is Christene coming?

It's not just me, either. Just moments ago, I got this message from Meghan: "I'm trying not to hyper-ventilate. That's normal, right?"

Normal? Sorry, we gave up normal weeks ago. This is the Stanley Cup. This is Vancouver – normal doesn't live here anymore.

And as much as I've lived and died with the team through the last few months, I don't know I could handle a Game 7. I have enough reserve strength to last through tonight, but after that? Fumes.

Before Friday's game, I threatened the Hockey Gods to give us a victory. They politely obliged. And today? Today is not a time for threats - instead, I ask them for a favour:

Put me out of my misery. Let it be over tonight, in Boston. Let me spend my Wednesday evening with the TV off; let me take my dog for a long walk; let my bank account rest; let me go to bed happy, not nervous. Let my liver have a lunch break – my heart, too.

Please, Hockey Gods, let me live my life.

:: Weather for Winning ::

It is cold and overcast today - very un-June like, and I just had this conversation with my brother.

Chris: This is good weather for a Canucks' win.

Me: I don't know what the weather has to do with anything, but I'll agree with you.

Chris: I just figured it'll be a cold day in Hell before the Canucks win the Stanley Cup, and it's pretty cold out.

Me: Good point.

Chris: Yeah, the Canucks aren't going to win on a sunny day. That just would never happen.

:: A post in which I threaten and possibly anger the Hockey Gods ::

There has to be a way, right?

This won't happen to us again, this losing, not now, after all this. After all we've invested – emotionally and financially (because those car flags ain't cheap). No, it cannot be.

Yet, I fear it is. I hope I am wrong.

If you have to ask what I'm talking about, well, then you probably won't care about the rest of this column. But on the slim chance you'll continue to read, I'm speaking of the Stanley Cup. The Holy Grail.

And more specifically, I'm talking about the fact that the Vancouver Canucks – who just a week and a half ago were talked about as though they'd already won it – have lost two straight games, both badly, after winning the first two, both narrowly, and appear on the verge of blowing the best chance they've ever had to capture the trophy in question.

So yeah, I'm a little nervous and fear the worst. And I know Canuck fans are conditioned this way – as though we're Deloreans on an assembly line, destined for a few bright moments but, ultimately, failure. But for me, it's even worse because I am, when it comes to sports, a fairly pessimistic sort. Drives my brother crazy. Just ask him.

And here's the thing – I don't want to be this way. I hate it about myself and I really TRY not to be. Honest, I do. But sometimes I can't shake it.

Sometimes, after all these years, I wonder why the Hockey Gods – if such deities truly exist – refuse to give us Canucks fans a break. I mean, one Stanley Cup – just one – is that too much to ask? The Carolina Hurricanes have one, for Christ's sakes.

But before I delve too far into negativity, it must of course be pointed out that the Canucks are not losing this series, nor have they, in fact, trailed in a series throughout the entire playoff run. Not once. They are currently tied. And have two of three remaining games at home. They can still do this. Nobody said it was going to be easy; the Stanley Cup is the hardest trophy to win in pro sports, so it shouldn't be. And there are as many reasons to suggest they'll pull it off as they are to suggest they won't. I get that. I try to remind myself of that often.

And in the meantime, I hope.

I hope Roberto Luongo starts playing like Roberto Luongo – actually, I'd prefer he started playing like Tim Thomas, but I digress – and I hope the Sedins and Kesler and Raymond and the entire powerplay score a goal. Maybe 5 goals. Whatever, just put up a number.

I would love for all of those things to happen. All fans would. And when fans want something like that they often start talking about having to pray – literally beg and plead with – to the Hockey Gods for a little luck.

And fans being fans, we'll do whatever it takes to help sway said luck, as though our own personal actions will somehow affect the outcome. I put myself squarely in this camp, as irrational as it is. We wear our lucky shirts. We watch it at one house only, or switch to another friend's place after a loss; change bars, change beers. Sit in the same seats. Different seats. Stand up. Lie down. Hop on one foot.

Whatever it takes.

And we hope and we pray that one day the Gods will do us a kindness. Once, just once.

But here's the thing: 40 years of asking hasn't done us a lot of good. So yeah, I'm getting a little fed up. The time for asking is over. So here's this:

Dear Hockey Gods,

Throw us a fucking bone.

Or at the very least, just tell me what fucking seat on the couch I'm supposed to sit in Friday.

:: This is really happening ::

I know it's been quite some time since I posted here – I'd apologize for that, but I'm not sorry – and a lot has gone on in the interim. For one, I did in fact turn 30 years old, while in Vegas with my friends; Macho Man Randy Savage died; my dog spent the better part of two days throwing up, thus costing me a $515 vet bill; and most importantly – and these two things are likely related – the Canucks advanced to the Stanley Cup finals and the world, despite claims to the contrary, did not end last Saturday.

To be honest, the lack of Rapture came as a surprise to me, if only because, as I mentioned, the Vancouver Canucks are in the fucking Stanley Cup finals. If ever there was a reason to think all humanity was about to cave in upon itself, this may have been it.

At least that's how most fans here saw it, as we've grown oh-so-accustomed to failure, to bad things happening at the last minute; to shots ringing off goal posts and riots breaking out in the streets.

Yes Vancouver, it seems failure is what we do, what we've always done.

And while I'm loath to go all deep on y'all and suggest this somehow mirrors my life as I enter my 30s and leave my 20s behind – after all, I had a pretty good 10 year run there – there are a few similarities. Without getting into specifics, I had a few speed bumps in my early/mid 20s, a few spectacular failures – shit, I ended up in Northern Alberta for Christ's sake, pulling in a whopping $26,000 a year.

I look back eight or so years, and shake my head. Sure, we had a helluva time – a helluva time – but some of the things that went on, my god... well, nevermind. Said I wouldn't get into specifics, and I meant it. Doesn't matter though – most of you were there. You know.

But here's the thing – it got better. It is better. It's fucking fantastic, as a matter of fact.

I'm not the same stupid idiot I was when I was 22, nobody is. (Even Kyle said to me the other day, "Everybody changes. Look at me – if I didn't change, I'd probably have AIDS right now and be dead." I did not dispute his claim.)

So yes, things get better. And – now we'll just seamlessly move back into the sports realm here, if you don't mind – things seem to be getting better here, too. Vancouver pulled off one hell of an Olympic party last year; many said it was the greatest Olympics in the event's long history, and they're probably right.

The party went off without a major hitch, perhaps signaling for once and for all that we can have something good without blowing it. Everyone seemed to get along. Everyone was (mostly) positive. There were no riots.

And now, here we are, 15 months removed from that success, and 17 years after the last "success" of our beloved Canucks, though success of course is a relative term – the team did lose, after all.

But this time, maybe it really is different. Maybe, just maybe, it really is better. After all, the team itself is remarkably better than either the scrappy '82 squad or the team that, led by Trevor Linden, came one goal away from winning it all in 1994.

This year's team is expected to win.

And the difference between this team and other Canucks teams with similar expectations – those rosters of the early 2000s, for example – is that this time they're actually doing it. They're actually winning. Not the whole thing yet, of course, but still... those great teams of the 2000s were golfing by now.

I get the feeling that a lot of people don't know how to deal with such a phenomenon. I know I don't. I mean, we simply aren't used to this. There must have been some kind of mistake, right? Some kind of clerical error? We're in the what finals?

Since the Canucks punched their ticket to the big dance earlier this week, I've swapped many a text message with my brother, and most end – or start – like this.

"This is really happening."

Sometimes we'll talk about what we'll do if they actually win – what we'll say, where we'll be, or how much we'll drink.

But regardless of those finer details, Chris predicted there will be "mayhem." I agreed with him. There will be – not a replay of the Stanley Cup riots mind you, but a better kind. A happier kind.

Because this isn't 1994 anymore.

It's better.

:: Repeat performance ::

For Games 3 and 4 of the Vancouver Canucks/Chicago Blackhawks series, people watched as a group at Davy and Colleen's house. As luck would have it, the good guys lost both games - and in ugly fashion, no less.

So a rule was put in place Friday night – after the Game 4 loss – that, should the Canucks win Game 5, thus staving off elimination, no one would be allowed to watch the game at Davy and Colleen's. Which is really too bad because there's usually lots of good food, but it's what had to be done for the team.

The Canucks, you may have heard, did indeed win Sunday, and tonight is another do-or-die affair. I, for one, am going to watch the game in the exact same place – the shitty, old, uncomfortable couch in our basement – where I watched Sunday's win. I am going to drink the same thing I drank last time – one Coke Zero, one beer. I may even dig out the same clothes from the laundry bin that I was wearing Sunday night.

And I advise everyone to steer clear of Davy and Colleen's. Actually, it's a demand. In fact, this what I just told my brother during a text-message conversation:

"If anybody even thinks about watching the game and Davy and Colleen's, I'm going to set fire to their cars. And quite frankly, Ian's house is a little too close (to Davy and Colleen's) for comfort. He's gonna have to watch somewhere else."

(Post-script: Chris informs me that Ian and Davy have men's league ball, so they'll be far away from their homes, which is good. What is bad is that Chris watched the last game at Ian's. The solution? Chris will have to break in to Ian's house and watch by himself. Yeah, that seems logical.)

And if we're lucky enough to have a Game 7 to watch, we're all gonna be in a dilly of a pickle – the Cannons are scheduled to play Thursday at 6:30 p.m. I'll forfeit if it means the Canucks will win, but I supposed this is why PVRs were invented. That probably makes more sense.

:: Priorities, continued ::

Christene: You know, I'm convinced that you'd miss the birth of your own child for a Canucks' playoff game.

Me: Oh, c'mon, give me a break....

Me: .... Well, what round of playoffs?

This was probably not the right answer.

:: Priorities ::

After a year and a half of "training" I finally thought I'd made some headway with regard to turning Christene into a sports fan, and more importantly, a Canucks fan. I mean, she's already professed her love for her beloved Alain Vigneault – "Vins" she calls him – and his snappy suits, and then there was the time last year where she yelled at the TV.

I'd never been prouder.

But then she goes and does something like this..... 

This morning, her brother and sister-in-law had a baby – a little girl named Veronica. So, instead of coming to Davy and Colleen's house with me to watch Game 4 of the Canucks/Blackhawks series, she has the audacity to want to see her new little niece tonight instead.

Unbelievable! I mean, I'm sure little Veronica is cute as a button – I mean, she's a little baby, of course she is – but c'mon, it's the playoffs!

Clearly, I have more work to do yet. 

:: Something only Christene and the Canucks themselves are happy about ::

Now that the 'Nucks have dispatched the L.A. Kings in six games, it was announced today that no matter what the second-round matchup turns out to be, the Canucks' second-round series will not begin until Friday.

Today, in case you were not aware, is only Monday.

So once again, Canuck fans have to sit around twiddling their hockey-gloved thumbs – or more likely, over-analyzing the shit out of the next round – while, on a positive note for one girlfriend, Christene gets her boyfriend's full attention for an amazing four consecutive days.

(Except Wednesday. I have baseball.)

:: A long wait ::

Ninety-year-old retiring* Supreme Court Justice John Paul Stevens is old enough that he saw his first baseball game before the Great Depression, and while he confirms here the long-held myth that Babe Ruth did in fact call his shot, the saddest part of that story is the fact that, barring a an absolute miracle, Steven will not live to see his beloved Chicago Cubs ever win it all.

Non-sports fan probably scoff and wonder what the hell the big deal is – it's just sports, after all – but this, to me, is incredibly sad. I mean, 90+ years is an awful long time, and obviously the Cubbies got close a few times only to fall short – paging Steve Bartman – but still, more than 90 years without a break going your team's way is really, really tough to think about.

I can't imagine being 90 years old, still waiting for the Vancouver Canucks to win the Stanley Cup. It could very well happen, mind you – we're at 40 years and counting, Canuck fans – but I have to think that, over the next 60, something good is going to happen. 

It's got to, right?**

*Just retiring at 90? Really? If I made judge money I'd be out by 55.

**Want to play a fun game with yourself? If you aren't worried about "jinxing" your team, take a minute and imagine what it will actually feel like if the Canucks won the Stanley Cup this year. Just think about being in that room watching TV, probably with all your buddies, as time ticks down in a deciding game, with Vancouver ahead. Imagine Roberto Luongo lifting the cup over his head. Imagine Robson Street. Imagine the looting (maybe). I get worked up just thinking about it. It's painful to think about though, because who knows when it will happen.

:: File this under "Not Surprising" ::

Chris and Jenna are in Edmonton this week, for a hockey tournament. On Wednesday night, they went to the Canucks-Oilers game. As you may be aware, the Oilers – losers of 15 of 16 heading into the game – blew a late lead, and the Canucks won it in overtime.

Had this result been in Vancouver, the rink would've been filled with Wooo!'s (which to the uninitiated, is the newest fad, Rick Flair-esque cheer at GM Place). Apparently, the numerous Canuck fans in attendance in Edmonton – Chris said "at least half" were wearing Canuck jerseys – tried to recreate this trend. Some more, uh, directly, than others.

Chris, via text message: Oh, there are some unhappy Oiler fans in here. This is hilarious, I don't think I can get enough Rick Flair's in before I leave.

Me: Haha, excellent work. Woo it up.

Chris: Oh, I did. Everyone was doing it. Especially me. Very loud too. And right in people's faces.

Me: Are you drunk?

Chris: No, buzzed maybe.... only had like seven beers.

Trevor Linden, Part II

(Click here for Part I)

:: No crying in the press box ::

It was the roar that never stopped.

Four times, ceremony emcee John Shorthouse - a man who speaks for a living - tried to do just that, but was unable; each time he tried, the noise from the crowd swallowed him.

"We are...."

"We are fortunate tonight..."

Nobody listened. By the third attempt, it became something of a game - let's see how loud we can be when Shorty tries to say something. Eventually, the seasoned broadcaster just gave up, turned to the man of the hour, shrugged his shoulders, and said the only thing he could say that wouldn't be drowned out.

"Sorry Trev, I can't do it buddy..."

And then he let the crowd have its moment. Let them do what they came there to do.

Cheer.

And so they did, for as long as their lungs would allow.

Earlier in the ceremony, the proceedings seemed not to be only about No. 16, but also a tribute to the 1994 team that came within a Nathan Lafayette goal post of winning the Stanley Cup. Geoff Courtnall was there, and recieved a loud cheer, as did Kirk McLean, who famously made "The Save" off Robert Reichel in those playoffs' first round.

And Shorthouse introduced next, "Greg Adams! Greg Adams! Greg Adams!" imitating Jim Robson's famous call, when Adams sunk the Toronto Maple Leafs in the Western Conference finals.

The crowd cheered loudly for everyone, as the line blurred between player and team. At one point, you wondered if the No. 94 would be lifted up alongside 16 and 12. It was no slight to Trevor. In fact, it was somehow fitting. Nobody was about the Team more their their captain.

But after the '94 team members took their seats - including Gino Odjick, who had to buy a suit just to attend, he said - it became again about Trevor.

Eventually, he spoke.

He started by thanking the fans, insisting - as one would expect - that he was somehow unworthy of the honour being bestowed upon him. It was the fans he owed, not the other way around, he said. He thanked his many teammates, too, and management past and present.

And then, just moments before his banner was raised to the rafters, he spoke of how he wanted to be remembered. Remember this night, he said, and later on, when you come back to a game, and your brother or sister, or husband or wife, or son or daughter, asks you about the No. 16 banner that is hanging from the roof, tell them just one thing:

"Tell them he was guy who had the time of his life playing a game that he loved."

It was at this point I expected some type of reaction from the mugs in the press box alongside me. My section of the box was surprisingly empty, save for a few radio reporters and some Canuck staff members who snuck out of the in-game production office to catch a closer glimpse of history. The beat reporters who had followed Linden since Day 1 were at the other end of the rink, and maybe they got emotional, I don't know. But near me, it was fairly stoic.

Rule 1 is, after all, that there is no cheering in the pressbox. I've always stood by that rule, wherever I was. It was tough for me this time, though, because I'd only been on the Canucks' beat for three months, but had watched the team from my living room for 20 years.

I remember liking Trevor Linden as a youngster because I thought it was cool that his birthday was just one day after mine. I still recall standing in line at Safeway, just to get his autograph during some kind of promotional event. I was probably 10 years old at the time, and I wish I could remember that brief meeting in more detail, but I don't. I just know I was there, and that will have to be enough.

I remember the night my novice team played during the intermission of a Canucks/Buffalo Sabres game back at the Pacific Coliseum. I remember getting dressed in the largest dressing room I'd ever been in, and thinking that the Canucks must have been kings among men considering the luxurious surroundings they were afforded just to lace up their skates.

I remember, too, the night Trevor Linden put Jeff Norton through the glass; and I remember Game 6; and I can't forget, either, the day he left town, making himself a martyr and Messier the mosted hated man in town. To this day, he likely still is, and I'm on board with that.

And I also remember the day that Trevor Linden came back. It was in 2001, and I was still living at home. I came home late one night, it was about 1:30 in the morning. Before I went to bed, I plunked myself down on the couch to catch the late sports highlights. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw the sports ticker scroll across the bottom of the page: "Vancouver Canucks acquire Trevor Linden from the Washington Capitals for a 1st rd pick."

I leapt from the couch, and woke up everyone in the house to tell them the good news. I don't think my mom and dad were too pleased to be jarred awake, but I didn't care that it was 1 a.m. Some news can't wait.

Then I went back downstairs and switched from sports channel to sports channel until I heard the news a number of times from a number of people, just to make sure it was actually true.

So yes, last Wednesday, when Trevor Linden was given the highest honour he could ever be afforded by his team, I was still much more a fan than an impartial observer. And I won't apologize for that, either.

And then, as the banner slowly ascended to its rightful place, the crowd started again. There would be no stopping them. It was, and likely will remain, the loudest and longest standing ovation I've ever witnessed

But fan or not, I did not clap my hands or raise my voice. Still didn't think it would be appropriate. There is no cheering amongst the media, remember.

There are no tears in the press box, either.

Good thing it was dark.

:: The storm clouds are gathering* ::

Since Oct. 9, the first game of the Vancouver Canucks' season, I have made roughly $950 writing about them for one of my company's publications.

And though it's been just a month and a bit, and I've only been to 4 games live, it has been quite an experience. Press passes, press boxes, free popcorn, locker room access (Sorry Lanette, still no Bieksa picture) all kinds of behind-the-scenes stuff the regular person never gets to see. A few weeks ago, for example, Wayne Gretzky walked right past me in a hallway, and the game before that, I ended up getting my mug splashed on Sportsnet, after I walked behind an interview, and into the camera's frame.

So it's cool. But I don't feel like I technically "cover" the team, as other reporters do. It's just not in my job description. It's not my fulltime gig, however much I wish it was, so I don't foster relationships with anyone there, and all I ever have to write is 200 words on each game.

And that's what troubles me lately - the word count. I understand I can't write much longer than that - with the design of the publication, there isn't enough space on the page for more. But I'm a word guy - in my regular day job, I have the freedom to write basically as much as I want. I get beyond the score of a game, and can get into details, tell amusing stories, add in some good quotes, etc... But with this other thing, I can't.

Instead of telling you that Steve Bernier broke out of his slump and scored his fifth goal of the year after he chopped a knuckleball past the goalie, who wasn't paying attention; or instead of talking about what it meant for Pavol Demitra to come back strong against his old team with a goal and an assist, instead I tell you this:

"In the second period Steve Bernier scored his fifth of the season, while Demitra added one of his own."

That's it, that's all. No analysis, no insight. Just the facts.

Granted, I'm not actually complaining - the extra money's nice, getting to watch games live and for free is even better, and there's no way I'd ever voluntarily give up this gig, but sometimes I just wish I could write.

Thinking about my situation tonight, moments after I filed my 218-word opus on Vancouver's win over the Wild, I was reminded of 2 scenes from an episode of Sports Night, my all-time favourite show.

(The YouTube clips are longer than they need to be...in Clip 1, fast forward to 5:18, and in the second one, watch from 1:23 until 2:19. And the files aren't embedded in the blog because YouTube has that option disabled on these clips... sorry)

You gotta make it shorter (5:18-)

The storm clouds are gathering (1:23-2:19)


*Without watching the clips, only Mike will get this reference

:: The inevitable end of Captain Canuck ::

You knew it was coming.

You knew it was coming the first time he sat in the press box for more than two games in a row. You knew it was a foregone conclusion each time a reporter asked him how he felt about his limited role, and he refused to complain, instead saying something classier - some variation of "That's just hockey," or "He's the coach, he makes the decisions," or "I'm just here to help out anyway I can."

You knew it every time a newspaper reporter wrote a mid-season obituary opining on what he'll do after he leaves the ice for the last time. Or every time a television or radio broadcaster said that whatever it was he'd just done was "maybe the last time he'll score a goal/get an assist/get a penalty/get a standing ovation/yell at a referee" in his long, storied career.

And you knew it for sure when his parents showed up to see his last game. Or when the entire Calgary Flames team returned to the ice after the final whistle to shake his hand, which is still one of the most touching, classiest things I've ever witnessed in all my years watching sports.

And then, after it all, there was his victory lap around the rink - the one accompanied by a standing ovation that seemed to last longer than the game itself, the cheers echoing down every hallway of the rink he helped fill.

You just knew.

But sometimes it's hard to let go, so deep down - far past the little, common-sense voice in your head that says, "It's over," you tried to convince youself that maybe it wasn't over after all. Maybe, just maybe, he'd come back.

Alas, it isn't to be.

Tomorrow, Wednesday, June 11, at 11 a.m., 18 years and 1,382 games after he arrived, Trevor Linden is retiring.

Not unexpected, of course, and deep down, you know it's the right time to say goodbye.

Doesn't make it any easier though, now that's it's for real.

:: All over but the cryin' ::

Nearly five years ago, I wrote the shortest post ever to appear on this blog. It summed up, quite succinctly, the Vancouver Canucks' premature end to the season, losing in seven games to the Minnesota Wild despite leading 3-games-to-1 at one point.

It was, is, and always will be one thing: A choke job.

Today, the season is over prematurely again, although I'm hard pressed to call Game 81 a choke job. Yes, they needed to win to stay alive. Yes, they were playing the already-out Edmonton Oilers, and yes, they hadn't lost to the Oil at home, in regulation, in 16 months (16 months!!).

But it's not a choke job in the typical sense, because really, what did you expect? They haven't played like a professional hockey team for most of the past 4 weeks. If you want to label anything as a choke, label the entire month of March.

Because let's be real here, tonight's game wasn't any different than any other night. Plenty of opportunity. No finish.

No heart.

But disappointing as the last month has been, it all came to a head tonight. All the struggles could've been erased with a simple win (and then another Saturday, but we're living in the present here for the moment), but they just didn't have the heart.

And the most disappointing thing?

It wasn't the fact that they couldn't put the puck past a washed-up, 38-year-old goalkeeper who lost his starting gig this season to a guy (Mathieu Garon) who was once not good enough for the Los Angeles Kings.

And it wasn't the fact that they scored but one lone goal - near the end - despite a 2-man advantage, a 5-minute major power-play, and with nearly one-third of the game's total time (18 of 60 minutes) played with one player more than the other team.

It wasn't that Alex Burrows was the team's best forward, either; nor the fact that Trevor Linden won't play his final game as a Canuck in the playoffs - where he belongs - but rather in a mean-nothing Saturday night tilt that will have all the emotion of a crib tournament down at the senior's centre.

And believe it or not, it wasn't even that the immortal Linden happened to be in the penalty box when the winning goal was scored, even though we all know he deserved better.

And though it's a close call, the worst thing isn't even that I now have no meaningful hockey to watch until October, or that now all the bandwagon-jumping, fair-weather fans will be shooting there collective mouth off until then either, about all the things they knew that Dave Nonis didn't.

No, the saddest, more aggravating thing about suffering through all of this?

It was pay-per-view, and it cost us $12.95 to do it.

Like charging admission at a funeral.

:: Game 7 ::

In the moments after Trevor Linden scored the go-ahead goal midway through the third period, and then again after the final horn sounded and CBC cut to a shot of Roberto Luongo, alone in his crease, stick held high among 19,000 screaming towel-wavers, I for some reason thought of a scene from the forgettable Keanu Reeves' movie The Replacements, when coach Gene Hackman is asked by a sideline reporter what it's going to take to win the game:

"It's gonna take heart....Miles and miles of heart."

And now, I must sleep. Goodnight Moon. Goodnight Stars.

(and yes, a long overdue post is coming, which will cover the activities of the last few weeks. I promise. But not tonight.)

"Any boss who gets mad at his employees tomorrow morning for being late ought not to be allowed to watch another hockey game the rest of the playoffs. I'll write everybody a note." - Harry Neale

Holy Jesus Christ. I know Roberto Luongo's new at this whole playoff thing, but will somebody tell him he gets to play more than one game?

Finally, I can go to bed.

:: Canucks By the Numbers ::

With Mike doing his 10-best movie trailers blog series (and doing a good job too, by the way), I decided I needed a blog project too, to pass some time during the Christmas blogging lull. But analyzing movies, or in this case, their trailers, isn't really my area of expertise.

What is, you ask? Well, not much, to be honest, but I do know hockey, and since I was a kid, was always interested in jersey numbers, much like Don Taylor, as you can notice from his Sportsnet broacasts ("And there's Matt Cooke, wearing Larry Melnyk's old No. 24...")

Anyway, taking a qeue from Bronx Banter, which listed the greatest New York Yankees according to the number on their backs, I decided to do the same with the Canucks.

Also, I figured a Canucks post was timely, after my favourite drunken, irreverent Canucks' blog, Vancouver Canucks Op-Ed signed off this week, with owner Alanah moving to a more "professional" blog, Canucks and Beyond. Classic Times wishes her well, and I promise to make up for the lack of drunken live blogging on VCOE, by adding more drunken blogging here.

Anyways, the extremely lengthy list is below, so enjoy...

(And no, I don't expect anyone to read the whole thing, but I'm sure Mike, and maybe Chris will. I know it doesn't fit in with my usual angry rants and stupid quotes, but I don't have a real sports blog to post such inane writings. Also, mucho thanks to Canucks.com, which has the jersey number list in full)

1 - Kirk McLean over Roberto Luongo
Obviously, this one’s only been worn by goalies. By the time Luongo’s done in Vancouver, he’ll likely be remembered as the greatest Canuck netminder. But until he takes a team deep into the playoffs, or – better yet, wins a Cup – McLean’s still the best to wear #1. Before McLean, it was worn by Dunc Wilson, “Suitcase” Gary Smith, and Wendell Young. Since he was dealt in ’98, it was worn by Sean Burke, Peter Skudra and Maxime Ouellet.

2 – Mattias Ohlund over Jim Agnew
Somewhat surprisingly, not a lot of key players have worn the deuce. Ohlund wins this one in a walk. Other luminaries to done #2 – Ken Hammond, Kevan Guy, and Ian Kidd. Honourable mention goes to John “don’t call me Evgeny” Namestnikov, an undersized Russian D-man who played 35 games from the ‘Nucks from 1993-96. Always liked him, not sure why.

3 – Doug Lidster over Bret Hedican
Lidster (Canucks, 1983-93) was a stalwart on the blueline for years, and holds the team record for points in a season by a defenceman (63). He was dealt the offseason before the 1994 Cup run for John Vanbiesbrouck, with the hope that Johnny-V would be a more attractive expansion draft option for the Florida Panthers than Kay Whitmore. It worked.

This one is a toughie though– aside from Lidster and Hedican, other 3s were Brent Sopel, Lars Lindgren, Pat Quinn and the current 3, Kevin Bieksa. Garth Butcher also briefly wore #3 before switching to his more famous 5.

4 ­– Gerald Diduck over Bryan McCabe
While McCabe is arguably among the league’s best D-men now, he only suited up for two years for the Canucks, never scoring more than 21 points, so Diduck takes the honours. Diduck was in Vancouver from 1990-95. He had 8 points and 22 PIMs during the Canucks’ 1994 playoff run. Reminds me a little of Bieksa. Other #4s – Nolan Baumgartner, Greg Hawgood, Barry Wilkins Give it five years and Luc Bourdon should take the title.

5 – Garth Butcher over Dana Murzyn
Betcha thought I was only gonna pick guys from the ’94 team didn’t ya? Butcher, who used to live ‘round here in Langley, is second on the team all-time in penalty minutes, and was your typical stay-at-home, kick-your-ass defenceman. Also, had one of the best scowls in all of hockey. Murzyn was often the butt of jokes for his slow, pylon-ish ways, and I believe he now manages a hot-dog factory in Calgary (seriously).
Other 5s – Bryan Allen, Grant Ledyard, Zenith Komarniski, and hey, anyone remember Justin Kurtz?

6 – Sami Salo over Adrian Aucoin
I was tempted to call this one a tie, because I’m a fan of Aucoin, but he only had a few good years with Vancouver, while Salo’s turned into a better player since coming here for Peter Shaeffer.
Other No. 6s – Robert Nordmark, Adrien Plavsic, Dennis Kearns.

7 – Cliff Ronning over Brendan Morrison
Morrison’s a pretty solid centre and a local guy, but Cliffy is among the best players to ever hit the ice for Vancouver, in my opinion. Best season was 1992-93, when he tallied 85 points in 79 games. Now he runs up the score at alumni games, while doing analyst work for pay-per-view broadcasts. One of the best.
Others 7s include Gary Lupul and Dan Quinn – a former Canuck captain (He split duties with Lidster and Linden before Linden took over the C for good) who could score , but later ran afoul with the law in 1992 when, as North Star, he was charged with sexual assault against a 19-year-old girl in a Minnesota hotel room. Charges, however, were later dropped.

8 – Greg Adams over Willie Mitchell
After all Adams heroics – especially during the 1994 run when he scored the OT winner to defeat Toronto in the Western Conference finals – his inclusion here is a no-brainer. Other top 8s – Marek Malik, and Bobby Schmautz. Who’d you think I was gonna pick, Donald Brashear?

9 – Tony Tanti over Ryan Walter
Tanti’s is among the greatest Canucks, and is honoured as such on the wall at GM Place. He owned many scoring records through the late 1980s and early ‘90s, until guys like Bure, Naslund, etc. came along. Was traded to Pittsburgh for the infamous Quinn (above). Other players to wear 9 were Ivan Boldirev, Russ Courtnall, Mike Keane, Brad May and Harold Druken. Currently, it’s Taylor Pyatt.

10 – Pavel Bure over Geoff Courtnall
Like this one is even close. Courtnall is more fondly remembered as No. 14 for the Canucks, but there’s really not a whole lot else to pick from for #10 second place. Trevor Letowski? Brian Bradley? Drew Callander? Don Lever is maybe a solid runner-up, but it really doesn’t matter. It’s a one-horse race. Bure’s still the most talented Canuck ever.

11 – Wayne Maki over Mark Messier
Maki wins this one simply because there’s no chance I’m givin’ it to ol’ Mess, who helped Mike Keenan run Linden out of town, robbing Canuck fans of a few of the last real offensively-productive years in TL’s career. Most fans will never forgive him.

Maki had a rather unremarkable career, but after he passed away from cancer in 1974, the team “unofficially” retired the number, only taking it out of retirement so Messier could get his paws on it. Chris Oddliefson is the only other player to ever wear it.

12 – Stan Smyl over Barry Wilcox
Another no-brainer. The only retired number hanging from GM Place rafters, Smyl is one of the top Canucks of all time. Captain for years. Heart and Soul of the team. Being born in 1981, I’ve never seen another player wear the number.

13 – Artem Chubarov over Lars Lindgren
Not a lot of options here folks. Lindgren, who also wore #3 (See above) played six unspectacular years in Canucks’ yellow, never scoring more than six goals. Similarly, Chubarov was a defence-first forward who left for Russia during the lockout and never came back. Will be remembered by junior hockey fans as the guy who scored the OT winner to sink Canada in the 1999 World Junior Championships. He scored on Luongo.

14 – Geoff Courtnall over Chris Oddleifson
Both wore other numbers at some point, but were both among the more memorable ‘Nucks – Courtnall for his role in the powerhouse teams of the early ‘90s. He scored 31 goals and had 77 points in ’92-’93, and had 19 points in 24 playoff games in 1994.

15 – Rich Sutter over John McIntyre
Pretty slim pickin’s here folks, as 15 has – lately anyhow – been the number of choice doled out to temporary call-ups like Harold Druken, Rick Rypien and Pat Kavanagh. Sutter wins here fairly easily.

16 – Trevor Linden over Who Cares?
Per-Olov Brasar, Brad Gassoff, Dan Hodgson, Mark Kirton, Stu Kulak.
All players to wear #16 at some point during the Canucks’ 37-year run. All were before 1988, and never again will it be worn by anyone other than Trevor himself.
The most popular Canuck in the history of the team, he took the team to the finals, and his exhausted arm-around-the-neck hug of Kirk McLean after they lost to the Rangers is probably the most famous photo in Canucks’ history.
After he was dealt to the New York Islanders by Keenan (for McCabe and Bertuzzi), nobody was assigned his number until Brian Burke returned him to the team in 2001.

17 – Patrick Sundstrom over Ryan Kesler
Sundstrom was the Canucks’ chief offensive producer in the early ‘80s, scoring as many as 91 points in 1983. I also believe he held the single-season goal-scoring mark by left-wingers for a time, until it was broken by Markus Naslund (I think). Kesler has a lot of work to do to catch Sundstrom, although at $1.9-million a year, we can expect that, right?
Other notable 17s are a handful of middle-of-the-road types – Mike Ridley, Dixon Ward, Vladimir “Pass the mustard” Krutov, Doug Wickenheiser, and Jose Charbonneau.

18 – Igor Larionov over Darcy Rota
I badly, badly wanted to give this one to Rory Fitzpatrick, but there are just too many solid 18s to pass up. Larionov's a legend in Russia, and went on to great things with the Detroit Red Wings, and with San Jose to a lesser extent, but he was still one of the best playmakers Vancouver has ever had. One wonders what could’ve been had he stuck around longer.

Rota was a strong player in his own right after joining the team from Atlanta Flames in 1980, scoring 42 goals in 1982-83. Other 18s include Shawn Antoski, Marc Crawford, Fedor Fedorov, and Steve Kariya.

19 – Markus Naslund over Jim Sandlak
Not really a tough call here, as Nazzy is the Canucks’ all-time goal scoring leader, and among the most popular players ever in Vancouver. Also one of the longest-serving captains in team history, behind Smyl and Linden. When his days are done, there’s a slight chance he could see his number hanging beside Smyl and TL’s, and a Cup run wouldn’t hurt his chances any. He also wore 22 upon arriving from Pittsburgh.
Other 19s – Mario Marios, Petr Nedved, Dale Tallon, Tim Hunter.

20 – Steve Tambellini over Dave Scatchard
There aren’t a lot of real solid choices here, so I picked Tamby because he’s also been a solid contributor in the front office for years, and is identifiable as a Canuck.
Scatchard, on the other hand, was run out of town early during Messier and Keenans’s reign of terror because – if a rumour I heard right from an ex-teammate is true – he didn’t care for the advances of a team captain (No, not Linden). Gross.

21 – Jyrki Lumme over Cam Neely
For nine seasons Lumme was Vancouver’s top defenceman after the team acquired him from Montreal (For Jose Charbonneau, I believe). He’s one of the more popular Canucks from the mid-‘90s, and beats out Neely because Cam simply didn’t play for Vancouver long enough. We all know what he did in Boston, however, and if he hadn’t been swapped (along with the draft pick that became Glen Wesley!) for the immortal Barry Pederson, he’d likely be the best #21.

22 – Tiger Williams over Daniel Sedin (barely)
I never saw Williams play, being that he played just before my time, but we all know what kind of player he was. Tough, could score a few, and was one of the league’s more colourful characters. He narrowly overtakes Daniel, who’s obviously one of the current team’s most consistent scorers.
Some other solid 22s include Naslund (briefly), Jeff “Yes, I think I’ve met your wife before,” Brown, Robert Dirk, and Peter Zezel.

23 – Thomas Gradin over Martin Gelinas
Gradin, now the team’s top Euro scout, was one of the more electrifying players in the 1980s, scoring 20+ goals in seven of his eight seasons – including two years over 30. He beats out Gelinas, who became one of the team’s most popular players. Barely two years after being picked up on waivers from Quebec, Gelinas had back-to-back 30-goal seasons. He’ll also be not-so-fondly remembered as the guy who sunk the Canucks in the 2004/05 playoffs with the Game 7 OT goal as a member of the Flames.

24 – Matt Cooke over Curt Fraser
Another close one. Fraser twice scored more than 20 goals for the ‘Nucks, but only played four-and-a-half seasons in Vancouver, while Cooke’s working on Year 7. While not as offensive-minded, Cooker’s still been an integral player the last few years.
Other 2-4s include Lidster, Larry Melnyk and Jiri Slegr.

25 – Orland Kurtenbach over Andrew Cassels
A lot of players have worn 25, but none better than Kurtenbach, the team’s first captain and still to this day one of its most identifiable players. Earns extra points for being a nice guy in general, and still having an iron handshake.
Cassels had a few in-his-prime years year, and was an above average setup guy, but never quite reached the point-scoring heights he did in other places, like Hartford.
Other 25s – Lidster (again!), Kevin Bieksa, Alek Stojanov, and Nathan Lafayette ­­– who came within a goalpost of being the hero of the 1994 playoffs. His goalpost shot would’ve tied Game 7 with just minutes to go.

26 – Petri Skriko over Mike Sillinger
If not for Skriko, who scored over 30 goals four times from ’85-’89, this number would be a tough sell to call somebody “the best.” Others include Tiger Williams (who I didn’t count, since he’s remembered as 22), Trent Klatt, and the immortal Tommi Santala.

27 – Harold Snepsts over Sergio Momesso
I really wanted to give this to big Serge, who played five seasons on the West Coast, from 1990-95, but Haaaarrrrold is too tough a rival. He wins for his 12 seasons in Vancouver (from 1974-84, then again from 1987-89), and for the fact his helmet-less head bobbing around the ice is an image burned in the minds of many fans.

28 – Roman Oksiuta over Brian Noonan
Hard to believe that no one of much consequence donned the number in 37 years of hockey, but it’s true. Don’t remember Oksiuta? Well my other options were Dan Ratushny, Brian Helmer, Joey Kocur, and Rod Buskas, so shutup. Technically the best 28 was Mel Bridgman, but he played just 15 games for Vancouver at the end of his career, before retiring.
Oksiuta will be remembered by me (And Chris) for his 1996 trade deadline deal that sent him to Anaheim for Miiiiiiiiiiiiiiike Silllllllinger!!

29 – Gino Odjick over Jack McIlhargey
Everybody knows Gino, the Algonquin Assasin. One of the most loved characters ever, he was famous for his fists and his unlikely friendship with Russian superstar Bure. Scored 16 goals in 1994-95, playing on a line with his pal. Wore #66 in his first-ever game.

30 – Cesare Maniago over Garth Snow.
Welcome to the goalie graveyard. Mike Fountain. Martin Brochu. Frank Caprice. Gary Bromley. Wade Flaherty.
Maniago’s really the only one in the list to have a long career, so he earns the nod, although Fountain is my personal fave. If not for Captain Kirk between the pipes all those years, I think Fountain could’ve been a legitimate ‘tender, given the opportunity.

31 – Corey Hirsch over Troy Gamble
Welcome to the goalie graveyard, Part II. Picked between a pair of personal faves here. Hirsch never lived up to his “Can’t-miss” prospect billing after being acquired from the Rangers, but he had one of the best junior careers of any player with Kamloops, and his “Psycho”-inspired goalie mask remains the best-ever worn by a Vancouver keeper.
Only three position players ever wore the # (And each time not for long) – Lubomir Vaic, Shawn Antoski, and Brad May.

32 – Murray Craven over May
One of the many numbers worn by May (9, 10, 31 being the others), but he still doesn’t outgun Craven, even though the latter had just one full season with the team (scoring 55 points), He had 13 points in 22 playoff games in 1994.

33 – Henrik Sedin over Mike Peca
Sedin’s currently the Canuck’s leading scorer, and is one of the team’s few bright offensive lights, along with twin Daniel. Will be a solid 70+ point guy for years to come still. Peca’s been among the league’s best defensive centres for years and years, but was traded (for Alex Mogilny) before any of that happened in Vancouver.

34 – Jason Strudwick over Jassen Cullimore
Now we’re getting into the slim pickin’s…Strudwick was the prototypical seventh defenceman – big, slow, and dropped the mitts. Nothing fancy about his brief stint with the team. He’s now playing in Europe, while Cullimore still mans an NHL blueline. Problem is, he didn’t do much of that for Vancouver.

35 – Richard Brodeur over Kay Whitmore
Goalie Graveyard, Part III. This jersey contains perhaps the most famous list of failed netminders – Kevin Weekes, Steve Weeks, Bob Essensa, Alex Auld, Troy Gamble, and current backup Dany Sabourin. Ironically, both Brodeur and Whitmore were on Stanley Cup-final teams, but Brodeur was a one-man puck stopping machine during the ’82 run; Whitmore just the backup in ’94.

36 – Josh Green over Chris McCallister
Only other options were Ryan Bonni and Dane Jackson – both middle-round draft picks from the mid-‘90s who played in the NHL sparingly. Green wins simply because he’s the only guy of the four still there (even if he’s #25 now).

37 – Jarkko Ruutu over Rick Rypien
Ruutu was the epitome of a pest, as is Rypien too now (when he’s not hurt), although the latter is now wearing 15.

38 – Jan Bulis over Brad Leeb
Bulis has struggled as ‘Nuck, but Leeb only played four games for the team and is now 27-year-old minor leaguer in the Leafs’ system. Only other 38 – Todd Hawkins. If you said “Who?” you are in the majority.

39 – Dan Cloutier over Enrico Ciccone
Clouts was a solid if not spectacular goalie we all know. You either loved him for his combativeness and inability to curb his temper, or you hated him for his inability to make the big save. We all remember the Lidstrom goal.

No real Canuck ever wore #40 (although I think UBC emergency call-up Chris Levesque might did), so now we get into a few skipped #s…some of these don’t even need writeups as we’re smack in the middle of the “Who the hell..?” department.

41 – Robin Bawa, Prestin Ryan
42 – Josef Beranek
43 – Don Gibson (debuted the same night as Odjick, playing 14 NHL games. Gino played 605).
44 – Todd Bertuzzi ties Dave Babych
The only tie on the board, Bertuzzi loses a point for only having one really big year, and struggling after the Moore incident, but gains for the way his handled everybody’s shit. Babych earns a point for his sweet moustache and his supporting role in Slapshot 2.
45 – Tomas Mojzis, Nathan McIver
47 – Pat Kavanagh
48 – Cam Brown, Bert Robertsson
50 – Mike Brown
55 – Ed Jovanoski would’ve won against anybody, but is so far the only Canuck to wear 55.
58 – Robert Kron. Also wore 18 during an 11-year career as a third/fourth liner for a handful of teams.
66 – Gino, as mentioned above.
71 – Jiri Slegr, on his brief return to Canuckland in 2003.
72 – Peter Shaeffer gave up 29 for Felix Potvin. Gave up another # two years ago in Ottawa, when he offered No. 15 to Dany Heatley upon his arrival in the Capital.
77 – Anson Carter. A dreadlocked, movie-producer resurrected as a scoring machine for one glorious season. Should send 50% of paycheques for the rest of career to Daniel and Henrik Sedin.
81 – Fedor Fedorov. Million-dollar talent. 10 cent brain/heart. To quote former GM Brian Burke, when Fedor was struggling in the minors with the Moose.
“He can buy a house in Winnipeg as far as I’m concerned.
89 – Alex Mogilny. Had a few solid years in Vancouver, but never meshed on a line with Pavel ,which was the plan in the first place. Helluva player though, when one top of his game.
96 – Bure. For a few injured plagued seasons before switching back to #10.