Posts Tagged ‘America’

Since the purpose of this website is to educate as well as entertain, allow me to impart some of my vast hockey knowledge to the masses who may have some questions about how to properly act as a Blackhawks fan. The following Do’s and Dont’s have been compiled from my experiences as a Hawks fan. They apply to all situations….at games, in bars, in county lock-up…..

DON’T: When you’re at a game, don’t get up out of your seat while the puck is in play. Wait until the whistle stops play to get up and go take a leak, get beer or food, or try to hook up with one of the Ice Girls. Be courteous to others and act like you’ve been to a game before. I can’t stress this enough.

DO: Yell at the clowns who ignore the above point. You don’t need to be profane, of course, but some incisive and biting sarcasm is always in good taste. Try being creative and topical. People appreciate humor.

DON’T: Stand up every time the puck comes into the offensive zone. We know it’s there. We’re watching the same thing you are. You’re not going to get a better view of it by standing up. When the puck goes in the net, we’re ALL going to stand and yell and be loud. Until then, keep it in your pants, Ace.

DON’T: Yell “SHOOOOT!” when the team is cycling the puck, looking for the shot. They know when to shoot and see angles and shooting lanes you don’t from your seat. They’ll let ‘er rip when they’re damned good and ready. All you’re doing is alerting the rest of us who the noob in the crowd is. In the 300 level, you may not be allowed back to future games at all.

DO: Refer to the player’s uniforms as a “sweater”, not a “jersey”. Baseball players wear jerseys. Basketball players wear jerseys. Football players wear jerseys. Hockey players wear sweaters. Back in the day, when it was an outdoor game, the uniform was actually a woolen sweater for obvious reasons. They’re polysomething or another these days, but doesn’t it sound cool to call it a sweater?

DON’T:
Buy a shitty Chinese knockoff sweater to express your new-found fandom. These are easy to spot….if the C with the crossed tomahawks on the shoulder looks like a Boy Scout troop badge for being a cheap shithead, then it’s a knockoff. If the Chief’s face looks like he has a bad case of cellulitis, it’s a knockoff. Don’t look like a noob.

DO: Spend the extra $50 or so to get something that looks great. It’s worth it and I won’t be forced to make fun of you.

DON’T: Get a personalized sweater with something stupid on it. Example…I saw a sweater at a TV game that had number 69 on it and the name said “P. Whipped”. If you think that’s worth spending the $300 it costs to customize a sweater in that fashion, I’d like you to try this bleach and grain alcohol cocktail I’m mixing over here. Unless you’re Clark Griswold, just get a Toews or Kane or Hossa sweater. Otherwise, you’re just a cock-knocker.

DO: Buy the max amount of beers when you make a run downstairs. I’m not explaining this one further.

DON’T:
Feel like you’re disrespecting America when you cheer the Anthem at the United Center. It’s part of the Chicago hockey experience and it’s accepted as a great tradition. I was there on May 9, 1985 when the tradition truly took hold and became what it is today. You go right ahead and yell and holler and clap and scream. You can be quiet at a baseball game or in church or when you’re dead.

DON’T:
Jump on the ice to try and kick the ass of a player you don’t like. You’ll lose. But you will get points if the player you go after is Todd Bertuzzi. You’d still get your ass kicked, but seriously mad props for taking that felon on.

DO:
Put one in the net if you are lucky enough to do the Shoot the Puck promo between the 2nd and 3rd period. I did it when I was about 15, missed all 3 and got booed, deservedly so. Hell, I would have booed me, too. Do yourself a favor and pot one.

DON’T:
Go on message boards and scream for the return of players we had to move in the summer of 2010. It’s simply not good hockey talk and opens you up for the kind of ridicule reserved for the assclowns who stand up during play.

DO:
Learn the rich history of the team. The Hawks have had some of the game’s greatest players and the Chicago Stadium (one of the sporting world’s finest arenas of all-time) was their home for decades. Study up on players like Bobby Hull and Stan Mikita. Take a look at how the team was formed and got their name. Learn who the retired numbers belong to and what those players accomplished. It makes for a better fan experience when you’re in touch with the past, and the Hawks certainly have an illustrious….and sometimes shit-awful….past.

DON’T: Be the butthole who didn’t know who my sweater #35 was earlier this season. It happened in a UC bathroom, post-game. As he asked the question and ENTIRE bathroom turned to look at this idiot in the shitty Chinese knockoff (SEE? TOLD YOU!!), my head swam with confusion and my insult generator locked. I was literally rendered speechless by this guy’s lack of what should be obvious. I mean, he was sitting in an arena with the retired number 35 on a banner hanging above him for 3 hours. Christ…….

DO:
Learn the rules of the game, which is obvious for any sport you watch. Start with the basics like icing and offsides and just pay attention. The rest pretty much falls into place. Penalties are mostly self-explanatory, but there are cool things like match penalties and major game misconducts. If nothing else, hockey has the coolest sounding penalties.

DON’T: Lose faith in these guys. Many teams would have given up on the season on the heels of that 9 game skid, especially after losing an elite player and captain like Jonathan Toews. Kane and Hossa have picked up the slack and we’re solidly in playoff position with 14 games to go. Toews skated by himself before practice and felt good, which is a damned good sign. If he comes back strong by playoff time, it’s a whole different Hawks team to deal with.

By: Raul Parra
Email: rp@99sportsproblems.com
Twitter: ParraPalliative

Everyone has that one friend, pal, amigo or knucklehead in their life that seems to be stuck in perpetual devil horned bliss.  He couldn’t tell you about the state of the country. However, if you wanted to know every amalgam of every Metal/Hard Rock band since 1970, he could oblige you.  In detail and with NO QUARTER spared  (See what I did there?).  You’re getting the picture now.  You can see the image of his face beginning to form in your mind.  As hard as you try not to, you can still see his sleeveless t-shirts…

Manowar?

Venom?

Pantera?

Flames and voluptuous half naked women dance on the black fabric background.  It doesn’t matter if you can’t remember the wardrobe perfectly, cause they are all the same.  You’re smiling now and thinking of the great times you’ve shared… Axl Rose inspired shouting sessions in your Mom’s Old Buick, you know the one that smelled like spoiled milk and burnt out brain cells.  Also, the time you destroyed the local jocks in an all you can drink Jägermeister competition.  Metallica would have been so proud of you.

As that goofy smile fades you begin to think, “What ever happened to that guy?  I don’t see him much any more.  I could use another night like that!”

I know what you’re saying.  Well smarty pants Raul…. where would YOU go to double fist booze and head bang till you concuss yourself.  Well fear not, after you’re done tracking that Goober down, I have the perfect bar for y’all.

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Lock Down Bar and Grill (1024 N. Western Ave, Chicago Il, 60622, 773-451-lock) is the ideal place for you two Bro’los to drink some beer and share the story about the chick you were both sleeping with in high school (“Dude!  I swear I didn’t know!”).  Unless you’re a filthy Communist and you hate America you probably love burgers and BOY HOWDY does Lock Down deliver.

Running up and down the menu, my finger anxiously scanned for a familiar face.  I saw some words that I recognized, cheeseburger and mac and cheese.  However, they all seemed to have mutated into a more powerfully delicious monster of culinary dominance.  I began to sweat.  Surely a drink would calm my nerves.  A sultry eyed beauty (Thanks Katie!)  rewarded me for my lack of moxie and brought me a cold one. Bürger Beer is like PBR’s hotter, younger and less STD infested cousin.  I sucked it down in what seemed like one gulp and turned my mind back to the problem at hand.  My stomach was screaming that is was empty.

Then I saw it.

Or maybe it saw me.

It extended it’s sweaty jewelry encrusted hand from beyond the two dimensional world of the menu and gripped my throat until I croaked out, “I’ll have a Big Elvis.”

“The Big Elvis” is a 10 oz burger, charbroiled to juicy perfection, topped with slightly melted peanut butter and caramelized bananas.  If that isn’t enough to make you go from six to midnight, the crispiest of bacon ever makes an appearance as well, dropped down on The King’s crown like propaganda pamphlets spouting delicious swine rhetoric.  You couldn’t have paid me to stop smiling.

Oh, I wouldn’t dare forget to mention the green onion, bacon and bread crumb infused Mac and Cheese.  Kraft ain’t got shit on you Lock Down.  They call it MAC and cheese for a reason.  Cause you Mac’d on Kraft’s girl, stole her, and afterwards made Kraft OFFER you his shoes and made him hold your pocket.  Pimp shit.

“Holy Flat Screen TVs Batman!” I blurted out with greasy bits of burger flying onto the table.

Why so many?  I thought.

There must have been at least a dozen TV’s beaming at me.  For a moment my imagination ran away from me.  Had I unknowingly strolled my way into a Project MKULTRA inspired testing center, where nefarious dudes used subliminal messages peppered in metal and hard rock DVDs to convince me to kill a pop star of their choosing?  Would I leave this place and jump on the nearest plane, purchase a gun from absent toothed Hill William at a Swamp O’ Rama, then find Chris Brown and shoot him in his face?

Nah.  These nice folks just love their music.  Also, I might be losing my mind.

They didn’t go cheap on the sound system either.  Every thunderous uttering of the kick drum was heard loud and clear.  The crispy high end voice of the guitars soared like mythical thunder birds from the inner sleeve of your withered and semen stained copy of AD&D.  They nailed the virtual concert experience for sure.

My belly was full.  My beer can empty.  My senses battered from rock and/or roll. What else could a red blooded American male want?  The answer is nothing.

I hope you’re happy, America.

I know I am. There have been countless times over the past 20 or so weeks where I’ve made plans on a Sunday only to see them hopelessly disintegrate as slackjawed friends look at me with glassy eyes and respond in a monotone voice, “awww I can’t…football.”

That’s barely a fucking sentence dicklips. Only football would give people the excuse to be lame on a damn Sunday. Do you know how many glorious afternoons have been ruined because all of America has been quietly enslaved by the longest fucking sport in American history?

“But brah, it moves so fast.”

Yeah, but it takes 4 hours to complete thanks to the countless fucking ads that are thrown in there. Look, I like football, but Tebow fucking Christ it’s no damn excuse to waste your life away on a couch while eating Jays potato chips and just generally not accomplishing anything of real note. That’s just stupid to dedicate so much time to one thing.

Ok, fuck you, that game is outstanding and it’s totally not the same thing. I waste countless nights on that game, which doesn’t interfere at all with my very busy social schedule.

What? I’m popular. Really. I am.

Anyway, the game was cool, the Super Bowl was pretty super, and at the end of the day the younger brother who everyone thought was a mouth breathing idiot whose success was credited to the mistakes of others beat the reincarnation of Joe Cool.

Again.

And this loss isn’t even on Brady, Cap’n Clutch did all he could, future Bears washout Wes Welker just couldn’t catch the damn ball.

But whatever, that matters very little.

Eli is Eli-te.

Does football make people stupider? I’m almost convinced of this fact. Conversations during football are restricted to grunts, pass the dip, random yells of excitement and I need a cigarette.

Or is that during sex? Whatever, either way you’re getting stupider.

I know playing football makes you dumber, Raul posed the question, are there any interesting characters in football?

I can’t think of any off the top of my head. Ask me about that in baseball and there’s dozens of guys that have interesting quirks. I mean, baseball players are pretty stupid too, but there’s a special brand of stupid going on in the NFL.

America, we live in a world where stupidity is being celebrated. Football is the stoneage, I’ll just come out and say that. Where else would a self-aggrandizing Christian who can barely perform the functions of his job title be so celebrated?

I mean, football conversations are basic, fundamental, boring almost. “Brah, did you see that hit? Killer brah.”

“Tebow? He just wins games.”

Inherently there is a lot of strategy in football, I won’t deny it, but the football conversations I’ve been having with people aren’t intellectually stimulating.

About the game itself, it was exciting, but ultimately it was about who failed to do what. It wasn’t a shootout like I was expecting, and the defense wasn’t even that great. It came down to who was going to make the fewer mistakes, and the Giants limited those mistakes.

This is fine, I’m glad football is gone, I could go without it for awhile, the Bears suck, the Packers are going to dominate for awhile, the Lions are going to be really good. I mean, my local angle is gone for now, and I’ll be watching basketball more often next year anyway.

The lasting impression from this SB is the historical niche Eli has carved out for himself. It’s fascinating, you can actually have a conversation about who was better, Manning the Lesser or Manning the Greater. That’s fine, Eli’s really good and he can close out a game.

But seriously, brah, that hit, wicked.