(Editor's note: Welcome to Under the Bucket, where Deaner from the classic flick Fubar will tackle all things NHL for VICE Sports this season. You can follow him on Twitter.)
Old man winter is dusting off his middle finger, so that means it's time to pull out the skates and cut up the carpet while you make Kraft Deaner in grandma's kitchen. Fuck yah, buddy, this little space right here is where you'll find the No. 1 sports authority on all things NHL and hockey related. Does it happen on skates? Were there pucks involved? Can Nashville Predators fans make like a submarine and go below me? The Deaner's on it.
So, yah, she's game-on as of tonight, but before we get going, I wanna raise my Pilsner to all them guys living the dream. Hockey players love to party, and back in my old man's day all they did in the summer was fish, fight and fuck, but these days guys take MAYBE seven days off, and not even in a row. That's how many HOURS I slept this summer. Seriously, major kudos.
Now coach expects you to walk into training camp looking like you just got back from planet Chisel Chest. I ain't saying we need to let our boys go Full Kessel, and be bobbing for cheese burgers with the heavyweights at the concession stand, but there's a line. She's called TRAINING CAMP for a reason. Back in the day when I showed up for my first practice I could barely speak. But I'd do some push-ups, chase a quad around the arena a few times, a couple puke-worthy bag skates, and boom, drop the puck. But times have changed, I guess. What are you gonna do? (Answer: You're gonna give'r.)
So, yah, speaking of change... A huge congratulations goes out to the NHL for completely fucking up hundreds of years of tradition and turning the World Cup into the International Peace and Love Community Awareness Tournament That Sort of Looks Like Hockey. A Young Guns team? Team Europe?!? Why not just separate the fuckin' players based on what kind of music they have on their iPod? Why not Team New Country? Team Hip Hop? Team Smooth Jazz? Jesus, why don't we get everyone to toss their sticks in the middle of the ice and we'll get the fuckin' Dalai Lama to choose the sides, and everybody gets a participation ribbon and shares a fuckin' glass of warm milk after the game. And we'll get Fuzzy Feelings the fucking mascot to hug everybody between periods until they feel so fuckin' good about the world that they shit peace bricks and build a stairway to heaven with it. HOLY FUCK.
Yup, once again everybody is taking a dump on Gary Bettman. But, folks, you gotta understand, he ain't the fuckin' boss—he's Smithers. Except this Smithers has 30 asses to kiss, and half of these Mr. Burns' know more about yacht wax than they do hockey. So is it really any surprise there ain't teams in Quebec or Vegas? C'mon, man, the NHL has a chance to ram the first pro sports team right up Satan's highway and they ain't doin' it (I'm talking about Vegas). It would be SO deadly! Snoop Dogg with 60 tigers in a corporate box; the city letting prisoners out on parole to fill the arena; that blind guy from Mad Max: Fury Road playing his insane guitar between shifts... I could fuckin' go for that!
But that ain't gonna happen, so we gotta focus on the now, which is seeing what the kid McDavid can bring. I gotta say, when I seen he was goin' to Edmonton, I called him up and told him he should pull a Michael Jordan and try his fuckin' hand at baseball. Connor, it's not too late. The Nationals need help. Ah well, I suppose we gotta give the Coilers a chance. I mean, shit, Gretzky took the Kings to the finals that one time, so you never know.
Butt Ends—Every now and again this season I'm gonna talk a little about stats. First up, Corsi: Does a bear shit in the woods? Of Corsi does, where the fuck do you think he's gonna shit, the nearest Timmy Ho's? It's basic math: You take the number of shit attempts bears have ever taken in the city, divide it by the amount of shit attempts made in the woods, and boom, FACTS. But, you also gotta bear in mind shit block attempts, like when the bear's wife is like, "Hey, watch it dickhead, you're standing over the cubs!" I mean, it's not an EXACT science yet.
Next column: Pork Possession!