Commissioner hands cup to captain of team. Player hoists cup and shouts, “wooo!”

Then he passes it off to a player, one who is usually held in high regard like a veteran playing for his 12th team, who then holds it up and screams, “wooo!” In lockstep with tradition the next player in line grabs the silver sucker and raises it over his head and yelps with a few extra ‘o’s', “wooooooooo!” The next guy is more original and goes with a ”yeah!” before reverting back to, “woo!” Next! “Woo-wooo!” And next, “fuck! woooo!”

Player 7 – Woooooo! Woo!

Player 8 – Wooooo!

Player 9 – Fuck!

Player 10 – Yeah! Wooooooooooooooooooooooo!”

And so on. In a successive series of woos, by the time the we get around to the 10th player the mute button goes on.

WOOO!

***

Post-game interview.

Interviewer: How do you feel right now?”

Player: Numb.

Interviewer: You’re body still hasn’t registered the victory?

Player: Huh? No, really. I’m numb. I took a special rhino tranquilizer to calm me before the OT.”

Interviewer: For all the folks back home, who do you want to thank?

Player: Yo do realize I come from a nomadic tribe right? I don’t have anyone to reall thank “back home
 per se.

Interviewer: How about your father? Surely, you had many Timbits moments with him?

Player: What the fuck is a Timbit?

Interviewer: Basically a tiny, round doughnut.

Player: Fuck that shit. I don’t digest doughnuts.

Interviewer: What about your mom?

Player: If you bothered to do a player profile on me you’d know I’m an orphan. I alone went to 7am practices. I was the kid parents always felt sorry for.

Interviewer: Any of those parents take you under their wing?

Player: No. I was a loner. I read gun and knife magazines.

Interviewer: What will you do next?

Player: Not sure. I may just head out and call an escort.

Interviewer: Congratulations.

Player: For what?

Interviewer: For winning the cup?

Player: Please. It’s just a stupid fucken trophy. I prefer holding up a moose or caribou head. Can I go now? This is lame.

Interviewer: Over to you Mike!”

Still, I figured I should give it a shot and was able to pick out a winner. Without further ado, I present the NHLPA as the proud recepients of the Douchetard (s) award for this week  (or month).

Congratulations.

So why pick them? I was reading how the NHLPA decided to change the name of the Lester B. Pearson award to the Ted Lindsay award. While I’m not against having an award named after Lindsay (although Gordie Howe doesn’t have one), does it have to come at the expense of one that’s been around for around four decades?

What made me settled on the NHLPA was because of the secrecy to which they conducted their business. No explanation – any explanation – was forthcoming from them. To me that’s not cool. If you’re going to do something like this it may not be a bad idea to fricken have the balls to be open about it.

Hence, the NHLPA are douchetards for acting like the KGB or CIA.

“We just feel that during the opening ceremonies he coulda pretended to be visually impaired or sit in a wheel chair to show empathy. But this is too much to ask from our Prime Minister, a minority leader, I might add, who got only two-thirds of the national vote. He’s minor in every sense of the word!” yelled Mr. Ignatieff as MPs behind him grumbled with approval.

Prime Minister Harper stood up and looked in the wrong direction and said, “Norman, is that you? Norman?”

“While cleaning out our database  we discovered a rather odd profile and so we investigated,” explained vice-president of Database Cleaner Harmonization Todd Le Monrevelate.

The investigation – outsourced to Thomas Magnum – eventually led them to one Tiger Woods.

Le Monrevelate continued. “Tommy figured out he had two accounts. One under the name Toger Woulds and the other Toods Wiger. It was a head scratcher datsfurshure.”

I managed to gain a copy of  ‘the golfer formerly known as Tiger’ profile and decided to share it with Sportsperspectives because it is a serious blog.

His eHarmony relationship questionnaire revealed obscure interests like “waxing his clubs” and quotes such as “G is not just for Gatorade but for G-spot.”

“To be honest, he wasn’t much of a catch,” an eHarmony member wishing to remain anonymous described her only date with Woods. “His picture was of some Thai prince. So I figured what the heck? I dated far worse looking men. When I saw it was Tiger Woods it was, like, let’s just fuck right here, right now in front of all these people. Anyway. During our date he kept quoting Buddha “that tubby douche” and he would then let out a nervous laugh. That’s when he flashed his Nike wallet and said, let’s fucken roll, bitch.” It was all so erotically strange.”

He also was active in the members board and became very close with ‘Megan.’ Both incidentally are known as “Harm sluts” partly because they’ve bumped around the members areas for several years and still act as if they’re in a meat market.

What gave Tiger away to P.I. Magnum was the subject header on the message board, “Shwing! Hole in two places!” to describe a recent eHarmony date. Another header was more macabre: “Daddy’s gone. I’m going to unleash my inner-hydra.” Finally, “Elin feeds me nothing but Swedish reindeer meatballs from IKEA morning, noon and night” and “I’m the Fugitive Kind.”

It soon became apparent to Mr. Magnum the odd ball they were observing Tiger Woods. “I called Rick and asked Ice-Pick to check it out. He confirmed it was Woods. I handed the info to eHarmony and had to run because T.C. was chasing me down for money I owed him. Not to mention needing to get the Ferrari fixed for the 18th time or else Higgins was going to kill me for real!”

Le Revelate concluded, “We called him to verify if it was indeed him. All we got was a recording of Homer Simpson’s scream “Ah!”

eHarmony decided to suspend his accounts because they don’t tolerate fraudulent activity. However, Mr. Woods will be welcomed back if he agrees to “take their site seriously.”

Stay tuned.

Not content in introducing a quasi-nationalized but not really socialized health care reform bill no one seems to understand, Obama has now set his sights on the sports industry.

Sharing ice-cream – two spoons. He chose chocolate, I French vanilla -  I sat with President Obama in Lexington Square facing the White House and we talked about his big plans.

“I have a lot of them. It’s just that there are many stupid people in my way including Repukicans. Man, selling ideas is tough. Tougher than selling insurance. High five!”

After I missed his high five, I wondered about the lucidity about a plan needing 2700 pages. He chuckles. Chin up.

“Nancy assured me once the bill passes I’ll know what’s in it so, you know, trust me, ok? In the meantime, I want to talk sports.”

“You’re the boss,” I replied. He winks and tells me,  “I feel naked without my chalk, you know that?”

I nod.

“So. What do you have planned for sports?”

“You’re gonna love this idea. You see, I’m not for all these dynasties. I don’t like when one or two teams dominate a sport. I mean, where’s the fairness in that? What I want to do is introduce a bill, let’s call it the “Rotating Champions” bill where each league must ensure a new team wins a title every year.”

My cigarette, which rested loosely on my lower lip, suddenly crashes to the ground. I gaze in a moment of delirium. I felt like James Stewart in Vertigo. A body falls by.

“Excuse me?” I meekly respond.

“What? Oh,  I know it’s revolutionary but that’s why they pay me the big bucks. To make sure life is flattened and made equal. Capiche?”

“I’m not sure.”

“What don’t you get? Hey, you do have a College degree right?”

“In Canada it’s called a University degree.”

“Hm. Is that like a Community College?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Sometimes I wonder.”

“Whatever. As long as you’re not one of those obnoxious, obstructionist douches from the Tea party.”

I assure him I wasn’t. That I preferred espresso. He laughs.

“Man, boy! That’s a good one! High five!”

“Mr. President. I don’t understand. Won’t you be meddling in the affairs of private enterprise? And besides, don’t you have bigger problems?”

He sighs. “I guess. But I see so much injustice. I don’t think it’s fair some organizations have smarter people than others.”

He pauses and looks up and sees a black crow fly by. He snaps his fingers. “Hey, wait a sec! I can legislate a bill forcing teams to rotate management too! God, I’m so smart! Oh my, I think we should cap salaries to, say, $100 000, that way I can tax them to pay for my interventionism! I’m too sexy for Lexy!”

A passerby looks at Obama and shakes her head furiously while feeding pigeons.

Obama focuses intently on her, “I can out stare her. Watch.”

“I kinda like dynasties.”

Obama snaps out of his game with the commoner. He acts like he’s looking at a gargoyle with a blank look of despair. “Is this some sort of twisted Von Misian joke? Are you Darwin reincarnated? What, you like Hayek or something? Screw the Packers! Fuck the Celtics! Rot, rottenYankees. Go to hell – which team was a dynasty in hockey, oh yeah – les Canadiens!  I knew you were off from the minute you insisted on French vanilla. People who push for choices and don’t follow make me angry. This. Interview. Is. Ov-ah, brotha!

He snaps his fingers incessantly, makes a pirouette and adds, “They’ll all love me one day. You’ll see, yeah. You’ll see.”

“Mr. President… are you awright?”

“Ever watch, Sunset Boulevard?”

“Yeah. A while ago. Creepy stuff.”

“Creepy? To you maybe, but not me. Not me.”

He turns facing The White House, once inhabited by men of genius like Thomas Jefferson and James Madison, and yells, “I am big. It’s the pictures that got small.”

That was my cue I reckon.

“Thank you, Mr President. This was, shall we say, enlightening?”

“You owe me a buck for the cream. Do you think I’m made of money?”

He doesn’t budge as he stretches his arms wide while the gentle Southern wind whisks and crashes upon his face.

Then.

A fart.

Out here in the fields, I fight for my meals.

Captain of the chess club: Matt's high school picture

For a while now, I’ve been banging my head against the wall – I’m onto my third hockey helmet – trying to figure out who former CFL great QB and current TSN analyst Matt Dunigan looks like.  And then bang! It hit me. Make that, I hit it (good thing because the helmet cracked again). Roger Daltry of The Who, that’s who.

I can’t explain. All I know is I won’t get fooled again.

For now, I’ll spoil you with a nice video of Gillian Cooke.

Dear Tiger Woods,

I can’t believe this is happening to me, to you, to us! I’m so distraught. I invested so much emotional currency into you! I’m a stark raving mad fan of yours…and golf too. Well, actually, I hate golf but, you my friend, make watching that hobby sooooo much fun! It even brought me and my dad closer together.

We’d sit around and he’d say something like,  “Did you see Tiger today?” And I’d be like, “Yeah” and he’d be like, “He’s so special. He works out, you know.” And I’d be “I know.”

It stunned me that you fucked all those women. We looked up to you. And then you went and destroyed my faith in you. I need an idol and you were it!

Maxime, Los Angeles.

I'm not alright

Dear Tiger,

Grrrroooowwwwwllll!!!

P. Anderson, Waterbury, Vt.

Dear Tiger,

Why did you do it? Why, dammit!  You have such a beautiful wife and kids! You were my Gandhi! My Mandela! I still believe in you. I mean, not even Jesus was perfect, right?

Emilio, Cincinnati

Dear Mr. Woods,

Well now you really blew it. All that dough and you still gave into your urges. If I’m your wife, I go make a porn to get back at you!

Paul Wagner, Ottawa.

*Spits on the ground. Wipes mouth with forearm*

Hi Tiger,

Listen, Ernie here. Could you advise if I should keep buying Gillette? Seriously, I’m at Walmart and need to know. Bic looks mighty good right about now.

Mr. Woods,

Stay strong, Tiger.  We’ll all be waiting for you when you come back.

PS: See what marriage does? Your father was right!

Man with blue eyes in Saskatchewan

tigger,

ur gr8! i luv u! can i scratch ur golf balls?

Emma

It seems like only yesterday

gOlf for lOSERS!!!

WhO caRes? gOLF is FILLed with fake people. it’s an old country club of elitist snobs. imagine people going around following these pipi heads on a green course waiting to see i fthey canput a tiny white ball in ahole!

but m’boy tiger knows how to find the hole alright!

antoine

I loved Caddyshack! Pierre

Dear (Dead) Woods,

The fall of Western culture continues. Just another manufactured millionaire athlete thinking they can do anything they want.  I will pray for your soul tonight.

Albert IV, Munich, Germany.

I was clicking away surfing on TV when I came across a show about horses. Wait, make that Barbaro.

Must they speak of Barbaro as if he was a human being? Puke all over me, will ya? Moreover, aren’t these animals produced and groomed, for you know, for a “sport” that encourages gambling?

I purposely digress.

It reminded me of a girl I used to work with years ago. Eventually, she got to talking about her 14 dogs.

“I love them more than anything in life – even my husband,” she said.

Now there’s a gal who knew where her priorities stood!

I walked behind her cubicle and indeed observed an obscene amount of pictures with her and her dogs. Her husband happened to be in the way in a couple of them.

Weird fucking girl. Flaky too. Just like my assistant at the time.

Oh. A few months later he husband left her.

What a shock.

I wondered what took so long.

Needless to say, Barbaro conjured up the wrong images of my past so I moved on. I eventually settled on Woody Wood Pecker.

INT. GAINEY’S OFFICE – DAY

BOB GAINEY sitting stoically talking to Montreal Canadiens goaltenders CAREY PRICE and JAROSLAV HALAK while sipping ginger and lemon tea. He’s speaking to Price directly while Halak tries in vain to get some love and attention after a superb performance bailing the Montreal Canadiens out after a poor performance by the team.

Gainey: Good job tonight Halak.

Halak:  Me good. Me proud.

Gainey (ignores Halak and looks at Price): Price, you get the next start.

Halak: No Respect

Halak: What?

Gainey: I know, I know. You’v sucked the bag this year but hey. What can you do? It’s not a meritocracy.

Price: Merry what?

Gainey: Can I get you something,Carey?

Price: Some vodka would be nice.

Gainey: It’s 10am.

Price: Yeah. I’m not used to getting up this early.

Halak: Can I have some water?

Gainey snaps his finger.

Gainey: Carbo, get Price some apple juice.

Halak: I’d like some water.

Gainey: I don’t like your attitude buddy boy.

Halak: But…

Price (chokes on juice): Huh?

Gainey: No buts. Just do.

Halak: Me want trade.

Gainey: Trade a career backup? Ha!

Halak: I type cast? But never get chance!

Gainey: Why trade you when I can let you go to free agency and lose you for nothing!

Price: Are we done? I gotta be somewhere.

Gainey: Atta boy. Off to practice?

Price: Er, yeah. Prack-tis.

Halak: Me go vomit.

Gainey: Alright. Get lost you crazy cats.

Beat.

Gainey: Oh, the other goalie.

Halak: Yes?

Gainey: Do me a favor? Try not to play so good next time. After all, Price is the 5th round pick. He’s ma’boy. Thanks.

Halak stares at Gainey with a perplexed look. It’s worse than Chinatown. He turns and slowly walks away.