Singing the Blues

The Preds-Blues rivalry isn't the most exciting because of the Preds dominance of the series over the last five or so seasons.  That is still one reason I like it, though, because it's always nice to win!  It has been one of my favorite match ups for more reasons than that, and I never dread going to a Blues game.  In the 05-06 season (immediately following the lock out) the Blues were a mean and dirty team.  That's never changed.  The gritty, nasty games are always fun to watch but back then the Preds were an overall smaller team and sometimes it was painful to watch them get banged up and thrown around the ice like rag dolls.


After a pathetic season and even more pathetic post-season by what was supposed to be our "dream team" in 06-07 Paul "Don't Touch Me" Karyia went to the Blues.  It was a bad summer for the Preds with the ownership debacle and gutting of the team, but he didn't have to go.  He chose to.  I never liked him much anyway because he played like a scared little girl, wouldn't hit to save his life, and wasn't very fan-friendly.  Not to mention he almost t-boned me at an intersection after a game one night in his speeding GX470.  I totally creeped him out by driving right next to him the whole way to Franklin, despite the fact that he was going in excess of 85 mph.  But he showed a complete lack of gratitude for Nashville taking him on when the Ducks unceremoniously disposed of him after their successful Cup run, and after we all put up with his wussified style of play for two seasons.  He never was the Paul Karyia we were all promised.  So I was not sad to see him go, and I looked forward to the opportunity to cheer against him and boo.  It seemed the majority of the Nashville fans felt the same way I did because it became the crowd's game to boo him every time he touched the puck.  This is not as easy as it sounds, seeing as how sometimes he would have he puck on his stick of literally one second or so.  It was endlessly entertaining to listen to the wave of abbreviated and extended boo's during his shifts.


Karyia's first season in St. Louis was Chris Mason's first season as the Pred's starting goalie.  The previous season had witnessed Thomas Vokoun--the darling of the team and a fan favorite--suffering an injury and then a strange medical condition that required he be on blood thinners, thus ending his season.  I always liked Vokoun, and the opportunity to sing "Voookouuun" in place of "Woooo hoooo" in Blur's "Song #2" every time he made a great save.  Yet, his play leading up to his injury, and immediately following his return before the discovery of his condition, was not impressive.  It wasn't that I wanted him to go away, I just wanted to see what Mason could do, and when given the opportunity Mason lit it up!  The Preds had just signed Vokoun to a 5-year deal with a no-trade clause.  He was the go-to goalie, the face and future of the team.  Then, in June of 2007, one day before his no-trade clause would have kicked in, he was traded to the Florida Panthers for...I don't even remember who.  I tried to act like it was no big deal because we had Mason, and Mason was just as good--if not better.  The defense always seemed to play a little harder for Mase, too, for whatever reason.  So, the 07-08 season started with Mase as the starting goalie and Dan Ellis as his backup.  Chris Mason rose to the occasion by falling flat on his ever-loving face.  He was a disaster.  Dan Ellis eventually stepped into the starter's skates and at the end of the season Chris Mason was dealt to St. Louis.


I stood up for Mason.  I said we'd be fine with Mason.  I believed in Mason.  I comforted dejected Vokoun fans with endless praise for Mason.  When he blew it, he not only embarrassed himself, he embarrassed me.  I don't like being embarrassed and I don't like being made to look a fool.  For that I have never forgiven Chris Mason.  The majority of the Preds-Blues games through last season featured Mason in net.  So, as it went with his former Preds and current Blues teammate Karyia, I reveled in booing him.  I got to yell "Mason...Mason...Mason...YOU SUCK!!!"  and "That's one, that's two, that's three...thank you Mason may we have another?  He shoots, he scores, you SUCK!!!"  It brought me great pleasure.  Mason actually did quite well with the Blues and shared his starting role with Detroit rejects Legace and Conklin, but they traded him to Atlanta this offseason.  I now get the pleasure of cursing him from my couch while watching him backstop for the Thrashers when they play the Caps.


Last, but certainly not least, was the "Upchuck Factor."  Upchuck was the pet name Mom came up with for Keith Tkachuck, the longtime Blues player and resident asshole.  I never liked him from the first time I saw him based solely on his last name.  T and K do not belong together in that sequence.  That is not a recognized letter combination.  I took to pronouncing it phonetically: Tuh-kuh-chuck.  She made it easier by just calling him Upchuck.  Anyway...Upchuck was a dirty player, and in the Whiney Crybaby Club with Mike Modano and Chris Chellios.  Last season we became aware of this fat, bald, ugly redenck dipstick in our section just by the fact that he's loud and obnoxious.  You know those guys that no one likes so they try to overcompensate by being really cool, really funny, and really annoying?  Yeah, one of those guys.  I already didn't like the SOB, but at the first Blues game last year he came wearing a Blues jersey.  And not just any Blues jersey, but Tkachuck!  Of course!  He would make a big display out of his cheering and rooting for the Blues, kept waving to some imaginary friend in another section and pointing to his jersey, and was booing and jeering Preds fans.  


Now, I have had my share of verbal altercations with fans of opposing teams.  My problem is when they are needlessly rude or show-offy.  I love that people travel from all over to see their teams play, and chose Nashville as a destination.  I am one of those hockey fans that respects other fans right off the bat and will be hospitable (particularly to Canadians...but that's another post entirely) up until they give me a reason not to.  Nashville is the friendliest city in the US, so there is likely no reason for these visiting fans to be assholes.  And The Stone is our house.  That's what I liken it to--you invite me to come stay at your house, and I accept.  Then, once I'm there I dump my suitcase out on your living room floor, head straight to the fridge without being told I can help myself, making a huge mess in the kitchen, then climb up on the table and taking a big, fat dump right there.  You are looking at me in disbelief, maybe a little bit of anger, and I jump down from the table after wiping my ass with your grandmother's hand-knitted kitchen towel and shout "Fuck you fucker!  This is MY house!!!"  No reasonable person would ever do that.  Yet, some visiting hockey fans feel that the equivalent behavior at the arena is perfectly legit.  So, when they don't respond to my not-so-subtle glares and eye rolling, sometimes I have to speak up.  Because you know what?  It isn't your house...it is MY HOUSE!!!


And, for as much contempt as I have for rude (usually Northern--but not Canadian Northern) visiting hockey fans (I'm talking to YOU Buffalo Sabres fans!) I have even less tolerance for people who come to the Preds games all year in a Preds jersey and cheer them on, only to show up at another game in the opposing team's jersey, cheering for them and cussing our players.  The most common variety has been what are called "Pred Wings," a hybrid Pred and Red Wing fan, which should always be mutually exclusive categories to begin with.  What has made the Pred Wings so detestable beyond the simple "Red Wings Fan" issue, is that I have, on multiple occasions, witnessed Pred Wing fans enter the game in a Preds jersey, but if the Preds are losing, the Preds jersey comes off to reveal a Red Wings jersey.  Its is one thing to be for the Wings when they are in town, and to split loyalty that way, but to not even be able to decide until you are at the game and know the score is a sign of a severe moral defect in character.  Recently the Preds-Blues hybrids have become more common, in addition to Preds-Hawks hybrids.  Regardless of the split affiliation, it is never acceptable.
Note: I know that I am also a Caps fan in addition to being a Preds fan.  To quote our President, however, let's be clear...I am NEVER a Caps fan before I am a Preds fan.  When the two teams play their ONE game against each other every season I am for the Preds.  It does not make me super-duper sad if the Caps win, because I like them too, but I would always prefer the Preds win.  Additionally, the two teams are in different Conferences, so not only does the game not carry extra point weight, like a Blues, Hawks or Wings game (or any other Conference/Divisional game) they are not in competition with each other for a playoff spot.  I attended a Preds game in DC, in full Preds gear.  I sat in my seat, cheered politely when appropriate, and refrained from irritating the natives.  When the Preds won, and won handily, I left the game quietly without rubbing the victory in anyone's face.


OK, that was alot of discussion to get around to the main point...which is...I dislike rude visiting fans and will confront them when necessary, and I have a special hatred for Preds-hybrid fans.  So, when this fella in our section was getting more out of hand than usual I had finally had enough.  He was standing up cheering and being completely immature after the Blues scored a goal.  Everyone in the section was staring at him.  I finally yelled, almost involuntarily, but very loudly, "Would you just sit down and SHUT UP!?!"  He turned, startled, looked at me, at which point I said, "Yeah, YOU!!"  Kirby was reaching out over me, as if to be prepared to hold me back from a physical attack on the jackass and I was actually getting a little embarrassed at my lack of sportsmanship, since it was completely unplanned and more of a reflex than anything, when several people in the section started cheering ME and clapping.  Dude sat down and didn't make a scene the rest of the night.  He still hasn't made eye contact or looked in the general direction of our seats, and his behavior has been noticeably subdued, since.  In honor of his love for Upchuck, Mom started calling HIM Upchuck, which to me was somewhat confusing.  During another spontaneous cursing under my breath a few games later I called him an, "Uncle Fester looking fucker."  Mom died laughing, and now my name for him is Uncle Fester.


Upchuck (real) and Uncle Fester gave me just one more reason to love the series with the Blues.  I could hate on Upchuck the player while also intimidating Uncle Fester with my icy, evil "shut the fuck up you fat bastard" stare.  All good things must come to an end, and Upchuck retired at the end of last season.  I was looking forward to tonight's game to see how Uncle Fester reacted to this change.  Would he still wear his Upchuck jersey?  Would he still root for the Blues?  Would he still avoid looking at me?  Alas, he was not there tonight which is highly unusual, so I can only assume his love for the Blues faded when Upchuck hung up his skates.  It does give me some satisfaction knowing that Upchuck had not made a decision about retirement at the time of his last game in Nashville last season, so Uncle Fester did not know he was seeing Upchuck play for the final time.  I know he's a passionate hockey fan, so I know he feels a deep lack of closure.  And I love it.


As tonight's game approached I knew the Blues were without Mason, I knew Uncle Fester was probably a non-issue, but I did not know Karyia had left the team, as well.  According to the program he's taking a year off for "concussion-related issues" otherwise known as Jason Arnott Syndrome, or "my vagina hurts."  I have a hard time believing that's not a big load of horseshit because he never allowed himself to hit or be hit, so how on Earth did that pussy get a concussion in order to have "realted issues."  Whatever. 


I was starting to get a little bummed because I had no real target for my extreme Blues hatred.  That was until Kirby said, "Do we know this goalie?"  I said that I knew the name but I wasn't sure from what team, but that it was very familiar.  I flipped through the program to see if it would provide the answer.  Yes, we know Jaroslav Halak.  From the Montreal "Frency McFrencher" Canadiens.  The suprise post-season netminding phenom who stopped an insane number of shots to bring his team from being behind three games to zero, winning the playoff series against none other than...the Washington Capitals.  After the Preds scored two quick ones on Halak Kirby remarked, "he sucks."  To which I replied, "Yes, Halak sucks." He said, "I know...but I mean tonight, he's not playing very well.  He sucks tonight."  I simply said, "Yes, Halak sucks."  The Hockey Gods abliged and gave me a focal point for my animosity.  And somehow, some way, his name also sounds like a bodily noise/function, reminiscent of Upchuck...like someone hacking or choking...Halakkkkkkk.


All is well and good in the hockey universe, and the Preds vs. Blues games still remain near and dear to my adversarial hockey heart!