Beard Of The Day

*Blows dust off keyboard*
*Cracks knuckles*

Yeah, OK. I still remember how to do this… for the most part. Or well, we’ll see if the whole thing doesn’t crash in flames around me.

This series hasn’t gone the way the team has hoped though sadly, the way most of us pretty much expected.  Outcoached, outgunned, out of time. But there’s at least hope for a little bit of life this evening and if there’s one man who you can never fully count out, it’s the Red Headed Stranger. Our guy has been broke, beaten, down on his luck, sick, or in legal trouble (pay your taxes, kids) more times than anyone should have to face in one lifetime. Take inspiration where you can find it.

Or just start drinking already. Forgetting is the nature of our flight

 

Everything Else

Continuing in the series, Alex Sheridan (@lawnie2 and The Full Amonte) has a few words for Bobby Hull.

This is the best thing Bobby Hull ever gave us. I could give two shits about his team-record 604 goals, 1,153 career points, or status as the first player to ever break the 50 goal mark. Hell, a 1961 Stanley Cup is pretty much worthless to me, too. His son, on the other hand, is one of the greatest goal scorers of all time, and trolls Buffalo like nobody’s business (I bet Brett never missed wide right…) But how can I praise a guy who played much of his career in St. Louis and Detroit, while shoveling shit on his father, whose number is in the rafters at the United Center?

Everything Else

I’ve never made any secret of the fact that I loathe St. Patrick’s Day. There isn’t one aspect of it that I like. Yeah I know, I’m not Irish. But guess what? Unless you’re Mighty Mike D, then neither are you. I don’t give a flying fornication that your last name might be O’Ryan or Gallagher or McDuffy (or McClure I suppose, but he doesn’t claim to be Irish all that much). Unless your parents are off the boat, or maybe your grandparents, you’re fucking American. And there’s nothing wrong with being American (at least some parts of it).

You know what you get when a group of people insist on clinging to their vision of Irish heritage? You get a stinking hellhole like Boston. And the only thing they know of being Irish is wearing green, being fucking racist, and listening to The Dropkick Murphys. You want any part of that? They certainly couldn’t point out Cork on a map.

Everything Else

I’ve never made any secret of the fact that I loathe St. Patrick’s Day. There isn’t one aspect of it that I like. Yeah I know, I’m not Irish. But guess what? Unless you’re Mighty Mike D, then neither are you. I don’t give a flying fornication that your last name might be O’Ryan or Gallagher or McDuffy (or McClure I suppose, but he doesn’t claim to be Irish all that much). Unless your parents are off the boat, or maybe your grandparents, you’re fucking American. And there’s nothing wrong with being American (at least some parts of it).

You know what you get when a group of people insist on clinging to their vision of Irish heritage? You get a stinking hellhole like Boston. And the only thing they know of being Irish is wearing green, being fucking racist, and listening to The Dropkick Murphys. You want any part of that? They certainly couldn’t point out Cork on a map.