Well hey there, sweat stains. So after enduring that Game 2 debacle and all the punny headlines that came with it. “Canucks bite back” “Burrows chomps on Bruins” “Boston chewing on 2-Game Deficit”… Ha-ha, you’re hilarious, headline writers.
Wow – Makes those 40 Gs owed in outstanding college loans so you could get into a dead industry like journalism almost seem worth it, huh?
But I’m not bitter, no siree bob. I’m fine and dandy, like sour candy. But not some of you out there, some of you so called Bruins fans are fretting over this over more than a Grateful Dead Tribute band’s guitarist would on a triple neck after a dozen hits of acid.
Heck some of you have given up, lost interest, stressing out, you know, being that guy. That Guy who doesn’t know what to do about the Bruins.
First off, don’t fret. Just like Pete’s sperm count, it’s not going to amount to anything. Don’t give up on them either; they haven’t even played a home game yet. It’s still early. Watch the game tonight; you’re not bad luck, only Kevin is, and that’s just when we’re on a boat because we’re just cutting it a little too close to the vessel’s weight limit.
If you have tickets, for god sakes, go. Don’t you dare sell them to some ticket agency, and if you sell them straight to a Canucks fan, I hope you get insufferable assblisters for the rest of your soulless days.
If you’ve been watching the finals at the same bar with the same people. Keep doing so. The only people who should be superstitious are pregnant ladies and Kevin’s proctologist. Wear your favorite Bruins shirt, even if it’s got the ketchup stain from where you dropped your burger in disgust when Burrows scored in OT.
Don’t be that schmuck who says he’s got to stay home and watch the game sitting in the same spot on the couch with one shoe on because that’s exactly how you were when the B’s scored on the PP that one time this month.
Don’t say you need to stay home to focus, you’re not playing. And don’t bitch about how you could play better than Boychuk or Ference or Kaberle, because you can’t tie your shoes without a fatty grunt, let alone lace up a pair of skates and go toe to toe with Kesler and those two creepy twins who look like the bad guy in the new Green Lantern movie. You couldn’t block a slapshot; it’s not a supermarket aisle, you fat sack of crap.
Also, while Claude has been absolutely DREADFUL this series, don’t act like you could do any better. You barely know a fore-check from your foreskin, and if you had to diagram a hockey play, you’d be more confused than I am that one time I spent a drunken half an hour trying to think if porn stars draw foreheads on each other’s wangs when they pass out.
Point is, stop questioning everything well besides your sexuality, that’s still suspect – and sack up. As John P said on twitter last night: The Stanley Cup finals is no time to be a lame, pink-hat wearin’, whining, bitching, fairweather fan. Support the team. Go #Bruins!
So saddle up, switch it on, start following Scott Zolak‘s tweets because they’re awesome, and stop being such a sally. Otherwise, I’ll take that towel you’re waving halfheartedly and wholeheartedly cram it up your cramhole. Do me a favor, don’t be that guy.