History Will Be Made - An Effortless "Repost"

Since it's July, there's not a lot going on hockeywise. You may have notice with the big, long break I've unexpectedly taken from blogging. It's really kind of a pain in the ass when you want to write but have nothing to write about. So in an effort to make myself look busy, I've decided to just post a bunch of YouTube videos I did before the birth of Beards of War.

Remember the "History Will Be Made" promos put out by the NHL last season? Awesome, weren't they? Gamebreaking moments, gamebreaking players. Moments that go down in NHL history, mostly for the good. But in addition to the ones put out by the NHL, there were also some brilliant fan creations...and some bad fan creations. Ones that pushed the boundaries of actual legendary moments and descended mostly into obvious fanboyism.

And then there were guys like me; the assholes. So without further a-doo-doo, I present..."Beards of War's History WON'T Be Made"!


#1: Martin Havlat




Heh. Remember this hit from two years ago? Oh man. The check heard 'round the world....or at least through the 300 or so miles from Detroit to the other side of Lake Michigan. The Hawks fans cried foul, and the refs bought it and Kronwall was given the rest of the night off, which was bullcrap. Despite its punishing nature, this was a clean hit.




^ see? Clean. Keep your head up, kids!

STUPID COMMENT:



Okay. First of all, if you think "History Will Be Made" applies only to the current season, you're an idiot. Secondly, a career backup explodes in the playoffs and gets his team within two games of the Stanley Cup, and not only that, has better stats than the goalie that ends up winning...but you say he's "third string" and "worse than junior goalies"? Seriously, kid? I'm all for smack talk, but that's just stupid. Don't forget, your stupid team drafted the son of a bitch. Niemi's never played in the playoffs, and you don't hesitate to call him a legend. Chicago fans are fucking idiots.


#2: Bryan McCabe



Okay...this one is actually my least favorite, mostly because I couldn't find the right kind of video...but I tried, dammit! The others I could've picked from had terrible quality or were letterboxed into oblivion.

I HAD to make this one though, because I had to razz the Leafs fans. Bryan McCabe. I can't believe how much you paid this guy to score own goals. That's tragic.

No stupid comments on this one.


#3: The Fonz



Yeah yeah, I know. The Fonz never played in the NHL. But he could have if he wanted to. Then again, distancewise, the closest team he could play for would've been the Hawks...and The Fonz doesn't associate with losers.

Except Potsie.

Anyway, the main reason I made this one was to sort of break the monotony...why NOT do it for something other than hockey? What IF The Fonz weren't so cool? Would he have fallen into the shark tank? No. Probably not. Probably because no one would've towed him on a rope. They'd have been like "Why are you wearing a leather jacket while water skiing? What are you, some kind of smart guy?"

Also, if you didn't know, this one was put in a Puck Daddy post (which explained the sudden jump in views from like, 6 to 2,500 in one night). Hooray!

No stupid comments. There's only one, and it's nice.


#4: "Babydick" Sidney Crosby



Oh my GOD, this one sent the Pens fans out in droves. They weren't very happy at me for this one. Then again, they're all complete idiots so it's not like I care. Another gem from the 2009 finals, Wings fans will remember Johan Franzen with a fairly weak check that sent Sidney Crosby gasping and crying and whining to the bench for the remainder of the game (which, by the way, didn't stop him from running out and military pressing the Cup and skating around like Baryshnikov's gay sister).

Pens fans were quick to remind me that the Penguins did end up winning the Stanley Cup. I acknowledge this sad fact of history, but it still doesn't change the fact that through the final series, Sidney Crosby was a no-show and did absolutely nothing to contribute to his team. For Christ's sake, Justin Abdelkader had more goals than he did, and he's a fourth-liner.

Not to mention in general, he's a gigantic vagina, whiner, diver, and horrible example of a captain in the National Hockey League.

Let's face it. None of the Penguins players stood out in the final series. You could probably say the same about Detroit's players. The fact it went 7 games shows it was a defensive struggle both ways. But the numbers don't lie; Crosby sucked. The Penguins fans will not acknowledge this, and instead only respond with "HUR CROSBY'S ON THE CUP" as if this is the ultimate trump card to any hockey argument. Jay Pandolfo's on three Cups, dude. Does this mean he's thrice the player Crosby is? And I'll remind you guys like Maltby, Draper, and McCarty? Lidstrom? Holmstrom? Yeah, they've got four. Does this mean they're four times the player Crosby is?

Hint: Yes.

Pens fans represent the lowest of the low in terms of hockey intelligence. Blindly following the team only since it started winning, refusing to budge on any notion that their players are infallible. They're absolutely useless in any hockey conversation that precedes the year 2007 (just like Hawks fans), or in any conversation that isn't "how great Sidney Crosby is." They serve as a warning against drinking while pregnant, and should always wear helmets in public so we know who they are (assuming we're deaf and can't hear the incessant YEA CROSBY YEAAA cheers emanating from them at any given second).

Stupid comments for this one are great and many, so I'll have a hard time picking a couple out to make fun of.



I can't read this. I'm trying, and I just can't understand it. These kids should be paying more attention in school instead of trying to argue on the internet. As for the last point, I don't know if consecutive 2-1 losses and a 7 game series is a "choke." Then again, this kid is obviously a moron and thinks any series loss = choke. Sorry. Not so.



Here's a twofer! The first guy does have a point; none of us have played professional hockey at the NHL level. But we have watched it. For years - and so we do know what it's like. We've seen guys take brutal hits, pucks to the face, sticks to the face, bad checks, etc etc, and get back up and play on. Remember Eric Belanger? Dude takes stick to the face, pulls out teeth on bench, doesn't miss a check. Or Duncan Keith? Dude takes a puck to the MOUTH...goes back, gets stitched up, and plays on. Sidney Crosby takes a clean check from the side and decides he can't play anymore.

The second guy was the stupidest comment on the video. He's right though; if only I was as big and strong and tough as Sidney Crosby. If only I had the ability to crosscheck guys from the back...or punch dudes in the nuts to win fights. See, that's my problem; I only fight from the front. Though I can't skate, I'm more than certain I wouldn't need to quit the game after taking a check. I'm a big, strong guy. Sidney Crosby? Not so much.

I'm taller than him too.

....God, is it October yet?

The Detroit Red Wings: What They Mean to Me

During the past few years, you've come to Beards of War for hockey related comedy, satire, snark, and sarcasm- ...alright, that's wrong. Over the past...er, month, you've come here when you're bored at work and looking for time to kill. And for a quick chuckle. And that's what I'm usually good at, because it's a style I'm comfortable with.

However, in this entry, I've decided to go out of my comfort zone with a SERIOUS Red Wings post. During my travels throughout the Detroit blogosphere, I've noticed other bloggers and fans discussing what drew them to this team; whether it was by choice or whether they grew up with it.

I guess I just figured since I know a pretty good number of people read this, perhaps you'd like to know why I like...no, LOVE the Red Wings.

I guess I'll start at the beginning. I was born at the ass-end of 1985, so my memories of the "Dead Wings" era or missing the playoffs are practically non-existent. In fact, I believe my earliest hockey memory of any sort was a Red Wings/San Jose Sharks game from either 1992 or 1993. I don't remember who won. I don't even really remember many of the players, except for Steve Yzerman. I know this because my dad told me. I still didn't really get it. I'm just like, "oh, okay. That's cool."

My dad's been a Red Wings fan for as long as I remember; longer than I've had memories. He's more a Wings fan than a hockey fan; you know, doesn't really know anything about other teams, but could tell you a lot about the home team. His only memories aside from ones about the Wings have to do with rivalries. I remember this mug he got from Dunkin Donuts that had Paul Coffey on it. It was a Coffey Mug. I remember asking him "who's this?", and he responded "That's Paul Coffey, he plays for the Red Wings."

"What's a Red Wing?"

"It's a wheel with a wing on it. They play hockey."

"Oh. That's cool he makes coffee too! And his name is Coffey!" He just kind of laughed at that. I really didn't get it. I seriously thought Paul Coffey made coffee. 15 years later, I realize now that Tim Horton was the coffee guy. Though let's face it, Paul Coffey should think about starting up a franchise. Coffey Coffee. They could open up next to Pizza Pizza. I dunno.

These are my earliest sports memories. That, and going to Detroit Tigers spring training in 1992 in Florida and receiving a pen and a hat from a guy talking about the "new" expansion franchise coming to Miami soon. That's how I became a Florida Marlins fan, by the way. Hand out free crap to kids and they're fans for life. I have faint memories of the Detroit Pistons bad boy era too.

But as for hockey, we didn't have cable or any decent television coverage, so watching hockey games on TV was very rare; we either had to go to parents' friends' houses or restaurants. We got cable in 1994 and moved into the city in 1995. Having cable was a trip. Having ESPN in my own bloody bedroom was weird. Those were the days when Nickelodeon didn't suck, and thus, I was preoccupied with that instead of hockey. I regret that. Those were the days I also played outside with my friends...which I also don't do anymore.

I do remember 1997 and 1998's back to back championships. I remember my dad saving one of the newspapers from my paper route in '97 because it was the one with the Red Wings on the front. I was excited for them, even if I didn't know anything about the team. It's the home team! I remember him talking about the brawl that occurred that March. That's when I understood there was a rivalry between Detroit and Colorado. I didn't like Colorado.

I remember seeing the news when Vladdy Konstantinov was in that accident. I remember being bummed. Severely. Again, I didn't know why. It was the home team, I guess.

I remember seeing them lift the Cup in '98 and I saw Vladdy hold it from his wheelchair. Seriously uplifting.

Unfortunately, my hockey memories between the fall of '98 and fall '01 are nonexistent. We moved into an apartment in 2000, and then to Battle Creek, Michigan in the spring of 2001.

That March, my dad received a job offer from the FAA. The government. They were going to relocate him.

To Denver, Colorado.

At first, I liked the idea. We'd finish out the school year in Battle Creek and then my brother, my mom and I would join my dad and go house hunting in the summertime. I was 15 years old at that time and had lived my entire life in suburban Michigan. I wanted to see what life was like with the mountains and the thin air...and the Avalanche fans.

I thought this would be fun. I hoped it would be fun. It was a little tough, given it was my third high school in one year's time, not to mention leaving all my friends behind and moving 2,000 miles west of where I'd lived all my life. There's really no other way to go about it than to go into it with a good attitude. Where else could I go?

Unfortunately, the kids at my high school didn't much care for me. They weren't as friendly as I would've liked. In fact, that's an understatement. They were downright horrible. I don't really talk about this much, but it adds to the story...so I guess I have no choice. Here goes.

*exhale*

When we moved to Colorado, I was roughly 5'7" and close to 300 pounds. I was a fat kid. The Colorado kids made sure I knew it. The entire school year, I was called names from passing cars; beached whale. Fatty. Godzilla. Lardass. You name it. I had things thrown at me from cars; bottles. Cans. Garbage.

I was beat up more than a few times my dudes much taller and stronger than me. I still don't know why. I was threatened with further violence and with death. Fortunately, they were too cowardly and coked up to follow through with anything more than what they already did.

My self-esteem was already on very shaky ground by just moving out there. I was always a very shy kid, and I still am. But at least people in Michigan didn't hate me because I was fat...or whatever reason.

The fact they didn't hesitate to do that stuff in front of my younger brother killed me too. The fact he couldn't do anything but look at me with a sad expression or say "sorry" as they called me names and drove away or whatever sucked even more. How are you supposed to look at your older siblings when they're being dehumanized right in front of you?

Those guys didn't even know me.

Needless to say, I didn't have any friends. I hated going to school. I hated leaving my room. I don't know how many times I'd sit in my room and cry about my life; at 15 years old. Kind of pathetic now that I look back on it. I'd sit and wonder what was wrong with me. What had I done to upset them? Did I exude something that was automatically unlikeable?

I wanted to die. I wanted to kill myself. I thought I was better off dead. I did not want this life anymore. I thought there was no way out.

We'd take day trips into Denver, and I wouldn't talk. All I would say is "I want to go home." I didn't like being out in public anymore. I didn't like people even glancing at me, because I assumed they were judging me. It's sad what I'd become.

As school was winding down, I started to watch the Stanley Cup playoffs. When I first tuned in, Detroit was playing St. Louis. They ended up winning that series in 5 games. That's not to say I didn't watch the occasional game when I could; this was the first year I actually knew who was on the team!

The next round is one you should remember. And it's why I love the Red Wings.

The Western Conference finals of the 2002 pitted the Detroit Red Wings against the Colorado Avalanche. It seems sort of symbolic for me now, just because it was Michigan versus Colorado, which is how I saw my situation. I'm a Michigan boy caught in the awful state of Colorado.

The Colorado Avalanche represented everything disgusting and horrible and wrong with the world. The Colorado Avalanche were sin. The Colorado Avalanche were pestilence. They were the assholes beating on me. They were the guys throwing their pop bottles at me from their moving car. They were the coked up morons telling me they were going to slit my throat if they saw me again.

The Detroit Red Wings were the heroes. Steve Yzerman was the glowing god with the glowing sword. Every time they won, I gained hope. Every time they lost, I died a little. When it went to a Game 7, I was on pins and needles. I'd never hoped for anything more in my life. I wanted them to crush the Avs, and I wanted them to do it with an exclamation mark.

They didn't disappoint.

Holmstrom.

Fedorov.

Robitaille.

Holmstrom again.

Hull.

Patrick Roy, the king of all douchebags on the douchebaggiest team in the douchebaggiest city in the douchebaggiest state in America, gets PULLED.

Oh, but we're not done. Olausson on the powerplay.

And Pavel Datsyuk on the powerplay.

7-0. The Detroit Red Wings didn't just beat Colorado, they crushed them. They chased Patrick Roy. They were going to the Stanley Cup finals.

I watched this game alone in my room while my parents and brother were out at a party. No one was there to see me bawl like a little girl as I watched *MY* Red Wings celebrate beating the Colorado Avalanche.

Steve Yzerman and his crew had thwarted all that was wrong with the world.

It gave me hope. Maybe *I* could beat this Colorado thing too.

Through finals week at school, nothing could bother me. I didn't listen to the kids. I wore my Red Wings shirt to school for the first time ever. I caught so many dirty looks and so many threats. But I didn't care. MY team was better than THEIR team. I watched the Wings play the Carolina Hurricanes. I watched them lose Game 1, but I didn't see them lose any more after that.

I remember triple overtime.

I remember Game 5. My favorite game of all time. I remember all the goals.

I remember Brendan Shanahan's empty netter with 45 seconds to go. "SCOOOORES!!! BRENDAN SHANAHAN!!!!"

I remember Gary Thorne's call: "...THE DETROIT RED WINGS HAVE WON THE 2002 STANLEY CUP!"

I remember it vividly. I don't know how many times I've replayed it on YouTube since then. But to this day, it still gives me goosebumps. It still almost makes me tear up.

To me, this wasn't just a hockey team playing a hockey game for a hockey prize. They were playing for me. They were playing for me stuck behind enemy lines, with no hope. They gave me hope. They gave me something to be happy for. They gave me something to believe in. I believed in them. They didn't let me down. They won it all.

And they won it for me.

....

A happy footnote to this story; that fall, the FAA offered my dad a relocation back to Michigan. He accepted.

We left Colorado forever on September 22, 2002.

I was back home. In Michigan.

Colorado left its scars and its damage, but I survived...thanks to the Red Wings.

All these years later, I still have an undying love for the team that pulled me through the most difficult period of my young life. It's something that'll never go away, because it can't. They're my heroes. And they always will be. The faces and names may change, but the love never will.

And that's what the Red Wings mean to me.

Beards of War reacts to Chicago's Adventures in a Salary Cap World

The Blackhawks recently decided to match San Jose's offer sheet to RFA Niklas Hjalmarsson. Chicago, the team whose cap situation, if were realized visually would look not unlike flaming Vietnamese orphans, decided to resign a 6th defenseman for 3 and a half million dollars over 4 years.

This leaves the team with roughly $100,000 in cap space with which to sign 7-8 more players to have a minimum roster.

The league minimum's about $500,000. And of those 7-8, one is Antti Niemi.

$100,000.

And now, our reaction:

AAAHAHAAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAAA HAAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAHAAAAAAAAAA

AHAHAHAHAHAHA. HA. HA. HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AHAAHA

AHAHAHAHAH. AH. AH. okay.

done.

....

....


....AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

......AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHA

...AAAAAAAHAHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.......

Not enough H's and A's. So I'll let Tom Hanks finish it.



Way to go, Stan Bowman. Way to go.

Derek Boogaard = Peter Gibbons

Have you ever seen Office Space? I hope you have. It's one of my favorite movies. If you haven't, in a nutshell, it's a comedy about three guys working at a software company office in the late 90s who hate their jobs. At one point in the film, the main protagonist, Peter Gibbons, goes with his girlfriend to see an occupational hypnotherapist and Peter, normally sort of high-strung, is placed under a relaxing trance. But before the obese hypnotherapist can snap Peter out of this trance, he succumbs to a heart attack in the middle of the session, leaving Peter stuck in the trance.

Peter is now completely relaxed in his life and starts skipping work, uncaring of the consequences and preparing to start his lifelong dream of "doing nothing." Anyway, at one point in the film, while arriving at work to pick up some things before leaving, he is reminded by his friend Michael that he has an appointment with some consultants. Peter goes in to see the two men and is completely brutally honest about his slacking off at work, his displeasure with his multiple bosses, and admits he just doesn't care.

Now I know, this is a hockey blog and not a film blog, but here's my point. During the consultant scene, Peter admits: "I'd say in a given week, I probably only do fifteen minutes of real, actual work."

One could say the same of Derek Boogaard.

And that is the point of that story.

If you're one of those who purposefully avoid the tragically hilarious, then you might now know that that genius GM of the Rangers, Glen Sather, recently signed known totem pole Derek Boogaard to an ACTUAL SERIOUS CONTRACT worth $6.6 million over 4 years. This for a guy who has scored as many goals in the last four years as I have. Dude hasn't even played a full season in the NHL yet. I'm guessing Sather thinks money grows on trees. Or in his own ass.

That's right. Derek Boogaard is getting paid $1,625,000 this upcoming season.

A goon.

Over a million and a half dollars.

Y'know, if Peter were making that kind of scratch, he probably wouldn't have needed to see a hypnotherapist, nor would he hate his job. I mean, C'MAAN.

Assume Boogaard plays in 60 games. Assume he plays 7 minutes a night. That's a total of 420 minutes, or 7 total hours. Seriously, give this man's agent a medal and a bologna sandwich, because if I were paid 1.625 million for 7 hours of work, I WOULD NOT BE PUTTING MY ENTIRE FUTURE IN DEBT IN COLLEGE. $3,869 a minute. Think of all the 900 numbers you could call if you made that kind of scratch. $232,140 an hour! Try and get THAT at McDonald's!

And to complete the film reference from earlier...think of all the new red Swinglines you could get.

R.I.P. Bob Probert - One Tough Sonofabitch

It's confirmed; former Red Wing and Blackhawk enforcer Bob Probert died today after collapsing on a boat in Lake St. Clair.

It's actually very hard for me to try and formulate some kind of "tribute" or anything with my words; mostly because his time with the Red Wings started in 1985 (when I was born) and ended before I was 8 years old, so my memories of him and the team at that time are fuzzy at best...so if I tried to make some big, emotional tribute, it would just come off as cheesy and dishonest.

However, this doesn't mean I totally lack any memory of him at all. Not to mention the internet has given us the YouTube, so all the old fans can go back and rewatch some of the classic Probert brawls against guys like Tie Domi. That's how I went back and "relived" Probert's best moments and how I became "re-enamored" with the man.

Or...y'know, there's also "Battle of the Blades." Probert was such a dude, he could make figure skating manly.

This also doesn't mean I won't say some kind words about Probie. So here goes.

There may never be another enforcer like Bob Probert; he was the best. He wasn't a "goon" whose only job was to go out, get in a fight, and stay on the bench the rest of the game. Probert was a "don't fuck with my team" guy. He played and lived hard...maybe a little too hard. His issues with drugs and alcohol are well-documented, so I don't feel I should bring them up right now. All I can say is I hope they weren't involved with his passing today.

My friend Sylvia used to tell me stories about Bob Probert hanging out in her basement when she was growing up in Windsor. Helluva guy.

How many enforcers nowadays could score 29 goals and 62 points in a season, IN ADDITION to 398 penalty minutes? None. They just don't make 'em like they used to, and nor will they. It's a different era, anyway.

I've always been the type who falls hard into nostalgia, and all the pictures one can find of Yzerman next to Probert definitely hit home. Sometimes I wonder what it'd be like if Probert had stayed with the Wings when they won their Stanley Cups...or what it'd look like to see him lifting said Cup.

So to the greatest fighter to ever don the Winged Wheel OR the Injun head - I say rest well, Probie. May you find the peace we've all wished for you. Also, if there is a heaven, and if there is a God, and if you're there with them both, make sure you keep 'em all safe. We all know you could. Also, punch St. Peter right in the face, he's getting a little cocky. Take his sainthood away too. I think "St. Probert" sounds better, anyway.

To the cosummate teammate and enforcer.



Bob Probert. One tough sonofabitch.

The (Hilarious) Implosion of the 2010 Stanley Cup Champs

When the Chicago Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup, it was a dark day for humanity. But when we realized that their horrendous contracts would soon catch up to them, it got a little better.

But what we didn't know was just how bad it would be for them...and how hilarious it would be for us.

So many of their regular season and playoff heroes have been traded off for peanuts, and while Blackhawks fans seem so quick to dismiss these players as worthless (when just two months ago they were GODS AMONG MEN...typical bandwagon response), we all know what they meant to the team.

What's also hilarious is watching these hockey n00bz get angry without having any real understanding of how the salary cap works or the sheer idiocy of their own front office.

Ah, bandwagoners....

Beards of War has produced this short film attempting to detail just how much of the team has been sold off in order to pave the way for more mediocre players with smaller salaries.

Man, that salary cap's a BITCH, ain't it?