In Sincere Appreciation of Sid Crosby (or, “The Rest of the NHL is Having Night Terrors”)
March 9, 2012 3 Comments
(I had originally written an article called “A Vicious Defense of Sid Crosby” in response to the unwiped douchebags from Philly and New Jersey that I live among, but I decided the world needed one less Hateful internet rant. The Good News is that I was able to take the bulk of that article, give it a shiny new coat of paint, and still churn out an entertaining product. With the news that Sid has been cleared for contact and the unveiling of Le Magnifique, today isn’t a day for Hate. Today is a day for Celebration:)
While Pittsburgh fans were slow to realize what they have in Geno Malkin (and are even slower to realize who they have in Marc-Andre Fleury), for the most part even casual observers in Pittsburgh at least know that the Penguins employ the Best Player in the World in Sid Crosby. Only people in Pittsburgh who are completely uninformed about hockey (or sports, really) fail to acknowledge what a once-in-a-lifetime treasure Sid is.
However, since moving business to the dirty south and in particular Wilmington, North Carolina, I have had to listen to an inordinate amount of Sid-bashing. Even more disgusting, I have almost literally come to blows with thumb-fucking trash from the New York-New Jersey-Philly Tri-State cesspool because they have said things so off-color about Sid.
Unlike with my defense of Geno, I am not even going to dignify arguments that Sid Crosby is not the Best Player in Hockey. I don’t need to write “A Vicious Defense of Sid Crosby” because even his most ardent detractors know he’s the show. Tearing down Sid Crosby is like tearing down Superman: any and all derogatory comments are rooted in petty jealousy and unrequited lust. The same people who rip on Sid are the same people who blame the government for their problems, blame other drivers because they’re late everywhere, and blame their girlfriend when she leaves them for a guy with more composure who fucks better. In other words, losers.
Sid’s detractors want to believe that the NHL marketing machine made Sid. That he’s an above-average talent, but highly overrated and extremely replaceable as the Face of the NHL. Jobbers from Philly and Jersey, especially, think the League would be just as well-served with Jonathan Toews or Pavel Datsyuk or some comparably-talented Superstar carrying the torch for the League. Not to trash Jonathan Toews or Pavel Datsyuk (who are phenomenal), but when NHL TV ratings and national interest spike when Sid returns, the difference between Sid and the rest of the field will become abundantly clear.
Make no mistake, 29 NHL are insanely jealous that they did not win the 2005 Draft Lottery. The guys who try to make the case that Sid is a bitch or a diver would be calling him up and begging to give him sloppy blowjobs if he were to be suddenly traded to their team.
When it comes to Sid, there’s a very simple outlook a reasonable person has to take:
Having said that, here is a chronological reminder to the vocal minority of Devils, Flyers, and Rangers fans who religiously use the bare-handed ass-wipe why Sid is the Best Hockey Player in the World:
After getting his teeth knocked out by that plug Derian Hatcher:
Anything you can do, I can do better:
Once you get three, you go for four:
This one hurts:
And finally, my favorite clip, minus the scenes where Sid and Mario are facing-off with each other at Mario’s breakfast table over the last bagel:
As you can see, the argument makes itself. That is one person doing all of that over a six-year span. Unless you’re Michael Jordan or Frank Roosevelt, you can shut the fuck up with any snide remarks toward Sid. The guy has accomplished more in his late-teens/early-20s than your entire family will throughout the course of their history. You spent most your early-20s on the floors of hollowed-out crack-houses with a belly full of Jamaican semen and tears of mascara running down your cock-bruised cheeks, which is slightly less-impressive than being the National Hockey League’s marquee player and standard bearer.
I would be well within my rights to stop the article right there, since it’s called “In Sincere Gratitude of Sid Crosby”. If he gave nothing to the world but the entertainment of watching him play, he would still be completely generous. But he’s contributed so much more than that.
For example, you now get to watch a Minnesota-Montreal/Colorado-Phoenix double-header on a national TV network in large part do the public relations’ repair Sid has tirelessly done since the
2005 2013 Lockout. Again, not to diminish the contributions of other players, but they aren’t doing multinational advertising campaigns with Reebok or appearing on the Tonight Show.
Since I have a half-written tirade called “A Vicious Defense of Sid Crosby”, let’s do some selective cutting-and-pasting:
Sid Crosby has willingly, if reluctantly, become the Face of the NHL
As recently as 2009, Sid and Alex Ovechkin were co-Faces of the League; Sid was the straight man, while Alex was the Rock-and-Roll:
(That commercial is full of gold, but the Staal-vs-Staal pillow fight is legendary)
Not to drag Alex Ovechkin through the mud to make my point, but this year, in which Sid has been out with post-concussion symptoms, would have been the perfect time for Ovi to step up and shoulder some of the marketing responsibility for the League. Alas, rather than step up in Sid’s absence, this is typical of what we get from AO:
I think Alex Ovechkin the player is still terrfic, but he is regressing annually as a marketable brand and a League ambassador. Can you imagine if Kobe Bryant skipped the NBA All-Star Game over similar circumstances? No, because 1) Kobe is sociopathically-competitive and would never miss the opportunity to show-up LeBron James, and 2) it’s a shitty All-Star Game without Bryant, because he and LeBron James are the two main-steam icons in today’s NBA. Even your mom has heard of LeBron and Kobe, and the only sports she watches with regularity is the two-man pole-vaulting exhibition she holds in her bedroom every Friday.
Coming out of the Lockout in 2005-06, it was Sid verus Ovi. Immediately following the 2010 Winter Olympics, Ovi ceased to be in the conversation.
Unlike Alex Ovechkin, who took his ball and went home before this year’s All-Star Game because he got suspended, Sid tirelessly represents the interests of the League. He only knows one way to conduct himself in his dealings with the collected media: Perfectly.
I hear the assorted hordes of south Jersey douche-bags who refuse to shave or shower pouncing on Sid for being a boring interview or whatever, but that’s because he’s the NHL equivalent of John Cena: he realizes that he’s the one keeping the women and the children captivated, and that he has a Duty as the Face of the NHL to be engaging and patient with the assembled press. I would wager a few more six-year old kids have NHL Replica jerseys that say “Crosby” instead of “Richards” or “Semin”, or any other presumptive NHL talent who acts like a 14-year girl on the rag when dealing with the local beat-writers.
Again, Penguins’ fans, once more with feeling:
Sid Crosby is not marketing the NHL to you, the 30-something fuckrag who still lives at home and is going to watch the NHL and anonymously bitch on message boards regardless of who says what. Sid Crosby is marketing the NHL to young families whose children are quickly deciding that hockey is cooler than soccer. While you’re too consumed thinking about cock-rings (other peoples’, not your own) to give a damn about something that requires a degree of integrity, Sid Crosby is out there repeatedly fielding questions about concussions for the betterment of both the League (as a brand) and the sport (as ‘Patient Zero’ as far as concussion-science is related).
Speaking of which:
Quit Calling Sid “soft” for not playing through a Broken Neck and a Concussion
This line of non-thinking is what almost got me into a fistfight at hockey
last week last summer. Some limp-wristed cock enthusiast was going on and on and on about how he would break Sid’s neck and fight Sid and what a bitch Sid is and yadda yadda yadda. I walked out of the room because I didn’t want to go to jail that day.
I can tolerate this depending on how many drinks I’ve had, unless it concerns pieces of shit from Philly calling Sid Crosby a pussy for being concussed and/or sitting out while his broken vertebrae knit.
Knowing what we know in March 2012 about concussions, which have spread like an epidemic through the NHL in 2011-12, there should be very few people reading this who now doubt the severity of Sid’s symptoms or how the absence of star players due to concussions hurts individual teams and the League as a whole.
But since January 2011, when this concussion epidemic was in it’s relative infancy, Sid had to sit at his stall almost every day with this look on his face and answer questions about his toughness and willingness to play through “an injury”:
I have that look on my face when well-intended but socially-unaware types drone on and on and on about exercise science or hockey or women, and it’s obvious they do not have the slightest idea what they are talking about. It’s the look of someone being painstakingly patient even though he wants to say, “shut the fuck up, and let me set you straight before you say anything else retarded.”
Sid loves hockey. For some guys, the NHL is a business and a paycheck. I know Sid would play for free, or hell, even pay to play. He had to sit there for over a year and repeatedly answer questions about his character and his toughness (which to the ears of a hockey player is like questioning the commitment of a good parent), all while not getting to play hockey. If I go more than three days without playing, I’m about ready to go start a bar brawl, so I can only imagine how Sid felt having to go an entire year with competitive play – all while knowing that his team, at times, could desperately use his on-ice help.
Here’s today’s anatomy lesson. This is the human spine:
See those little guys up top, C1 and C2? Sid was playing in the 2nd Best League in the World (the best League is in Mario’s garage) with those little guys fractured. He was basically a Bobblehead, and he still managed to beast his way to 12 points in 8 games before Ray Shero mercifully pulled the plug and demanded re-evaluation.
Meanwhile, you spend two weeks in bed every time you throw out your back auto-erotically asphyxiating yourself, you filthy fuck, and you’re going to talk shit about Sid Crosby for not playing in the NHL with a broken neck? What the fuck is wrong with you?
I’ll tell you what’s wrong: your dad didn’t immediately start beating you the first night you came home with black lipstick and guy-liner on, only because your mom pleaded with him and told him that you were “expressing yourself” or “finding your way” or some contemporary, soft rationale for why you so enjoy pampering yourself like a lady.
Because your folks didn’t nip your cross-dressing inclinations in the bud, you grew up to be an entitled douchebag, saying all and any shitty thoughts that cross your limited mind without considering that there could be repercussions for your actions. This entitlement has culminated in you ripping on injured NHL players (some of the fiercest, toughest warriors on the planet) while you can barely fumble-fuck your way through a church-league roller-hockey game without gleefully jumping ass-first onto the business end of your hockey stick.
An Additional Word on Concussions
I positively detest Mike Richards, but the guy’s a Goddamn Olympian. It would never occur to me, or anyone with a functional and robust penis, to wish injury on someone they’ve never spoken to, even if he did do this to presumptive American Olympian David Booth :
That is positively filthy, and shows no regard of a fellow man. Even so, that hit has never prompted me to say something like, “If Mike Richards was in this room, I would try to break his neck,” which is what I had to listen to a few cunts from Philly say about Sid a few days ago.
(Quick Aside: When did being a Man instead of twat stop being cool?)
Having just viewed the Richards hit on David Booth, let’s talk for a minute about the long-term ramifications of concussions, and why Sid (not just a Man, but also a
$45 million-dollar $100 million-dollar asset) has not been medically-cleared to resume playing:
Five years from now, we are going to look back in horror at our lack of awareness and diagnosis about concussions. For example, here’s the Wiki entry for CTE:
This diagnosis is in its infancy, and was basically referred to as “Mike Webster disease” prior to work done in 2002. If you want to read a sad story, read about Webster here: http://espn.go.com/classic/obit/s/2002/0924/1435977.html.
Not to brag, but all my years of boxing and hockey have left me with a single-serving taste of CTE. About once a month, there’s a day when I can’t get out of bed because my feet won’t go under-neath me. I sometimes walk around in a fog where I literally don’t hear people, and the words I try to say come out in incomprehensible half-sentences. Worse, I can sometimes wake up irrationally depressed or even vaguely suicidal. As an exercise physiologist, I can confirm this is not normal hormonally-induced depression; this condition, my friends, is the bill for years and years of repetitive head trauma.
This is one of the reasons I write. I have often compared myself to a computer that’s been dropped a few times: all the information is still inside, but sometimes it takes awhile to boot up. I write as much as I can out of suspicion that one day I won’t be able to recall anything.
I would not wish CTE or concussion-symptoms on anyone. To use examples, you certainly don’t see me dancing on the graves of Marc Savard or Chris Pronger, whose respective careers are in doubt because of concussion symptoms:
Concussions prematurely took exceptional hockey talents like Paul Kariya, Eric Lindros, and Pat LaFontaine away from the game. The game was worse for not having the privilege of watching those men play to their fullest potential, just like the game is worse when we don’t get to see Sid Crosby play at least 82 games per year.
So, when some walking hand-job from the dirtiest bowels of the U.S. starts jawing at me, who has spent 20 years respecting the game and deals with very real post-concussion symptoms, about what a pussy Sid Crosby is for not playing through an extremely serious injury, it’s all I can do not start breaking his bones. Bones, after all, heal; brains, as we’re coming to learn, not as predictably.
It’s infuriating that I have to lump a concussion tirade into an article meant to praise Sid, but at this point Sid and Concussion Science are inextricably linked. Beyond that, you don’t get a full appreciation of and thus gratitude for Sid unless you fully understand what he has gone through. Some time in the very near future, he’s going to burst onto the ice like he never left and continue to wow the League (Note: He Did), but you need to respect that the Man has gone through an ordeal. If you can imagine not having sex for a year, or not seeing your kids for a year, you can glimpse the frustration that Sid has had to deal with.
Sid Crosby does not know how to Dive
In hockey, “Diving” is when you fall over unnecessarily to draw a penalty. This is a Dive:
Sid just attacks and attacks and attacks, like a Critter from the movie of the same name, until the puck goes in the net:
The difference should be obvious. Sid skates like he’s running from the cops while everyone on the other team tries to hook him, hold him, and otherwise drag him down. Sometimes while he’s doing it, he falls over, but it’s never intentional. Sid has too much respect for the game to Dive.
This nonsense all started because that fat fuck Ken Hitchcock floated the idea that Sid is a baby/diver/whiner to Philadelphia media. This is because fat people are lonely and want someone to cuddle with them and pay attention to them. This was back in 2005, which until six months ago was the last time anyone gave a fuck about what Ken Hitchcock had to say.
This article hits all the right notes: http://flyers.nhl.com/club/news.htm?id=436028
Sid does not know how to dive. He has exceptional balance, which terrifying and well-respected trainer Gary Roberts will verify (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ibna6Uv5Fx4). He skates like a freaking cannonball, and would rather bite his own sister in the face than turn the puck over. If he falls over, it’s because he was tripped, or because making a play necessitates leaving his feet:
Love that goal. Anyway, the notion that Sid is a diver was tired in 2006, before all the Stanley Cup Playoff wins and League Awards:
Back to Hitchcock: after Sid won that greasy pig a freaking Olympic Gold medal, the porker started writing Shakespearean missives and waxing poetic about Sid:
What a two-faced vampire. Free advice from the Fitness King, Ken: lean protein and green vegetables, and maybe cut back on the number of Golden Corrals you rape every week. Trying to swing from Sid’s balls today does not make you less of a leach, nor does it make it any easier for you to see your dick from underneath Man-Tits Mountain.
Hitchcock started this nonsense, but he certainly was not the only one to take part in it. Regrettably, Peter Forsberg, a favorite player and inspiration to both Sid and myself, chimed in. This prompted Daniel Alfredsson to do what he does best and copy Foppa to the letter, so he made a point to note what a whiner Sid is. Before you knew it, almost every veteran in the League (and thus the assembled press by proxy) was trashing an 18-year old kid.
(On Alfredsson: Sid, like a woman scorned, never forgets: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bNOp2TEKaY&feature=related)
That was in 2006, when Sid was 18. Do you know what you sounded like when you were 18? You didn’t even hit puberty until you were in your-early 20s and didn’t get to second base until you were 24. To this day, you alternately cry out the names “Raphael!” and “Skeletor!” each and every time your boyfriend brings you to orgasm. You really want to rip on an 18-year old, hyper-competitive kid for screaming at the refs after they refused to call penalties like this?:
You’re right, clever internet guy, Sid is just a pussy. There’s no way that wasn’t interference, roughing, and a high-stick, all on the same play. Did you see the mouthful of blood and broken teeth on Sid? That’s ok, the refs didn’t either.
I bet the refs saw this though:
I didn’t see Derien Hatcher in that video, did you? Was he forced out of the League by then? If you can help me find him, he looks like this:
YOU DON’T POKE THE BEAR.
More on “Crosby Sucks”
Look, this website exists:
Nothing but articulate journalism there. Hey, if I can’t take a joke, fuck me, but no one who has ever contributed to that site can pee standing up or watch an episode of Teen Mom 2 without bursting into hysterical sobbing, let alone ice-skate or shoot a hockey puck. You would be better off going to Fox News for non-partisan political information than you would be stopping at this site for cogent hockey talk.
I can almost buy the argument that Sid is a whiner; after all, I was there for his rookie year, and after Mario retired he was playing on the worst team in the League. After the refs repeatedly refused to call obvious penalties, he did often times give them a tongue-lashing to the tune of “DO YOUR FUCKING JOB, FUCK-STICK!”
But Crosby sucks? C’mon. If I haven’t made my argument yet, here’s more:
You haven’t scored five or six times since the Men’s room at Manhole two years ago, so pardon me if I don’t take you and your severely-bruised knees seriously. You have as much credibility as an NHL analyst as I have a male model (and don’t get excited, you semen-lusting trollop – that’s to say I have zero credibility as a male model, so stop bending over the couch and praying for fulfillment).
If you hate Sid Crosby, then you don’t really appreciate hockey. The guy lives and breathes it, and embodies everything you would want to see in a professional hockey player. It’s obvious that outside of Pittsburgh, much of the negativity heaped on Sid is residual jealousy from fan bases who are irate about the historical embarrassment of riches the Penguins have had.
We currently employ the Best Two Players in the World, and a generation before that, we employed the Best Two Players in the World. You have franchises who have no identity or tradition, while the Pittsburgh Penguins have regularly produced moments like this since 1984:
At the very least, as a hockey fan, you should have a Sincere Gratitude for what Sid Crosby represents and his place in the game. Obviously, not everyone is going to have that view.
In any event, Haters: feel free to say as many disrespectful things as you want about Sid. But if he got traded to your team, you would be sending him disturbing, graphic love letters on heart-shaped red construction paper and begging him to impregnate your girlfriend, wife, and/or sister. Of course, there’s a better chance that you’ll be able to look at shirtless pics of Ryan Reynolds without getting painfully aroused than there is of Sid playing for another NHL team, so maybe you’re better off just hating him from afar and not thinking about how Awesome it is to have him aboard.
Let’s Go Pens