There is a set of unspoken deities in the hockey realm that I wrote about in a previous post that are supposed to prevent long-term situations like this overly drawn out and overly dramatic work stoppage from happening. Slapping the face of every hockey fan out there and laughing at us as we continue to cling to the last shred of hope that there might be a tiny season (around 57 games, which calculated in minutes adds up to a short baseball game). Do I dare say it? I want to say that we are all a group of desperate fools. But nay. This is not the case at all.
While our faith goes completely unheeded and essentially ignored during these troubled times, we hold on to the long-term, the future, the unknown. You see, fellow men, while it may not happen in 2012, our glorious sport will return to us in one form or the other. Maybe teams will return will prisoners as replacement players. Maybe the players will realize the greatest times in their young lives were performing on the national stage. Maybe the owner will come to realize that these players deserve every penny they earn, even when the league is only improving profit margins by only 20% per year. We're going to survive. We're going to go to arenas, and bars, and our best friends' houses because they have a better sound system and a really big TV. We're going to come out of this and hockey will be the best it's ever been. The players will all be hungry and in great need of pummeling the crap out of something. So pray to the hockey gods. Offer them sacrifices of your favorite jersey or free giveaway item from the time the Blue Jackets visited your iceplex. Shout joy across the land for your love of the game. Hockey shall return to us! In its pure, overcommercialized splendor!
It's going to be fine. This is a time of Christmas miracles. Or the world ending.
While our faith goes completely unheeded and essentially ignored during these troubled times, we hold on to the long-term, the future, the unknown. You see, fellow men, while it may not happen in 2012, our glorious sport will return to us in one form or the other. Maybe teams will return will prisoners as replacement players. Maybe the players will realize the greatest times in their young lives were performing on the national stage. Maybe the owner will come to realize that these players deserve every penny they earn, even when the league is only improving profit margins by only 20% per year. We're going to survive. We're going to go to arenas, and bars, and our best friends' houses because they have a better sound system and a really big TV. We're going to come out of this and hockey will be the best it's ever been. The players will all be hungry and in great need of pummeling the crap out of something. So pray to the hockey gods. Offer them sacrifices of your favorite jersey or free giveaway item from the time the Blue Jackets visited your iceplex. Shout joy across the land for your love of the game. Hockey shall return to us! In its pure, overcommercialized splendor!
It's going to be fine. This is a time of Christmas miracles. Or the world ending.
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