Young Guns Jumping Ship

You know, you never used to hear about players requesting trades in the NHL. Or maybe it’s just that in this day and age with every reporter plugged into Twitter and followed by in some cases millions, you hear about things you never used to. Still, the idea of a young player requesting a trade has been sort of taboo in hockey, which is very much a get-only-what-you’ve-earned, veterans-can-talk-rookies-can’t sport.

I was too young to remember the now-infamous Eric Lindros trade, which netted my Avs the second head of their two-headed monster (that being Peter Forsberg) and ultimately gave them pieces that would lead to two Stanley Cups in five years. That a young player, particularly one as talented as Lindros, would refuse to play for the team that drafted him was huge. So much so, in fact, that we are still talking about it more than the length of my lifetime (or 24 years if you want numbers) later.

Now while neither of Jonathan Drouin or Kerby Rychel would be considered the generational talent that Lindros was supposed to be at the time (and arguably was) both are promising young players, former first round picks, and largely considered a huge part of the future of their respective franchises.

And they both requested trades, which became public knowledge in the same weekend.

First, on Saturday Drouin’s trade request emerged in a story that stunned much of the hockey world. How often does a third overall pick request a trade not three seasons after being drafted?

Next, on Sunday, came news that Kerby Rychel had also requested a trade as far back as the summer months before training camp. The former 19th overall pick in 2013, the same year as Drouin, wanted out of Columbus.

Columbus is a losing organization, but it’s more than that. The Jackets have horribly mishandled Rychel, shuttling him back and forth from the minors. Still, you never used to see this kind of thing. It’s exciting, but odd.

On the other hand, some trade excitement might be just the thing we need in the winter doldrums.

 

Built to… not lose to Minnesota

I’ve said this before of Colorado (and the Jets for that matter, albeit less often) but with the 20th Anniversary Team game against the Wild tonight shaping up to be a shameful loss (again) apparently it bears repeating: I cannot stand watching my teams lose to the Minnesota Wild.

Never mind for a moment the arrogance, idiocy, or both that went into planning the 20th Anniversary Team night on a  night the Wild are in town. Losing to the Wild is painful every night.

Why is that? Is it because they’re a division rival? Is it because they’ve done it to the Avs so often? Is it because they’re a dirty, mouthy team that plays the most boring style of hockey imaginable? All check marks.

In the end, however, the why of things doesn’t matter. What matters is that losing to the Minnesota Wild is terrible every time it happens. Beating them is lots of fun, but the Avs must by now have almost forgotten what that feels like. They must be getting tired of it too, even if their play doesn’t indicate that.

So, for Avs management, I have a suggestion: don’t build the Avs to win. Build them to beat the Minnesota Wild.

Every day of the offseason prior to the draft and free agency (and at this rate the Avs will have plenty of those) watch footage of the Wild. Not against the Avs; you don’t want to learn what not to do (you know that pretty well by now I’d wager). Watch how other teams play against the Wild and win.

Sometimes the Winnipeg Jets beat the Minnesota Wild. In fact they’ve done it twice this season. How do they do it? As the clickbait articles always say, you’ll have to watch to find out.

When that’s done, go out into free agency and the draft with the mindset that you are going to build a Wild-killer, not a Stanley Cup winner.

That sounds ludicrous I know (every team should be built to win it all, right?) but if the Avs start beating the Wild regularly, other things will begin to fall into place. Baby steps, people.

I seem to recall the Los Angeles Kings a few years back saying they wanted to build a team that could beat Anaheim, not win the Stanley Cup. As it turned out, they ended up doing both. Maybe the Avs should be following that blueprint.

Thoughts of a Play by Play Man

Rob: Good evening ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Wayne Fleming Arena…

Rob’s brain: You always start that way, should you start with something else this time, do people like it, is anyone even listening, what if they all hate you arrrrggggghhhh!!!! We’re off to a good start!

Rob (ignoring brain): for tonight’s Canada West tilt…

Rob’s Brain: Tilt? Is it wobbly? Is one of its legs shorter than the other? You’re weird.

Rob: Between the Manitoba Bisons, and (insert name of opponent here). Rob Mahon here in the booth with the call alongside (insert colour guy’s name here)…

Rob’s Brain: It’s cute that you introduce yourself, it’s like you think people are listening besides your parents.

Rob: And, (insert name of colour guy here), last time these two teams met, sparks flew and things got heated quickly.

Rob’s Brain (as the colour guy talks): Man, he’s not going where we thought he would with that at all. His idea was better. Why can’t you think of stuff like that?

Rob: In goal for the Bisons tonight, (insert goalie name here) and last game, he let in a  few he’d like to have back. Do we expect him to bounce back tonight?

Rob’s Brain: Jeeeeeezus, there’s a leading (expletive) question. It’s a Bisons broadcast, what do you think he’s gonna say? Nah bro, the dude’s still gonna suck.

Rob: On the other side of the puck, the other team has thrown everything but the kitchen sink at (insert other team’s goalie name), but he has stood tall.

Rob’s Brain: Everything but the kitchen sink? Where do you hear these things? Does that mean they threw the bathroom sink or the kitchen table? Pretty sure that’s illegal in hockey, and you know, in general. That must’ve (expletive) hurt. How is he still playing?

(The anthem begins)

Rob’s Brain: Man, when are they going to fix this poor girl’s microphone? She’s singing her heart out in front of… well, not that many people but you know, and it’s all staticky… who just yelled “True North”? Seriously dude? It’s one thing at Jets and Moose games, and it’s funny at Bombers games because the Bombers are awful right now, but a university hockey game? Get over yourself.

(The anthem ends)

Rob’s Brain: Thank goodness that’s over

Rob (still ignoring dissenting but increasingly hilarious voice in his head): The anthem has been sung and we are ready to get underway here at Wayne Fleming arena, puck is about to be dropped and it’s (name of one centreman) against (name of the other). Puck is dropped and away we go, puck is won back to (defenseman’s name) and he swings it rink wide for (partner’s name).

Rob’s Brain: Why do you say rink wide? Think about it, what does that actually mean? I know Gord Miller says it, but dude, you are not Gord Miller.

Rob: (defenseman’s name) throws it up the wall for (winger’s name) and the Bisons come over the blue line three wide. (Winger’s name) steps over the line on the attack, fires on goal and that’s kicked out by (goalie’s name).

Rob’s Brain: You got really pumped about that shot. It was pretty crappy and from a bad angle. You know you probably could’ve stopped that shot right? Settle down, sport, is it your first day on the job?

Rob: (Winger’s name) goes after the rebound in the corner. He’s pinned to the end wall hard by (defenseman’s name), tries to work it free for (centreman’s name) and does.

Rob’s Brain: Tries to work it free and does… (sighs) there has got to be a better way to say that.

Rob: (Centreman’s name) lifts it free and starts the cycle. Drops it back to (winger’s name) he feeds that back in front, (other winger’s name) fires… and it’s off the blocker of (goalie’s name) and out of play.

(Colour guy starts talking)

Rob’s Brain: Well, this game is a full twenty one seconds old and you have so far managed to sound interested and not screw up anyone’s name while their parents might be listening. Not bad… we might not actually suck at this… man, who picks the songs here? A Rick Roll? In the middle of a hockey game? Seriously dude? If I have to come down there, I swear to God… there should be a bathroom in the press box. How come I’ve got to go all the way over… oh, (expletive), puck is dropping!

Rob: Scramble draw narrowly won by (centreman’s name) with his feet. Back to the point for (defenseman). He walks to the middle, fakes a shot, doesn’t take it yet. Winds up again, tees it up! and that’s blocked on the way to the net, never got through to (goalie’s name).

Rob’s Brain: Yeah, you’re starting to go into play-by-play autopilot. You don’t even need me here with my witty commentary do you?

Rob (still resolutely ignoring brain): The rebound goes back to (defenseman’s name). Bisons with some pressure in the early going, another shot blocked by (opposing winger’s name), he’ll feel that later tonight. (Defenseman) tries one more time, gets it through, (goalie) kicks it aside… the rebound is sitting there, they bang away it, they score! (Centreman’s name) from right on the doorstep bangs it home! Bisons lead by one!

Rob’s Brain: Yeah, okay, you got this. Do your thing bud, I’m switching off until the intermission.

Rob: An early goal off a scramble in front has given the Bisons the 1-0 lead, and that is a confident bunch down there right now

(and up here in the booth too).

 

 

 

 

 

Cody McLeod is one of the Good Ones

In my last two years of contact hockey, my midget and high school hockey years, I was the kid wearing the weird number on the ice. I chose 55 for both my high school and midget teams, and that was the number usually reserved for  call-ups or spares. I was neither of those things; I just really liked the number 55.

The reason for my fondness for that number was Binscarth, Manitoba’s own Cody McLeod. I remember watching McLeod break into the league. I was in eighth or ninth grade at the time. I loved the way he played. Hard on the forecheck, willing to block shots, always ready to fight, and never taking a shift off, he would chip in with the occasional goal too. He was (and is) the ultimate team player.

Though fighting, for which McLeod is perhaps best known, wasn’t allowed in high school, I tried to emulate McLeod’s style in other ways. I’m not a small guy, so coming in hard on the forecheck, shoulder first, tended to free up some pucks. I can tell you that, like McLeod, I certainly wasn’t going to score any pretty goals so, emulating him, I went to the dirty areas. I would come home with bruises up and down my arms from the crosschecks I earned standing in front of the net, but I was proud of those bruises. Each one represented a battle.

It was great to see Cody McLeod do what he does best live last night. He scored a goal by going to the front of the net (it went in off his shinpad in true Cody-Mac fashion) got into a fight against Chris Thorburn (who is both taller and heavier than he is) and forechecked hard all night. He even tried his luck at running Dustin Byfuglien (which maybe wasn’t the best idea in hindsight).

It was vintage Cody-Mac, and while it came agains the Jets and cost them a win, it was still great to see him live. I no longer wear 55 (I’ve worn 11 in memory of Rick Rypien for the last four years) but it will always have a special place in my memory, and so will the Manitoba native who inspired me to wear it in the first place.

Last night proved there are still more memories to be made. Go get ’em, Cody. Knock ’em dead.

 

Jets and Avs go full Freaky Friday

In a complete reversal of their early season fortunes, the Winnipeg Jets and Colorado Avalanche have flip-flopped on momentum. Simply put, right now the Avs look good and the Jets do not. Avs good, Jets bad. Ooga.

In part it’s because, to use a tired old cliche, the Avs best players are finally playing like their best players. I mean, Nathan MacKinnon has been doing it most of the year (see my last blog post) but now he has company in Matt Duchene, recently named the NHL’s first star of the week. In Saturday’s win over Montreal, which shocked me, Duchene and MacKinnon even brought out the best in the talented but enigmatic Mikhail Grigorenko.

On the flip side, the Jets best players really didn’t play well at all in their most recent loss. Wheeler, Ladd and Little, were invisible, and Scheifele and Ehlers, who started out the year so well, both seem to have dropped off the face of the earth.

The biggest difference, however, is goaltending. At the start of the season, Michael Hutchinson and Ondrej Pavelec looked awesome at times, and even in their lesser games they looked decent. On the flip side, the Avs were getting beer-league quality goaltending from Semyon Varlamov for most of the year. Now? Reto Berra of all people is standing on his head for the Avs, and the Jets are getting horrendous performances from their tandem.

Maybe this is a premature reaction, and if the Jets pull out a win tonight against the powerhouse Blues this will seem all the sillier. Still though, the Jets’ best players need to be at their best to climb out of the hole they’ve dug themselves, and their goalies need to be better.

The Rise of Nathan MacKinnon

Looking for a bright spot in the Avs dismal season is like finding a flickering candle in a windowless hardware store with the power out. It’s in there somewhere, darn it, but you’ll have to hunt around and likely bark your shins a few times before you find it. It’s there, however, and for the Avs that faintest glimmer of hope comes in the form of Nathan MacKinnon.

Last season was disastrous for MacKinnon, and the words “sophomore slump” were thrown around more times than I care to remember. His injury situation (which is still a problem, according to head coach Patrick Roy) didn’t help matters. Apparently he’s still playing hurt, but you wouldn’t know it looking at him. He’s flying out there.

MacKinnon started this year off with a bang, getting on the scoresheet right away with an assist on Jarome Iginla’s power play marker. He hasn’t really let up since, despite one or two off games. He’s on better than a point per game pace (though admittedly it’s still early) and looking like he’s ready to smash his previous totals and take the next step as a superstar.

Last season, MacKinnon’s extra weight he’d packed on in the summer seemed to hold him back, and he wasn’t moving his feet as much. Now he’s getting his legs moving again, and coupled with his newfound strength it’s making him nearly impossible to defend. I guess an offseason training with Sidney Crosby will do that to you. Incidentally, Crosby could use some of whatever pre-game meal MacKinnon is eating, because Cole Harbour’s other favourite son has been much worse than expected so far.

Whatever the reason, MacKinnon is off and running on what looks to be a very promising third NHL season. He’s shaken off the rust from last year, is shooting and skating well, and controls the play whenever he’s on the ice. It’s beautiful to watch.

Now if the rest of the team wanted to wake up and follow his example, that would be great.

Should The Avs Commence Tanking?

Tanking is an unbelievably touchy subject in hockey, and the NHL got a fresh dose of it as an issue last season with Connor McDavid and Jack Eichel on top of the draft board. To deter it, the NHL implemented new draft lottery policies that give the last place team even less of a chance to win the lottery (though many would argue this came a year too late with McDavid and Eichel on the board).

Players will never admit to tanking, but some organizations in the past have done it, only admitting to it years later. It’s pretty clear the Pittsburgh Penguins tanked to land Mario Lemieux many years ago, and some still believe they did the same to draft Sidney Crosby.

Given that both those players would later lead Pittsburgh to a Stanley Cup, it’s hard to argue that the tanking wasn’t worth it. Integrity is all well and good, but I guess it doesn’t win championships in and of itself.

Which brings me to Colorado. In the mercilessly cutthroat central division, where, entering tonight’s action, six of the seven teams have records that would be leading the Pacific Division, losing a few games in a row can be a death sentence. The Central is going to produce five playoff teams again, and could produce six if not for the wildcard format. In short, Colorado’s abysmal record of 3-7-1 puts them so far behind the eight ball, that eight ball is going to lap them any day now. They’re in a  deep hole indeed.

Is the hole too deep to climb out of? Maybe it is. In any other division I’d say no, but in the central…

The problem with tanking is its success really depends on that draft year. If the Avs wanted a guaranteed stud, they should have tanked last season. The Avs need help at all positions, and while the top three picks in the upcoming draft could yield franchise players, beyond that there are no guarantees. Somehow, even if they tank, I don’t see the Avs losing fewer games than the Leafs.

So as much as I would love to see Auston Matthews or Jakob Chychrun in an Avs uniform, I’ll hold out hope for now. It’s a little early to tank. If, however, by Christmas the Avs are still doing this poorly, it might be time to start stockpiling draft picks.

What’s Wrong With Colorado?

I suppose I could just start off this blog with the word EVERYTHING! and call it a blog post. Really, at this point, that about sums it up, even if it leaves me feeling a bit lazy. Let’s dig a little deeper, shall we?

The Avs currently sit 2-5-1 on the season, and in the ultra-competetive Central Division that will almost certainly send five teams to the playoffs once again, that’s a kiss of death. I know some Avs fans have already written the playoffs off as a pipe dream, and while it’s early yet, I’ve never seen a division in any sport so brutally tightly contested. A really good team out of the other six is going to miss the playoffs, and the Avs, who are not a really good team right now, are likely to keep them company at this rate.

A few Avs have played well, in fairness. Tyson Barrie looked okay to start the year, prior to a three game suspension. Nathan MacKinnon looks like he’s rounding into form nicely. Brandon Gormley has played well when he’s in the lineup, as has Mikhail Grigorenko. And… that’s about it. I started with what I wanted to praise because after r a 4-1 loss to Florida, there’s not much worth talking positively about in Denver.

John Mitchell went from a fantastic bottom-sixer to a mess in a matter of a single game. Erik Johnson looks like he’s still playing hurt. Francois Beauchemin is doing the best he can with what he has, but it isn’t enough. Nate Guenin is awful, and his continued presence in the lineup over Gormley mystifies me.

Matt Duchene has been invisible this season, and that worries me, because he was supposed to be carrying the torch this year. It doesn’t help that he has no chemistry with wingers Jarome Iginla and… they’ve tried a lot of other people on that left side but none have worked. Alex Tanguay really looks like age is catching up with him at last. It’s all very frustrating.

Most disturbing of all is how bad Semyon Varlamov, so often the team’s saviour, has been playing. He was the Avs MVP the past two seasons but now? Now he’s been the goat in at least two losses. Has the pressure of facing so many shots finally worn him down?

I don’t have the answers to the Avs problems. They’ve always been a streaky team that would vex the most determined of sports psychologists. Their streak will end when it ends, I suppose, and until then Avs fans will just have to endure it with increasing frustration until the team decides they want to remember how to play hockey again. Right now, they don’t look like professional hockey players, and they don’t look like they care. That, more than anything else, is sickening.

Hockey Games and Griffin

As you may know (because the title of my blog likely gave it away), I enjoy hockey. Watching it, playing it, swearing at it, all that good stuff. By and large so does my family, though they don’t watch it with quite the attentive fervour I do. When the Winnipeg Jets come on, my entire family can be found on one couch or another in front of one TV or another (we don’t always watch in the same room, though we often do) starting raptly at the screen and using words to describe the officiating crews that most civilized people wouldn’t use to describe their bowel movements (assuming they would describe them at all).

There is one member of my family, however, who is less than thrilled with hockey games, for whom the games are a stressful, noise filled interruption to an otherwise enjoyable evening. This family member will suffer through them as patiently as he can, but some days it becomes difficult for him. This family member is my dog. Meet Griffin.

I have often joked that, as by far the loudest member of the family, the fact the noise we make when watching hockey bothers Griffin is more than a little ironic. Nevertheless, nothing sends my dog into a frenzy quite like the reactions we (and especially I) have to the goings on in a hockey game.

Being a longtime fan, I know what I expect from the teams I watch. Being a longtime veteran of beer league dressing rooms, I have an arsenal of swear words at my disposal to make a sailor blush. Being, well, me, those words tend to come out when I watch hockey, whether in jubilation or disgust. The distinction doesn’t matter to Griffin.

When the swear words and the yelling start, good ol’ Griff, that faithful hound, assumes we are mad at him. He is a genius, as I’m sure you can tell.

He looks very wise, doesn’t he? Well, as soon as the swearing starts (and it almost always starts, especially when my long-suffering Avs play) that wise and dignified look is replaced by a look that is equal parts panic and remorse. Because I have dropped an “F” bomb on the TV, and I am therefore mad at him. He sprints into the room, with an apologetic look on his face befitting an animal who has done something really, unspeakably bad, and jumps and whines and begs to be petted, and therefore, forgiven.

It’s irritating at time, not because I don’t love the little beggar but because he’s never looked even remotely sorry when he actually has done something wrong. He once ate a third of a pot roast off the kitchen counter and looked no more apologetic than Matt Cooke after another suspension.

He once grabbed a steak off the counter (we have learned to watch our food more carefully since then), and ran down the hallway with it, with three of us running bellowing after him, as company stood, awestruck, in the doorway. He once put all four paws on the table when I turned my back and began lapping up my chocolate milk, and I was as confused as angry because what the hell does a dog want with chocolate milk?

His piece de resistance (which I’m sure I’ve spelled wrong, but whatever) was the year when, on Remembrance Day, he was upset we were ignoring him during the moment of silence, so he stole the toilet paper from the bathroom counter and ran around the house with it trailing behind him like a fluffy white cape, while we ran after him, torn between rage and uncontrollable laughter.

On none of those occasions did he look even remotely sorry. If anything, I’d say he rather enjoyed himself.

So when I swear at an inanimate object in a room two floors away from him, how he finds this to be his fault is beyond me, but he is more remorseful at this point than he has been for all his food stealing incidents combined (which make for an impressive rap sheet of lost refreshments and entrees).

So here, on the off chance he ever reads this blog, is the official final word. Griffin, when I swear at the men playing professional hockey on TV, I am not mad at you. You can stop fretting and panting and pacing and begging to be loved. I love you. Even when you do bad things (which isn’t as often as I make it sound) I still love you to pieces.

Now give back my damn sandwich!

The Hockey Gods Hate Me… For Now

I’m not superstitious in any other aspect of my life except hockey. I don’t care about crossing a black cat’s path while breaking a mirror on Friday the 13th or whatever. I don’t care about walking under a ladder while I cross knives and… I don’t know, somebody tell me another superstition. I’m just not a superstitious person in general.

I’m also not a very religious person. I won’t get into details here because, as Dave Barry said (paraphrasing here) commenting in any way on any religion tends to lead to a string of nasty mail from people, some of whom are armed with machetes. Suffice it to say, I’m not the type to observe a tremendous number of religious beliefs… except where hockey is concerned.

When it comes to hockey I turn into the old woman in the corner, telling the kids stories about how they shouldn’t walk down a dirt road and whistle after midnight on September 2nd because then a banshee will eat their kidneys (or whatever, I don’t know any superstitions other than those already listed).

When it comes to hockey, everything must be done according to superstition and ritual. The same music must be listened to before every game. My gear must be both donned and packed in the same order. While packing I must mutter the same list over and over again. I must tape my stick, sharpen my skates, and even use the bathroom the Same. Freaking. Way. Otherwise everything will go wrong. All my luck will dry up.

Watching hockey is the same way. On the same couch, doing the same things in the intermissions, ideally with the same people, and using all the same curse words (though in today’s Winnipeg Jets loss I used a few new ones; I hate the NHL’s officiating crews).

You see, in hockey, there are forces at work that even the players don’t really get. Those forces give certain players the good bounces, and other players the bad ones. You might call it luck, except it seems these forces have a sense of humour, causing a player to blow a tire right after he’s finished chirping an opponent, or score a big goal right after a teammate cusses him out over a botched pass. Players refer to them as the Hockey Gods.

After watching hockey like a dog watches a treat held in its masters hand all weekend, I’ve arrived at a conclusion: the Hockey Gods hate me.

I put together fantasy hockey lineups as a job, and all my lineups make perfect sense on paper. For example, today I said the Columbus Blue Jackets, a team off to a slow start but one that every expert thinks is going to do well this season (myself included, and yes I am just going to casually refer to myself as an expert), would beat the Buffalo Sabres, a team that is, bluntly, terrible. This did not happen.

At the opening of the season I said the L.A. Kings would beat the San Jose Sharks. While it wasn’t a sure thing, I thought a division rivalry game would at least be close. Instead I was blindsided by a 5-1 loss while the Hockey Gods (presumably) snickered.

I won’t get into all the examples here. Suffice it to say I’m on my way to a loss tonight, and that’s frustrating. I thought my lineup was pretty cleverly crafted, and really the Blue Jackets loss was the only weak link in it. It seems every other person guessed this was going to happen, or at least stayed far enough away from the game so as not to be hurt. I may have face-palmed once or twice this weekend at the results of my picks.

The Hockey Gods, however, are nothing if not fickle. By tomorrow they may have decided to delight in someone else’s torment, or maybe just to cut me a break. I’d settled for either at this point. They hate me for now, but a time will come when it seems, on and off the ice, I can do no wrong.

Until that time I’m going to keep rolling my eyes, slapping my forehead, and complaining about them on my blog.

In the meantime, keep those skates sharp!