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Thursday, May 22, 2008


I want to be abundantly clear. I don't even know who Stanley is. I have never watched an entire hockey game on television; I've only casually glanced at a handful of NHL games at various bars during lulls in conversation.

I attended numerous Black Knights games while growing up at West Point, and I played two seasons of Hockey in middle school. I wasn't very good.

I do like hockey, though, but like most sports outside of football and tennis, I find it unwatchable on television.

A couple of years ago my parents went on a trip across Canada, and they asked me if I wanted anything Canadian. I asked for a Vancouver Canucks jersey.

I decided to become a hockey fan. I've done a horrible job with it. Hue kept me interested back when he used to actually blog - no offense Hue, I know your busy with eight jobs and all.

The Canucks jersey, and the fact that Vancouver is the Amsterdam of the west, as well as my inclination to support a Canadian team - I mean we are talking about Hockey, right? - sealed the deal with my Canucks.

They haven't done much since I came aboard.

That's okay though, because I like the jersey. Hockey jerseys are cool.

Last year I spent three weeks in Detroit on business. I took a shine to the city. I had spent two weeks there two years prior on another job, and I developed a respect for the town and it's people. Much of that appreciation came while spending time - time I probably should have spent sleeping - a haven of civilization called the Detroiter, home of cold beverages and the best juke box outside of the Lower East Side.

On the way home, at the airport, I decided to do some Christmas shopping, and I saw a Red Wings jersey. I wanted it. It was cool. I bought it for Chrispy.

A few months ago, for some reason I can't recall, I needed a clean shirt at the studio, and Chrispy brought me the Red Wings jersey.

I saw the Red Wings jersey in the closet this morning, and in honor of their shot at the cup, I decided to wear it to work.

I'm not sure Chrispy will get it back.

That's LORD Stanley to you, bub.
Jackson observes no lordship over himself.
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