By Nick
"We all have to go to work tomorrow." That's a common refrain heard during beer league games when one guy gets a little exuberant with the physical play. In other words, slow your roll, pal. Of course one of the great things about the game of hockey is that, should the malefactor fail to curtail his nefarious activities, behavior modification programs can be implemented by the opposition - and the on-ice officials.
Hey, hockey is a contact sport, and even in a no-checking league there is plenty of room for lawful contact between competing players. And that's one of the things I love about it. I don't want to watch hockey without contact. History aside, that's boring.
However, I'm nearly 42. I stopped playing goalie full-time a couple years back (just slowed down too much to be additive), so now I play wing. I'm sort of in the middle of my Monday night team, age-wise. I'm on the lower end of the talent spectrum.
Last night, playing one of our arch enemies, I got completely destroyed. I was skating across my blue line with the puck on a breakout, moved to skate around a guy (I honestly don't remember if it was one of my team mates or not), and out of no where an opposing player did the same thing but coming straight at me. Let's just say I took the worst of our collision. I should take a moment to say that I had no issue with the play. I don't think the other guy expected me to be where I was any more than I expected him to be where he was. No penalty was called on the play, and I wouldn't say one was warranted.
My teammates say I was knocked unconscious. I honestly don't recall that - which probably means I was. I remember getting hit, and I remember being face down on the ice, with my arms out in front of me. I remember seeing a yellow streak on my brand new shield and being pissed about that. I remember being annoyed by how loud my breathing sounded. I remember pain in my head, and in my back between my shoulder blades. It was almost like a systems checklist ran through my head. I remember consciously thinking I should move all my limbs and being happy when they responded, and then feeling stupid for worrying about that. I remember someone asking me if I was okay over and over again. I remember saying yes, eventually. I was not thinking "concussion." I was really just thinking about getting to the bench. If anything I was a little embarrassed to be the center of attention right then and there.
I made it to my feet, and wasn't too wobbly. I got to the bench and sat down. My head was definitely foggy. That's when I started thinking about concussions. My back was still hurting. And my head. No tingling. And I did feel a...disquiet in my stomach. It wasn't exactly nausea. It wasn't exactly pain. It was weird.
Maybe ten minutes later, with about four minutes left in the game, we had taken a couple penalties so our bench was both short and in disarray, lines-wise. We had two guys come off and one guy jump on, and there was a moment of indecision on the bench as no one else thought it was their turn to go. So, I thought I'd give it a try to see how I was doing. It was a stoppage. So I went. Got to the faceoff circle, we lost the draw, and the other team started down the ice toward our goal. I took about four hard strides to catch up to the play - and immediately felt like I was going to puke. So, I just glided to the bench. (One of our guys told me after the game that the ref was not happy that I'd come back out to play again. That he said he was going to tell me to get the fuck off the ice and stay off if I hadn't taken myself off.)
I've had a couple concussions throughout my life. In each case the recovery was pretty quick. I understand the risks, how the effects are cumulative. I saw a doc and things checked out as normal. I've always thought the term "mild concussion" was stupid. But the doc's point was that I'm not manifesting any serious symptoms at this point, but everything I've said points to a concussion. So, basically, we'll see. I don't feel nauseated, or woozy any more.
I'm sore, though. I'm taking the largest Aleve that I can find. I don't know how the pros can take that kind of abuse. Or football players? My God. No wonder the average NFL career is 3 seasons.
I suppose I do worry about the cumulative effects of multiple concussions. I'm not photophobic today, and I'm not getting worse. I know people can seem okay for a while and then the symptoms can come on. So I know I'm not out in the clear yet. But I'm not sweating this one at this point.
There wasn't a point where I was scared last night. More annoyed. It hurt, though. And it still does. I'll get over sore muscles. Sure beats paralysis or CTE.
Please join us in the message boards to discuss this article, and everything else.
Tuesday, January 10, 2017
Monday, January 9, 2017
The Game: Wild Quietly Good
By Nick
What do the Wild earning 5 of 6 points on the dreaded "Bermuda Triangle" trip through California, and the Spanish Inquisition have in common? No one expects either of them to happen.
But that's exactly what the Wild just did. And, more importantly, on the back of seeing their winning streak come to an end at the hands of the Bluejackets. And that's the piece that has me particularly interested. What does the 2-0-1 run through California mean? It certainly means the Wild is resiliant. And it might mean the Wild is....good.
At some point it becomes impossible to ignore or fare over the statistics. The ones that count, anyway.
The problem is that we've seen good first halves in the past. The Wild has salted away the best first half in team history this season, with two games to go before they hit 41. But, do you know which season they just usurped for best first half? Last season.
And that's the primary reason why we're not willing to let ourselves believe this team might be good. Because being good through game 39 hasn't amounted to much in our teams' past. Just like being 5-0 didn't mean squat this year. And it's not like we've got those championships (hell, that championship - singular - if we're looking back over the last 25 years) to fall back on. But we do have a heapin' helpin' of heartache and disappointment.
The numerical indications are there. And there's a different feeling to this group. There's a legit number one center, for starters. Absorbing that loss to Columbus and then doing what they just did in California is a statement. So why don't we feel better?
Like it or not, the Wild is going to need to produce the rest of the season, and into the playoffs to overcome the cumulative impact of prior seasons' iterations of the team.
Please join us in the message boards to discuss this article, and everything else.
What do the Wild earning 5 of 6 points on the dreaded "Bermuda Triangle" trip through California, and the Spanish Inquisition have in common? No one expects either of them to happen.
But that's exactly what the Wild just did. And, more importantly, on the back of seeing their winning streak come to an end at the hands of the Bluejackets. And that's the piece that has me particularly interested. What does the 2-0-1 run through California mean? It certainly means the Wild is resiliant. And it might mean the Wild is....good.
At some point it becomes impossible to ignore or fare over the statistics. The ones that count, anyway.
- How about a +38 goals differential? That's not just riding the coattails of the 3-straight shutouts anymore. They had a +13 goals differential after the Dallas shutout on October 29th. And the Wild doesn't have a 10-0 (CBJ), or 10-1 (MTL) win padding their goals differential.
- How about being tied for most ROW in the West, and tied for third-best in the league?
- How about a 12-5-5 road record?
- How about having four players with at least 10 goals - second-most in the division? Chicago has five, St. Louis and Winnipeg also have four each. Nashville and Dallas have three each, and Colorado has two.
The problem is that we've seen good first halves in the past. The Wild has salted away the best first half in team history this season, with two games to go before they hit 41. But, do you know which season they just usurped for best first half? Last season.
And that's the primary reason why we're not willing to let ourselves believe this team might be good. Because being good through game 39 hasn't amounted to much in our teams' past. Just like being 5-0 didn't mean squat this year. And it's not like we've got those championships (hell, that championship - singular - if we're looking back over the last 25 years) to fall back on. But we do have a heapin' helpin' of heartache and disappointment.
The numerical indications are there. And there's a different feeling to this group. There's a legit number one center, for starters. Absorbing that loss to Columbus and then doing what they just did in California is a statement. So why don't we feel better?
Like it or not, the Wild is going to need to produce the rest of the season, and into the playoffs to overcome the cumulative impact of prior seasons' iterations of the team.
Please join us in the message boards to discuss this article, and everything else.
Friday, January 6, 2017
So Much Mine: The Talk, Santa Edition
By Nick
As the calendar rolled around to the Christmas season (which, in our house, starts on November 22nd, which is my wife's birthday and thus the day she is allowed to start playing Christmas music in the house. This was so-negotiated because, left to her own devices, she would play Christmas music year-round, and I would be the defendant in a homicide trial), we had another opportunity to observe one of the primary personality differences between our daughters (12-, and 10-years old). The younger (A) was simply excited for the start of Santa-watch. The older (E) was both excited and touched with some trepidation. She being more given than her sister to the rational analysis of facts, and - where necessary - the reconciliation of those facts against things observed in life. Her sister, A, being more given to just accepting something on the face of her immediate emotional reaction to it.
The thing is, she really wanted to keep Believing. She asked us early on if we were Santa. We put her off with some pablum about "I don't know how you think we could get around the whole world delivering presents to all those kids in one night", which she bought - albeit grudgingly. And then she proceeded to traipse through the Christmas season with the same wonder and joy and merriment - and belief - that she had brought to each of her preceding Christmases.
Until two nights ago.
We were just sitting down to dinner, and she said, "So mom and dad, ARE you Santa?" Uh-oh.
True to form, E had a list of proof points she ticked off that frankly blew us out of the water. The piece de resistance of which was that E had logged into my wife's computer to do something, and had seen the browser window open to Amazon - and a message saying that some of the items that had been on E's Santa List had successfully been purchased and were being shipped to us. Busted.
But, as this recitation was going on, my wife and I stole askance glances at A who, while she had clearly been read in on this interrogation beforehand, just as clearly was fighting the cognitive dissonance in her own mind and heart - she was trying to debunk all of these things, or at least explain them away, because - in her world - Santa is real.
My wife deftly tabled the discussion, mostly so A could finish her meal before she lost her appetite.
After A had gone to bed that night, we went into E's room and had The Talk with her. Well not, The Talk. *I'm* not emotionally prepared for that The Talk. This The Talk was the Santa one. Oof, now I need to sit down for a minute.
Anyway, E took it like a champ. Our point was that Santa is part of the Christmas spirit, not a literal jolly old elf who has magical reindeer that fly him around the whole world in one night, delivering presents that were made in his non-sweatshop factory by other, non-enslaved elves. Our little skeptic had several questions. "Do you also do our stockings?" "What's the deal with Hermey, then?" (He's our Elf on the Shelf Elf.) "How does the Santa we see every year at the nursery where we get our Christmas tree always remember our names and what we got last year?" We have no answer for that one, other than the guy is clearly some kind of confidence man.
What made me proud of E, though, was the final part of our The Talk. That was the part where we told her that she now knows the secret. And that we can't make her say or not say anything (other than please and thank you because no one lives under our roof who doesn't have good manners), and we won't ask her to lie, but that her sister, two years younger than E, is still firmly in the Believer camp. That, two years ago, so was E. And....just sort of an implied "it would be huge of you to let her continue to believe until she gets to where you are now".
E is such a great kid. I think she got it. In some way I think she was relieved. Her rational/analytical mind just couldn't make it work anymore. It was at odds with her heart. Even if this is the harder-edged outcome, at least she doesn't have to deal with the internal struggle anymore.
It was a hard The Talk. My wife got teary. I did a little bit, too. It's tough seeing any of the layers of childhood stripped away from your kids - even those layers that aren't more serious. Except Santa is pretty serious to a kid. And so is the ability to believe. And that's the piece that I hope E got. It's okay to suspend disbelief. It's okay to find the truth, too. It's knowing when to do which that is the difference between being a kid and being an adult.
Please join us in the message boards to discuss this article, and everything else.
As the calendar rolled around to the Christmas season (which, in our house, starts on November 22nd, which is my wife's birthday and thus the day she is allowed to start playing Christmas music in the house. This was so-negotiated because, left to her own devices, she would play Christmas music year-round, and I would be the defendant in a homicide trial), we had another opportunity to observe one of the primary personality differences between our daughters (12-, and 10-years old). The younger (A) was simply excited for the start of Santa-watch. The older (E) was both excited and touched with some trepidation. She being more given than her sister to the rational analysis of facts, and - where necessary - the reconciliation of those facts against things observed in life. Her sister, A, being more given to just accepting something on the face of her immediate emotional reaction to it.
The thing is, she really wanted to keep Believing. She asked us early on if we were Santa. We put her off with some pablum about "I don't know how you think we could get around the whole world delivering presents to all those kids in one night", which she bought - albeit grudgingly. And then she proceeded to traipse through the Christmas season with the same wonder and joy and merriment - and belief - that she had brought to each of her preceding Christmases.
Until two nights ago.
We were just sitting down to dinner, and she said, "So mom and dad, ARE you Santa?" Uh-oh.
True to form, E had a list of proof points she ticked off that frankly blew us out of the water. The piece de resistance of which was that E had logged into my wife's computer to do something, and had seen the browser window open to Amazon - and a message saying that some of the items that had been on E's Santa List had successfully been purchased and were being shipped to us. Busted.
But, as this recitation was going on, my wife and I stole askance glances at A who, while she had clearly been read in on this interrogation beforehand, just as clearly was fighting the cognitive dissonance in her own mind and heart - she was trying to debunk all of these things, or at least explain them away, because - in her world - Santa is real.
My wife deftly tabled the discussion, mostly so A could finish her meal before she lost her appetite.
After A had gone to bed that night, we went into E's room and had The Talk with her. Well not, The Talk. *I'm* not emotionally prepared for that The Talk. This The Talk was the Santa one. Oof, now I need to sit down for a minute.
Anyway, E took it like a champ. Our point was that Santa is part of the Christmas spirit, not a literal jolly old elf who has magical reindeer that fly him around the whole world in one night, delivering presents that were made in his non-sweatshop factory by other, non-enslaved elves. Our little skeptic had several questions. "Do you also do our stockings?" "What's the deal with Hermey, then?" (He's our Elf on the Shelf Elf.) "How does the Santa we see every year at the nursery where we get our Christmas tree always remember our names and what we got last year?" We have no answer for that one, other than the guy is clearly some kind of confidence man.
What made me proud of E, though, was the final part of our The Talk. That was the part where we told her that she now knows the secret. And that we can't make her say or not say anything (other than please and thank you because no one lives under our roof who doesn't have good manners), and we won't ask her to lie, but that her sister, two years younger than E, is still firmly in the Believer camp. That, two years ago, so was E. And....just sort of an implied "it would be huge of you to let her continue to believe until she gets to where you are now".
E is such a great kid. I think she got it. In some way I think she was relieved. Her rational/analytical mind just couldn't make it work anymore. It was at odds with her heart. Even if this is the harder-edged outcome, at least she doesn't have to deal with the internal struggle anymore.
It was a hard The Talk. My wife got teary. I did a little bit, too. It's tough seeing any of the layers of childhood stripped away from your kids - even those layers that aren't more serious. Except Santa is pretty serious to a kid. And so is the ability to believe. And that's the piece that I hope E got. It's okay to suspend disbelief. It's okay to find the truth, too. It's knowing when to do which that is the difference between being a kid and being an adult.
Please join us in the message boards to discuss this article, and everything else.
The Game: The Wild beat the Sharks! (And the funny feeling you get when you climb the rope in Gym Class)
Much like Team USA, the Wild faced a 2-0 deficit against their
opponent.
Much like Team USA, the Wild clawed back to even the score.
Much like Team USA, the Wild then faced a 4-2 deficit against said
opponent.
Much like Team USA, the Wild fought back to even the score.
Unlike Team USA, the Wild won in regulation rather than forcing
overtime or a shootout.
The first period, the Wild didn’t show much rust. I know this because I
was actually watching the Wild rather than Important Hockey. The second, they
showed that they’d been off for four days by making a couple sloppy plays that
led to the first Sharks lead. Fortunately for the Wild, Eric Staal popped one
in with a minute left in the period, and that’s the type of goal to marinate on
a goalie in the intermission.
Right on cue, the Zach Parise Of Old returned and scored 2 minutes into
the third. Wild fans started thinking there was some hope. But then, the Sharks
got two quick ones back to take a 4-2 lead.
Shit.
But this is the Wild, and that’s Bruce Boudreau over there, so you knew
something was going to happen. Unlike the Wild teams under Todd Richards or Mike “Put Pominville on the First Line” Yeo, they
didn’t roll over. In a span of 5:12, the Wild scored three goals from Eric
Staal, Mikko Koivu, and Mikko Koivu. Hell of a Game #800 for the Captain, eh?
So what does it mean? If you’re a Wild fan, this should give you hope. I know we reflexively want to throw up when we get this feeling: The Wild are not a team that inspire hope. They are a team who dash our hopes. As Minnesotans, we know this feeling well. We aren’t supposed to have nice things.
So what does it mean? If you’re a Wild fan, this should give you hope. I know we reflexively want to throw up when we get this feeling: The Wild are not a team that inspire hope. They are a team who dash our hopes. As Minnesotans, we know this feeling well. We aren’t supposed to have nice things.
Still, I’m feeling something, and it’s not the urge to panic. This is a team that can be down twice in a game, on four days rest, against the defending Western Conference Champs. That's good. It's real good.
Please join us in the message boards to discuss this article, and everything else.
Please join us in the message boards to discuss this article, and everything else.
Tuesday, January 3, 2017
So Much Mine: Duck? Goose?
There are things that you don't think of when you first become a dad, and they can throw you off. But first lets take a step back.
I'm a Minnesotan, that is what my birth certificate says.
I'm as much as a homer (#oneofus) as the next Minnesotan. I cheer for MN sports teams in the sports I don't care about. I taught my son the UofM rouser. We watch the State HighSchool Hockey Tournament.
I have now lived in South Dakota longer than I have lived in Minnesota. I have attended more homing coming football games, parades, etc than I ever did back home. As much as I love standing on the shore of a clean Minnesota lake I am just as comfortable standing on the shores on South Dakota's rivers. I wouldn't miss being in Minnesota for deer opener, just like I wouldn't miss walking a field for South Dakota's Pheasant season.
I still have love for my home state, so when my son was born it was hard not to buy him on of the cute onesies that have become popular.
Because he's a South Dakotan, that is what his birth certificate says.
So when my wife informed me that our son was learning to play a new game at daycare I should have seen it coming...
Duck Duck Grey Duck
I remember when we first moved to South Dakota and we played Duck Duck Goose in PE. How something so simple could throw a kids brain for a loop I'll never know. I don't remember ever being picked on for it, but who knows.
As stupid as it sounds Duck Duck Grey Duck has been symbol of comradeship between myself and Minnesotans I have met working/living in South Dakota. May be it is like growing up in the south where everything is a Coke?
As a dad this was my first realization that he would grow up differently than I did for reasons other than exposure. My father did a great job of taking me to ever sporting event growing up. How else can you explain a hockey play son from parents that had no knowledge of the sport? So that tradition has continue with my son as well.
Currently we have not been able to take him to a hockey game. The local indoor rink is rather loud. The purposely crank music to create an atmosphere which is prohibitive to taking a 2 year old to. It is finally cold enough that our towns outdoor rink is ready. I hope to take him out so he can hear skates on ice, pucks hitting sticks,etc. But I know in the back of my head that he may not like hockey. I don't like basketball or football which are my father favorite sports.
My Father's favorite phrase when I was growing up was "You'll understand when you have kids someday". As I have gotten older and now I have a son I've found that phrase to have multiple meanings. Life is more complicated than you think when you are younger. But also that try as you might, you kids will be your kids and as much as you want to them to do or like something, it may not end up that way.
I'm looking forward to see what my sons finds that ties him to his home state, South Dakota. What ties your home state?
Please join us in the message boards to discuss this article, and everything else.
I'm a Minnesotan, that is what my birth certificate says.
I'm as much as a homer (#oneofus) as the next Minnesotan. I cheer for MN sports teams in the sports I don't care about. I taught my son the UofM rouser. We watch the State HighSchool Hockey Tournament.
I have now lived in South Dakota longer than I have lived in Minnesota. I have attended more homing coming football games, parades, etc than I ever did back home. As much as I love standing on the shore of a clean Minnesota lake I am just as comfortable standing on the shores on South Dakota's rivers. I wouldn't miss being in Minnesota for deer opener, just like I wouldn't miss walking a field for South Dakota's Pheasant season.
I still have love for my home state, so when my son was born it was hard not to buy him on of the cute onesies that have become popular.
Because he's a South Dakotan, that is what his birth certificate says.
So when my wife informed me that our son was learning to play a new game at daycare I should have seen it coming...
Duck Duck Grey Duck
I remember when we first moved to South Dakota and we played Duck Duck Goose in PE. How something so simple could throw a kids brain for a loop I'll never know. I don't remember ever being picked on for it, but who knows.
As stupid as it sounds Duck Duck Grey Duck has been symbol of comradeship between myself and Minnesotans I have met working/living in South Dakota. May be it is like growing up in the south where everything is a Coke?
As a dad this was my first realization that he would grow up differently than I did for reasons other than exposure. My father did a great job of taking me to ever sporting event growing up. How else can you explain a hockey play son from parents that had no knowledge of the sport? So that tradition has continue with my son as well.
Currently we have not been able to take him to a hockey game. The local indoor rink is rather loud. The purposely crank music to create an atmosphere which is prohibitive to taking a 2 year old to. It is finally cold enough that our towns outdoor rink is ready. I hope to take him out so he can hear skates on ice, pucks hitting sticks,etc. But I know in the back of my head that he may not like hockey. I don't like basketball or football which are my father favorite sports.
My Father's favorite phrase when I was growing up was "You'll understand when you have kids someday". As I have gotten older and now I have a son I've found that phrase to have multiple meanings. Life is more complicated than you think when you are younger. But also that try as you might, you kids will be your kids and as much as you want to them to do or like something, it may not end up that way.
I'm looking forward to see what my sons finds that ties him to his home state, South Dakota. What ties your home state?
Please join us in the message boards to discuss this article, and everything else.
Sunday, January 1, 2017
And Another Thing: They Forgot Never Forget
By Nick
I lived in Westchester County, just outside NYC, on 9/11/01. I don't really want to re-hash the day. I'm fortunate I wasn't in the city yet that morning when all hell broke loose, and that I wasn't more directly impacted by what happened than I was.
All told, I lived in the NYC metro area for six years. I commuted into and out of NYC for five and a half of them. I grew up in Minnesota, which really couldn't be more dissimilar to NYC apart from that fact that both are in the United States. I love New York City. It really is a hell of a town. While the several months directly after 9/11 were terrible in many ways (the smoking, stinking pit a constant reminder of terrorism and a symbol of impending change in our lives), they were also some of the best of my time there, for one reason: the change in the people.
New Yorkers are not known for their niceness. They can exhibit kindnesses. But they cultivate and celebrate their brusqueness and arrogance. I suppose that's what happens to the native populations of massive metropolises. For a midwestern kid from sleepy St. Paul, there was a bit of culture shock when I first got to the city (which is another demonstration of the arrogance of New Yorkers. They refer to NYC as simply The City, as if it is the only one that matters and thus no further specification is required).
The constant cacophonous bleating - of people, of car horns, it's truly omni-present - the congestion, the jaywalking, the incessant assault on one's senses from every direction. Once you acclimate to it, it's intoxicating and habit-forming. To tap into the vascular system of a city like New York is to throw yourself into a constant roller-coaster ride of culture, craziness, and action.
But it is still a living, breathing organism. And it took quite a blow to the system on 9/11. And it reacted in a very human way: by embracing its own humanity. People in NYC became nice. Holding the door for the person behind you. Saying please and thank you. Slowing down to look around as if to remind oneself that one does in fact live in this amazing place, amidst a wonderful confluence of history and modernity - at least the parts that hadn't just been reduced to a charnel house nightmare. It was a great time to be in the city - finally a side of New Yorkers that the midwestern kid from sleepy St. Paul could relate to.
Every year since then, when the calendar turns over to September, and the remembrances and tributes marking the anniversary of that dark day start ramping up, New Yorkers are understandably right in the middle of things. In fact, it's become sort of a rallying cry. To the point where "Never Forget" is administered as a sort of test of one's patriotism. Like a challenge coin that New Yorkers carry around in their pockets all year, but only pull out during the first half of September. If you can respond by showing yours, you pass the test. If not, you may be a terrorist, and you for sure don't respect and honor the dead, their families, and the still-suffering. I don't really have a problem with that. You go through that ordeal, you probably have a right to get worked up about it when the anniversary rolls around.
I do have a problem with the way New Yorkers act the rest of the year, though. The average encounter with the average New Yorker from October through August is awful. They aren't just back to being tough, brusque city dwellers. They've gone so far around the bend of entitlement and arrogance as to represent the depths of civilized society on a daily basis. I saw a woman walking through the city, with headphones on, reading a book. Like looking down at the book she was reading, while she was walking. Just stop and think about the level of arrogance and entitlement one must attain in order to get to a place where that kind of behavior is acceptable. She honestly thought she was the only person in the world. That everyone else should have to get out of her way for no other reason than she was simply that important. Fuck you.
It is offensive to me for New Yorkers who act like animals from October through August to then get all frothed up in righteous indignity over 9/11. You act like you have completely forgotten 9/11 for 364, and then have the balls to yell at the world to Never Forget on the one other day? You shame the memory of those who were lost. You shame the struggles of those who lost. You shame yourselves for taking a horrific, terrible thing, that became an opportunity to do something beautiful and really fight back against the agents of terror, and pissing all over it most of the time and making an absolute joke of it that one other day.
New Yorkers have forgotten "Never Forget", except for the worst possible time: when it's convenient for them. That's disgusting.
Please join us in the message boards to discuss this article, and everything else.
I lived in Westchester County, just outside NYC, on 9/11/01. I don't really want to re-hash the day. I'm fortunate I wasn't in the city yet that morning when all hell broke loose, and that I wasn't more directly impacted by what happened than I was.
All told, I lived in the NYC metro area for six years. I commuted into and out of NYC for five and a half of them. I grew up in Minnesota, which really couldn't be more dissimilar to NYC apart from that fact that both are in the United States. I love New York City. It really is a hell of a town. While the several months directly after 9/11 were terrible in many ways (the smoking, stinking pit a constant reminder of terrorism and a symbol of impending change in our lives), they were also some of the best of my time there, for one reason: the change in the people.
New Yorkers are not known for their niceness. They can exhibit kindnesses. But they cultivate and celebrate their brusqueness and arrogance. I suppose that's what happens to the native populations of massive metropolises. For a midwestern kid from sleepy St. Paul, there was a bit of culture shock when I first got to the city (which is another demonstration of the arrogance of New Yorkers. They refer to NYC as simply The City, as if it is the only one that matters and thus no further specification is required).
The constant cacophonous bleating - of people, of car horns, it's truly omni-present - the congestion, the jaywalking, the incessant assault on one's senses from every direction. Once you acclimate to it, it's intoxicating and habit-forming. To tap into the vascular system of a city like New York is to throw yourself into a constant roller-coaster ride of culture, craziness, and action.
But it is still a living, breathing organism. And it took quite a blow to the system on 9/11. And it reacted in a very human way: by embracing its own humanity. People in NYC became nice. Holding the door for the person behind you. Saying please and thank you. Slowing down to look around as if to remind oneself that one does in fact live in this amazing place, amidst a wonderful confluence of history and modernity - at least the parts that hadn't just been reduced to a charnel house nightmare. It was a great time to be in the city - finally a side of New Yorkers that the midwestern kid from sleepy St. Paul could relate to.
Every year since then, when the calendar turns over to September, and the remembrances and tributes marking the anniversary of that dark day start ramping up, New Yorkers are understandably right in the middle of things. In fact, it's become sort of a rallying cry. To the point where "Never Forget" is administered as a sort of test of one's patriotism. Like a challenge coin that New Yorkers carry around in their pockets all year, but only pull out during the first half of September. If you can respond by showing yours, you pass the test. If not, you may be a terrorist, and you for sure don't respect and honor the dead, their families, and the still-suffering. I don't really have a problem with that. You go through that ordeal, you probably have a right to get worked up about it when the anniversary rolls around.
I do have a problem with the way New Yorkers act the rest of the year, though. The average encounter with the average New Yorker from October through August is awful. They aren't just back to being tough, brusque city dwellers. They've gone so far around the bend of entitlement and arrogance as to represent the depths of civilized society on a daily basis. I saw a woman walking through the city, with headphones on, reading a book. Like looking down at the book she was reading, while she was walking. Just stop and think about the level of arrogance and entitlement one must attain in order to get to a place where that kind of behavior is acceptable. She honestly thought she was the only person in the world. That everyone else should have to get out of her way for no other reason than she was simply that important. Fuck you.
It is offensive to me for New Yorkers who act like animals from October through August to then get all frothed up in righteous indignity over 9/11. You act like you have completely forgotten 9/11 for 364, and then have the balls to yell at the world to Never Forget on the one other day? You shame the memory of those who were lost. You shame the struggles of those who lost. You shame yourselves for taking a horrific, terrible thing, that became an opportunity to do something beautiful and really fight back against the agents of terror, and pissing all over it most of the time and making an absolute joke of it that one other day.
New Yorkers have forgotten "Never Forget", except for the worst possible time: when it's convenient for them. That's disgusting.
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The Game: Behold The Power Of The Streak
By Nick
The Wild's out-of-nowhere 12-game streak came to an end yesterday at the hands of the Bluejackets. But, while some in the Twittersphere were quick to jump off the bandwagon(!), others took a more circumspect approach.
What does the streak mean? I could sit here and tell you it means the Wild has turned a corner, or over a new leaf. I could try to convince you that it means Boudreau has proven he's the real deal. I could even try to say that Fletcher's moves are suddenly paying dividends.
I could say all those things, but the bottom line is that none of that is definitive.
What is real though, what cannot be taken away from the Wild, is the points that they accrued during that streak. Those they get to keep. They are definitively in the Wild's possession for the rest of this season. So, what do THEY mean?
The Wild has 50 points in 36 games played. That means they have 46 remaining games, or a total of 92 possible points still on the table. Let's say 98 points gets you into the playoffs in the west this season. That means the Wild needs 48 more points the rest of the way, to safely get to a place where they can consider themselves in. 48 out of 92 is 52.17%. Put another way, the Wild needs to go 24-22 the rest of the way.
Now, the Wild may not finish the season winning 64% of its games, as it has done to this point of the season. That puts them on a 104-point pace. Attainable, but let's draw out the worst case scenario here. Even if a 64% wining percentage is unattainable, is it equally unreasonable to think they could finish with a 52.17% winning percentage? I don't think so. Put another way: it better not be.
Of course, the calendar did just flip over into January...
Look, the bottom line is that the streak has put the Wild into a playoff position, if they can just play mediocre hockey the rest of the way. Think about the possibilities! We discussed this very thing on the last 5 Minute Major. If the result of the streak is that the Wild's playoffs don't start in mid-January, and that they're not fighting tooth and nail for every point all the way down the stretch - especially with the bye week making them play 20 games in the final 35 days of the season (which is totally obnoxious), where maybe you would benefit from an opportunity to not overplay some of your vets because you're in a game where it's not totally critical that you get a point or two - those are real, tangible benefits of the streak.
So, no, we don't need to ascribe any greater metaphysical value to the streak than is warranted, for the Wild. We don't need to stretch credibility by waxing poetic about how great Boudreau or Fletcher is - after only 36 games together. The streak provided a real live good thing for the Wild, they earned that. And that's certainly enough.
Please join us in the message boards to discuss this article, and everything else.
The Wild's out-of-nowhere 12-game streak came to an end yesterday at the hands of the Bluejackets. But, while some in the Twittersphere were quick to jump off the bandwagon(!), others took a more circumspect approach.
What does the streak mean? I could sit here and tell you it means the Wild has turned a corner, or over a new leaf. I could try to convince you that it means Boudreau has proven he's the real deal. I could even try to say that Fletcher's moves are suddenly paying dividends.
I could say all those things, but the bottom line is that none of that is definitive.
What is real though, what cannot be taken away from the Wild, is the points that they accrued during that streak. Those they get to keep. They are definitively in the Wild's possession for the rest of this season. So, what do THEY mean?
The Wild has 50 points in 36 games played. That means they have 46 remaining games, or a total of 92 possible points still on the table. Let's say 98 points gets you into the playoffs in the west this season. That means the Wild needs 48 more points the rest of the way, to safely get to a place where they can consider themselves in. 48 out of 92 is 52.17%. Put another way, the Wild needs to go 24-22 the rest of the way.
Now, the Wild may not finish the season winning 64% of its games, as it has done to this point of the season. That puts them on a 104-point pace. Attainable, but let's draw out the worst case scenario here. Even if a 64% wining percentage is unattainable, is it equally unreasonable to think they could finish with a 52.17% winning percentage? I don't think so. Put another way: it better not be.
Of course, the calendar did just flip over into January...
Look, the bottom line is that the streak has put the Wild into a playoff position, if they can just play mediocre hockey the rest of the way. Think about the possibilities! We discussed this very thing on the last 5 Minute Major. If the result of the streak is that the Wild's playoffs don't start in mid-January, and that they're not fighting tooth and nail for every point all the way down the stretch - especially with the bye week making them play 20 games in the final 35 days of the season (which is totally obnoxious), where maybe you would benefit from an opportunity to not overplay some of your vets because you're in a game where it's not totally critical that you get a point or two - those are real, tangible benefits of the streak.
So, no, we don't need to ascribe any greater metaphysical value to the streak than is warranted, for the Wild. We don't need to stretch credibility by waxing poetic about how great Boudreau or Fletcher is - after only 36 games together. The streak provided a real live good thing for the Wild, they earned that. And that's certainly enough.
Please join us in the message boards to discuss this article, and everything else.
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