A Dream Crushed (By The Unlikeliest Of People)

Since kindling my enjoyment of the game of kings, I found myself harbouring vague pipe dreams of somehow reaching stardom as a player; asking Santa to bring me some talent for Christmas, making a deal with the Devil to the same end (and upon death I would replace Cerberus as the guardian of the gates of Hell), writing to Mark Messier to ask if I could borrow his ability for a while (and then conveniently forgetting to give it back), all were methods I considered putting into practice. But see, this all lead to a more specific purpose than just general stardom. About a year ago, I was talking with a friend of mine who falls into a similarly small minority as I in that he plays American football, and enjoys it. He mentioned that his aim was to become the first British player ever to be drafted into the National Football League - he plays at the position of outside linebacker; his name is Matt Floyd, and that piece of information is so if he ever hits is big, I can point back and say "I knew him, I knew him when he was terrible" - and I found this interesting.

To my knowledge, there has yet to be a Brit drafted into the NFL, and this brought rise to a new facet of my own dreams - I dreamt of becoming the first Brit ever to be drafted into the NHL.

You may think that was absurd. Owen Nolan was the first Brit ever to be drafted into the NHL, everyone knows that, you might cry, a claim that is actually false; he apparently holds dual nationalities, evidence by his representation of Team Canada, and so in my twisted logic, doesn't count as British. But none of that really matters, for today my dream was crushed and worse yet, it was crushed by someone I barely even knew anything about.

Byron Dafoe.

He may not even be the first Brit drafted - I feel no real desire to check further, since there is no way short of me travelling back in time and switching him with the baby of a French couple in the maternity ward of the hospital in which he came into the world for me to make it not so - but for one reason or another, I happened upon his Wikipedia entry. I could almost hear the child inside me wearing the skates and pads scream with anguish as he realised he would never become a record-breaker, or even a record-setter, and would have to make it on talent alone. So damn you Byron Dafoe, you and your barely over .500 record!

Still, it doesn't really matter. After all, I can't skate.

A Brawl Worthy Of Happy Gilmore Himself

In the movie bearing his name, Happy Gilmore, an amazingly violent youngster with pipe dreams (copyright me; the phrase here is used in the same context as a basketball player would use "hoop dreams"), brags that he once took off his skate during a hockey game and tried to stab someone with it, adding he's the only player to ever do it. After watching some of the Ottawa/Buffalo Royal Rumble, I have made some observations.

1) None of the players attempted to use their skates as weapons, which makes me sad.

2) Andrew Peters is a fucking pussy. He pussies out of fighting whoever he was fighting originally to rumble with Ray Emery, who's already been through one fight, and still can't put him down. I'm filing this under "F" for "Faggotry".

3) Ray Emery could be the hardest man in the league. He beats the fuck out of Martin "Am I Supposed To Win" Biron, then fights Andrew Peters - WITH A FUCKING SMILE ON HIS FACE. He is batshit insane, and will now be known as Ray "Kid Dynamite" Emery until such time someone surpasses him.

4) I really, really wanted to see one of the coaches throw a punch at the other.

5) Chris Drury is going to seriously tear shit up when he comes back, until he faces Ottawa again, when he will have a Vietnam flashback and go into the foetal position on the ice.