Hey guys, so we’re going to take a page out of the New York Rangers’ book and write a guide to how women should watch the Boston Bruins. Except this one is written by a guy. Because obviously only guys know anything about hockey, amirite?!
So here are a bunch of tips on how to enjoy the game, ladies:
The Bruins wear black or white jerseys with gold trim. This one is really important to remember, because people will look at you weird if you start cheering for the wrong team.
Every player on the team has fangirls. This extends from the biggest names on the team to the people you’ve totally never heard of. For example, do you know who Daniel Paille is? (Of course you don’t, you’re a girl.) Well, he has fangirls. So, yeah, everybody. Especially Tyler Seguin because he’s young and rich.
No, Tyler Seguin won’t sleep with you. He’s banging Aly Raisman, we think. You know, the gymnast. But not the one who made the “not impressed” face. Some other one… okay, we don’t even know who. Or care.
People will be more impressed with you if you pick interesting players to fangirl over. Basically, avoid the well-known players. The Tyler Seguins, Milan Lucics (he’s married anyway), Zdeno Charas (he’s 6’9”, he would crush you… unless you’re into that), or Shawn Thorntons of the world. Chris Kelly is a popular pick, or you could be a cradle-robber and stake a claim to rookie Dougie Hamilton. (Edit: Patrice Bergeron is a perfect human being. You can go for him, too.)
Nobody actually watches the game anyway. There’s a reason why we sell so many “Drink Beer and Fight” and “Win or Lose, We Still Booze” shirts in Boston. All we give a fuck about is getting drunk and watching fights. So don’t worry that you don’t know anything about the game. Just get excited and yell things when Bruins players hit or punch people. (For a guide on which players are Bruins, see the very first tip.)
There you have it, ladies: a complete guide to watching the Boston Bruins play… whatever sport it is they play. Touchdown!
—Captain Backfire
*If you believe that any of this post is meant to be taken seriously, please direct your computer here and here for an apology and coupon for one (1) free GahdenGremlins.com thong at our online store. Thank you!
Meet Michael Bradley. Besides sharing a name with an American soccer player (boring), he’s also a Philadelphia-based sports journalism teacher with a long-ass resume that he happily posted at the bottom of the link here. He’s also—in an ironic twist, given that he teaches at research universities—apparently an awful researcher:
There seems to be a belief among some that the possibility of a return to business by the NHL will trigger celebrations among sports fans throughout the country and provide hours of entertainment for those who have been yearning for something to do since baseball ended. They think that once the puck is dropped again, millions across America will forget everything else in their lives and track the fortunes of the Columbus Blue Jackets and Atlanta Thrashers.
Yep. He said that. Go on and click the link and read it, I’ll wait.
You good? Good. Of course, the funniest part of this is, he said that “millions across America will… track the fortunes of the Atlanta Thrashers.” Pretty sure that never happened, especially in Atlanta, where Jack Edwards once noted that they “couldn’t draw flies.” Pretty sure that’s the reason why, when the team moved to Winnipeg—that’s right, out of a Gary Bettman-forced-square-peg-into-round-hole-Southern market—we got shipped a bunch of their ugly-ass, asymmetrical jerseys up here, into Marshalls across New England, and purchased them for $12 because we’re arrogant hipster assholes and also needed jerseys for a street hockey game, in which we got our asses kicked 4-1 by a law student and Tim Thomas lookalike.
In summation, nice journalism, idiot. And a heartfelt thanks to Vinny Piccolo for giving me something to rail on mercilessly, briefly calming my passionate hatred for this lockout.
Too bad this humorous display wasn’t made last year. I wonder if mannequins even can “Tebow.” (Unearthed by Darren Rovell, who isn’t honestly as awful as we all make him out to be. I think.)
“Hey Tom.” “What, Drew?” “You’re still 91 yards behind me for eighth on the all-time passing yardage list.” “91 yards.” “Yeah.” “With one week to go.” “Yeah.” “And we have something to play for.” “…wait, really?” “Yeah.” “Shit.”
Rex Ryan:Yeah, and thanks to your dumb ass getting hurt, now I've got to go with... heyyyyyyyy, Sanchize! How you doing, buddy?
Mark Sanchez:Hey, Greg, sorry about last week. And I heard that, fatty.
Rex Ryan:Don't talk to me that way, pal, I'll bench you for Tebow.
Tim Tebow:REALLY?!?!?! (magical light appears behind Tebow as choir of angels, led by Skip Bayless in far less clothing than we ever wanted to see him, begins to sing his praises)
Rex Ryan:Hell no. Even if Sanchez is sure to lead us into defeat. (choir retreats)
Mark Sanchez:I'll de-feet your wife if you don't shut up.
Rex Ryan:You wouldn't.
Tim Tebow:I wouldn't! (choir re-appears, with Bayless leading them in "Alleluia")
Rex Ryan:I don't care. (choir retreats) And you don't want to be here anyway, Jesus freak.
Tim Tebow:That's because you're a meany poop head!
Mark Sanchez:You have the vocabulary of a five year old.
Greg McElroy:Me Greg. Haha, poop.
Rex Ryan:At least the only poop Tim flings is verbal.
Mark Sanchez:And what is THAT supposed to mean?!
Rex Ryan:Oh come on, you know damn well what it means. Everybody knows the story of the time when Marky Mark over here got constipated in high school and literally spooned the shit out of his own ass, right? You guys know that one? Tell us, buddy, did you use the round end or the handle?
Mark Sanchez:I'll fucking kill you with a pass today, fatass.
Rex Ryan:Please, kid. Not only is your spiral not wound tightly enough, you'll probably get intentional grounding for it, because you're about as subtle as Stuart Scott's lazy eye.
Greg McElroy:That words a lot. That... words are there. Lots of them.
Tim Tebow:I love ESPN! (choir appears once more, with Bayless the only enthusiastic member remaining)
Rex Ryan:Shut the fuck up! (choir retreats as Bayless flips the bird)
Mark Sanchez:Whoever traded for this guy is the root and cause of all of our problems.
Rex Ryan:So you're saying that the reason we're all going to be out of jobs next year is the guy who people looked at as Jesus.
Mark Sanchez:More like Judas.
Tim Tebow:I resent that.
Mark Sanchez:Well I resent you.
Rex Ryan:Me too.
Greg McElroy:Me want go take nap sleep now. (falls unconscious on locker room floor)
Rex Ryan:Is he supposed to be asleep with a concussion?
Mark Sanchez:No, it's super bad for you. You lose brain cells.
Rex Ryan:You would probably know. It explains why you'd kick the ball out of your own end zone on a fumble.
Mark Sanchez:Still probably the most foot action you've seen all year.
Rex Ryan:That tears it. Tebow, you're playing.
Tim Tebow:REALLY?!?! (choir, visibly annoyed at this point, haphazardly reappears)
So the Nets, fresh off of losing 10 of their last 13 games, have shitcanned coach Avery Johnson in favor of interim leader P.J. Carlesimo (you know, the guy Latrell Sprewell choked that one time) and are reportedly pursuing Phil Jackson as his replacement. The whole revival of Brooklyn basketball has gone from a fun experiment (black and white uniforms and Jay-Z) to just as much of a circus as any other New York team (realizing that black and white uniforms and Jay-Z cannot win basketball games simply because they’re cool as shit). And let’s be real, they looked pretty damn bad against the Celtics on Christmas—and if you’re using Kris Humphries’ injuries as a legitimate excuse for that, your ass is as dumb as his ex-wife’s ass is big. Thanks for playing, Brooklyn, but if starting .500 with one of the best young(ish) coaches in the NBA and few bona fide stars is going to get you replaced, there’s not a damn soul out there that’s going to want that job. Especially not Phil “I’m Totally Better Than You, Don’t Touch Me” Jackson. (Who is right in that assessment of himself, by the way.) Wait ‘til next year, or until some other big man who’s a bit more skilled than Brook Lopez is available.
The One Where People Think Football Has A Meaningful All-Star Game
So we’ve sent seven players to the Pro Bowl, again. Tom Brady (his eighth, one away from tying the franchise record), Wes Welker, Rob Gronkowski, Logan Mankins, Vince Wilfork, Jerod Mayo, and Matthew Slater will head to Hawai’i, except for the part where they won’t, because A) nobody ever wants to send their players to the Pro Bowl because it sucks and 2) we’re going to the Super Bowl again, god dammit. But seriously, even if we don’t (and we will), if anybody actually gave a shit about this game (and obviously they haven’t in years, judging by how old Brady’s uniform is here), they’d allow blitzing to happen, but instead it’s a glorified flag football game that serves as Hail Mary practice and an opportunity to drown your non-championship-winning sorrows in mai tais or… whatever the hell Hawai’ians drink. Thanks, Hawai’i, you’re completely irrelevant at football. But I will totally get drunk and surf you.
—Cpt. Backfire
(P.S. Matthew Slater is now a multiple-time Pro Bowler, in case you didn’t already realize how much of a joke that game is. We love you, Slater, but you’re supposed to be a wide receiver, not a glorified safety.)
