Hello Darkness, My Old Friend

Last night was a joke. A sick, twisted, humiliatingly cruel joke. There was so little to cover that I honestly couldn’t even justify calling this a Morning After Blog. The hell am I supposed to say after a performance like that, huh? That we essentially were shutout by one of only two teams with less points than us? There’s nothing I can say or do to make last night’s game feel any better. I’m sorry. It was actual shit. And I’m wagering a guess that it’s about to get even worse:

First of all, this deal wouldn’t work because the Bruins would have to send some salary back our way. But still, just the thought of Peter working the phones on a Nugent-Hopkins trade is enough to give me aids. I am shivering in fear. There is no way in hell that — given how badly his last three ‘big asset moves’ have backfired this organization all the way back to near-last — we should trust or even allow this man to be responsible for the next trade that could seriously jeopardize the next two or three years of our hockey club. If you trade Nuge for peanuts and decorate it as a salary dump when you willingly paid Milan Lucic the same money and you willingly paid Kris Russell $4 million per year despite every reasonably intelligent adult telling you it was a shit move then you forfeit your right to move our last valuable trade commodity. I’m basically waking up every day and praying that Kim Jong Chiarelli won’t nuke our franchise into the ground. And if you thought it can’t get worse than just waiting for the next trade that blows up directly in our face, believe me, this is the Oilers. It always gets worse:


So… okay. Imagine, for one second, that you are the head coach of a team struggling for offense and desperately seeking a player, preferably a right handed shot, who loves to shoot the puck. Okay. Good. Now imagine that player is literally right under your nose! You have him! He’s on your roster! And finally, now imagine that you’ve recently drafted this player fourth overall and want to try to get him a bunch of confidence because he could be a very critical part of your roster moving forward. That sound nice? I agree. Now imagine putting Iiro Pakarinen and his 0.07 career goals per game in the lineup AND playing 450-year-old Mike Cammalleri on the first line instead of using that player I have just described to you. Does not using the player you’re actually very much searching for seem rather asinine to you? A little backwards thinking, don’t you think? If you can imagine this, you can understand life as an Oilers fan. Welcome to fucking hell.

We all do agree on this one, Dusty. It’s extremely universal. Not dressing Jesse tomorrow night should be a fireable offense but it won’t be because Todd and Peter and even the Fairy fucking Godfather are fully on board with the “trust the process” machine. They all believe in themselves and that’s utterly terrifying. If there is nobody in this organization who can stand up and question their motives then we’re fucked. We’re royally, unavoidably fucked. We’re destined for a death more emotionally crippling than when Marley died in Marley & Me. There is nothing more painful than sitting back and watching the demise of something you love and hold so near and dear, all while knowing there’s an easy solution, yet knowing there is absolutely nothing you can do about it except sit back and watch as your heart is perpetually stabbed over and over and over again until you’re left on the middle of the street and then they piss on your corpse too. What on earth does Bob Nicholson do? Why — when they’re all equally as responsible for this shitpocalypse — are Kevin Lowe and Craig MacTavish and Scott Howson still on our payroll? What are we even doing anymore?! The best advice I can give is just close your eyes, Oilers fans. Just close your eyes and take the storm of punches that are headed directly for our faces and kidneys and sensitive parts, and it will be all over soon. April’s just five months away. Godspeed, everyone. I’ll see you tomorrow when I woefully predict that we’ll somehow beat the barely .500 Bruins.