Goddammit So Much

First, WOW thank you all so much wishing me good luck on that final. Did not expect a flurry of messages before I went into the beast (enter wife joke here) but that was hilariously awesome of everyone who did, so thank you! Nailed the shit out of that fucker.

I’ve been awake since about 6:30 after sleeping for no more than four hours and haven’t had a goddamn meal all day. I’m only operating on three cups of coffee with three shots of expresso, and I just wrote a two hour exam that consisted of me writing approximately 2,000 words. And instead of going to Mikado to punish the bejesus out of some beef yakisoba, I’m in front of my lap top, once again writing, because the nitwittery of this organization is so unbelievably unprecedented that it’s both mentally and physically ripping me to smithereens. The balls of this fucking team to tease us with a press conference of this magnitude, only to have the guy who named a bazillion dollar burger after himself stand up and tell us basically nothing at all is so incomprehensible it actually hurts my brain to think about. I opened up my phone after bazookaing a final, all fired up about knowing premodern history and all radiocarbon dating and all that bullshit, thinking maybe โ€“ just maybe โ€“ this team did a logical and applaud-worthy organizational move for the first time since switching to full time retro uniforms back in like 2011 (which, because Oilers, they’ve already fucked up). Did they do that logic?

They did not do that logic. I took my phone off airplane mode and received a barrage of texts pleading for me to not check the interview. A bunch of ethically aware individuals knowing damn well that the outcome of this circus would eventually ruin my good vibes previously acquired from being kind of smart at school. The Edmonton Oilers will, one day, destroy me.

Bob got up there and put on his best costume and danced around issues and made goals like “WE’RE GOING TO BE A PLAYOFF TEAM!” like woah Bob! The playoffs?! As if a wildcard birth next year is supposed to make us feel even marginally better about wasting some of the best years of Connor McDavid’s life.ย Imagine having a 21-year-old mutant and back-to-back scoring champion in your arsenal and having a goal of “making the playoffs”? That’s the equivalent of NASA having a goal of one day going to space.

The only organization that believes the Oilers management is capable and competent and the right core to get this team back to being competitive is the Edmonton Oilers. Every other team, every fan base, every media person, all laugh at us. They laugh at our stupidity. And how could they not? Our complete imbecile of a CEO calls a press conference and for one beautiful, magical moment, we all believed something positive would come out of it. Even if deep down we all knew they’d impale our hearts with a street lamp, we all had that one moment of hope. Because we’re naive. We fall for this shit all the time. This organization has no will no change. They’re so adamant on keeping the old boys together that they’re willing to sacrifice the present boys to achieve the dream of all being best buddies who think their success as NHL players warrants them the ability to operate a professional franchise. Or in Peter’s useless case, a degree from Harvard. And I point my carpal tunnel induced finger directly at Daryl Katz. He’s been in charge for 11 years and we’ve made the playoffs once. One time, despite having unlimited funds in terms of both on ice players and organizational management. One time. When those broke ass 30-some odd randoms from scattered areas of the province owned our team we were able to make the playoffs five times in the span of like eight seasons. And we had no money. We were a farm team to the rich teams, and we still could make the playoffs. ONE TIME in 11 years. This is disgusting. I’m sorry, Oilers fans. Truly, I’m sorry. I don’t know what we did to deserve such a futile disaster, but it’s here. And it’s here to say, according to the person responsible for holding the most operationally-meaningless press conference of all time. Whatever anymore.