Oilers Twitter was at its PEAK yesterday

Imagine it being August 29th aka literally the last leg of summer. Some of us are here trying to squeeze out the last remaining days before the inevitable six-to-eight months of absolute goddamn shit-kicking misery and then BOOM some cold air hits your face. The moment that slight breeze reddens our cheeks is the moment that people shift their minds from crushing lagers on a patio to another form of death to our kidneys: these stupid idiots:

(He will slot in on the press box popcorn line)

Evidently, as we’ve come to realize, cold air in Edmonton is the universal signal for “better drop an Oilers nuke on Twitter” because INCOMING Oilers potential greatness/equally potential abhorrent fucking nightmare. Cue the music:

Live look at David:

Well that set Oilers Twitter ablaze with some of the most ferociously fire hot takes we’ve potentially ever witnessed. If you thought a summer away from this godforsaken shit pile of an organization would have calmed down the ever-distancing two halves of fan base from the perpetual war we’ve created then you don’t know Oilers Twitter. The water carriers came rushing to defend their precious, do-no-wrong hockey club in a method of defense not seen since Tywin Lannister led his army into the Battle of Blackwater just before Stannis could conquer King’s Landing.

That right there might be the worst take I’ve ever read. No one is claiming we’re entitled to a successful team, just as the extremely large majority of the pissed off portion of our fan base is not throwing themselves off the figurative ship that Daryl probably spent taxpayer dollars to build. We know what we signed up for. Why is it so hard to comprehend that people can simultaneously be furious and still passionately care about this team? I know I am. I shouldn’t feel like I’m taking crazy pills because I’m annoyed that we’ve only made the playoffs once in the last 12 years. I shouldn’t feel stupid for feeling anxious at the fact that in the three years of Connor McDavid’s McMarvelous career we’ve only been to the playoffs once. I think it’s perfectly acceptable that use my borderline pointless voice to raise some of these otherwise extremely logical concerns. Because if I didn’t care — if I sat back idly and blindly rooted for a team because GOSH DARN GOOD REAL FANS THEY DO THAT STUFF — I’d be far more disappointed in my fandom. At some point I’d have to look in a mirror and say “what the actual fuck is happening” upon realizing that, in the 11 years that Daryl Katz has managed to drive this franchise into a planet-sized dumpster fire, we’ve only made the playoffs one time. And that one time was guided on the back of an incredible McMVP performance, world class goaltending, and the greatest stroke of health maybe in NHL history. A lot can be said about the fans that are content with the doing nothingness that we’ve endured since Todd Harvey left.

Best part is, we’re not losing interest. One could argue that the majority of our livid army is actually gaining interest because of the amount we still scream at this club for doing stupid shit. If I was losing interest I’d go oh, they overpaid for all 13 of Drake Caggiula’s points, meh. Oh, they moved another able-bodied winger for spare change again. Who cares amiright?

No.

That’s not what I do.

When they do that shit I go right to my laptop and blog until my hands develop carpal tunnel about how this organization takes years off my life. Just like when they win their first game in weeks I stand on the top of a mountain and scream that we’re officially back and the NHL is doomed. It’s an absolute roller coaster cheering for this team. It’s like driving a steak knife into your own kidney but also drinking a refreshingly cold Bud Light on a sunny weekend afternoon with all your friends. It’s torture and bliss. It’s yin and yang. I knew this when I was born into cheering for this team. Just like I know these blabbering ding dong heads can’t tell me how to be a fan of the team that’s cost me thousands of dollars and dozens of years off my life. So fuck you if you tell me I can’t be mad. I’ll be as mad as I want. I’ll be the most mad. Eat that shit, you moronic dictator.

Speaking of the moronic type, I accidentally engaged in a conversation with my personal nemesis, Donny, yesterday. It finished like this:

I’m upset. Not because Donald said I changed my tampon (he also called me a spoiled child, apparently because I want this team to win more games than they lose). Nope. I’m mad because I willingly started a conversation with this mouth-breathing imbecile. This, despite knowing damn well that telling Donny our side might have a point would go as well as telling a certain other Donald that CNN might have a point.

Before his junior high chirp, Donny told me to put in some work (with the Oilers) and perhaps I’ll get a different outcome. I sometimes struggle to translate idiot, but I think this means he wants me to dress for the club? Obviously that’s impossible, but I’ll make sure to remind him of the work he needs to put in once Rodgers drops 53 on his useless Bears at Lambeau in week one. I’m putting a large portion of my money on the Packers to cover the spread. Fuck Donny with every single Beer League Hero tweet ever.