It just got really hot in here…

Incoming monsoon:

This is not how I expected my Monday to start. Woke up thinking I’d write some bullshit about last night’s game. Maybe talk about Yama’s great game, his chances of making the team, etcetera. And then this happened:

My favourite magazine and my favourite human being collaborated to bring us something so divine, so surreal, so magical that 1.25 seconds after looking at those photos I had to remind myself that I still like women. Hurricane Connor rode a GQ tidal wave over the landlocked city of Edmonton. Women, hide yo men. Live look at Jack:

Fuck me, man. This poor guy. Yet another crushing defeat at the hands of his arch rival. Absolute bloodbath:

That’s just sad, man. Heartbreaking shit. Tell me this isn’t those old Rogers commercials where that one dude kept getting owned by the handsomer looking buddy:

It’s madness. Connor’s aging like fine wine on top of being the best human being who is currently playing the game of hockey and Jack’s still looking like a high school stoner. There’s a realistic possibility that Connor might score 150 points this year. Playoffs are basically goddamn guaranteed. That watch he’s wearing: That’s a $15,000 watch, ya’ll. FIFTEEN FUCKING K. That’s the watch you wear when you repeat as the Art Ross and Ted Lindsay champion of the league. I mean… Christ:

My palms are literally soaked in sweat. *faints*

This is Connor’s league. He’s dominant. He’s smoulderingly handsome. That’s the combo you need to become the face of your league. Look at rookie quarterback, Thomas Brady:

Now look at five time Super Bowl champion and three time NFL MVP, Tom Brady:

The first guy spends eight straight hours on the couch eating pizza rolls while playing Fortnite. The second guy has sex with Gisele Bundchen.

 

For those keeping score at home, that’s one appearance for Connor McDaddy in GQ, and still no appearances for Auston Matthews. Big season coming up for Toronto where they pretty much have to win the Cup and poor Auston can’t even get a letter or a call from GQ. You hate to see that. Also still nothing from neither GQ nor Teen Vogue for future Flyer, Johnny Gaudreau.