It's been confirmed. The media has an entire week to peek around the Senators organization and dig up as much dirt as possible because game 1 won't start until Monday, May 28th.
One item of discussion that Darren Dreger found salacious was Bryan Murray's lack of a contract for next year. Eh. Yes, Bryan Murray is in a "lame-duck" situation but it's not as if he'll start coaching crappily because he resents the insecurity. It's pretty evident from the backgrounds of Murray and Muckler that Murray is groomed for the general manager position once Muckler decides to retire ... or dies. John Paddock, currently assistant coach for the Senators, is slotted to take over Murray's position, once Muckler leaves. Of course, this is all dependent on what happens next so ... perhaps this is why the story hasn't grown.
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[Cross-posted to Hlog]
I am proud of the Ottawa Senators and how far we have come, proud of our even terrible moments rehashed, embarrassing detail for embarrassing detail, in national papers, but it occurs to me that in hockey, in sports, wins are never as great as you think they will be and the losses are never as hurtful as you think. This is all just escape, a diversion from the reality of our lives, but conversely, this is reality. We make the Senators our reality; the players, Scotiabank Place, the logo, the jerseys, the T-shirts, the celebration. But when we wake up the next morning from our hang-overs, we still awake to the pile of bills, unfinished tasks, dirty dishes, soiled sheets, unfulfilled dreams, the headaches of day-to-day living. The Stanley Cup Finals hasn't changed anything. I'm not sure even the Stanley Cup can.
So then, I'm faced with the question, exactly why are there so many sports fans, waiting patiently for championships, if it serves as a mere distraction? Partying isn't a good enough answer. We party during Mardi Gras, during Spring Break, you can party any time you want. They are an excuse for civic parties and gatherings but you don't need to be a fan to get drunk and press your boobs against glass. Are they just a way for emotionally crippled people to share a communal experience, to feel a connection? Am I emotionally crippled? Am I still capable of feeling joy without the Senators?
My heart twinges whenever they step out onto the ice. But is this a Pavlovian, conditioned response or is it indicative of something deeper? I love the team, but what the hell does that mean? I love their inception, their existence on the ice, but that all crumbles when the game ends, the gear comes off and the players become themselves again. I don't know the players. They cannot possibly exist as human beings. I don't know them as human beings -- they exist in snippets and incomplete sketches.
This probably isn't the best time to be asking these questions. Nothing about this makes rational sense. This is entertainment, but it's impossible to write this off in the same category as Lost or Pirates of the Caribbean. I've found that after all these years, I'm still puzzled as to why the hell I'm here. But I am. And I still care, and I still can't bring myself to change the channel or step away from my Alfredsson T-shirt or ignore tonight's Western Conference Final. I just don't know why.
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Update: 10:49 pm. As of now, the Anaheim Ducks lead the Detroit Red Wings 3-0 and we will probably be facing them in the Finals.
Does the circle of coincidences about this situation strike anybody as absolutely eerie?
Tomorrow is May 23, 2007, a mere 4 years from the day Jeff Friesen broke my heart.
Had we held on, had we scored, we would've moved onto face the Anaheim Mighty Ducks in the Stanley Cup Finals.
At that time, Bryan Murray was their GM.
Facing Hasek would've been beautifully circular, but this is even more so.
One item of discussion that Darren Dreger found salacious was Bryan Murray's lack of a contract for next year. Eh. Yes, Bryan Murray is in a "lame-duck" situation but it's not as if he'll start coaching crappily because he resents the insecurity. It's pretty evident from the backgrounds of Murray and Muckler that Murray is groomed for the general manager position once Muckler decides to retire ... or dies. John Paddock, currently assistant coach for the Senators, is slotted to take over Murray's position, once Muckler leaves. Of course, this is all dependent on what happens next so ... perhaps this is why the story hasn't grown.
-
[Cross-posted to Hlog]
I am proud of the Ottawa Senators and how far we have come, proud of our even terrible moments rehashed, embarrassing detail for embarrassing detail, in national papers, but it occurs to me that in hockey, in sports, wins are never as great as you think they will be and the losses are never as hurtful as you think. This is all just escape, a diversion from the reality of our lives, but conversely, this is reality. We make the Senators our reality; the players, Scotiabank Place, the logo, the jerseys, the T-shirts, the celebration. But when we wake up the next morning from our hang-overs, we still awake to the pile of bills, unfinished tasks, dirty dishes, soiled sheets, unfulfilled dreams, the headaches of day-to-day living. The Stanley Cup Finals hasn't changed anything. I'm not sure even the Stanley Cup can.
So then, I'm faced with the question, exactly why are there so many sports fans, waiting patiently for championships, if it serves as a mere distraction? Partying isn't a good enough answer. We party during Mardi Gras, during Spring Break, you can party any time you want. They are an excuse for civic parties and gatherings but you don't need to be a fan to get drunk and press your boobs against glass. Are they just a way for emotionally crippled people to share a communal experience, to feel a connection? Am I emotionally crippled? Am I still capable of feeling joy without the Senators?
My heart twinges whenever they step out onto the ice. But is this a Pavlovian, conditioned response or is it indicative of something deeper? I love the team, but what the hell does that mean? I love their inception, their existence on the ice, but that all crumbles when the game ends, the gear comes off and the players become themselves again. I don't know the players. They cannot possibly exist as human beings. I don't know them as human beings -- they exist in snippets and incomplete sketches.
This probably isn't the best time to be asking these questions. Nothing about this makes rational sense. This is entertainment, but it's impossible to write this off in the same category as Lost or Pirates of the Caribbean. I've found that after all these years, I'm still puzzled as to why the hell I'm here. But I am. And I still care, and I still can't bring myself to change the channel or step away from my Alfredsson T-shirt or ignore tonight's Western Conference Final. I just don't know why.
-
Update: 10:49 pm. As of now, the Anaheim Ducks lead the Detroit Red Wings 3-0 and we will probably be facing them in the Finals.
Does the circle of coincidences about this situation strike anybody as absolutely eerie?
Tomorrow is May 23, 2007, a mere 4 years from the day Jeff Friesen broke my heart.
Had we held on, had we scored, we would've moved onto face the Anaheim Mighty Ducks in the Stanley Cup Finals.
At that time, Bryan Murray was their GM.
Facing Hasek would've been beautifully circular, but this is even more so.
Labels: bryan murray, existentialist crisis
2 Comments:
Chris Phillips lives next door to my dad. They're friendly, neighborly, but that's it. I went to school with his wife - when I was ten. I chatted with him once while he was playing street hockey with his kids. He humoured me because I'm his neighbor's son and a fan. He seems like a really nice guy but I don't need to know him beyond that.
My experience of him is as a hockey player on my favourite team. That doesn't make it less real - he is after all, a hockey player on my favorite team.
I don't think your emotionally crippled because you have a love affair with the Sens. And it's not just a diversion - A win or a loss may be less tangible than an unpaid bill but I don't know if that makes it less important.
Is hockey really any more arbitrary than a lot of life? Okay, maybe it doesn't rank in the hierarchy of needs but it's important to us for a reason - probably many reasons, some more easily explained than others. What matters is that it matters. Fuck day-to-day.
Nothing about this makes rational sense.
It's entirely irrational, but unlike the nasty forms of tribalism and collective acting-out (wars, genocide, totalitarianism, pagan sacrifice, etc.) it's a fairly benign way of satiating that old caveman-era instinct to smear on the battle paint with your fellow travelers and just whoop it up.
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