Mourning the National Hockey League

I was on the verge of writing something about my dread and angst over the future of this year's NHL season, when I got called out by Our Girl in Chicago, she who reigns over About Last Night for the next ten days while her co-blogger, His Arts Blogging Eminence, is on vacation. (If Terry makes it to Washington on this trip, maybe he will call me to discuss his plans for his all but assured nomination as U.S. Secretary of Culture and the Arts. When we get it set up, that is.) All I can say is that, if there is a lockout, which seems inevitable at this point, I will not be spending hours each week following my favorite hockey team. (For anyone groaning, I am allowed to like Detroit. I grew up in Michigan, and you can take the boy out of Michigan, but you can't take the Michigan out of the boy.)

What will I do with all of that extra time? No, I will not be watching that bullshit the league is calling the Original Stars Hockey League, which someone thinks is going to assuage my grief if there is—can I even bring myself to type the words? it makes the whole nightmare seem real—no hockey season. For now, I read articles and look at pictures of Pavel Datsyuk, Brett Hull (even if he is playing in Phoenix), CuJo, Shanny, Jiri Fischer, Derian Hatcher, Mathieu Dandenault, Kris Draper, Henrik Zetterberg, and Steve Yzerman, and I try to imagine that it will all be OK. But I know it won't. The newspaper analysis is piling up, but I don't see any way out of this impasse.

By the way, one of the things that I really miss about not living in Michigan anymore (besides being able to see the Red Wings play only once a year in Washington), is not getting CBC on the television. Is there any chance that this hockey-based reality TV show (featuring Ionarts idol Scotty Bowman in the Donald Trump role) from the CBC will make it to the general American market? How about if we just ritually sacrifice Todd Bertuzzi as a scapegoat for all of the players? Then, could we have an NHL season?