Down the street from my current residency there is a dumpy little Mexican market. They have the sort of meat Costco refuses to carry, and the type that Vons keeps in the back where you get it by request only. Those sort of delicacies. Attached to this squat store is a little window where you can order whatever crazy ass Mexican dish you want. Naturally, I go there a few times a week; once for dollar taco Tuesdays, and again on Fridays with the 2 for 1 burritos. It isn't the greatest Mexican food ever, but I have been going there forever and they actually make their food spicy (take note, Senior Pedros). I won't say what exactly the place is called because I only call out whole states and insult them to where I am finally outlawed from ever visiting (like I ever wanted to go to North Carolina anyways).
Anyways, this Mexican place is very much like my relationship with the Kings. They weren't the best thing in 2004-2009, but lately when I go there they show me flashes of greatness. Occasionally I swear it's the best thing I have ever experienced. But they both consistently give me indigestion. I hadn't been to this Mexican place since last April since my stupid career choice led me to San Bernardino for a little while. I went back once in late June, and after having Methican food in the Inland Empire, the burrito I had there was easily the greatest thing I had eaten in the past two months. After I went there with my dad (who, sadly, isn't Willie Mitchell) this past week a couple of times I have felt like my expectations were overly bloated, much like me. The food wasn't living up to my grandiose memories. I also pooped three times more than I usually do the following day.
Then I remembered it was never tremendously great food to begin with. It was decent food that I had a lot of, never really got sick of, and always went to go get if I couldn't think of anything else to get or was too lazy to cook (which was frequent). They had their moments, and every once in a while it was pretty great. I couldn't let a few good memories prevent me from ever enjoying it again. The Kings are the same. They were always great screw ups. They were my great screw ups. They were sure better than these new screw ups who only existed because of them. Once, they weren't screw ups. And it was the fucking best thing to ever happen. The Kings nearly destroyed the NHL for good with help from ol' Gary. But now I have trouble with them, because I expect them to not be screw ups. And unlike my Mexican food they fucking shouldn't be. I mean Jesus fucking Christ. You lose to the fucking OILERS? Fuck, man. Just...Holy shit did you guys blow that game. The refs even helped you and you still fucking blew it. The worst craps I ever got from any Mexican food never measured up to that sort of shit. You won a god damn Stanley Cup. What the fuck happened? You all turn into Jack Johnson and only commit turnovers while never being in position? Here should be your next lineup:
Scuderi? Drewiske? Doughty? Sure, why not?
That fucking goalie.
Some shitty poem:
What the fuck?
Wow, you suck.
And Sutter? Okay, so Penner and Gagne are both top six or sit. So you start neither? I know I said to dress Richardson, but to probably sit King or Lewis in his spot. But sure, sit five million dollars. Kevin Westgarth would have made the Kings win. Carolina is probably laughing their morbidly obese asses off. They will probably try that to see if it will help them lose that weight.
So here's my advice Sutter, since I know you are reading: Start Penner with Stoll and Richardson. Sit Lewis and King. Have Gagne out there with Carter and Richards. Hope Jason Labarbera starts and someone outside of Kyle Clifford actually is productive offensively.