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One Last Note

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Harry How

Young Alec was beset on all sides. Ragers in blue closed in. His brethren were out of breath, many of them fallen. The orange and blue false king of the Ragers sat on his throne of snow. Smirking down on the destruction beneath him. The battle had raged for hours, the longest in the kingdom's history, but with no end in sight. And so Alec knew what must be done. He charged ahead.

At first alone, then two of his fellow teammates joined him. Kyle of the Cliffs, and young Tyler of Titties. The Ragers met them head on. Yet somehow Alec bowled ahead. One down. Then two. Then several. The rest of the King's men began to rally. Then it seemed the whole of the Kingdom of Los Angeles rose up with him. From his sleepy hamlet home of Playa de Manhattan, to the Ravine of the Chavez. The blue and orange usurper gripped his snowy throne, now looking terrified. Alec fought ahead and suddenly there were no more Ragers in blue ahead of him. Just the impersonator. "King" Lundqvist the Pretty. And Alec charged on once more.

The usurper tried to escape, but Alec was too fast. His skills had sharpened. He was a veteran warrior. He had Gabofax. Alec struck, and in a shower of snow the throne was gone. The usurper lay face down in his own hubris. Now only emptiness stretched out before Alec. Except for the shimmering of the holy Stanley Cup. Alec approached, almost hesitantly. Though there it was. Alec grabbed the Cup, hoisted it, and a cheer from all corners of the kingdom enveloped him. Light washed over him. He was Los Angeles' champion. I approach. Shirt already off. I go to remove Alec's pants and-

Oh. Uh. Yeah. Well enough about that, right. Let's get to the important stuff. Such as: Me.

I was really young when the Kings first went to the Final in 1993. I was five years old, to be exact. I didn't get into hockey until a few years later. I was seven and my friend's dad got tickets to a Ducks game against the Oilers. Anaheim lost 3-1. I became infatuated with the sport regardless of the fact I saw two rather pathetic teams going at it. I started playing street hockey as a goalie the next weekend using a baseball glove, a plastic stick, and soccer shinguards. I managed to convince all the kids in the nieghborhodd that this was fun. Most of them never watched a game in their life, yet every weekend in our south Orange County cul-de-sac we played street hockey for hours.

I started watching Kings and Ducks games every chance I could get. Robitaille, Gretzky, Hrudey and yes even Kariya and Hebert. I was a full blown junky (a sure indicator of my future addict behavior). Yet I was only able to attend Ducks games. Something about, "the Kings are expensive", and, "That's a really long drive", and "Is it safe for a family of sheltered white people to go to the Forum?"

When the STAPLES Center got built, I finally convinced my family to go to a Kings game (free tickets help) and it was life altering. After that first game up in Los Angeles I was hooked all over again. The environment was different. The look. Something. It felt like the big time. I had MY team. There was no more thinking the Avalanche and Red Wings were the cool teams. I had my guys now, and their lousy history and very painful at-the-time lack of success. I suffered for my decision. The biggest highlight I had for years was when I was in junior high and Adam Deadmarsh brought down the Red Wings. Then it was off to the dark years. Kyle Calder. Dan Cloutier. Jack Johnson. I was able to be an intern at the STAPLES Center when the Kings first got competitive again. It was a pretty great experience just seeing that finally. 2012...that was a different story.

I joke about my alcoholism a lot here. Pretty much because I was going through a full bout of that in 2012. I was working a full time gig as a barely paid intern, living in San Bernardino, realizing I never was going to make it at my job, had a degree that was useless despite being tailor made for my desired career path, the only thing I had to my name was a huge amount of student loan debt, and I hated everything about my life right then. I wasn't yet dating my now ex-girlfriend, and I was drinking at least six beers a night. It was quite the low point.

But the Kings were winning. Shit got surprisingly far less shitty with that happening. Work became tolerable. They won. I was almost damn cheerful for a while. Still, I knew in advance I was going to be fired in September. And then I read here at Battle of California that they needed a Kings blogger in the near future. So I thought, "Ah shit. Why not?"

I said I fed my pubes to Teemu Selanne. I said my favorite player on the Kings was Alec Martinez. I convinced those chumps and Rudy to hire me. At least with this gig where I wasn't getting paid I enjoyed "working". Now here in my first full season I am blogging about the Kings winning the Stanley Cup again. The team I cover is a fucking winner.

Is yours?

Probably not. So this is a new era. The sun rises on me, Dunn, the champion. What have you done? Got a promotion? Got married? Had kids? Fuck that. My team has the god damn Stanley Cup (again!) thanks to my favorite god damn player (Alec!). But even still, I never even dreamed they would go about it this way. A reverse sweep of the Sharks. Knocking out the Ducks on their ice as "GO KINGS GO" was chanted. And then two series clinching goals, one for the Cup, by Alec freaking Martinez. It's unfathomable.

And guess what? On top of this I'm still fucking awesome. I got booted out of my last job because I was all, "Fuck all y'all. Later losers," after the first month I worked there. I work with dogs now, live at the beach, and get dates with ease. Unlike you who probably sits at a desk dealing with idiots, and look at your ugly children wondering where you went wrong. I act like a jerk-ass and people still love it.  And my team wins shit all the time now. As a wise man once said:

Eat my shit

Eat my shit

Eat my shit

Eat my shit

Eat my shit

Eat my shit

Eat my shit

Eat my shit



You're stuck with me, assholes.