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An Open Letter to Gary Buttman, Destroyer of Dreams

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The NHL recently destroyed a dream of mine, and I will not stand for this injustice

Geoff Burke-USA TODAY Sports

Hello Mr. Bet-Man,

My name is Mrs. Stace of Base and I have been a fan of your hockey league for quite some time now. I have liked the league for so long that it was before the San Jose Sharks were notable chokers. Anyway, I applied through my blogging webzone to receive credentials for the NHL Awards. It has been my dream ever since I was 26 years old to be credentialed through the National Hockey League so I could be locked in a room with folding tables and chairs to sit next to other writing greats, like Steve Simmons. I contacted my boss Travis Hughes, who surprisingly, is not a heir to a 1980's teen movie empire, and we had a delightful conversation that changed my life forever.

me: hey trav, it's me stace

travis: hey stace! busy knocking it dead over at the battle of california webzone?

me: always! well....actually I haven't really been writing because I don't feel like it


Me? A professional blogger? A little over a year ago I took over here at Battle of California, and never did I dream that I would become a beat writer. I set forth to do what anyone would do and booked a hotel room in Las Vegas for a couple of days to get ready to go on my first Business Trip, all expenses paid by me. I bought a fancy new iPhone with a Kate Spade case, to give the illusion that I could fit in. I downloaded an app that would add even more filters to photos for the hard hitting media coverage. I was all set. I was out a good 400+ dollars, but it would all be worth it. I would have Kevin Kurz' job by the end of this trip. I'm set.

It was now the waiting game. Travis asked me for a bunch of information to give the NHL for my press pass, including my last name, birth date, social security number, banking institution, routing number and account number. I thought it was kind of weird but I figured there was the possibility of getting rewarded handsomely if my media coverage brings in an abundance of traffic.

It was again the waiting game. Until one faithful night...

[This is very upsetting so Trigger Warning.]

Three weeks before the event, I was sent an email (due to the graphic nature of this email and SBNation and NHL lawyers threatening to sue me if I post it, I could only paraphase) stating that I had been officially denied press credentials for the NHL awards because of my inability to actually cover hockey, my "excessive use of toilet humor", and because my name is tied to Battle of California dot com.

Never did I think that I would get denied for my Toilet Jokes. Yeah, I can understand the whole Battle of California thing, and I can understand the whole "you don't even cover hockey" thing, but literally everyone poops. If I was going to get denied for anything, I figured it would be because of being a woman, but poop jokes are universally well received across all nations. How could I ever get discriminated against for poop? What kind of new breed of hate are you instilling in your staff, Mr. Bet-Man?

I took days off of work, I spent over 400+ dollars that I clearly do not have, to cover an event, only to be told that I am not allowed to cover the event. Now I'm just going to Vegas next week and I'll have nothing to show for it, besides whatever terrible tweets I send out while I'm really drunk. Sure, I'm going to download Tinder to find hockey players. Sure, I'm going to bother those hockey players. Sure, I'm going to screenshot their profiles and write about my experiences when I get home, but what fun is that? I'm actually going to have to PHYSICALLY work for it rather than just have all of them coming to me in a secluded area. All because you, Mr. Bet-man, are a butt man.

If you think you can silence me and my poop jokes, you've got it all wrong. I will be plopping them out even faster and more frequently and I guarantee you, they will make a huge splash. No matter how many times you try to flush them, they will forever leave a streak in your toilet heart.


Mrs. Stace O' Base