#LOVEHURTS

SPORADIC REPORTAGE ON THE PSYCHOLOGICAL TRAUMA OF LOVING THE TORONTO MAPLE LEAFS.

[leafslovehurts]

REMEMBERING MICHEL THERRIEN’S CLASSIC LOOK OF DISGUST AFTER JVR’S LATE 3RD PERIOD GOAL ON JANUARY 18 2014

Just over three years ago I posted a couple screenshots of Michel Therrien’s disgusted reaction to a late third period go-ahead goal by James Van Riemsdyk off a tremendously impressive feed from Tyler Bozak. Here’s the goal:

As you can see, this was the game where JVR pulled his jersey after the goal to advertise the Leafs logo, mocking Subban’s braggadocio from the week before when he scored an overtime winner against the Senators and ran around happily/cockily tugging his jersey. Now, I’m not at all against overwrought goal celebrations. In fact I love them. Sure, I love “traditional” goal celebrations, best exemplified by Darren McCarty’s “I can’t believe I did that” jubilation in the 1997 Stanley Cup finals. But I also love Ovechkin’s classic “hot stick” celly, I love Selanne’s iconic shotgun celly, and many other flamboyant goal celebrations by non-Canadian hockey players. The ostensible disgust registered by Don Cherry and others is just tacit racism or nationalism, and it was a stupid notion even twenty-five years ago that there was a “correct” way to celebrate a goal, with modesty and humility, lest you give the other team ammunition or come off as (gasp!) enthusiastic. (Seriously, NHL hockey players receive media training to be as boring and wooden as possible, a method crecently taken to its logical extreme by the Calgary Flames’ Sean Monahan, who is so boring and monosyllabic that some clever fan started a parody account that has almost twice the amount of followers than Monahan’s official one). But I love the JVR jersey tug because it was a “fuck you” response, a spontaneous display of the natural competitiveness inherent to hockey players. The Leafs were mired in yet another season-long collapse at the time, and pulling a win over the Habs was one of the highlights of that entire year, particularly when the camera did the requisite cut to the bench after JVR tapped it in and the whole country was treated to a shot of Therrien’s disgust. Here’s a few photos I took and posted to the blog three years ago on January 18 2014.  Therrien’s brain registers the goal...

...and then Therrien registers his unadulterated disgust and shame.

A classic moment in Leafs-Habs history. Therrien, you’ll be missed probably, but not by me. I don’t give a shit who is coaching the Habs, I hate them by default. If I invented a time machine and went to a Leafs-Habs game in the spring of 1990, I’d be hurling insults and mom jokes at Pat Burns the whole time, despite his status now as one of our all-time great Leafs coaches. If you coach the Habs, I hate you, but only while you are coaching the Habs. If you play for the Habs, I hate you, but only while you are playing for the Habs.  It was a difficult concept for me to come to terms with when I was younger. I remember feeling uneasy with Kirk Muller for at least half a season. But I loosened up as I got older and welcomed the likes of Komisarek, Grabovski, Gill, Corson, et al.

I will admit that I had a difficult time watching Gilmour don a Habs jersey, an instance of specifically Canadian humiliation I liken to that Trailer Park Boys episode where Ricky has to kiss Lahey’s ass. I was slightly less brokenhearted to see Kaberle join the Canadiens, but still brokenhearted all the same.

Anyway, the odds of Michel Therrien coaching the Toronto Maple Leafs are roughly the same as the Las Vegas Golden Knights lifting Lord Stanley’s Cup next season, but, as Lloyd Dobbler would say...

I’m kidding. There is no chance in hell Therrien will ever coach the Leafs. So let’s remember him the way we always should: dejected and ashamed and disgusted with the Montreal Canadiens.

Here’s wishing you well, Michel. From a laughing Leafs fan smoking on his front porch on an unseasonably warm February night in Toronto. 

[leafslovehurts]

WE DON’T NEED TAVARES. WE HAVE NYLANDER.

That’s a screenshot I took of a joyous Leafs fan celebrating Nylander’s third goal against the Bruins on Feb 4 2017. I love this guy. He reminds me of the Waffle Guy from the Wilson era, a devout loner in a sea of indifferent fans, screaming and cheering for his beloved team. I’m writing this during the second intermission of a Leafs-Isles game on Valentine’s Day 2017, and William Nylander just scored his fifth goal in six games. The puck went in on his foot tonight, but he made no distinctive kicking motion and the goal stands. This kid is damn good. Writing in the Athletic last week, Dom Luszczyszyn made an impassioned argument that, in any other year, William Nylander would be in the conversation for a Calder. Of course, with Marner and Matthews tearing it up and smashing Leafs rookie records, Nyander hasn’t had the press buzz that he likely would have. One could make the same argument for Connor Brown, who has enjoyed a tremendous year. 

That Athletic article is behind a paywall, so I couldn’t read it, being poor and all, but I plan to get a subscription soon because I love in depth Leafs coverage, which the site seems to have in spades, and also because I no longer hate James Mirtle. He’s dialed down the smugness in the past five years, either because he’s gotten older or because the Leafs have gotten so much better. Or maybe because Bob McKenzie took him down a peg back in November 2013 when he called him The Globe’s “resident smartass” after Mirtle chuckled at TSN losing rights to regularly broadcast NHL games. You don’t kick a man when he’s down, Mirtle. But I’m glad to see he’s matured and has moved to the Athletic as editor-in-chief, where he will be overseeing some fantastic sports journalism, such as the abovementioned  Luszczyszyn article.

Nylander’s three-goal game against Boston last week was significant for a hat trick of reasons. Firstly, it was a hat trick, and hat tricks are awesome. Secondly, it came against Boston, and all Leafs fans hate Boston. And thirdly, as pointed out by Pension Plan Puppets, it was the first time two Leafs rookies have scored hat tricks in the same season since the 1926-27 season, back when Toronto’s hockey team was called the St. Patricks. The jury is still out on whether Nylander should play centre or wing, with plenty of disagreements in the press and among Leafs fans. As for me, I say keep him on the wing until Bozak heads for greener pastures, and by greener, I’m talking money, not necessarily a better team. I’m thinking Bozak will end up somewhere in the southern States, pulling a Bolland and leaving Toronto for an extra few hundred thousand. Unrestricted free agency is a very big deal to these boys, and they will almost always sign on the dotted line with the highest bidder, hometown be damned.

Which brings me to the question of Tavares and whether he will sign with his hometown of Toronto in the offseason, a subject I am utterly sick of after the whole Stamkos bait-and-switch last year. Stamkos’ indecision made everybody think he was leaving Tampa, if not signing with Toronto. Some thought he’d head to Detroit, others guessed New York (Rangers, not Isles). But he signed with the Lightning again, surprising pretty much everyone save for Steve Yzerman, and pretty much everyone, from the MSM to obscure bloggers to fans felt like they’d been had. I followed the Stamkos situation with fervor and anxious interest, from the favoured Tweet debacle (a slip of the thumb might happen once, but twice? Stamkos was definitely trolling the media) to the rumors that were bouncing around all the way up to moments before he resigned with Tampa. When I read that he was staying put, I felt more exhausted than angry and I’m still tired. I don’t care what Tavares’ intentions are. I don’t care that he hasn’t resigned with the Islanders. I don’t care. Because we already have a centreman who can fill Bozak’s skates: William Nylander. We don’t really need John Tavares. I mean, sure, it’d be nice to have him, but he’s no longer the missing piece of the puzzle, now that the rebuild is so far ahead of schedule even Shannahan is admitting as much to the press. Matthews and Kadri and Nylander are more than capable of filling centre ice, and if The Goat doesn’t turn out to be a capable NHLer, we’ll keep Smith. 

It’s a win-win situation. If Tavares wants to come home, great. If not, we’ve got plenty of players who want to be here.

[leafslovehurts]

#LeafsAreActuallyGood

A blog about how much it hurts to love the Leafs doesn’t need to exist when both the team’s President and head coach inform the fanbase, with comforting frankness, that pain is coming.

The current regime has done everything imaginable to set my mind at ease. Even last season, in all it’s awfulness, was in essence a victory, because the team planned on tanking and came in dead last, landing franchise center Auston Matthews. I still found things to be frustrated about last year, particularly Joffrey Lupul’s tepid performance in the latter half of the season. But overall I was just fine with watching the opposing team skate rings around our rentals (Grabner, Paranteau, Arcobello, Brennan, Laich, Matthias, Spaling, et al) as we rode the proverbial eighteen wheeler to the basement. 

I’m not complaining about having less to write about these days. It’s obvious anyway that my mind has been elsewhere, chiefly watching and enjoying the team, devouring thousands of words in Leafs coverage per night in between periods. I stream my games so I don’t get to watch the intermission chatter, which has actually strengthened my love for the game. It’s amazing how the opinions you form are in tandem with those talking heads, even when you haven’t heard what they said. This is either because I am a genius, or because the things they say are generally patently obvious. Except for anything Elliotte Friedman says, because Elliotte Friedman is an excellent analyst and broadcaster, the TV personality of Mike Gartner. You don’t notice how good he is until you realize how much faster he is than everyone around him.

Things haven’t been this good in nearly fifteen years. Even before Game 7, the 2013 playoff run smacked of a fluke, what with the team riding an impossibly high shooting percentage and winning games despite being outshot every single night. It is roundly acknowledged that the Leafs would not have made the playoffs if the 2012-2013 season went to 82 games, or even 62.

But this has been a tremendous year, even if the Bruins just knocked the Leafs back to ninth after holding a playoff spot for all of twenty four hours. Not only has the on-ice product been exhilarating, the coverage of the team has been uniformly excellent this season, save for Simmons. @JeffVeillette’s hashtag #LeafsAreActuallyGood is getting more and more retweets every day, and deservedly so. And The Athletic is providing some absolutely fantastic journalism, even if I can’t be bothered to pay for it because I’m broke all the time. Suffice it to say, I would read the exclusive content if someone bought me subscription, but I probably should have said so before Christmas. 

So here’s what I’ll be doing lately instead of complaining: Along with more regular updates, I’ll also be rounding up and posting links to Leaf-related content, though not as a traditional aggregator. While I will be posting recently published articles (80% of them likely being the work of Sean McIndoe or Down Goes Brown, as he’s more famously known, 15% James Mirtle who I hate less now that he’s dialed down the smug, and the other 5% being wildcards), I’ll also be digging up some old stuff such as old articles featuring terrible Leaf predictions, interesting YouTube videos, and podcasts or images relating to the Leafs that I have something to say about. I’ll also occasionally post an article or two that has nothing to do with the team at all. I’ll be doing all of this for a few reasons: 

1. To discipline my writing by shoehorning my usually flowery sentences into the more economical form of the capsule review. 2. To curate content according to my own tastes, so that my Google searches start filtering out writers I dislike.  3. To find a way to keep the blog going without complaining in every post. 4. To be less like a Leafs fans answer to Maddox, who disappeared from the internet just as social media was exploding, and in doing so buried himself beneath the bilge of bellowing bastards that is Twitter, Facebook, and to a much lesser extent, Tumblr. I don’t mean that I’m relevant to social media, but that the number of posts on this blog began to decline just as the team’s fortunes began their ascent, and that this was not coincidental. 5. The non-Leaf stuff will be posted just to prove that I have a life outside the team, even if I may not have a life outside my bedroom. I still love the Leafs just as much as you do. Don’t believe me? Ask the needle that a guy named George dragged through my skin last week for forty-five minutes.

#LeafsLoveHurts In more ways than one.

Anyway, posting links to articles other people have written might help distract from the fact that right now I don’t have much to say other than: I love that the team is playing high event hockey this season and winning in ways that are actually sustainable, though I hate that they have such a hard time holding onto leads and I loath the defence pairing of Polak and Hunwick and don’t understand why Babcock continues to give them minutes when they are clearly struggling. Neither man can even make a simple outlet pass. They need to be shipped to Robidas Island before I complete this sentence. Still here? Fuck off.

So, here’s today’s or this week’s or whatever’s three articles of the day, week, whatever:

1. Let’s start with a great article from, who else, Down Goes Brown on Brian Burke’s trade acumen when he was the GM in Toronto: 

2. This one is only tangentially related to Toronto, in that it’s about Tim Leiweke, which is a bit of an odd choice given that said article was published before Tim came to Toronto, and I’m posting a link to it well after he has left Toronto. But it is such a good fucking read that I have to put it here. It will take you half an hour to forty five minutes, but you won’t regret it. Reading from the perspective of now, you feel almost bad for the guy for not fielding an NFL team in Los Angeles after all that hard work. Don’t fuck with the NFL. They truly do not give a shit if you spend a billion dollars on your stadium, especially if you inexplicably sold the naming rights before gaining city approval and league approval. Seriously,this article is so good, I’m posting another hyperlink to it in my next sentence. Read this fucking amazing thing.

3. This one isn’t Leaf related at all, but it is an astounding achievement in the field of crime journalism, written by an author who claims that men are obsolete in today’s world. I’m not making a selective interpretation here. Her book is actually called The End Of Men.

Men are done. Who woulda thunk. Maybe that explains why the Toronto Maple Leafs are almost exclusively comprised of boys who can’t yet drink legally.

That’s the news, lose yer blues. Why? #LeafsAreActuallyGood

Spread the word. Don’t be a turd.

[leafslovehurts]

Top 5 Leiweke moments

Leiweke makes a decisive hand gesture.

5. The parade he planned. Funny that nobody told him the parade thing had been a punchline in Toronto for decades before he arrived.

4. Giving Nonis a five-year extension. No further comment necessary.

3. Actually saying "I won't let the Leafs go through another collapse like that" in April 2014.

2. Saying "we will fix the Leafs" (again in April '14) then going on to preside over worst season in over 40 years, featuring yet another collapse (the fourth in four years).

1. Declaring he was "focused on the upcoming season" then resigning one day later.

Leiweke was a blustery, boastful windbag whose sole accomplishment as CEO of MLSE was donning a hard hat and altering a soccer field. Very glad to see him go. I just wish he'd address the media/fans and apologize for his gross incompetence and numerous broken promises. But of course he won't. But he will be remembered here as just another big mouth from the south (ahem, Brian Burke) who couldn't deliver a damn thing during the worst Leafs epoch ever, the ongoing Collapse Era.

So get the hell out of our city, Tim. Inflict your incompetence and arrogance on some other unsuspecting fanbase. We hate you.

[leafslovehurts]

Rebuilding

Hey there folks,

It’s been a long time, I know. 

I apologize for the ridiculously long gap between posts, but the way that last season ended left me feeling pretty numb. There are only so many times you can write the words “Leafs lose again.” In fact, I’m sure most bloggers and journalists simply copy and paste that phrase from one game night to another. And hockey writers will have no need to change tactics anytime soon, since it’s roundly acknowledged the team will be terrible again this year. At the very least, we can comfort ourselves in the knowledge that the team won’t get our hopes up by amassing points throughout the fall and early winter, riding an unsustainable wave of fortune and a high shooting percentage, only to careen off the proverbial cliff come January or February like they have every year since the great 18-wheeler of 2012. And although it’s cold comfort to know that they won’t do that again this year and merely be consistently bad throughout, the team is actually playing pretty well under Babcock, even if they don’t have many (read: more than one) wins to show for it yet.

Reilly has been playing extremely well, as was Gardiner before the injury, so there’s good news on the blueline. Lupul’s been okay in his reduced role as a checker. Komarov and Winnik have been excellent so far. JVR’s been okay but we need more from him. Bozak’s hurt again (is Bozak the new Lupul? He’s been really brittle the past few seasons). Robidas is sitting but we’re all pretending it’s an injury. And so far our one-year journeymen have been all but invisible, Paranteau, Grabner, Boyes, Arcobello, Spaling, etc, but most of them - if not all of them - will be gone by the time the team is actually competitive again, so at least we won’t be heartbroken by their respective departures because they don’t seem very good, do they?

So we’re firmly in rebuilding mode now, and there will be a lot of nights like yesterday’s, wherein the Leafs play well but come up short on the scoreboard - though, to be fair, against most NHL teams save for the red-hot Canadiens, 3 goals is often enough to win a game. And all this ballyhoo about how the Leafs can’t score without Kessel is greatly exaggerated, as they’ve been generating an assload of shots and chances of late, and since their shooting percentage is way down this year, we can rest assured that the puck will start hitting the twine sometime soon and the Leafs will actually win some of these mind-numbing 2-1, 1-0 affairs. (Such tallies have seemingly become the NHL norm, which is alarming because these games are totally boring. Last years’ playoffs were exceptionally tepid, offence-wise, so here’s hoping the league will do something about it before we return to yet another Dead Puck Era. Maybe it’s already too late though. While it’s obvious that every team can’t be like the Dallas Stars, it’s not a lot of fun to see so few goals. I’m not a fan of soccer on ice.)

With regards to myself, the Collapse Era Leafs and the Rebuilding Leafs have coincided with personal eras of collapse and reconstruction. I won’t bore you with the details but, like the Leafs, I haven’t been much to look at for the past few years. And while I’m still a bit of a mess, I have an actual plan in place and a positive trajectory I’m trying to follow.

Of course, like the Leafs’ long return to respectability, it’s going to take both time and a lot of hard work. In the meantime it’s important to stay positive and focused during the tough times that are coming. We’re in for a period of austerity as Leafs fans, a season of small gains and a philosophy of renewal. Because, for the players, it’s not hard to lose. It’s actually pretty easy. One bad bounce and you can cost your team the game. Grabner’s own goal last night. Phaneuf’s selfish penalty that led to the fifth Montreal goal. Small shit like this adds up to losses. Each and every night. Which is why there has to be such focus on small improvements, with the hope that there will be  a similar accumulation of little things that add up to wins. And while the Leafs have yet to pluralize the win column, they will. And one season soon they’ll win more games than they lose. And one season soon they’ll win a playoff round or two. And one season soon, on a hot June evening, they’ll win the last game of Stanley Cup Playoffs.

And we’ll all be watching.

So take heart. We’re in a rebuild and you’re gonna need strength and endurance. Things are bad now and will be for a while, but there’s finally a light at the end of the tunnel. And this time it’s not a freight train.

[leafslovehurts]

WOW

Feb 26 2015 was the happiest day for Leafs fans in years. There is hope again. Some long pieces will be posted soon. The lack of activity here was due to choking despair. But the fog has lifted. For now, let's breathe again. And enjoy it. Oh, also we beat the Flyers.

[leafslovehurts]

Read the photo caption. Hey maybe the National Post is just as sick of covering this team as we are watching them?

[leafslovehurts]

Notable Quotables

We want the fans to know that this team will get better. I'm not talking about five years down the line or anything like that. It'll happen quicker than that.  - Cliff Fletcher, interim GM, 2008

I'm not interested ... in a five-year rebuild like some of these teams have done. - Brian Burke, actual GM, 2010

We're probably two or three pieces from being a true contender. I'm talking a contender, not for the playoffs, I'm talking a contender for the Stanley Cup. - Ron Wilson, Leafs head coach, April 2011

I’m very comfortable that we’re never going to have to go through this sort of thing again, because I won’t let it happen. It’s just unacceptable. - Tim Leiweke, bigshot CEO guy talking about Leaf collapse 3.0, April 2014

I am going to kill myself. - Me, January 2015

[leafslovehurts]

HOW I ALMOST FOUGHT JOFFREY LUPUL (ALTERNATE TITLE: ALL-STAR BREAK CLICK BAIT)

On January 2 I directed a tweet toward Joffrey Lupul from our Twitter account. (You should follow us if you don't already, by the way. While we don't always #tweetsweet, we don't bully anyone or make discriminatory "jokes", and our hockey observations are reasonably astute and/or funny).

My tweeting at Lupul was not unusual. I often tweet helpful advice to the players and coaches, little timbits of wisdom like "please stop losing" or "please take Clarkson off the power play."

This being the regular season, Lupul was injured again and had, in a fit of self-pity, tweeted the Radiohead song "Lucky" to his followers. He was being sarcastic. When it comes to staying healthy, Joffrey Lupul has all the accumulated bad luck of a black cat who has just run under a ladder and smashed into thirteen consecutive mirrors. I'm talking really unlucky. "Born Under a Bad Sign" would have been a more appropriate selection. Sample lyric: I've been down since I began to crawl. If it wasn't for bad luck, I wouldn't have no luck at all.

Legions of Leafs fans have been blasting Lupul for being perennially wounded by saying things like "staying healthy is a skill." I'm not sure I believe that, but if it is indeed a skill, it's not one that Lupul has. The guy seems to spend more time on the IR than on the ice.

So I feel a little bad for Lupes. He's hurt pretty much all the time. And given the theme of this blog, we certainly understand what being hurt feels like. From mild discomfort to screaming agony, we understand. You see, we're Leafs fans. And it really hurts to love the Leafs.

I wasn't mad at Joffrey Lupul so much as about a myriad of other things: the annual collapse (which came early this year!), the paralyzing lack of salary cap space, a decade of futility and empty promises from MLSE, our shitty captain, and Jake Gardiner's inexplicably inept performance this season.

But, after yet another loss to that monolithic conglomerate of human steamrollers that are the Boston Bruins, I took my frustration out on Lupul. Here's what I tweeted to him:

That may seem a little harsh, but my sentiments were actually quite charitable when compared to some of the excessively caustic and homophobic comments some other people were tweeting his way. And I truly do think that Lupul's body is telling him to retire. As Josh Elliot at The Hockey News recently pointed out, he has now missed an entire 82-game season since arriving in Toronto.

Anyway, I sent the tweet and forgot about it and went to work. I labour in the kitchen of a busy/trendy Mexican restaurant near College and Bathurst (no, not Sneaky Dee's). About an hour into my shift I glanced at my phone because it's 2015 and nobody, myself included, can pass an hour without stopping whatever it is they're doing and gawking at a glowing rectangle. Just to see what's going on in the world. Just to stay informed.

I was surprised to see that Lupul had "favourited" my tweet, but the Saturday dinner rush was flooding in and I had to trouser my phone and get to work. I thought nothing more of it until I poked my head out of the kitchen around 10:45 PM and saw Lupul sitting at the bar. The Leafs had played that night in Winnipeg and had suffered yet another lopsided thrashing courtesy of the Jets, who are currently tearing up the Western Conference under the placid guidance of Paul Maurice, former Leafs coach. Randy Carlyle was to gain that odious designation for himself a few days later, but nobody (save for Brendan Shanahan and perhaps Dave Nonis) knew that yet.

So back to Lupul, who was nursing a pint at the bar. He looked glum. I had told my co-workers about him favouriting my tweet that afternoon, and they began joking that he had hired a private investigator to find out where I worked with the intention of confronting me. "He came here for you man. He's gonna kick you in the dick." "Dude, you gotta say something. Go tell him he sucks."

I felt important. I felt the way all obscure individuals feel upon realizing somebody famous knows them (or at least, is familiar with their Twitter account). I even believed, for a moment or two, that Joffrey Lupul had come to the restaurant to fight me. How would he go about it? Would he smash into the kitchen and yank my shirt over my head and elbow me in the spine? Would he furtively slip a waitress a note, cordially inviting me "outside" for "a chat?" I began to imagine how the altercation might go down. I pictured myself victorious, striking a blow for jilted Leaf fans everywhere - that forlorn and battered army I will always proudly belong to. I'd take one for Leafs Nation and brawl with Joffrey Lupul on the College Street sidewalk, a mere five or six kilometres away from Maple Leaf Gardens, that great cathedral of memories, that hallowed place where the Leafs once played acceptable hockey.

I was going to do it. I swear. I was going to fight Joffrey Lupul. I was gonna rip my apron off, storm over to the bar, and bellow "YOU WANNA GO? HUH?" like a belligerent barfly in a bad 90s action flick.

But reality began to infringe on my reverie. There would be consequences to my actions. Serious consequences. I would be fired. Possibly arrested and charged. Maybe even sentenced to a medium-security prison near the Quebec border where they screened Habs games in the common room.

So I didn't fight him. I took the high road. I decided not to hurt Joffrey Lupul. And who knows, my pacific resistance may even have saved his NHL career (though I still maintain he should head to Europe, where the game is gentler). If I had punched Lupul, he might have died. Or exploded.

I'm kidding, of course. I almost certainly would have lost the fight. But perhaps not. There would have been twenty-four years of bitter frustration behind my punches, so it's possible Lupul would have suffered a few broken ribs and a ruptured spleen.

Standing in front of the fryer, I checked my phone again and realized that Lupul had favourited a whole series of negative tweets that day. I wasn't special. There is a comprehensive stack of mean tweets indexed in his favourites as I write this. Name calling, bad jokes, inappropriate remarks, odd requests for extramarital trysts. And there I was, in the middle of them all, advising the guy to switch continents.

I felt bad until I remembered I make around $35,000 a year while the delicate hockey player sitting not ten feet away from me receives 5.25 million a season (whether he plays or not). Then I got really introspective. I thought about the way my life had gone, decisions I'd made or hadn't made that had brought me to where I was, toiling away in a taco restaurant in Toronto to pay the outrageous tuition for my Master's, peering through the pass enviously at the world of Joffrey Lupul, a world of privilege and cocktails and upward mobility.

My boss - a combative and contentious bully - screams at me if I'm a minute late for work (which happens often. In a cycle as vicious and unproductive as the Leafs offensive zone cycle, the team's brutal play drives me to drink, which causes me to oversleep, which makes me late for work). I hate my job with the intensity of a million white hot burning suns, but I have to do it to get paid. Joffrey Lupul gets paid to not play hockey, to sit on his couch and tweet about My Morning Jacket playing Bonnaroo.

Now, I happen to love My Morning Jacket. I think At Dawn is one of the greatest albums of the 2000s (aughts? do people call that decade the aughts? cuz people should). As a music fan, I appreciate Lupul's good taste. But as a Leafs fan it's kinda sad to realize he is tweeting his intention to attend a three-day concert scheduled to occur during the Stanley Cup Playoffs, tacitly admitting that the team won't make it. I mean, we all know the Leafs are missing the postseason once again this year (once again in humiliating fashion), but does the guy really have to announce his vacation plans? Can't he just pretend to believe the team has a chance? Hell, it's what we do. Delusion is what keeps us going as fans.

Lupul's Bonnaroo tweet, considered alongside Phil Kessel's fishing tweet, or Tyler Bozak's showing up to last year's locker clean-out press scrum wearing a freakin' GOLF HAT, for puck's sake, is conclusive proof that these players aren't just defensively oblivious. They're culturally and socially oblivious. They do not care about us. They do not care about winning. They care about Bonnaroo. And golf. And fishing. And going to restaurants.

I'm not saying that the players shouldn't live their lives. I'm not saying they should seclude themselves in their condos and never go outside. Toronto is a peach of a city and it's totally fine that they go to restaurants. I just wish they'd demonstrate a modicum of humility and modesty during these historically bad years instead of ostentatiously flashing their wealth and privilege around the city like an affluent adolescent brandishing the credit card he got for his twelfth birthday. I feel like they should be a little more humble, especially given the dismal state of the team.

Instead, Phil Kessel tweets about eating at expensive sushi joints. Jake Gardiner Instagrams while grocery shopping. Joffrey Lupul tweets pictures of Cabernet Sauvignon. Are these guys hockey players or social networking foodies? And while we're on the topic of conspicuous consumption (and to bring a bit of levity to this despondent post), you might be interested to know, dear reader, that Joffrey Lupul was sporting a cartoonishly large wrist watch that night. Seriously. It was the size of a satellite dish. I'm frankly shocked it didn't injure him.

So I didn't fight Joffrey Lupul. With a flash of his enormous watch, he left the restaurant without incident and I went home and watched the Leafs-Jets game on DVR. I didn't fight Lupul. For I am already a beaten man. And we are all beaten fans.

Since cheering for another team is not an option, there isn't much consolation I can offer at this point, poised as the team is at its annual nadir. All we can do is get mad or sad. All we can do is tweet at Joffrey Lupul. All we can do is grumble and stew and fume. And watch enviously as the players allow us glimpses of their fabulous wealth via Twitter and Instagram. And watch dejectedly as they ring the puck lazily around the boards so that it slides slowly back into the neutral zone, so they can dump it back in again and continue the cycle of futility.

For the first time since I was a kid I'm actually looking forward to the All-Star Game. You should be too. I think will be refreshing to watch good players compete in a meaningless hockey game. 

- Danny

[leafslovehurts]

Monday Night Hockey in January

Watching Monday night hockey in January. It’s a beautiful thing. However, we all know that this January has not been kind to the Leafs. That being said, they are playing a home game versus the Carolina Hurricanes. What a great opportunity to rebound from an awful road trip, right? Wrong.

I’m going to give you a breakdown of my Monday night: After a later-than-usual dinner I turn on the game and within a minute and a half of watching it, Carolina scores. Not the way the Leafs wanted to start the game. However, there is still hope. Unfortunately, 41 seconds later (something like that) Carolina scores again. Okay, the “hope” meter is starting to dwindle. The game has barely started and I’m already losing interest.

It’s now the end of the first period. 2-0 Hurricanes. Because I have a bit of self-worth, I figure that I can watch Netflix on my iPad (Breaking Bad round 2), mute the hockey game (which is a shame because I like Gord and Ray) and try to salvage my Monday night. Then the third goal comes. Eric Staal is left wide open in front of the net. I actually have to pause Breaking Bad to see the replay of how a player as skilled as Staal is left so wide open. Why, do you ask, is no one defending him? Ask Phil Kessel. Although he will probably just call you an idiot (that’s kinda how he rolls these days).

It’s 3-0 Hurricanes (they have won like 5 road games all year. Well soon it’ll be 6 but who’s counting?) The “hope” meter has been aptly replaced by my “rage” meter. I’m using an array of words to help calm my frustration but it is just too much. I’m angry. I start to flip through the channels on TV and come across Women’s Provincial Curling. I set down the remote. Keep in mind I am a curling fan. I have been curling since I was 8 years old. Not to disrespect the great game of curling but Women’s Provincial Curling is not designed to compete with NHL hockey for viewership. It’s on TV because my local Rogers Cable channel 20 has nothing better to offer on a Monday night at 8pm. While watching the curling, the Leafs are still in the back of my mind. Although I’m angry, I’m going to give them a 102nd chance (in this past week). I turn back to TSN. I watch the remainder of the game. Kadri finally breaks the goalless drought on the power play (who cares? When are they going to score 5 on 5?) Later, Staal scores an empty net goal. Then, Franson takes out the collective frustration of the entire Leafs organization on the crossbar by hitting the net with his stick. Ironically, it might have been the first time he hit the net all night (so many shots missed over the net by the whole team) All in all, it was an interesting night. I saw the Leafs lose to a team that has not played well on the road all year. I saw fans with paper bags on their heads sporting phrases like “not coachable" and "overpaid”. I saw a record-breaking number of jerseys thrown to the ice throughout the course of the game. I saw a team who both looked and played defeated once they got down.

But let me say this: Welcome to the NHL. Losing streaks like this happen. Good teams are able to snap out of the funk. Mediocre teams continue to struggle immensely. This January has been a time of immense struggle. However, change is coming my friends. Change is coming.

- Brett

[snizzboned]

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Numbers Aren't Pretty

I’m not a numbers guy. Always hated math class. However, due to the lack of success (that’s putting it nicely) of the Leafs on their West Coast trip this year I thought I would break down the numbers of past 12 years (that’s as far back as it goes on the website) to see how this horrible road trip compares. 

2003-2004: 2-1 2004-2005: Lockout (Perfect record) 2005-2006: No trip 2006-2007: No trip 2007-2008: 0-3 2008-2009: 1-1 (No game against the Ducks) 2009-2010: No trip 2010-2011: 2-0 (No game against the Ducks) 2011-2012: No trip 2012-2013: No trip (shortened season) 2013-2014: 2-1 2014-2015: 0-3

Total: 7-9

As you can see, the numbers aren’t great. The losing record shows that the difficulty of playing three games in a row against the Ducks, Sharks and Kings is never an easy task. Let’s just be thankful that they only have to make the trip occasionally once a year. Cross your fingers. Next year might be a “no trip” year. 

Here is how the Leafs West Coast trip compares to other Eastern Conference teams this season.

Rangers 3-0 Panthers 2-1 Islanders 2-1 Sabres 1-2 Flyers 1-2 Blue Jackets 1-2 Leafs 0-3 Bruins 0-3 (haha)

Total 10-14

It is safe to say the numbers aren’t pretty. If I wasn’t an English Literature graduate I could probably further analyze these numbers but we’ll leave that to the guys on Sportsnet and TSN. There is one thing that all of us Leaf fans can agree on; that is, the Leafs should save their trips to the West Coast for the offseason. (I hear it is nice in mid-April)

- Brett

[leafslovehurts]

Hockey Non-Essential

I got this book as a Christmas gift from my old man. My Dad always buys me hockey books for Christmas and they are almost always wonderful, from Scott Young’s legendary Scrubs on Skates series to Zamboni Rodeo, a remarkable example of journalistic excellence by Jason Cohen, who rode the bus with the now-defunct Austin Ice Bats of the Central Hockey League for an entire season. He interviewed and shadowed the kind of hockey players who smoked between shifts and took suicidal amounts of opiates just to get through games. Very gritty and shocking stuff. If you ever see it somewhere in a bargain bin, buy it. For the sake of hockey. You won't regret it.   

As for Hockey Confidential, there are brief flashes of grittiness and storytelling flair, but many of the chapters are awfully dull. The first two, featuring Colin Campbell and some athletic doctor named Mark Lindsay, respectively, are freakin' mind numbing. The chapter on Lindsay is an especially bizarre choice, as it reads like an advertisement for the man and his services. Given the fact that 98% of McKenzie’s readership will never be able to afford treatment from the physician, it seems downright odd to waste so much space and ink on him, and odder still to put his story right up front in the second chapter. I could forgive throwing this stuff toward the end to pad the book out a little, but on page 17? Snore. We want arenas and dressing rooms, not doctor's offices and waiting rooms, Bob.

I have a similar gripe with the opening chapter, which chronicles former NHL disciplinarian Colin Campbell's close brush with death after his tractor plunged through the the ice on his backyard pond. Don't get me wrong, I'm very glad the man didn't die, but to begin a book promising "inside hockey stories" with one of the most widely reviled men in hockey is a bizarre choice.

Essentially, McKenzie’s benevolent-yet-guarded grin on the front cover tells you what you are in for: A series of competently written stories that orbit around the game of hockey, but nothing particularly revelatory. I laughed when I read Sidney Crosby's blurb on the back, which smacks of rote recital even more than his post-game media scrum offerings: Bob McKenzie has been around the game for a long time. Yes, Sid. Yes he has. His knowledge and insight comes from passion and experience. Yes, Sid. Yes it does. His behind-the-scenes stories will be of interest to all hockey fans. Uh, not really Sid. Not really.

Although I devoured the chapter about Sheldon Keefe and his strange relationship with David Frost and Mike Danton, who are both obviously complete sociopaths, the sequence of chapters is, to use a Carlylism, mind-boggling. A late chapter on P.K. Subban and his family is excellent, as is the Connor McDavid one, but Chapter Four, on John Tavares, is yet another dud, suffering from an overlong and insipid preamble about John’s uncle’s dominant career in lacrosse. I mean, lacrosse is a perfectly fine sport, but when you promise your readers hockey stories, you should probably give those readers hockey stories, not a chapter on a front-office administrator, then a doctor, then the complete history of a entire statistical revolution, then freakin’ lacrosse, for puck’s sake.

I wasn’t always bored reading the book though. I experienced a mild flash of defensive anger when McKenzie refers to Brampton as a "bedroom community northwest of Toronto," since I was born there and played intra-city level hockey for the Brampton Battalion back when they existed. My team even won the championship one year. I grew up in Brampton and had many formative experiences and met a lot of lifelong friends there. Make no mistake: Brampton is a city unto itself, albeit a crappy one. It's no "bedroom community" used only by businesspeople who commute to Toronto for work. We lay claim to Michael Cera and Russell Peters, who as far as I know never played hockey, but who knows? There is also a legendary burger joint named Sonny's. Eat there if you're ever in town. Go Brampton! On an NHL-related note, it’s also the birthplace of Rick Nash and Andrew Cassels, who both played minor hockey there. 

Speaking of minor hockey, there is a very fine chapter on Don Cherry and how he religiously attends minor midget GTHL games with his son Tim, who is an OHL scout. Say what you want about the guy, and I'm not a fan of his rabid xenophobia, among his many other stodgy and hateful views, but no one can accuse him of not loving hockey. The chapter ably demonstrates Grapes’ unswerving devotion to the game. There is a particularly sweet anecdote wherein Cherry admits he can never leave a minor hockey game early. Even if it's 9-0, I can't leave, Don says. I can't do that to the kids. I can't have them looking at me and see me walk out on them and their game. It’s not right. That's a great quote. This one too: I’d rather watch these games than the NHL… this is the best hockey in the world when you get a good referee that lets them play.

The closing chapter is great too, as it follows idiosyncratic power skating teacher Jari Byrski’s battle with depression following the death of his wife in 2007. It is beautifully researched and rendered.

So my main complaint with the book is that half its chapters are tame and tedious. It would have worked far better as a serious of long-form articles in The Hockey News, where McKenzie once held the title of editor-in-chief. Surely he could have taken the book’s best pieces and brought them there rather than stuff them into a whole book alongside such inferior items?

But perhaps my expectations were too high going in. Given its title, a nod to star chef Anthony Bourdain’s excellent Kitchen Confidential, one cannot fault readers for expecting juicier matters. Not gossipy stuff, but exciting stories about the game and those who play it. Alas, there is far too little of that here. And it’s not just the content that makes for such monotonous fare; McKenzie is far too evenhanded with his subjects, and in doing so inadvertently confirms the reputation hockey players, and Canadians in general, have for being, well…a little boring. There may be an explanation for Bob’s careful approach, however. Almost every hockey fan I know loves him, so he may have felt he couldn't make any kind of bold statement for fear of alienating someone. This eager-to-please banality is particularly noticeable in the analytics chapter (or #fancystats, which are hashtagged throughout) in which Bob bends over backwards to defend both the numbers guys and the old guard eyeball dudes. Plant a flag somewhere other than in the middle of the road, Bob. Pick a side. It's okay. We'll still love you.

Hilariously, there is also a chapter on The Tragically Hip. Is there an obscure Canadian bylaw which decrees that any Canadian book about hockey must mention this band? Don't get me wrong, I like the Hip, but they haven't released a great front-to-back album since 1998’s Phantom Power. And Blue Rodeo are way better.

A Hip digression, if I may: The Tragically Hip are not as jingoistic/blindly nationalistic as some believe them to be. It’s well known (and dutifully mentioned in the book) that lead singer Gord Downie’s favourite hockey team is the hated Boston Bruins (he even donned a damn jersey for the “Courage” video). Downie also once picked the Americans to win the Salt Lake City Olympics in a taped interview with Ron McLean which aired on CBC shortly before the gold medal game (he referred to Team USA as a “formidable foe”). Finally, and most curiously, Live Between Us, a live album released by the band in 1996, was recorded at Cobo Hall in Detroit. I’ve always been slightly miffed/confused by this. The Tragically Hip could easily sell out any hockey arena in any city or town in Canada. And when making a live album, it stands to reason that a raucous crowd is desired in order to establish the rabid devotion of the fans on record. So why go to Detroit? I’ve never understood this, but maybe I’m the blindly nationalistic one. Perhaps the band wished to demonstrate that they have fans beyond the borders of Canada. But this proves my point. The Tragically Hip are not a jingoistic band. As McKenzie notes, they only have four songs about hockey spread across a 12 album discography and one of the tunes (“Fireworks” from Phantom Power, natch) is about not liking hockey. So they aren’t the flag-waving, Molson-swilling face-painting dweebs their detractors think them. I must admit that I hate Gord a little for loving the hated Bruins, but I take solace in the fact that Robbie Baker - responsible for both the badass blues riff that comprises “Poets” and the achingly beautiful guitar solo that concludes “Pigeon Camera” - is a die-hard Leafs supporter. I liked you the moment I heard that solo, Robbie, but now I love ya. Go Leafs Go.

As for the Buds, there aren’t many Leaf-specific anecdotes in this book, save for a depressing recap of Collapse 3.0 in 2014, in which the Leafs lost 16 of their final 22 games to miss the playoffs after holding a spot all season. Naturally, this recap is in the #fancystats chapter, as Bob argues that the Leafs mind-boggling collapse cemented the validity of advanced statistics for dreamers and skeptics alike. There is also a somewhat less hurtful scene involving Brandon Prust’s father - described by his son as “the biggest Leaf fan ever” - reluctantly donning a Habs jersey with his kid’s name on it after Brandon inked a four-year, $10 million contract with Montreal. Now, I don’t have a son, and if I ever do have one it’s doubtful he’ll make the NHL, but I feel confident saying that I will never, ever wear a Habs jersey. Not as a lark. Not as a dare. Not ever. But back to the book. The Prust chapter actually seems pretty dated for a book so new, given pro hockey’s recent shift away from fighting and the enforcer mentality. Extolling Prust as a “warrior” and discussing in exacting detail his many career fights - a whopping 264 at the time of publishing - seems at odds with Bob's gentle on-air demeanor, his fatherly vibe. It’s yet another chapter that misses the mark, giving the book a 50% shooting percentage or thereabouts, which makes for great shooting, but not for great storytelling.

To summarize, I recommend the book's strong sections but I don't recommend paying $32.99 for the whole thing, like my old man did, may the hockey gods bless and keep him. I don’t mean you should steal it or download it illegally to your Kindle, but maybe wait until it comes out in softcover or download it cheaply (and legally) to your Kindle. Or just borrow it from a library, those forgotten useful buildings.

Ultimately, Hockey Confidential is a fine way to pass an afternoon or two, but it’s too mild and mundane to ever gain admittance into the canon of truly great hockey books like Scott Young’s winsome A Boy at the Leafs Camp, Laura Robinson’s crucial Crossing the Line: Violence and Sexual Assault in Canada's National Sport, Theo Fleury and Kirstie McLellan Day’s Playing with Fire, or the aforementioned/amazing Zamboni Rodeo.

Those books are unimpeachable Hall of Famers. McKenzie’s recent offering belongs in the minors. 

[leafslovehurts]

Randy Carlyle’s Answering Machine

In light of Randy Carlyle’s firing yesterday, I thought I would speculate on some of the phone messages that he probably received throughout the day.

“Hi Randy. It’s me again. Just wanted to make sure that you were fine with us blaming the whole ‘Leafs issue’ on you. Call me.” - Dave Nonis

“Hi Randy. Sorry to hear about your firing. Can you believe they think that the lack of success in Toronto is my fault? Me either. Anyways, thanks for all you have taught me over the past couple of years. I didn’t retain any of it but regardless, thanks.” - Phil Kessel

“Hi Randy. Just wanted to make a quick call, as I am a bit confused. What is defense again and how do I play it?” - Jake Gardiner

“Hey there Randy. I told you so. But I must say, it’s nice to see someone walking in my shoes for a change. Beers soon?” - Ron Wilson

“Hi Randy. Clarky here. I know I call you about this every day but I still can’t believe they are paying me an average of 5.25 mil per year. Score!” - David Clarkson

“Hi Randy. Who is going to call me now when I am called up and sent back to the Marlies every other day?” - Sam Carrick

“Hi Randy. You’re fired! Sorry, I had to say it.” Donald Trump

“Hi Randy. Sorry that we kind of put the nail in the coffin the other night. I was telling the boys to go easy on you guys in the third period” - Paul Maurice

“Hi Randy. Sorry but I can’t find Dave’s number. My plane hasn’t left yet. Are you sure you guys don’t want me to stick around?" - William Nylander

“Hi Randy. We are always looking for guys to join the panel” - James Duthie

“Hi Randy. I’m the guy who throws the leaf jerseys on the ice on a regular basis. Formally I was known as 'The Waffle Guy,' but waffles were too hard to sneak in to the ACC. Anyway, just wondering if you wanted to throw the next jersey? My number is *** *** ****” - Anonymous Leaf Fan

-Brett

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Here's a screenshot of the crowd reaction at the ACC after Alexander Mogilny's Game 7 empty net goal clinched victory in the #Leafs - @NYIslanders series in 2002. Rebuilding? Even back then? We were spoiled back then by how competitive the Leafs were. If only a decisive first round win meant "rebuilding" now...

[leafslovehurts]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSSGXelQ6FA

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Becoming a Leafs Fan

It’s time to come clean. I was not always a Maple Leafs fan. In fact, I grew up in a Boston Bruins household, where a framed autographed picture of Bobby Orr’s “The Goal” hung over the fireplace. Sure, we didn’t have a fireplace in the house I grew up in, but if we did that is most definitely where my dad’s prized possession would have been hung for everyone to see. In this Bruin’s household of black and gold, there was one rule in regard to watching NHL hockey: “You don’t cheer for the Montreal Canadiens or the Toronto Maple Leafs.”

 Till this day, these two teams are still despised by my dad (and he doesn’t even watch hockey anymore). Growing up, I remember Saturday nights where he would walk in the living room where I was watching the hockey game, see that Leafs were playing the Habs and release a rather obvious sigh.

 What’s wrong, dad?” I’d say.

 “I see that the building hasn’t collapsed in,” he’d reply, and leave the room shaking his head in disappointment.  

 This would happen on a regular basis, in fact, each and every time the Leafs played the Habs. You see: a Leafs versus Habs game was one where the only positive outcome for my dad was if the building collapsed, resulting in the physical destruction his two most despised NHL teams. Of course, he was not wishing harm to the crowd but if they had to be sacrificed to put an end to two of hockey’s oldest franchises it was worth it.

 However, I was a rebel (yeah right). Most often, I donned the red and white of the Detroit Red Wings wearing my Steve Yzerman jersey every opportunity I had. Along the way, I wore the Dallas Stars (Modano), St. Louis Blues (Pronger), New York Rangers (Richter), Anaheim Ducks (Kariya), Philadelphia Flyers (Richards), Calgary Flames (Iginla), and Edmonton Oilers (Gretzky) as well. It is safe to say that I was bandwagon jumper. However, these hockey jerseys of my youth are a constant reminder that I did not cheer for the Maple Leafs.

 Sadly, my first hockey jersey was a Montreal Canadiens jersey—a gift I’m told, given to me by my uncle when I was two years old. Looking back at this jersey I can’t help but wonder if it was a gift for me, or a cruel joke played on my dad.

 Growing up, I took a considerable amount of satisfaction in cheering against my Maple Leafs buddies. One friend in particular, who often wore his Darcy Tucker jersey, publicly displaying his Maple Leafs pride, would constantly receive my mocking tones as I would ask him how the Leafs did the night before (knowing full well that that had lost). He knew that I watched the game, so he would simply reply with a grade 6 version of “Fuck you,” or whatever the trendy swearword was at the time. Come to think of it, it probably was “Fuck you."

 Flash forward to 2011. Sure, life happened in between then and now, but we will save those stories for another time. In 2011, I decided to put my past behind me and become a Toronto Maple Leaf fan. I vowed to join the Maple Leafs fandom when they traded away all of the players that I disliked growing up. On February 18th 2011, Tomas Kaberle was traded to the Boston Bruins (there is some symbolism here) and I rightfully became a Maple Leafs fan.

The last few years have not been easy. However, I cannot complain, as I have only been a part of this disappointment for the last few years. It is sad to think of some of the older generations that may never see another Stanley Cup in Toronto, unless the go to the Hockey Hall of Fame and see the cup that other teams have won since 1967.  

 I now wear a Maple Leafs jersey. It has #3 on the back and a name that will remain nameless. It also has a “C” on the front of it. Every year, I am trying to see if I can cut off the “C” without ruining the rest of the jersey but then I would also have to cut off the name. Instead, I just wear it proudly, constantly under the ridicule of others. And now, after all these years, friends and family ask me of the score to the Leaf game that was on the night before (knowing full well that they lost), and all I can do is mutter “Fuck you” under my breath and think back to a time when I was that person that I now despise.

- Brett