Partially because I tire of the avalanche of shaken fists’ that has flooded the Kings’ internet contingent this dreadful day, but mostly because I bit sadistic, I give you a moment of escapism.

Below is the article I was hoping to write. So I wrote it anyways, just to see what it felt like.

For the next several minutes, allow yourself to get lost, and imagine what could have been.


They say patience is a virtue.

They never waited for Kovalchuk.

We waited. Oh how we waited. As Kings’ fans, patience is not our virtue, but rather our burden. We have none left.

Today, on July 19 2010, the Los Angeles Kings signed Ilya Kovalchuk to a 15 year contract for $5.33 per year, a staggering total of $80 million bucks. That’s a lot of money. Money worth made-up adjectives in the hockey world.

Kovalicious. Giganchuk. Ilyustrious.

I may be lame, but my team has Ilya Kovalchuk. I am giddy.

Our team has Ilya Kovalchuk.

Whilst following an internet spawned soap opera that slowly became a symbiotic tumor on the eyelids of all Kings’ fans, we churned along our various roller coasters of emotions. The New York noon of July 1 brought its annual piqued anticipation. We sighed while Volchenkov, Martin and Hamhuis signed with other teams. Zybnek Michalek too? That’s harsh. We laughed as Olli Jokinen and Raitis Ivanans were consumed by Flames. We wondered if Kovalchuk was next.

They’re talking, cool. They’re not talking… well why not? New talks in Newark… jealousy. Not $10 million  a year jealous. Even Loucifer himself has a limit, though we worried because the Devil always seem to get his way.

The first blow, Kovalchuk turns down the Kings, sending Lombardi a million miles away, his back firmly in Ilya’s face. With Loucifer in hot pursuit and a Snow monster feigning to unload a driveway full of the cold hard stuff, some dismayed. Many held fast to their hopes, while others resigned as mere spectators, either too smart or too previously burned to invest the demanded emotions they most certainly felt in the deep cockles of their crown inscribed hearts. Others merely rambled in run-on sentences.

Again and again, the pendulum swung violently from “talking & offering” to “rejecting and walking away.”

Sages had nary a word to say. Pariahs made bold claims. Court Jesters muttered cryptic words. “Sources” became the source of our anguish.

And then a tweet.

And a flight.

Dinners and drinks. Shopping and sunning. The Dean of Los Angeles threw his well guarded poker hand flat on the table. The Owner of our malcontent dug deep into Philanthropic pockets. Though Lies were told weekly without a cap, the man who we wanted out of the works, pulled the right strings behind his megalithic curtain of All Exclusive Gain.

The result of their bold efforts, looks something like this:

Oh, and this:

All ours.

Analysis can wait.



You can continue being miserable now.

Categories: L.A. Kings News


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