Los Angeles Kings @ St. Louis BlueBalls: West Quarter Final Game Four

Dear Diary: I’m in fucking love.

**And it’s with more than one man.

By Kelsey Eyes

(Seriously, Surly and Scribe… Can’t I be Kelsey ScrumEye? I have some major street cred to keep up here)

HolyFuckShitGoddamnFuckShitFuckingFuck.

These most sonorous and poignant syllables came pouring from my lips like the Trevi Fountain in Rome the moment last night’s game buzzer sounded and a paltry amount of confetti cascaded to the ice. My vocal fragments were as majestic and wild as the paints and palominos seen galloping through the King’s Travel Alberta commercials: musculature rippling, mane untamed. But probably more like if there was a naked dude riding them: willy flopping freely to and fro, man-boobs delightfully a-jiggle. (Note: I’m told Surly’s father enjoys gratuitous nudity, so I’ll do what I can to oblige him.)

The Fontana de Trevi’s aqueduct bath waters are famous for their ability to grant true love after a secret admirer tosses three coins to the feet of the god Oceanus.

(See also: Poseidon, 1770, by Dustin Penner. Late neo-classical sculpture depicting Poseidon/Oceanus son of Gaia as a Germanic Shepherd. Also the iconography of the Shield of Surf, which is appropriated to him.)

***Nick Nickson, Poseidon is not a yacht for the love of God I still can’t believe you said that on TV.

Poseidon

But I shall regain my ground here at any moment. The win washed over me as I sat in contemplative silence stroking the beginnings of a luxurious playoff beard. I thought maybe I would write a schmaltzy article about how the three “coins” of this game tossed into the Fountain had created “love” aka a win and then we could all play a nice game of Puff Puff Pass later as long as our mom didn’t come downstairs with the laundry and Tab.

Maybe I would write about how I loved to see Carter and Kopi rush the net and snipe again, rather than play Shooter Tutor. This of course being where the top players of the NHL gather in Quick’s kids’ basement to take turns trying to score goals on a Mighty Mite net with half sized twigs (Nathan Gerbe kills it). But this stand and shoot method unfortunately eludes Elliott about as much as the spray tan eludes Daryl Evans and Nick Nickson.

In my imaginary article I could lavish lots of attention on how I was right about Penner. He scored one of the more classically attractive men… I mean, goals… we had seen in a while. He had shots on shots on shots on goal as well as some big boy hits. *insert photo of Oshie joining Miley Cyrus’ twerk team after a glorious check by Penner here*. And more importantly I would write how you all can choose between either sucking it or lavishing this Hockey Oracle with tributes in the form of McFlurry coupons for saying I was wrong about him. I also accept Paypal.

And my third “coin” in the Fountain would have been Martinez. My pound puppies Martinez, Muzzin and AHL-erby get quite the barrage of shit most of the time and tend to bear the burden of any loss on their tiny water-winged shoulders.  But after this game, Martinez has officially joined the power rankings of Penner and Justin “Energy with Purpose” Williams into my personal playoffs A-team (which has near the same clout as Oprah’s Book Club mind you). Martinez brings offensive skill to the lineup. He watches, makes quick decisions, and when he decides to go, he goes all the way.  On the 3 on 1 for the Penner goal, he is the third man on the attack. He creates more depth and aggressively rushes the net. He ate the Cinco de Mayo bull’s testes and is ready to rock (and by bull’s testes I mean Muzzin’s, because evidently they’ve gone missing).

Oh wait hang on, I’m going to fuck up the flow of this article with a late timeout in the spirit of Hitchcock….

You guys watching this whole Game of Throne’s thing? I hear the Beckhams are leaving LA. Can I nominate a new Staples Centre game where instead of matching players to numbers we see if anyone in the audience can locate Alberta on a map? Can we call it Are-You-Smarter-Than-No-One-Knows-Anything-About-Canada-Eh?

Hitchcock and his Fresh Look Colour Contact Lenses looked mighty pleased with being able to detract from our momentum and steal a goal from it. He prides himself on weasel tactics like that. Well, and sticking his Attack-Poodle Perron on Jonathan Quick. He was either pleased or he was thinking about the bacon-wrapped Dodger dog he would treat himself to for sticking to his meal plan so well the past 72 hours. He’s a difficult read; give me a few more games to enter into his psyche completely.

I’m honestly way too FUCKING PUMPED UP AND PSYCHED AND AMPED AND FREAKING EXCITED AND I HAD THREE FUCKING REDBULLS DURING THE GAME so I won’t go through the play by play. I want to prove to the haters that I know hockey, but honestly, if you could just submit some sort of multiple choice SAT-style test for me to take, making sure it has plenty of before-I-was-even-fucking-born knowledge to make that one guy who said I reek of “been a fan since Brown lifted the cup” happy, that would be great. I’ll pass with flying coloUrs (yep.) and we can move on and focus on our team. For the record, I probably reek of rink, which is similar to Eau de Bandwagoner, but with heavy notes of blood.

What I really want to say tonight is that I love Los Angeles Kings fans. I love all your beautiful faces. I love you during the regular season and I will happily chat with you in line for the bathrooms and also when I’m sitting next to you asking if you’re gonna finish those fries. But I especially fucking love you right now, during Playoffs. You are a pack of wild, rabid wildebeests. You eat, sleep and breathe this team. Your tweets are consumed by them. Your love for every single player on the team surges in your chest. You would take a hit from an oncoming bus for any of our players. And you’ve never even met them.

The Kings playoff crowd is completely electric. The energy coming out of every warm body in Staples Centre is like being at a really wholesome rave. Well, wholesome in the sense that I’m totally going to scream FUCK in front of your three year old. You know, shit for the kids. Doughty even remarked in an interview about how they fed off of the energy and it led to their first win on Saturday night. Even last night, on TV I could hear the roar of the crowd and grinned like a Cheshire Cat at how much I fucking love LA Kings fans. You noisy motherfuckers.

We start our own chants. We yell “Hey Blues fan!!!!….. YOU SUCK” en masse in line for Popcornopolis. We yell at our players, we yell at their players, we yell at Refs. I brought a Canadian friend of mine to the game, and he even remarked, “Wow, LA has some real hockey fans”. So there ya go, Los Angeles, the official condescending stamp of approval.

But most of all I am so ready to fucking go all the way with you. Meaning I am ready to win the Cup again. Let’s not make this awkward. Why? For no other reason than it buys me more time to spend with you, the fans. We all bump the same drug. Nothing makes us higher than that big win. Carter’s smirk, Quick’s furrowed brow, Williams’ look of surprise, Brown’s toothless grin, Penner’s tweets, Richards’ “conversations” with the refs. We understand each other and speak the same language.

Before the game, I sat at Yard House at a round table of King’s fans. All discussing the team and its players, etc. As I looked around eight seats, I saw: three women, six different skin tones, five differing hair lengths, two enormous King’s fist shaped gloves, two vintage jerseys, one game-worn jersey, three different citizenships, four different religions, six different socio economic backgrounds. We spanned the ages of 20 to 50 plus and had so many different experiences in our lives. These are wonderful people I doubt I would ever know if I did not live and breathe this world. And now they are my brothers and sisters, and I would take a skate to the throat for any one of them.

I joke I’m on the team. But I think there is something to it. We are the LA Kings. Our job, when we put on the jerseys and go to the games to cheer ourselves hoarse is the same as our boys on the ice. These last two home games, we were the win. It was that amazing energy we gave them that made the difference.

Don’t take these last paragraphs as a naïve statement that Tinkerbell won’t die as long as we believe, but just as a love letter to all of you. I know and you know there are things to be worked on. But tonight was such a great win and such a beautiful time, with you, the fans, I would rather save the critique for later. For now, let us, you crazy hockey maniacs, enjoy the moment, and enjoy each other. Let’s not let a moment of this slip by. The most amazing thing about watching incredible hockey is the way you can completely disappear into the game. You come up for air, four hours and six games later, hungry and wondering where your Saturday went, but completely energized by the power of the game. I hope all of you can let yourselves go during these playoffs. Any inhibition that prohibits you from screaming for your team, speaking your mind in fear that some old guy will tell you the “correct” way to think about a certain play, or starting a “LET’S GO KINGS!” chant; release it. It is holding you back.

Let’s get crazy. Let’s have no regrets this time around. Let’s not wish we never said the things we wanted to say or lived the moments we wanted to live. I’m choosing to live them. I’m here with you, LA Kings fans, and I’m looking at all your beautiful faces. I’m not holding back my screams for my team, no matter who in the first level shushes me.

This has nothing to do with a stupid fountain and making wishes for love. Because I already found love. I love 18 thousand plus screaming, rabid people calling out for St. Louis blood. So, throw some motherfucking coins at that, Hitchcock!

Seriously. Throw some coins at that, season passes are expensive.

I love you. I’m into crazy.



Categories: L.A. Kings News

30 replies

  1. I asked my aunt to translate this, I had to wake her up with the late night call. Translate it on your own: Caro Dio, continuare a parle. sporco. Cazzo grazzie.
    It probably won’t come out right if you put it in a translator. If you put it in word for word it will not come out right. To put it in my dialect, it basically means fuck me keep talking dirty.
    Anyway that was one hell of a fucking game. I friend of mine and I Try to drink together during playoff games. We are a 0 for 5 since the Daryl Sutter take over. We decided he should leave after the second, And the rest is history. Amo i toui ochi.
    I understood it when I was a kid, but it takes me awhile for it to come back. my aunt is not too happy about me waking her up to translate this for me.

    • shut up Surly, shut up Scribe. Lay off my line of bullshit. I do understand it to an extent, But I haven’t used it since I was five or six years old. Pretty fucked up I remember the dirty parts. Although my last line of Italian Wasn’t dirty at all. Some parts I do remember very well

      • busted on a Canadian spelling. The correct world spells it cenTER. Still, amo i tuoi ochi.

        • Actually its not just Canada the UK, Australia and New Zealand also spell it that way. I think its you guys who needs to catch up with the rest of the world. Imperial system anyone???

          • No. You can’t spell it Staples Centre. If you’ll notice it is fucking clearly spelled in bright red letters on the fucking building. Staples Center. Even if a tornado picked it up and dropped it in Canadia it would still be Staples Center.

          • Wait, proper nouns are not subject to regional dialect when they use the same alphabet? So that would be like us calling her Kellsea.

      • I just… I don’t even know where to begin with you.

  2. YEah! EVERYTHING you said. Wow….that was a lot of words.

    • She did forget one thing. KOPI GOT A FUCKING GOAL!!!! Not only did he actually shoot, he scored.

  3. Where is the other Trevi Fountian?

  4. “The win washed over me as I sat in contemplative silence stroking the beginnings of a luxurious playoff beard.” Eh? Caught?

  5. I’m starting to look forward to your posts. I can feel the passion coming through! I especially loved this, “speaking your mind in fear that some old guy will tell you the “correct” way to think about a certain play” because that always seems to be my case. I’m a young female so I can’t possibly know anything about hockey. I must be a bandwagonner. Little do they realize I threatened my 5 year old to find his new home in the bushes outside for uttering “Go Blues” just to piss me off. I’m with you on Penner. He pulls through when we most need him. I don’t know if that’s his tactic since he usually drags ass during regular season. Whatever it is works. I want to see him using his body mass and rush through the neutral zone like a freight train on steriods. Nonetheless keep your posts coming! Fuck the haters! Obviously Surly and Scribe saw something special in you. GOKINGSGO!!

  6. What the fuck was that?

  7. I enjoy your posts and the humor in which you write them. You are obviously an informed and passionate fan and I have nothing but love for you.

    One point of constructive criticism, if I may. I have ADD as most rabid fans do and you lost/loose me after the eighth paragraph, and considering you penned approximately 100 I missed most of your post. Seriously, though,I enjoyed the first eight. Keep them rolling Eyes.

  8. Well that was a spiral down a vortex of hockey fan weirdness. Considering the game last night was a combination of multiple orgasms, self mutilation, medieval torture, wide awake brain surgery and running a marathon with cool Hawaiian sweet air washing ver your skin and little asshole lobsters pinching your inside thighs, that spastic post was fairly appropriate. I’m not sure I coulda have formed a coherent sentence last night about the game either. My post game probably would have just been a big ugly close-up picture of my drunk ass grin.

  9. Colorful commentary. Tad verbose.

  10. Kelsey..that was alnost exhausting as the game!
    As Kingnation said…I am ADD…(I think Scribe has already figured that out) and I have serious problems getting a point across without getting side tracked and rambling or getting 5 thoughts all scrambled together and sounding like a loon. So did relate to this post.
    Most importantly relate to the overwhelming sense of love for our Kings and fellow compadres…We are in
    a special and select segment of society…no one quite gets us but fellow King Fans.
    Hockey..Best Sport in the World!
    GO KINGS GO!!!
    WWTC!!!

  11. It’s 1, 1 and 1 now. Win one at St Louis and then the other at home. Or a game 7 OT nailbiter. Fuck that…6 and move on.

  12. “. . . six different socio economic backgrounds.” Are there really that many different types of socio-economic backgrounds?

    • There’s actually seven

      Homeless
      Working poor
      Real Middle Class
      “Leave it to Beaver” middle class
      Rich
      “Fuck you” Rich
      Scrooge McDuck

  13. Off topic:
    Watching some old friends whoop on the Penguins! Good to see.

  14. I would absolutely love to see Vancouver get swept. The thought alone puts an enormous smile on the face. Hell ya!

  15. Sharks just Swept…they looked tough..:(
    GO KINGS GO!!!
    WWTC!!!

  16. This entry reminds me of the time my grandfather got shit on his hands. Some of the family very politely went into the bathroom, cleaned him up, and sent him to his room for a nap. When we all convened in the living room my uncle’s first words were: “What the fuck are we going to do about grandpa!?” Indeed.

  17. Hey “Eyes”….if I wanted to read War and Peace I’d buy the book. Today’s word for you is “EDIT”. I’m sure there was plenty of intelligent insight, wacky humor, and the ever needless inclusion of gratuitous images that are at best repellent. A guy with man boobs on a horse? You can do better. Or maybe not. I still like my nudity up close and personal. (That thought should really upset the person that told you I enjoy gratuitous nudity.)

  18. I was just starting to finger the wife, circling the clit to get her wet, to celebrate the 3rd win in a row and one win from round 2. But….45 seconds left and BAM! Those fucking fucks tie the game! Thanks for making my dick go limp and her vag to go dry! Go die in hell!

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