Wednesday, May 29, 2013

Why I Hate the Pittsburgh Penguins

I can't wait for this series to get started. I'm happy the Bruins have a chance to rest, but I'm getting sick of trying to watch Red Sox games on NESN and turning them off because Don and Jerry are blabbering on and on about hotel lobbies and the struggle to hail taxis after a game. I just want this series to start. I feel like Cartman waiting for the Nintendo Wii to come out.

I can't wait because I hate the Penguins. Sometimes I forget how much I hate them, because the Bruins don't play them as often as Montreal. But my hatred for the Penguins is almost at the same level as my hatred for the Habs. And here's why:

#1 Matt Fucking Cooke
Every time I see this guy on the ice, I think of Marc Savard suffering post concussion syndrome and not being able to get back on the ice because of Cooke. Cooke gets to play, Savard gets to deal with depression. Cooke is just a dirty player. And not the good kind of dirty. He's a scumbag. He's pus. He lives on making dangerous hits when players are at their most vulnerable and least able to defend themselves. He preys on his fellow players. I hope he gets raped by lions. Lions have barbed penises. All cats do.

#2 Mario Lemiuex's Hypocrisy
Lemiuex employs Matt Cooke and was teammates with Ulf Samuelsson. Yet the Penguins owner often complains about dirty players that shortened his career. And when one of the Penguins star players is on the receiving end of a headshot, Lemieux gets very vocal. Then he signs Matt Cooke's paycheck. He employs what he claims to hate about the game.

#3 The Aura of Crosby
Sidney Crosby is certainly the best player in the game. Bar none. But he's also a whiner. And a bit of a flopper. If I were Canadian or in Canada, I would be arrested for speaking unfavorably of him. Because in Canada it's against the law to not love and praise him. And in some western provinces Crosby has the noble right of prima nocta. As a result, TV commentators will drool on their microphones as they drone about how spectacular he is, and referees will call penalties for just thinking about touching him.

#4 Pittsburgh, PA
The Penguins play in Pittsburgh. Where the Steelers play. Do we really want Steelers fans to be happy? And the entire Commonwealth of Pennsylvania is kind of my nemesis. Very little good has come out of that state, except Yuengling. I love Yuengling. Even just typing it tastes delicious.

#5 It's Personal
My freshman year in college, I was really starting to like this one girl. She was pretty, smart, always had a great smile on her face, nice, you always felt like you could be yourself around her, and she had a fantastic body. As I was falling for her she fell for a Penguins fan and they went out for the next 3+ years. She even became a Penguins fan with him. And although they're no longer together, she's still a Penguins fan. I can't help but feel that had I been better, and had this Penguins fan not come along, maybe today she'd be a Bruins fan.

#6 Iginla
Marian Hossa once kind of did to the Penguins what Iginla did this season, trying to choose a winner instead of trying to win where he was (or for Iginla, where he was going to be sent). Hossa left Pittsburgh for Detroit to win a Cup. The next year Pittsburgh won a Cup. I don't like what Iginla did to the Bruins. It's like we asked him out, he said yes, and then he was asked by the class douchebag who drives his father's Mercedes and Iginla said yes and ditched us. I want Iginla to feel like Hossa did in 2009, watching the team he could have played for skate around with the Cup. I do not want Iginla to feel like Hossa in 2010, when he won the Cup with Chicago.

#7 The LeBron Factor
The Penguins are like the Miami Heat of the NHL. They're too stacked. Players go there because they know it's their best chance to win. I guess Detroit was like that for a few years. And if the Bruins win another Cup maybe they'll be like that too. It's just an uncompelling story when the best players decide to go to one team and win it all. It's impossible to root for them.

Unless you have a mouthful of Crosby.