A while back, our Buffalo Sabres writer – Paul Kaseman – told us he had some thoughts to share about the NHL’s annual All-Star game. He does have some thoughts – some strong ones. This was written several weeks ago, before the NHL’s declaration that John Scott will be attending the NHL All-Star game as a participant. Due to an error on our part we’re only getting it up now. -Eds

In lieu of what the NHL vis-à-vis Gary Bettman have nefariously acted as in according to John Scott’s fan vote selection of captain in their all-star game my interpretation of that which constitutes the definition of an all-star has come to be questioned. The reason for scrutinizing the definition is based on a rise of repugnant feelings toward the National Hockey Leagues on their treatment of the parties, John Scott is not the only party persecuted, involved.

Let us embark initially on these blogging thoughts of a madman where the controversy begins in its infancy, the NHL All-Star game in conjunction with fan-voting. The All-Star game is a contest of those adjudicated to be the best player in the league. In an effort to bolster viewership and participation for the game itself the NHL gave the fans some say into the contestants.  I imagine the rationale for this being (simply):  increased fan participation equates to increased fan involvement, i.e. money for the league from  a myriad of sources including but not limited to prospective TV deals & revenue from all-star related activities of but not solely the sale of merchandise & promotional events.  My previous involvement in such activity has been to cast a single vote to players I would appreciate watching in the aforementioned competition.

I know not the multitudes of players in the league but I know players I like to watch, even those not belonging to the Blue and Gold of my Buffalo Sabres.  Yes, last year I was one of 1,574,896 (pg 90 in  the link) votes for Zemgus Girgensons & one of probably two hundred thousand votes that weren’t from the country of Latvia.  Girgensons is not an ‘all-star’ caliber player perspective of the league yet in my estimation he is.  He came to symbolize hard-work, dedication, grit, & most importantly for me (perhaps Latvia as well) determination to not just emerge in the land of the best but to have success there as well.  These qualities are worthy of emulation in my life.  Through Zemgus I have an admiration for.  In a term for the NHL he is an all-star in my life.  He was one of the players I voted for last year.  Through his participation, the principle reason, I viewed not just the all-star game itself but the draft, etc, etc.  In every year of which I voted & a principle character has enlivened the format I have watched the NHL All-Star game.

This year the NHL resumed their tradition of a fan vote.  Again my votes were cast in their new format.  Jagr, despite his humor on twitter, was one of my selections, Girgensons another, the East I knew well enough.  The West not as much but decently enough to know league scribed all-stars, if for nothing else the balloting page had a list of recommended players to choose from.  Yet John Scott was one of the names I heard about acquiring serious nomination.  I thought of Mr. Scott as a representative.  Having some familiarity to both the player and his person from his warm days in Buffalo, a notoriously cold city & during his tenure a cold couple seasons (12/13, 13/14) through no fault of his own (#tank).  Reminiscent of what he was, he certainly became a source of gaity, merriment, and laughter.  Actions much needed from the viewpoint of this blogging madman.  His fights, hits gave us a reason for the occasional cheer too.  Thus when it came time to cast a vote he was a person I could call an all-star in my estimation.  Through not his point production on the ice but through his charming personality & dedication of a good soldier, a team player – doing that which is asked of you without question by your coach.  Perhaps the later is akin to us all.

With the league phasing out his role, the role of enforcer, an all-star tip of the cap is a thanks not just to John Scott but a memorial tribute with great appreciation to the unsung heroes (all-stars) of enforcers past.  John Scott symbolizes our statue of bronze outside each arena of enforcers and journey-men; that of good soldiers who will soon be obsolete.

What then is an all-star but those that exemplify the qualities & dreams of the viewing public or even the private person.  The NHL appears to stricken the meaning to those with the best statistical points/records in comparison with the current season & in relation from their respective team. -Each team shall have at minimum one representative.- We, the people, generally agree with such a definition.  It represents qualities of success, perseverance/drive, dedication, team-work.  As a coach these are all top qualities I strive to instill in my players year after year.  As a worker, these are qualities I strive for at work.  As a person these are all qualities I remind myself to be daily.  An all-star can be defined not as narrowly.  It may also be remarkable, excellent, prominent, noted, even notable; a hero – someone to look up to in admiration for the “content of their character, not the color of their skin” – M.L.K. or in this case not for their marginalized role in the NHL.

My father is an all-star of mine as is my mother, my grandmother as well, as people personal to me for raising me the right way with ‘content of character’; for teaching me to respect others, be fair in life, adhere to the golden rule, instilling in me a most solid and noble moral compass to which I lead my life.  They themselves in loose ways fit the NHL standard of an all-star but they are not a the top of their class in a broader world like the NHL selected list recommends despite their successes/stats/records in life.  After all you, the reader, would have no idea who they are if given their names.  They are not Warren Buffet, Elon Musk, Bill Gates; the Alex Ovechkin, Erik Karlsson, Jonathan Quick type people.  They are the John Scott’s of hockey to me, the dedicated soldier to help me be better in my life – the same as an enforcer protects star players.

They are the marginalized players but the important players that receive little fanfare.  Herein lies the maturity of the controversy with the spoiled action of the National Hockey League vis-à-vis Gary Bettman in the removal (according to Bob McKenzie’s twitter account) of John Scott from their all-star game in Nashville.  They are saying my all-star, your voted in all-star/hero can not be your mother, father, or any personage that is personal to you without it being a distinctly notable entity in the grand scheme of the world like that of a Bill Gates or Alex Ovechkin.  Well Mr. Bettman, the NHL, and others hidden behind the obfuscation of a corporate entity, I do admire Warren Buffet, Elon Musk, Bill Gates, et al, but one representative of each team is to be selected to the all-star game.  Since, by your generosity, have allowed me to vote in a representative of my team I have selected my father/my grandmother/perhaps myself if I be so fortunate to exemplify qualities others admire me for, in the NHL personage of John Scott.  In doing so I also give great thanks to him and the NHL journey-men of past & present he represents along with the NHL enforcers of old he is a modern symbol of.

I also recognize your, perhaps successful attempt at that of removing him and his representations from your All-Star hockey game.  I say ‘perhaps successful attempt’ in hope by your mercy you allow him to play and being the final representation of our personal all-stars and the last vestige of the ‘enforcer’ role you yourself are phasing out of the game.

John Scott is a marginal player.  He symbolizes much for your many varied and marginalized fans.  This blog itself is indicative of a representation of your marginalized fans (though this article is of my belief alone and may not represent the beliefs of the site it is posted on).  As a Buffalo Sabres fan I know what marginalization feels like.  In hockey terms:  We play Canada’s game in America, we are too Canadian for America, too American for Canada.  Is Buffalo American or Canadian for the hockey world?  Who knows… We haven’t won anything since…  Every Sabres game I attend their isn’t a star jersey that sticks out (not even Eichel yet).  We celebrate our third and fourth line players and admire their grit and ferocity as much as our first and second line players.  The bevy of jerseys with too numerous a name etched on the back during each home game proves our love for the team as a whole, first to fourth line along with benched & traded/retired players.  We love all our players and they love us (just one of many examples).

On a more personal note, is that I also am marginalized at large by being a homosexual which this website and its many authors can attest to.  Yet we are all hockey and even NHL fans.  Women, minorities, etc. can also attest to being marginalized at large, fans that enjoy fighting and enforcers have also felt marginalized by actions of the NHL to curtail a certain aspect of the game they love.  Each marginalized in their own way yet each still appreciate and enjoy that game which you oversee.  Despite the work of this site, You Can Play, Andrew Ference, Brian Burke, LA Kings’ kiss cam & team, et company at large we are still marginalized.  Please, I implore thee, allow us skates to play, a stick to tape up, and pads to protect us.  Give us an ice rink in Nashville for our teams’ representative in the NHL personage of John Scott.  Not just for me but for us – your marginalized fans in society – but also your segment of fans who love and appreciate the role of ‘enforcer’.

Please allow John Scott to play so that I, we, will watch the all-star game in Nashville this year.

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The realities of getting older. Honestly, I felt pretty much the same as I did when I was in my 20’s and 30’s.

I worked out at least 4-5 per week. I had ridden my bicycle 3 times from San Francisco to Los Angeles over the last several years. I still worked crazy hours but always made time to spend as much time as I could with my amazing 2 boys. My oldest son was in 8th grade, going through the struggles of puberty, and my youngest, was just starting 5th grade.

We were all rabid LA Kings fans, and were eagerly looking forward to the first game of the season – scheduled for October 8. That day was not only my birthday, but also the day when the Kings would raise the Stanley Cup banner for the 2nd time in 3 years.

I had been a practicing physician in the same community, and at the same hospital for over 20 years. After 20 years, the hospital was like my second home and I pretty much knew everyone who worked there.

I had seen my primary care physician for my routine annual exam and he had recommended a screening colonoscopy.

I scheduled the procedure for Friday, October 3. I never imagined that I would have any problem. I was getting older, but still way too young, I thought, to worry about anything of significance. Both of my grandmothers had died of colon cancer, but not until they were in their 70’s. And my older brother had had several non-cancerous polyps removed a couple of years earlier.

I was asleep for the colonoscopy. When I woke up, the nurse told me that the doctor wanted to talk to me before I left. Before he arrived, I fiddled through my chart and found the pictures he had taken during the colonoscopy. My heart just stopped in disbelief. I saw a picture of a mass in the proximal colon that looked pretty ugly. Although, this was not my specialty, I could tell that something just didn’t look right.

The doctor finally came in and seemed pretty uncomfortable (it’s always a bit uncomfortable and intimidating, I guess, taking care of other doctors, particularly, when you may have bad news). He told me he found something, and had done several biopsies. He told me the results would come back in a few days and “to enjoy my birthday and not to worry.”

Right. Not to worry.

The procedure was done on a Friday and the results of the biopsy would not come back until the following Tuesday. The days waiting for the results of the biopsy were probably the hardest days of my life. I would wake up at 3 o’clock in the morning in terror.

I couldn’t really have cancer, could I? That’s what happened to other people. If I did have cancer, would I emotionally be strong enough to go through the treatment?

Would I not see my children grow up? Would I not see them graduate from High School? And get married? And have children? How would the kids take the news? What would happen if I broke down in front of the kids?

My thoughts were dark would not stop. I felt I was in a nightmare, and I couldn’t wake up.

Finally, after 4 days of waiting, I got the news. On October 7, 2014, the day before my birthday, I received the call. I had colon cancer. The actual words, which I will never forget, were “you have an invasive adenocarcinoma of the colon”.

I honestly don’t know what happened the rest of the day. Other than I walked around like a zombie, still stuck in a nightmare.

I went to see one of my best friends at the hospital who also happened to be a colorectal Surgeon. He was Serbian, and we always talked about the Kings and particularly, Anze Kopitar. Anze apparently is a pretty common name in the Balkans, and he had several cousins by that name.

He told me about the surgery and how after the surgery, the staging would be clear and we would decide if I needed to have chemotherapy.

I asked him if colon cancer was going to kill me. He said no. Colon cancer had a high cure rate, particularly if found at an early stage. I guess there was not much to do other than to hope for an early stage.

The next day, on my birthday, while driving to the first LA Kings game of the year, I told my kids that I had a “little tumor” that had to come out and that the surgery would be done as soon as possible.

I tried as much as possible to sound upbeat. I told them I would be fine. I was worried because they had just seen my brother in-law die of lymphoma. I wanted them to believe that their father would be ok.

I wanted to believe that I was going to be ok. Fortunately, I was strong enough the have the conversation with them without breaking down.

Opening night at Staples seemed pretty much like a blur. I remember the Stanley Cup descending from the rafters, much like Cher coming down on stage during a concert. I remember the banner going up. And I remember, the Kings getting whipped by the Sharks. But that was not unexpected. It was only October.

The colorectal Surgeon scheduled the surgery in a modern clinic for the following Monday. I would be a patient at the same hospital where I had worked for more than 20 years. Because I was very visible at the hospital, the surgeon asked me if I wanted to be admitted under a different name, – an alias. Using a different name, at least would give me some privacy and confidentiality from everyone who worked there. . And depending on the findings of the surgery, I didn’t know if I wanted a lot of visitors walking into my room.

On Sunday night, the day before the surgery, the surgeon called to speak with me. After he answered all of my questions, he asked me if I was watching the hockey game. I told him I was. I was trying to distract myself as much as possible before the surgery. He said, “Koptar scored his first goal of the season tonight”. Let’s admit you to the hospital under the name ‘Anze Kopitar’.

Los Angeles really is a weird hockey town. Every game is sold out at Staples and there are tons of crazy hockey fans throughout the city. It is, however, such a large and diverse city, that you may go an entire day without running into another hockey fan. So for many people at the hospital, the name Anze Kopitar was less known than mine

So on Monday morning, my ex drove me to the hospital where my brother and sister were waiting. I was admitted under the name of Anze Kopitar, with a diagnosis of Colon Cancer.

I had the surgery.

In the recovery room, I remember the surgeon coming in and telling me that everything looked good and the cancer appeared to be confined to the colon. The next day when the final pathology came back, I was ecstatic, grateful and relieved to be a Stage 1.

My kids visited me the 2nd day after surgery. They kept staring at my armband, perplexed that a famous hockey player’s name was written on it.

And, at the end of the day, I had made it through this nightmare, and I was still alive.
And God willing, I will be alive a while longer.

It still is very early in my recovery and I’m not quite sure how this experience will change me. Hopefully I will become a more empathic physician. Hopefully I will become a better father, a better son, a better brother, and a better friend.

Hopefully, my experience will be of some comfort to others in the future.

Hopefully, when I wake up in the morning, the day will mean a bit more now than it did before.

And the trivial things of life will be just that – trivial.

And whenever, I see Anze Kopitar skating down the ice and scoring a goal, it will
always have a very special meaning.

Note: Since being diagnosed with Colon Cancer, I have experienced first hand all of the stigma and misinformation that goes along with that diagnosis. The most common question friends have asked me is “do you have a colostomy?” The answer is no. And rarely is a colostomy required in the treatment of colon cancer. Screening is not only important, but it is life savings. It’s painless and in many instances can prevent cancer from occurring. For more information, visit ccalliance.org or fightcolorectalcancer.org

1. Martin Havlat

In March of 2012, I took my youngest son to his first hockey game. Sharks-Kings at Staples in Los Angeles.  His older brother was a big fan and would accompany me to almost every home game. After multiple times of asking him, my younger son finally surrendered and agreed to come to his first game. Early in the game, Martin Havlat scored a goal, looked up into the stands, and as if staring directly at my son, flipped off the crowd, and yelled “fuck-off!” It was as if he was speaking directly to my son. He was 8 years old at the time (my son, not Havlat). Really? What a classy guy. Thanks Marty! 

2. Joe Thornton

In April of 2011, After Joe Thornton scored the game-winning goal in a first round Playoff game against the Kings in Los Angeles; he decided that winning the game was just not enough. He thought that antagonizing the crowd was just what was needed. Right after he scored, he blew a big kiss to the LA crowd. Classy move Captain! 

When was the last time Kopitar, Richards, Hossa, Toews, Bergeron or any other elite forward blew a kiss at the crowd after scoring? Nope. Just Joe. And maybe Steve Ott. Nice company, Joe. 

3. Ryan Clowe

A picture tells the whole story. And it wasn’t even a penalty!  AND he even denied doing it. AND he still denied doing it AFTER seeing the video. WTF?!?

So, the Kings will have their hands full with the Hawks in the Conference Final. But it feels awfully good to beat the Sharks in the playoffs. Almost as good as winning the Stanley Cup last year. And as for the Sharks? Well, let’s stay classy. Better luck next year!

I had never felt so excited about attending any sporting event.  It was June 6, 2012. 

It was Game 4 of the Stanley Cup Final.  The Kings were up 3 -0 in the series, and could sweep and win the Stanley Cup for the first time in their 45-year history. I drove to Staples Center with my oldest son.  

My younger son also wanted to come, but I had just finished taking them both to New Jersey for Game 2, and an extra ticket for Game 4 in Los Angeles was outrageously priced and hard to find. 

All three of us had taken a road trip the previous weekend to the New York area and had watched the Kings win Game 2 with an overtime goal by Jeff Carter. When Carter scored, my youngest son was screaming so loud that one of the Jersey fans threw an entire beer on him.  

Throwing beer on an 8-year-old, I thought?   Really?  My son later wondered if beer was what they used as confetti in Jersey.

But it was all good.  The Kings were up 2-0 in the series and we had a blast with the few Kings’ fans sitting in our section. And we enjoyed hearing Springsteen’s No Surrender for the second game in a row. 

And now it was game 4, and the Cup was within reach. 

In all my years of being a sports fan in Los Angeles, I had never felt so much excitement and anticipation.  Not ever for a Laker game.  And not ever for a Dodger game. Hockey fever had indeed, come to Los Angeles.  The bandwagon was growing.

Our normal parking place was filled, so we drove to another lot to encounter the price gougers – $100 for parking?  Not in a million years I told my son. We ended up parking on the street about a mile away and walked. 

With the drop of the puck, there was so much excitement that I could barely stand it. 

My son could barely stand it. Tonight could be the first time we had ever seen the Stanley Cup in real life. Dustin Brown could be holding the Cup high above his head at center ice with his teeth gaping grin and his pathetic beard. Who would he give it to next? 

Would Sutter go on the ice or quietly go back to the dressing room? What would Terry Murray be thinking? Would he be proud of the team he helped form?  Or would he be bitter having been fired mid-season, being delegated to being a scout for the team? 

And what about Jack Johnson?  What would he be feeling?  And of course, what about Philly? How would they feel about seeing their two party boys hoisting the Cup? 

During the 3rd period, Drew Doughty tied it up at 1, and we really thought that the Cup was ours to see in Los Angeles.  But Adam Henrique scored short-side on Quick at 15:20 of the 3rd period.  And that was that. So much anticipation. And now, so much disappointment.  

The Kings had lost game 4. And my son cried.

We still had a commanding 3-1 lead in the series, but my 11-year-old son was inconsolably crying.    

Wow. Crying after a hockey game?  It brought back a flood of memories of growing up. It brought back a time in my life when I expected to be disappointed and never thought I could win.   

I had grown up in a very strict, homophobic, Catholic family and never really felt comfortable showing any emotion, and certainly, never in public. I remembered the mid 80’s. Feeling that my world was going to end because the Kings had yet again, failed to advance in the playoffs. 

I remembered Dionne, and Carson, and Robitaille, and Nicholls. And always listening to Bob Miller. 

Yes the Kings had made me cry once too. But always in the privacy of my own room. And then there was 1993. I was too old to cry then. But I’m sure I did anyway.

The infamous McSorely illegal stick incident.   And then later to find that someone had broken into the Kings’ dressing room and given inside information about McSorely’s stick to the Canadiens.

No one could have imagined that it would be another 19 years before the Kings would make the Finals again.  No one could have foreseen that the 1993 Canadiens would be the last Canadian team to win the Cup for a very long time. Coincidence?  Maybe not. 

Yes, my son cried after Game 4. Just as I had done when I was his age.   

After game 4, I thought “Could the Kings lose 4 in a row and lose the Cup after getting this close?”    Of course they could.   It was after all, the same Los Angeles Kings that I had painfully watched for more than 20 years. 

Game 5 was in Jersey and my kids were with my ex. I watched alone in my room, comforted only by Twitter. Midway through the game, I was forced to mute the television and just watch without sound. Doc Emrick seemed a little bit too happy that the Devils were winning.  And when the Devils won and forced a game 6, I felt an old familiar feeling in the pit of my stomach. Yes it could happen. The Kings could lose 4 in a row. 

Game 6 returned to Staples Center.

Would it be divine intervention that after so many years, Kings’ fans would be able to view a Stanley Cup being hoisted in Los Angeles?  Or would we be going back to Game 7 in Jersey?

Game 6  would be the deciding game of the series. The biggest game in the history of the Los Angeles Kings. They could either win the Cup, or be forced to go back dejected to Jersey, where of course, they would easily lose Game 7. We arrived at Staples cautiously optimistic.  

We sat in the same seats that we had all season. We had come to view the people that sat around us as our extended family. They had been there all year. Through the good times. And through the bad. Some young.  Some old. We may not all have known each others names, but we had formed a very special bond, particularly during the playoffs. 

Al Michaels sat 2 rows behind us with his family.  I often wondered how someone who actually called the greatest hockey victory off all time, could get so excited about watching the Kings. There was the financial planner to my left with all of his family.   If I were straight, I would have developed a major crush on his daughter.  

There was the young good-looking couple to the right.   And all the others.  Each with their own personal history with the Kings. When the game started, I again got goose bumps listening to The Black Parade, by Chemical Romance, as the Kings were introduced. 

I whispered to the guy sitting next to me. “No Posts tonight please.”  In games 4 and 5, the Kings had gotten several shots past Brodeur, only to hit the post.   

Midway through the fist period, a 5-minute major penalty was called on Steve Bernier. Then it started. Brown scored. Carter scored. And then when Lewis scored, it became apparent that tonight would be the night. 

The cute kid behind started hugging his father. Al Michaels was hugging his wife. I was jumping up and down like a little kid.  My son jumped in my arms.

This was not a time for hi-fives. It was time for embracing. The Black Eyed Peas were right.  Tonight would in fact, be a very good night.   

The rest of the night was a blur. Staples got louder and louder as the game went on.  We couldn’t hear a thing.  It was bedlam. The last minute of the game, the players began hugging each other on the bench. 

Sutter actually cracked a smile. I looked at my son’s face and took a picture. It showed an expression on his face that I could not describe nor would I ever forget. The seconds ticked down, and then it was over.  The Los Angeles Kings had won the Stanley Cup. 

We sat in our seats and watched the most amazing, unparalleled trophy presentation in any sport. This is why we love hockey, I thought. This was awesome. Pure awesomeness.  Brownie had the Cup. And then, it was Mitchell’s.  And then, to everyone’s surprise, it was Gagne. Then Kopi, then Green…. and it went on from there. Sutter stayed on the ice and finally hoisted the Cup. The crowd went absolutely bananas. 

We sat in the seats. We didn’t want it to end. 

Eventually, when the players started leaving the ice, we all started leaving very, very slowly. We all hugged and vowed to keep the same seats for next year. And just like when I was a little kid, the Kings had once again, made me cry. 

But this time, I was not alone.  There was not a dry eye in the house.

There is no other word to describe this season for the Los Angeles Kings beside the word tumultuous.  Terry Murray was replaced by Darryl Sutter. The team could not score in a brothel if they all had $100 bills hanging out of their zippers.  Players that were penciled in as top 6 forwards were injured (Simon Gagne), not producing (Mike Richards), or busy eating pancakes (Dustin Penner).  The penalty killing and defense were near the top of the league all season, and the absolutely superb, Vezina caliber goaltending of Jonathan Quick kept them close in the playoff race.  

Jeff Carter

With the Kings close but still on the outside looking in as the trade deadline approached, Dean Lombardi made a blockbuster deal.  He sent Jack Johnson and his disturbingly high cheekbones to the Columbus Blue Jackets in exchange for “Party Boy” Jeff Carter. <note: we all would love to see Jeff Carter in the same Party Boy outfit that Chris Pontius made famous in the Jackass movies>.

As a result, the team won 9 of 13 and found themselves in a first place tie with the Phoenix Coyotes for the Pacific Division lead going into their last two games.  A home and home series sweep against the San Jose Sharks would give the Kings their first division title since 1990-1991. 

Going in to the third period of game #81, the Kings found themselves with a 3-2 lead.  The Kings have not lost in regulation when leading after 2 in their last 643 games, or some ungodly number like that.  San Jose would push back and a wild third period would see the score 5-5 late in the third period.  With the Kings already on a power play, Ryane Clowe reached out and played the puck to break up a potential odd man rush.  Would have been a great defensive play if CLOWE HAD NOT BEEN ON THE BENCH WHEN HE DID IT!

No call, because none of the four officials happened to be looking at the puck carrier in a tie game with under three minutes left.  No two-man advantage.  San Jose goes on to win in a shootout.  Thank you Ryane Clowe, you cheating moist steaming turd of a hockey player.  We might not have scored on that two-man advantage, and the result of the game very well might have been exactly the same, but we should have been afforded the opportunity.   You blatantly cheated, and you will never deserve your name on the Stanley Cup.  

The Kings would go on to lose the next game in overtime, and as a result, they would end up as the #8 seed in the Western Conference.  Instead of playing an inexperienced St. Louis Blues team, and instead of having home ice against the Chicago Blackhawks, the Kings would have a date with the Presidents’ Trophy winning and defending Western Conference Champion Vancouver Canucks.  JUST great. Most said Vancouver in 4 or 5.  Hell, I even said Vancouver in 6.  

Brown and Bieksa

The Kings outplayed the Canucks in game 1 and win 4-2. Vancouver is much better in game 2, but on the strength of two shorthanded goals by Dustin Brown the Kings shock the Canucks again by a 4-2 score. They would not only have a 2-0 lead, but they would also win me a twitter avatar bet with our resident Toronto Maple Leafs blogger Andrew. 

The avatar was of his choice.  He chose this: Well played Andrew.  Well played indeed.  

Back home for game 3, the Kings have a familiar problem; they simply can’t score.  The Canucks are clearly the better team through the first two periods, but Quick is SPECTACULAR, keeping the game scoreless.  In the third, the Kings are much better, and Dustin Brown would break through to give the Kings a 1-0 lead.  Because of Jonathan Quick, that’s how the game would end.  The Kings were up 3-0 against arguably the best team in the NHL, and I would win another avatar bet with Andrew.  This time, the avatar was my choice. I chose this:

The Kings have never swept a seven game playoff series, and unfortunately still haven’t.  Game 4 saw the return of the evil ginger twin and with it the return of the vaunted Canuck power play.  The Kings played arguably their best game of the series, hit two posts, missed a penalty shot, and gave up two power play goals giving Vancouver a 3-1 win.  More importantly, I lost the avatar bet.  Here is the monstrosity that a stupid Coldplay concert forced me to have for 4 freaking days!

 
As I said, a stupid Coldplay concert forced a 3 day break between games 4 and 5.  It would turn out to be worth the wait.  Doing his best impression of Adam Deadmarsh, another #28 Jarret Stoll would score early in overtime to give the Kings a 2-1 win and a 4-1 series win.  Kings go crazy, Canuck fans are stunned.  But that’s not the best part of the game.

The best part is where I watched the game.  I have watched every road playoff game at Gym Bar in West Hollywood, the only gay sports bar in LA as far as I know.  I showed up as the game was about to begin and was greeted by a small contingent of Kings Fans.  We all watched together; we yelled when the Kings refused to shoot the puck on the power play.  We groaned when evil ginger #2 gave Vancouver a 1-0 lead.  We screamed when Brad Richardson tied the game at 1 in the third period, and high-fived when Stoll scored to end Vancouver’s season.  This was the first time I had encountered a random group of gay Kings Fans.  It was pretty awesome knowing that there are others just like you, living and dying with their hockey team.

Oh, by the way there was another avatar bet. 

Since it was the last game of the season for Vancouver, Andrew will be forced to have this as his avatar until the start of the second round.  I know I know…I’m a bitch. 

Oh yeah, one more thing…BRING ON THE BLUES!

Jonathan Quick

The Kings are definitely not who we thought they were.  They cannot score.  Their power play is downright AWFUL.  Jonathan Quick has been spectacular this season however the team has been largely inconsistent, which cost a very nice man (Terry Murray) his job last month. Good news is the players are still pretty good-looking, so if this hockey thing doesn’t work out I’m sure most of them could be models.  Whether it be for John Varvatos on the runway or whether it be on the menu at IHOP. Yes, that’s right…Dustin Penner hurt himself while eating his wife’s “delicious pancakes”

   Good lord I hope this wasn’t a euphemism for something that no gay man wants to hear about.  I’d look up old Flapjacks’ stats, but they are incredibly disturbing considering his huge salary.  He’s underachieving and incredibly overpaid. 

Fact is, Dustin Penner missed a game because of a bad back that he aggravated whilst eating pancakes.  Were he in my group of friends, he would have immediately been crowned “fattest of the fat 2012”. Regardless, Penner is a total beard-o-sexual and I would buy him beer and a short stack any day. 

Speaking of beer, our new coach totally has bitter beer face.  I know for a fact that I am not the only one who thinks this.  Really not much I can add to that. 

Darryl Sutter has bitter beer face.  The end. 

Brad Richardson

On the other hand, Brad Richardson has a serious case of gay face.  There is no way around it.  Brad Richardson is quick, has hands of stone, and cannot finish at all.  But god damn is he pretty. He looks like that super hot go-go boy you saw on go-go boy appreciation day in West Hollywood a while back.  Yes, a city sponsored go-go boy appreciation day.  Have to love it.  

This past offseason my parents and I decided to save some money and move our seats back a few rows.  They are more nosebleed but much more affordable, as well as close enough to the press box that we can hear all the announcements that so and so left the game with an upper body injury and is not expected to return, and that tonight’s attendance is 18,118. 

What they don’t tell you is that there’s a reason seats are cheaper up there…Section 320 is a death trap and a lawsuit waiting to happen!  Things are just fine and dandy in rows 1-7.  The stairs in row 8 have caused no less than 150 people to trip this season.  I will say for this for Kings Fans, 150 stumbles, 0 beer spilt.  Priorities people!  I don’t know if it is a design flaw in the blue prints at Staples Center, or maybe the architect is a Ducks fan.

Speaking of the Ducks, 8-1-1 in their last 10 and they are still only 13th.  2007 seems like a very long time ago doesn’t it?

Follow Greg on twitter: @gpmurphy.  If he’s not there, try The Eagle. He’s buying.

"Make it work, Kings!"

So I’m gay. For those who know me, this revelation shouldn’t come as a shock. I go to gay bars. I love Robyn and Kylie Minogue. 

I know that the colors of an outfit don’t have to be matchy matchy…they just have to go. I regularly refer to some of my closest male friends as ‘sisters’. As a matter of fact, as I write this, I am watching ‘Beaches’. 

But there is a secret behind all this so-called stereotypical gay behavior. I am a huge sports fan. I’ve been to so many sporting events in my life that I have lost count. 

I’ve seen my baseball team win the World Series in person. I’ve seen my basketball team win several championships. The one thing missing is that I have yet to see my hockey team raise Lord Stanley’s Cup. 

Yes, I am a gay hockey fan.

The underdog Kings made it all the way to the Stanley Cup Finals in 1993.  I remember the finals vividly; I remember the elation of a game 1 victory in the hockey cathedral that was the Montreal Forum. 

I also remember the three straight overtime losses that followed.  In spite of the Finals loss in 5 games, I was completely hooked.  I also remember thinking through the heartbreak and disappointment that “maybe if my team were better looking they would have won.”   

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look at the guys.  I’ve definitely googled the screen shot Dustin Brown accidentally removing all his clothing in the background of an interview.  [Ed. Note: NSFW. Deliciously so!] My computer’s wallpaper is currently the photograph of Ryan Kesler featured in ESPN’s Body Issue. 

Papa Arnott

They’re cute, and I look.  But I defy any straight hockey fan to challenge my hockey knowledge.  I know who had the best special teams in 2002 (LA Kings, naturally. # 1 power play, #3 penalty kill). 

I know who scored the Stanley Cup winning goal in 2000(Jason Arnott, New Jersey Devils, game 6 in Dallas). My head is full of useless stats.  But when the NHL comes out with their version of Trivial Pursuit, I will dominate!

For many years I have felt alone as a gay hockey fan.   Every guy I’ve ever dated has given the game the old college try, but it hasn’t taken. 

A good friend of mine keeps saying I should start a fan club called ‘Queens for Kings’.  But I don’t know too many gay Kings Fans.  You’d think in a city of 12 million people there might be a few.

Anze Kopitar

So I implore you, Gay Kings fan.  Come out.  Our team is finally a Cup contender.  We no longer hope to win, we EXPECT to win.  This is the year we go from a tough first round out to a team that many have picked to not only win the Pacific, but also represent the Western Conference in the Stanley Cup Finals.  The hundreds of billboards around Los Angeles say it…The time is now.  So come out…because it’s no fun hating the Ducks by yourself.

                                                                                                                                                     Follow Greg on twitter. Do it for Anze: @gpmurphy

“The Los Angeles Kings are one of 13 teams in the NHL who have never won the Stanley Cup.  It’s painful to admit, but even the Ducks have taken home the Cup; and with Dustin Penner too. The Kings got close only once.   It was 1993, and it was my first year of having season tickets.  They played at the old Fabulous Forum and they beat the Leafs in the Conference Finals to move on to the Stanley Cup Finals.  It was my introduction to NHL hockey and I will never forget sitting with my high school buddy during those games and screaming my head off.  

McSorely

The Kings faced the Habs in the 1993 Finals.  They led the series 1-0 and led by a goal late in the third period of Game 2.  That’s when Marty McSorely received a penalty for having an illegal stick.  The Canadiens tied the game on a power play goal and eventually won the game in overtime, and went on to win the series in 5 games.  

And that was it.  43 seasons, and that was as close as the Kings ever got.  Marty McSorely is still, inexplicably a fan favorite in Los Angeles.  I, on the other hand will never forgive him for the penalty that cost the Kings a chance at winning the Cup. 

I still remained a season ticket holder over the subsequent years but the Kings were always 3rd behind the Lakers and the Dodgers.  I would frequently give my tickets away, and sometimes they would go unused, as no one really seemed too excited about hockey in LA.  The post-Gretzky era was pretty bleak. 

Anze Kopitar

2 years ago, my son woke me up one summer morning to tell me that he wanted to learn how to ice skate and play hockey.  Why a 7-year-old, born and raised in Los Angeles would even think of going ice-skating is beyond me.  But I took him, and it stuck.  He loved.  And I loved it.  We started using my season tickets.  The Dodgers were now boring (no Manny).  The Lakers were a little too much; it was as if you had to wear makeup just to go to a damn game.

But the Kings were young, likeable and exciting.   You could watch them practice. You could easily meet and talk to the players.  They were down-to-earth and nice people. 

I was hooked. Now I rarely miss a home game.  If my son can’t go, I’ll go by myself.  It’s almost like meditation for me. I sit in the stands and zone-out and watch every minute.  I tried taking some friends and even a date once, but most gay people I know in LA don’t like or understand hockey. (It is so much better watching the game by myself than having to explain icing to someone for the frkn 10th time!).  

The road games  – I DVR, then play it back before I go to bed.   If the Kings are losing, I get annoyed and fast forward to the end.  It seems like less suffering that way. This year, the Kings have gotten off to a somewhat disappointing start.  They currently sit 8th in the Western Conference. 

Their top line of Anze Kopitar, Justin Williams and Simon Gagne has been great.   Kopitar has to be the most underrated center in the NHL.  Williams is probably one of the nicest people you’ll ever meet (he was so nice to my son during an event last year).

And Gagne…. well, there are T-Shirts in LA that say “I’m Gay for Gagne”.  But I have yet to see a guy wear that to a game! 

Mike Richards

The second line is Mike Richards, Dustin Brown, and as of today, Dustin Penner. 

Penner has yet to score a goal and seems to be in everyone’s dog house. (I mean really, how did this guy ever score 30 goals?) 

The Kings have extremely talented defensemen.  Drew Doughy is off to a slow start,  but Jack Johnson has picked up the slack.  

And then, there is Alec Martinez. 

Seriously, Alec Martinez has to be the best-looking human ever created.  I think he’s good, but who can tell?  Anything he does would be ok with me.  The best part of the National Anthem is we all get to see Martinez without his helmet. 

And finally, Jonathan Quick may look like he’s 15 years old, but he’s playing like a Vezina Trophy winner.  Coach Terry Murray is frequently heavily criticized in the local hockey blogosphere (and we’re giving him a pass here today).

So, three teams are tied for the longest drought without a Stanley Cup,  the Blues, the Leafs and the Kings.  I hope the drought ends this year. I hope that 2011-2012 will be the year that Dustin Brown will be the first King to raise the Cup at center ice in Los Angeles.

The quest continues Thursday evening as the Kings host the Canucks. It’s a late game for you L’ Eastern Conference boys and the results won’t make my deadline, but try to stay up and watch it.”

You will follow Spencer on twitter: @Spencerlakings

Cutest.Penguin.Ever!

“I’d never been to Southern California, but something about Palm Springs always…spoke to me, let’s say.  Listen, I know what you’re thinking: a homo who wants to go to Palm Springs is about as surprising as Ovechkin streaking down the left side and cutting to the slot when he gets to the circle. 

For me, though, it was always much more about the insane temperatures and the lovely combo of desert and mountain that I’ve come to appreciate so much. I put Palm Springs and Palm Desert in my list of cities for the weather app on my iPhone the day I got it.  I mean, seriously, 113 degrees for weeks on end without the humidity that makes my hair as unruly as a room full of coked-up celebutantes?  Um, yes, I’ll have one of those, please.

Johnny Weir at the L.A. Pride Parade. Not the type of skater we had in mind

Fortune smiled upon us and Mike, due to his work travels, snagged free hotel stays and we wound up at The Parker (Hermès soap!).  But we chose this past week because our Pittsburgh Penguins were on a road trip and were in Los Angeles on Saturday.  While the Aging Gays of the West were going to Palm Springs for Pride on Saturday, we actually packed up and hit the long, debris-filled (seriously, there were buckets, animals, and Ivy and Wilde furniture on I-10 the whole way) freeway back to LA to make it to the game. 

What’s even better?  We had no clue it was Pride, and the blank stares we got from people when we said we only came to the area for a hockey game in LA were, in short, priceless.

Mike and I have this thing where we see the Penguins in other cities, and the game always, and I mean always, goes to a shootout.  The unfortunate reality is that we lose most of those games, so we went into this one expecting the worst.  Long Island, Madison Square Garden, Chicago…all shootouts, and only a handful of wins.  But we sauntered into the impressive Staples Center with an absurdly high number of other Penguins fans undaunted, just glad to be catching our boys in a place with palm trees outside.

Matt Niskanen

After warm-ups were conducted while Kelis blared throughout the stadium (side note: Flesh Tone was my jam last summer, and “22nd Century” is the perfect example of why that bitch needs to stay in the dance world), I was relieved to see that Jordan Staal and Paul Martin, both game-time decisions, were in the lineup.  Since these are the Penguins, though, there were new additions to the injured list, this time in the form of Matt Niskanen.  And while he frankly played like garbage last year, he’s been doing solid work this time around, so his absence didn’t amount to an eye-roll on Saturday.  Two defensemen called up from the minors, one of whom didn’t even play in training camp, in the lineup?  No biggie.  Hell, when we saw the Penguins in Chicago last February, I think we had two full lines of Baby Pens, so this felt like a bizarre treat.

Apparently this isn't Steve Sullivan. We'll keep the pic anyway

In the early going, the Penguins played a solid road game, but nothing was clicking quite right.  And then the Kings got into some serious penalty trouble.  After extended time on a 5-on-3, Steve Sullivan finally put home his first goal as a Pittsburgh Penguin, a feat so rare to this point that I felt like I saw Haley’s comet.  What made it even better was the fact that so many people were cheering, you almost forgot you were in Los Angeles.  Or that you were at a hockey game, because with all of the people waving Terrible Towels, you’d be forgiven for thinking you were witnessing a very special edition of Steelers on Ice.

As the game wore on, and as the beer took more effect, I got louder and more chatty (or verbally abusive toward the Los Angeles Kings and their fans, if you ask Mike).  As fate would have it, we sat next to a lesbian couple that were rabid Kings fans.  Now, I didn’t ask if they were lesbians at first, but let’s be real: that electrocuted porcupine hair and eau de patchouli told me everything I needed to know. 

On the other side of us, though, were two guys who waxed poetic on what a “faggot” the Kings MC was every time he appeared on the Jumbotron.  And although they were Penguins fans who high-fived us when the Penguins scored, our allies were clearly on the Subaru-driving side (and as the owner of a Forester, I can say that proudly). 

Mike Richards

The action in the game picked up, and there was so much happening back-and-forth that it was truly just entertaining hockey. Anze Kopitar, the poor man’s Evgeni Malkin, scored an absurdly beautiful goal to tie things up, and later, Mike Richards got tripped on a breakaway to set up a penalty shot.  There are few players that I dislike more than Mike Richards, and I prayed to the Lord on High that Fleury would make the save.  God delivered more than I expected when Richards flat-out missed the net, and I think my laughter was audible above the groans of the Kings/ faithful.

Chris Kunitz

The Kings did, however, score another one to put them up by 1 late in the game. 

Mike and I were giving each other the “of fucking course” look, but Chris Kunitz’s effort with just over 2 minutes remaining tied things up and there was much, much rejoicing. 

And like clockwork, we found ourselves in yet another shootout.  This time, however, the Penguins capped the victory on another Kunitz goal, and we were able to leave Staples Center without being catty bitches.

And with that, some thoughts and observations regarding our SoCal hockey experience:

1.) Grindr at the Staples Center was a bigger bust than Dustin Penner.  In Pittsburgh, there was a serious homo population at the game, and many of them turned out to be season ticket holders.  In LA, it was radio silence, which, though unsurprising, was still a little disappointing.  But there were nearby guys from USC who were all “masc and chill,” so there’s at least that. 

2.) The lesbians next to us were amazing and are going to South Africa to marry this year.  One of them grew up in Zambia, and I honestly am kicking myself for not exchanging numbers or some other contact information.   

3.) Speaking of Dustin Penner, LA fans were ruthless in their criticism of him.  Pretty much everyone around us was making jokes or throwing shade whenever he was on the ice or touching the puck.  I almost felt bad for the guy.

4.) Whenever Dustin Brown touched the puck, I touched myself thinking about the naked pictures that are now circulating on the internet.

5.) Some asshat in a Mike Richards jersey decided to engage me in a heckle war after the game.  After him telling me I didn’t live in Pittsburgh and that I was probably some “Crosby-loving douche,” I actually ran up to him, showed him my Pennsylvania driver’s license and turned around to display Michalek on my back, and capped it off with a, “Handle that.”  Mike was horrified and embarrassed.

6.) Bitches were wearing black mohair boots.  Prepare to be mortified.

7.) We still have Sidney Crosby to add into this lineup.  And, yeah, all of the other 739 injured players, but…Jesus.

8.) Hot, hot guys at the game.  So hot. 

And now we’re flying home.  Despite the ridiculous traffic, the palpable smog, and the laughable amount of phoniness, I think I’ve come to love SoCal and LA.  Truth be told, the hockey there ain’t half bad, either. Now I just have to remove the bit of cactus that lodged itself in my thumb after I mistakenly made a drunken grab at it the other night.”

You will follow Adam @adamkno on the twitters and you will like it.