Yeah, that about sums it up.
Gary Bettman has been poor to awful for the NHL. Perhaps it's not all of his own doing--I certainly wouldn't blame him for the FOX broadcast inanity, such as dueling goal robots--but he certainly has been on watch for it, and needs to go.
The thing that has always annoyed me about the broadcast situation is how every other sport gets to build its audience with national weekend broadcasts, starting at some point a ways into the season and continuing until the end. Hockey? Everytime they swing a network deal--FOX, ABC, NBC--it's 5 games, non consecutively, and then playoffs. Even if they have to take a hit in the per-game rights fees--or hell, subsidize it--they have to get on every weekend, so viewership can drop in, get interested, and come back at some point, even if it's not the next week. What they do now doesn't help grow the fanbase one bit.
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I'm not a big hockey fan but even I can see that this sport is shooting itself in the foot. I usually get worked up about the prices they're charging compared to my fav sport, baseball. This weekend, we paid $35 to sit in nosebleed seats for the Caps/Canes. There was one row between us and the back wall. At RFK, for $35 you get great seats in the 300 level. If the NHL wants ppl to bring their families to games, they need to have fan-friendly pricing!
Allan Muir at Sports Illustrated's website wrote what might be the best overall analysis of Gary Bettman's successes and failures in the NHL the past 14 years. It was quite fair and balanced. You should check it out.
http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2007/writers/allan_muir/02/02/grading.bettman/index.html
shane
Don't make me whip out the Hatblog songs again. :-P
-shane
Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, where have you been, my darling Hatblog?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains,
I've walked and I've crawled on six crooked highways,
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests,
I've been out in front of a dozen dead oceans,
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, and it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what did you see, my darling Hatblog?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it,
I saw a black branch with blood that kept drippin',
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleedin',
I saw a white ladder all covered with water,
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken,
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling Hatblog?
I heard the sound of a thunder, it roared out a warnin',
Heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world,
Heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazin',
Heard ten thousand whisperin' and nobody listenin',
Heard one person starve, I heard many people laughin',
Heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter,
Heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley,
And it's a hard, and it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
And it's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Oh, who did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
Who did you meet, my darling Hatblog?
I met a young child beside a dead pony,
I met a white man who walked a black dog,
I met a young woman whose body was burning,
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow,
I met one man who was wounded in love,
I met another man who was wounded with hatred,
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Oh, what'll you do now, my blue-eyed son?
Oh, what'll you do now, my darling Hatblog?
I'm a-goin' back out 'fore the rain starts a-fallin',
I'll walk to the depths of the deepest black forest,
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty,
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters,
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison,
Where the executioner's face is always well hidden,
Where hunger is ugly, where souls are forgotten,
Where black is the color, where none is the number,
And I'll tell it and think it and speak it and breathe it,
And reflect it from the mountain so all souls can see it,
Then I'll stand on the ocean until I start sinkin',
But I'll know my song well before I start singin',
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard,
It's a hard rain's a-gonna fall.
Alas, poor Hatblog! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath
borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at
it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment,
that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?
Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must
come; make her laugh at that.
Once upon a time there was a Hatblog. The Hatblog lived in a big, wooden shack in the middle of the woods. One day a giant troll came and knocked on Hatblog's door.
"Where is the nearest loo, my good friend?" the troll asked.
"None of your business!" cried the Hatblog, and he slammed the door in the troll's face. The troll was angry. So he lifted up his mighty club, and walked back into the woods with a huff.
Soon after followed a mighty wizard. The wizard knocked on his door, and Hatblog answered.
"Good day," said the wizard, "Mighty nice afternoon for a walk, eh?"
"No!," cried Hatblog, and he slammed the door in the wizard's face. The wizard was very angry, and he lifted up his magic wand, and walked off into the woods in a huff.
Finally, a small child came up to Hatblog's home, and knocked low on the door. Hatblog opened up, looked around, then down.
"Help me, mister! I am lost and do not know how to get home!" cried the child.
Hatblog grabbed the child and ate him. The child tasted like chicken.
The End.
Hatblog knows where the hats will grow and Hatblog knows when the hats will grow and Hatblog knows if the hats will grow and the hats all know that Hatblog knows...
HATBLOG!
HATBLOG!
Hatblog knows where the hats will grow and Hatblog knows when the hats will grow and Hatblog knows if the hats will grow and the hats all know that Hatblog knows...
HATBLOG!
HATBLOG!
We are here at Madison Square Garden where Hatblog has just put on the most amazing goaltending spectacle of the year, making 59 saves in the first three periods and overtime period. Dominik Hasek on the other end has only had to make 15 saves, but we still stand at 0-0 going into the shootoout.
Hasek has already made the first stop of the shootout. Mpw Pavol Datsyuk is going to take the first shot against Hatblog. He skates in and he dekes and goes to the backhand... SAVE by Hatblog! That was a great shot, but Hatblog made a spectacular move to make the save.
Hasek stops his shot as well, and now Hatblog is facing Robert Lang. Lang skates in, fakes a shot, then rips it toward the top corner.. SAVE by Hatblog!
Hasek does not even have to make the stop on his shot, as the puck rolls off the skater's stick. So the pressure is on Hatblog to make this next save to keep his team in the game. Zetterberg skates in... fakes both ways and tries to push it through Hatblog's legs... it dribbles behind him... SCORE!!!! Oh, Hatblog was unable to close it off, and this game is over. Detroit wins the game in a shoot out. What a shame. Hatblog played so well, but could not get the win.
Thank you for joining us for this exciting goaltending battle. We hope you will tune in for the next game on Versus when the Boston Bruins take on the Buffalo Sabres. For Keith Jones and Eddie Olcyk, this is Bill Clement. Good-night!
And the evening sun descending
Set the clouds on fire with redness,
Burned the broad sky, like a prairie,
Left upon the level water
One long track and trail of splendor,
Down whose stream, as down a river,
Westward, westward Hatblog
Sailed into the fiery sunset,
Sailed into the purple vapors,
Sailed into the dusk of evening:
And the people from the margin
Watched him floating, rising, sinking,
Till the birch canoe seemed lifted
High into that sea of splendor,
Till it sank into the vapors
Like the new moon slowly, slowly
Sinking in the purple distance.
And they said, "Farewell forever!"
Said, "Farewell, O Hatblog!"
And the forests, dark and lonely,
Moved through all their depths of darkness,
Sighed, "Farewell, O Hatblog!"
And the waves upon the margin
Rising, rippling on the pebbles,
Sobbed, "Farewell, O Hatblog!"
And the heron, the Shuh-shuh-gah,
From her haunts among the fen-lands,
Screamed, "Farewell, O Hatblog!"
Thus departed Hatblog,
Hatblog the Beloved,
In the glory of the sunset,.
In the purple mists of evening,
To the regions of the home-wind,
Of the Northwest-Wind, Keewaydin,
To the Islands of the Blessed,
To the Kingdom of Ponemah,
To the Land of the Hereafter!
Vincent: And you know what they call a... a... a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
Hatblog: ...
Vincent: No man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.
Hatblog: ...
Vincent: They call it a Royale with cheese.
Hatblog: ...
Vincent: Well, a Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it le Big-Mac.
Hatblog: ...
Vincent: I dunno, I didn't go into Burger King.
HATBLOG! You don't have to put on the red light. Those days are over; you don't have to sell your body to the night!
HATBLOG! You don't have to wear that dress tonight. Walk the street for money. You don't care if it's wrong or if it's right.
HATBLOG! You don't have to put on the red light. HATBLOG! You don't have to put on the red light.
HATBLOG! Put on the red light!
HATBLOG! Put on the red light!
HATBLOG! Put on the red light!
HATBLOG! Put on the red light!
I loved you since I knew you.
I wouldn't talk down to you!
I have to tell you just how I feel,
I won't share you with another blog.
I know my mind is made up!
So put away your make up!
Told you once I won't tell you again,
It's a bad way.
HATBLOG! You don't have to put on the red light! HATBLOG! You don't have to put on the red light.
HATBLOG! You don't have to put on the red light!
HATBLOG! Put on the red light!
HATBLOG! Put on the red light!
HATBLOG! Put on the red light!
HATBLOG! Put on the red light!
HATBLOG! Put on the red light!
HATBLOG! Put on the red light!
HATBLOG! Put on the red light!
HATBLOG! You don't have to put on the red light!
HATBLOG! Put on the red light!
HATBLOG! Put on the redlight!
HATBLOG... (fade out)
Four score and seven years ago our Hatblog brought forth on this continent, a new blog, conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a lapse of posting, testing whether that blog, or any blog so conceived and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that lapse. We have come to dedicate a portion of the comments, as a final resting place for those who here gave their lives that that blog might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this post. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -- that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this blog, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.
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