A la Prochain: Bring on the 2025-26 NHL Season

Image created with ChatGPT: make a drawing of a formula 1 style car with a montreal canadiens themed livery

The 2024-2025 NHL season is finally over. Awarding the Stanley Cup in the second half of the calendar year is stupid.

Anyway …

Prior to late summer of 1975 I’d been living overseas and had no clue what hockey was. In December 1975 my Dad took me to my first ever NHL game at the Montreal Forum. The Habs were playing the Toronto Maple Leafs (ptooey!). I became an instant fan of the Canadiens. My fandom was rewarded with four consecutive Stanley Cup victories, all of which were decided before the second half of fucking June! In fact, all four of those finals were over before the end of May.

Yeah, I have an issue with the NHL season dragging out this long (I’m not alone in this). To be honest, once Montreal’s season ends, my interest in hockey pretty much falls off a cliff. If a Canadian based team (except the Toronto Make Believes) makes it into the final two rounds I’ll pay attention. Regardless of who’s in the final, having game 7 (if necessary) on the first day of summer is just dumb.

I’m one of those fans that needs to have a team to cheer for to have any interest in a sport. This is why Major League Baseball has been dead to me since September 2004. I have no interest in basketball, football (NFL), or soccer. As for CFL football, I’ll watch the odd Montreal Alouettes regular season game (if I remember and have nothing else going on), and the playoffs if they make it. The only sport I follow without having one specific player or team to cheer for is Formula 1.

Back to hockey …

The 2024-25 season is done and I’m waiting for the 2025-26 season to get going. However, there’s an entire off-season to get through. Highlights of the off-season include the entry draft and free agency; these interest me minimally. I do not get worked up by who the Habs do or don’t sign as free agents. I don’t get worked up about who they draft. I don’t get worked up about what trades they make. I save getting temporarily worked up for the games.

I mostly just observe others getting worked up on social media about trades, draft picks, and free agent signings. It’s mostly fun unless people lose their shit like many did over Montreal’s 2023 fifth overall pick (that was really over the fucking top). I will chime in once in a while, but not too often.

Sports are supposed to be entertainment, nothing more. There is absolutely no reason to get abusive towards players, management, players’ families, or other teams’ fans. None. Good natured ribbing is fine. Being critical of performance is acceptable, but don’t make it personal. If you lose a bunch of money betting on sports, that’s on you for making poor choices in your selections. Note that I am not trying to imply that betting on sports is a poor choice.

When I say I hate a player or a team, it’s sports hate, not real-life hate, which is a waste of emotional energy. Come to think of it, other than a few vegetables, I don't think I really hate anything or anyone.

I’m looking forward to the next several Montreal Canadiens seasons. There is much to be excited and optimistic about. I’ll pay attention to the moves they make during the off-season, but I won’t get overly worked up about them, mostly because we won’t know if they’re good or bad for a while. So I’ll just enjoy. And I’ll wait until October when I can enjoy hockey and Formula 1 on the same weekend.

In the meantime, enjoy the off-season & have some summer fun (unless you live south of the equator)!

Be great today, be better tomorrow!

Cheers!

Connect with me on Bluesky: @chriswalker1964.bsky.social

Stupid Dogs - Do Your Job

 

Squiggy, Smoky, Stella (back), Max (front).

That picture was taken in 2005; none of the dogs is with us anymore. They’re all sitting nicely because I yelled at my kids to sit down and be quiet; they (the dogs) weren’t the brightest bunch. This post is about what Smoky conjured up from beyond the grave.

My daughter’s 12^th birthday party happened a few weeks after Smoky died, in early 2012. After the kids were gone and the cleanup was complete, my then wife and I stepped outside for a smoke. While outside, we heard cat-like noises but thought nothing of it. A while later we went out for another smoke and heard more cat-like noises. This time we investigated.

Peering over the neighbour’s fence (creepy senior lady, creepy house, Hansel and Gretel witch vibes) I spotted a kitten that seemed to be in some kind of distress. It wasn’t super-tiny, but it wasn’t big.

I should pause here to mention that my ex and I are allergic to cats, and I can’t stand the little shits. Anyway …

After a few attempts I was able to snag the little beast as it jumped up towards me. The thing didn’t seem injured, wasn’t clawing and scratching, and just seemed scared. So we dumped it in the sunroom and my wife phoned a friend who has cats to ask what we should do with it (I was thinking we should release it back into the wild on the neighbour’s side of the fence). Had the vet been open I would have unloaded the problem toot-de-sweet. But no, it seems we were gonna keep the cat overnight.

Kitty critter is gonna spend the night in the laundry room where it can’t destroy the house or get eaten by the dogs. A pet crate with a blanket for sleeping, a shoebox with sand for a poopatorium, and a bowl of water and we figure all is set. Next step (why I agreed is fucking beyond me) was to introduce the cat to the dogs.

In my head I’m thinking the dogs are gonna get all evil on the cat’s ass or at the very least Max would hump the shit out of it; Max being the only one with a doggy dong. But no. That triumvirate of traitorous turds gets all friendly with the cat. Assholes!

I should point out that had the dogs shown any aggression towards the cat, I would have protected it because it’s the right thing to do. Even for cats.

So, we shut the door and bugger off to bed. I should mention that my breathing is already becoming slightly laboured, and I am now the only one with a scintilla of sanity who wants to get rid of the damn cat. Wife, kids, dogs – all seem happy about the cat. JFC.

The night passes with only some minor yowling, which I effectively ignore. In the morning my wife heads off to the vet with the cat. In my delusion I’m thinking she’s gonna dump the cat and come home. Without the cat. But no. She returns with the cat. Why!? This is wrong!

Turns out the cat is not chipped (get your pets chipped, FFS!) and there are no tattoos or anything to identify who the cat belongs to. It’s a girl cat, BTW. So now we have a cat. To this day I’m still pissed that the dogs didn’t do the right thing.

The cat’s name was Lulu (short for Lucifer because devil beast). And I’m on the hook to care for this thing until death (hers or mine) or divorce because that’s what grown-ass, responsible adults do. It turned out that divorce ended my era of responsibility. I am convinced that Smoky, as dead as she was, orchestrated Lulu showing up.

There were four people living in the house back then, three of whom loved Lulu. I was not one of them. Lulu could have glommed on to my wife or either of my kids. Instead, because cats are evil trolls, she decides I’m the one she wants to be with. I mean, she had to know I didn’t like her. Didn’t she? I did feed her, water her, and scoop cat litter because I took on the responsibly for her care. In fairness, the whole family did their part, so why me?

3 of the 4 laps that Lulu had available to her while we were gathered watching TV would have welcomed her, but she chose the 1 lap that wanted nothing to do with her. The 1 one lap that was in the expensive leather recliner (I miss that chair). Up she’d hop, do a little kneading, then lay down and snooze, all the while purring and distributing cat dander into my face.

If you don’t know, when cats knead, their little spikes extend a bit from their paws. They penetrate clothing and stab whatever is directly underneath the clothing. Sometimes what’s directly underneath the clothing is a scrotum. Need I say more?

Cats! They stab you in the nuts, shed dander into your face, chew your stuff (was kinda hoping for an outcome like the one in Christmas Vacation – IYKYK), scratch your stuff, flounce on your counters, and generally make life miserable. Okay, I was the only one in the house that was miserable. Whatever.

My allergy to cats diminished significantly within a few weeks of Lulu’s arrival. I did have to use one of those asthma puffer thingies, though. My wife’s allergies almost vanished completely. Who knew this was possible?

Before getting divorced, six more cats of varying provenance entered the home during the next few years. Yes, I know, WTF? I’ll admit to developing a reluctant affection for some of them (yes, including Lulu) and I always made sure they were healthy and safe. I went so far as to build a couple of enclosures for them so they could get fresh air and enjoy sunshine. If it started raining, however, I may not have been as quick as I could have been getting them back inside because, you know, petty and vindictive.

Nope, don’t ever want another cat near me. But if I see one that needs my help, I will help it. I learned that the body can adapt to cat dander. I also learned that you don’t need to have cats or be a lady to earn the honourific “crazy cat lady”.

Cats are seriously epic trolling assholes. I once went to my friend Sam’s place to pick something up. He and his partner had cats. Cat came right up and started rubbing against my legs. It knew! Fucker.

Be great today, be better tomorrow!

Cheers!

Connect with me on Bluesky: @chriswalker1964.bsky.social