HOW ABOUT DEM CRACKER CATS!?!
Oilers? Who are the Oilers? What I'm talking about is Edmonton Cracker Cats Independent Northern League Baseball!
In two short months, May 25th at 7:05 pm to be exact, long after this horrendous NHL season is over, the Cracker Cats (a rig-pig name short for Fluid Catalytic Cracking) will be taking on their hated feline rival, the Gary SouthShore Railcats in what should be a bitch of a scrap! Hisss!
I'm not sure if the Cracks have a soot-covered mascot, but I hear the Nachos at Telus Field are delicious! And what about those affordable hot dogs? Yum! Ha ha! And... I, uh...
[sounds of tears hitting a keyboard, as a blogger silently weeps]
...okay, I um... Sorry. The last time I cried over hockey was when the Flyers won Game 6 in the 1987 Stanley Cup Finals (since then it's been a matter of maturely channeling all of my hockey emotions into a kind of "festive hate").
It's just hard not to feel like we're standing at the skull-turreted gates of another dark age for the franchise. Last night, the Oilers turned in a distinctly 1993 performance in symbolically vintage silks, bridging the time gap to the last time the Oilers didn't have Ryan Smyth.
For all of you punks born in the 1980s, born after Thriller, born after Ghostbusters, the mid-1990s really sucked to be an Oil fan. I remember sitting in a
Now that we suck, it's time to tough it out: for better or worse, this team is the millstone around your neck. See, the thing is: you don't really get to pick your team so much as they pick you (just be glad you weren't a hockey fan born in Chicago). EIG may be coasting on faded glory, the team may end up sucking big time, and you may vow never spend another dime on this team, but in the corner of your eye, long after you thought you were done with the team, the game will be on TV at some Boston Pizza, and despite yourself, you'll still cheer for the team like a total sucker.
We are all total suckers.