by Matt Ederer(NHL)
Posted on December 20, 2006, 3:37 PM
Picture this. You've only just returned home from university. In this case, home is the town of Cartier, Ontario, which may qualify as the most intensely Canadian town on the face of the planet: a population south of 250, and a location about an hour north of Sudbury, Ontario; itself a city which has been deemed much too far north for the majority of the non-masochistic community.
It's December 20th. You awake to your cat rocketing across the room at mach seventeen, in pursuit of a bird on your windowsill. A bird. On December 20th. You sit up in your bed, covered only by your Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle bed sheets, your comforter having been cast aside at 3:00 that morning because it was by no means providing you with its advertised service. Whilst rubbing sleep out of your eyes, and staring at the cat stuck to your window screen, you come to the realization that something about your current situation may be rather amiss. That Al Gore must have been on to something.
You go downstairs, pour yourself a bowl of Sugar Crisp cereal, and realize, while pouring the milk, that there will not be enough milk to sufficiently lubricate your sweetened puffs of rice. You pass the bowl to your dog (named "Rocket" after the late Montreal Canadien who went by the same moniker), and curse the cereal gods while putting two heels of whole wheat bread in the toaster. Minutes later, the familiar beep of the toaster sounds, but it is barely audible over your cursing, which has begun in rapid succession because in your pre-toast search for condiments, you've found no peanut butter, no jam, no cheese whiz, no butter, no margarine, no cream cheese, no caviar, no haggis, no semblance of any product that one could possibly spread on bread to enhance the toast experience. Quietly you tell yourself that there may be a holy entity acting upon this day greater even than the cereal gods.
It's not all necessarily bad however. A morning consultation with your inside source (I call him Sportscentre) tells you that the Montreal Canadiens beat the Buffalo Sabres the night before. You giggle and fight off the urge to perform a cartwheel, until finding out that on this same night, the Florida Panthers beat the Toronto Maple Leafs by a score of 7-3. You proceed to cartwheel a blue streak all the way to the bathroom, where you realize that you've got the athletic ability of an ox, and the fact that you were cartwheeling just now flies in the very face of every law of physics ever established.
After your morning shower, you switch on the computer, and open up www.tsn.ca , a website which you periodically check throughout the day to stay "in the loop", as we like to say in the business. You skim over the headlines, until you read something that would have made you choke on your Sugar Crisp, had you had the capacity to eat it.
"Fitzpatrick second in Western Conference All-Star Voting"
Upon silently mouthing the final syllable of the word "voting", thunder sounds from the heavens, and you swear you hear the cackle of the ghosts of hell.
The article itself states that "Fitzpatrick's campaign began with a fan website, voteforrory.com and has since found its way into print and TV media" (source: www.tsn.ca). I, for one, do not buy it. There are just too many coincidences going on at once here for something fishy not to be going on. Bear with me here for a minute. What if, folks, the campaign did not begin with a fan website? What if, in fact, the fan website is an effect of something much more complex?
Now admittedly I'm no expert, but just think about it. Has there ever, in the history of the planet Earth, been better proof of the existence of the butterfly effect? I've done a lot of postulation and research about this, and I've come up with a theory. The only rational explanation for this phenomenon is that, on Christmas Eve of the year 2087, as a hundred and twelve year old man on his deathbed, Rory Fitzpatrick wished to return to his NHL days and to, just once, play in the All-Star game, and selfishly, an Angel must have granted that wish. Well congratulations Rory, now everything in our current society has gone awry. My friends, this may very well be the beginning of the apocalypse.
Let's start with the state of the NHL. Somebody who is younger than me (I'm barely 19 years old, for the record) is leading the league in scoring by a fair margin, even though he's played in five less games than his closest competition. The Anaheim Ducks are on top of the league and are mightier now than they've ever been, including all of those years that they referred to themselves as mighty. The Washington Capitals and New York Islanders currently hold a playoff spot, and the Ottawa Senators do not. The Montreal Canadiens are statistically the 5th best team in the entire league. There are less people in the audience for an average St. Louis Blues games than there are on the active roster. And it's almost Christmas, and three coaches have been fired. Only THREE!
This is spreading far beyond the NHL however. The following is a collection of data I've accumulated that proves that Rory Fitzpatrick is single handedly ruining the planet:
- My little sister went to the doctor yesterday, and they couldn't trace the illness. I can't medically prove it, but I'm 90% sure it's the plague.
- Having completely run out of people to offend in the Western Hemisphere, Madonna has expanded her horizons and begun stealing children from Third World counties. I don't know about you, but I don't want to piss off a country that doesn't even need to feed its people to survive.
- A new Rocky movie comes out today, even though recent tests have proven that Sylvester Stallone has been dead since 1997. So now, because of Rory, we have zombies running Hollywood. How long until the subliminal messaging starts and we begin eating each other's brains?
- Hillary Clinton is currently the popular choice of the Democratic Party to run for President in 2008, versus whoever won last Saturday night's Bush family Monopoly game. That's the same Hillary Clinton who, in the late nineties, couldn't keep the leader of the free world responsible. If she couldn't keep Bill under wraps, how is she going to manage a country? If we use history as a guideline, Hillary becoming president means that America will instantly befriend some oversized floozy who works under it. Well ladies and gentlemen, that can only mean that the mighty United States will soon be getting frisky with it's pal Canada, and as a Canadian, I do not want to be affiliated with any kind of American Oral Sex, even metaphorically.
Well Mr. Fitzpatrick, I hope you're satisfied. Not only have you turned the entire landscape of sports upside down, but you've destroyed the laws of physics, caused global warming, a potential war, a zombie outbreak, an epidemic, an awkward sexual partnership between America and Canada, and a breakfast shortage, all because you couldn't just be satisfied with being a plumber in the NHL. Not everyone can be the star of the show Rory, but you couldn't live with that, could you? You had to intercept the pass and try to score. Now, while you celebrate your All-Star appearance, the foundation of the world around you crumbles. I hope you frame that All-Star jersey when you get it, because it's the only source of entertainment you'll have when you're locked up three miles below sea level in your bomb shelter, wondering why you would ever commit such a self-serving act while zombies eat your loved ones. For breakfast. Because there's nothing else to eat.
Folks, there is only one solution that I can come up with to stop this phenomenon -- maybe if we can stop Rory from actually getting into the all-star game, we can stop the world from ending. How can we do this, you ask? Perhaps the solution is to ban democracy until the conclusion of the All-Star game. If not for all the angels of heaven voting for Rory Fitzpatrick on NHL.com, he wouldn't even be awarded tickets to the All-Star game. If the banning of democracy doesn't fly, our salvation may ride on our ability to vote someone other than Fitzpatrick into the game. Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a plea to your good nature; you must log on to NHL.com and vote against Rory Fitzpatrick. The fate of the world rests in your hands.
And Rory, if you are reading this (and I know you are), there exists a third option. Please Rory, do the right thing and retire immediately. I know how it feels to be a plumber (believe me, I am currently the champion of plumbers), but ask yourself this: is it worse to not be remembered, or to go down in history as a being of concentrated evil? Everybody remembers Hitler, Rory, but that doesn't make him any good.
So Rory, speaking on behalf of the entire universe, I ask to you please, walk away now, and save us all.
And God help me if, when you do walk away, they try to vote you into the Hall of Fame.