Hello, all. As the previous post foreshadowed, I am Runnin' with the 'Dogs, or RWD, or Your Majesty, prominent college hockey blogger and the genius behind my eponymous blog. I am currently about to go apefeces on Blogger because I already wrote this post once and when I "selected all" to format the site, the entire thing deleted. And no, I didn't type anything else, just shift-up arrow, so don't tell me I hit enter or some other random key. I will cut you.
Anyway, I've been writing RWD, which covers the WCHA's finest team, tUMD Bulldogs, since the glory days of 2004. RWD is exclusively about the 'Dogs, so when I've had a compulsion during a Wild game to write about something that happened (because I have a need to share every thought that passes through my head with strangers on the Internet), I've had nowhere to post. I don't have the energy to write TWO blogs, so I had to let all the wisdom from my great hockey mind go to waste.
Enter WPB. I've been reading WPB since Mr. WPB became Head LaP Watchdog over at RWD (more on that later), and when I noticed he was hardcore slackin' over here, I thought I'd drop him a line and see if he needed some assistance. This would be akin to Oliver Stone dropping in on the film students at St. Cloud State to see if they wanted him to collaborate on their final project. Naturally, he was thrilled, and I was glad to help while having my own selfish desires fulfilled at the same time.
Mr. WPB and I are very similar in many respects. We both like the Bulldogs, we both get frustrated with poor defence, and we both spend more time thinking about the groins of certain Wild players than any sane individual should.
The Wild play the Second Coming of the Broad Street Bullies* tomorrow night, which will be my first recap over here, but I thought we should get to know each other better, since I'm sure there isn't a huge overlap between WPB and RWD readers, despite our mutual linkage.
I like: Bulldog hockey, Wild hockey, the Davanni's personal pan pizzas at the Ex, flashing the leather, the zamborgan, a strong forecheck, when McTavish spazzes on Boogaard, Evan Schwabe, garbage goals, Slap Shot, pucks that get by J.S. Giguere, short, crisp passes, Jacques Lemaire post-game interviews, controlled rebounds, and Marian Gaborik breakaways.
All of these make nice Christmas Presents.
I do NOT like: The Dallas Stars (except Chris Conner, Matt Niskanen, and someday Junior Lessard), "Top shelf where Mom keeps the peanut butter," losing the point on the power play, stupid arena songs like "When I Saw Her Standing There," the Anaheim Ducks, that moron who wrote Gopher Hockey by the Hockey Gopher, ugly hockey jerseys, Shane Doan, opponents alone in the slot, Riley Cote, Kevin Gorg's eyebrows, the Wild Anthem, and Anthony LaPanta.
My favorite Wild players (also know as My Guys, meaning they are beyond reproach:
That is all for tonight. Brace yourself for tomorrow's recap.
*I know, I know, the joke's been made before, but friggin' a. Don't touch Nisky.