Hate-fest ‘09 starts now. This isn’t about laughing at Denver or Bubba. It’s not about flicking Blues fans away like the bitter little fruit flies they are. It’s not picking on Thid and his strange relationship with our league’s commissioner. This is deeper. This is the kind of hate we used to reserve for Pattie and Adam and Peter and Claude—before he was hired on to taint a room already dragged down by a heartless captain and a big talking farce of a superstar who has as much business wearing the number 19 as Chris Pronger has discussing phonics at any level beyond 2nd grade.
Me? I think if I were Chicago or Vancouver, I would be thnking that who ever comes out alive from the Hate will be a bit diminished. Maybe ripe for picking.