They Will Write His Name in the Sky...or...I will...

So, this happened earlier in the day, but I've been weeping up until now. I'm going to try and get through this, but I'm not promising anything folks. I'm an emotional man, you know how it goes. I had my hopes that Paul Bissonnette would make the team this season. Granted, these hopes were equivalent to the hopes that I'll make it with Rosario Dawson, but I had them none the less. With Godard and Rupp on the team though, it seemed as though Biz Nasty was destined to never suit up for the Pittsburgh Penguins on a regular basis. Alas, it is the reason I will never coach an NHL team. Not just because I can't skate very well, but also because there would be too many goons on my squads.

The waiver wire has been a friend of mine in recent memory. Today, she broke my heart. Months ago, many will remember Miro Satan sitting on the waiver wire. It comes as a surprise, but I adored Satan before he beat Patrick Eaves face in. He made it through and arrived safely with the Baby Penguins and was therefore able to return to apply his fists and smirks to the Carolina Hurricanes.


[AP]

What a pimp, look at that fucking smirk. Anyway.

As we all know, today the waiver wire dug its knife into my back. I knew Bissonnette wasn't going to make the squad, but I never thought someone would claim him off waivers, I thought he'd safely return to the AHL. It is no small amount of homerism that let me do that. Bissonnette is a man who has worked his ass off trying to get to the NHL. Before he was an enforcer, he had remade himself as a forward, before that he was a defenseman. He spent time toiling away in Wheeling, he ate up whatever minutes he could in WBS, everything to try to gain a roster spot in the NHL. Are you ready to see this? Only, instead of black and gold...it's brick red (hey, that's what it says), black, white, and sand (that's not a color either).


[AP]

Sad times...

With Phoenix, he's finally going to play night in, night out at the NHL level. It is still an incredibly sad thing to see because there is no time for the wounds to heal. The only possible way for this to be worse would have been if the New York Rangers or the New York Islanders had picked him up. For you clownshoes not paying attention, those are our two games before we take on the Coyotes at home on October 7th.

On that date, I hope your hearts are healed, because I'm not sure mine will be. I won't know what to do when Godard and Bissonnette throw down, preferably at center ice. I know in my head and heart already how this battle will take place. Old Lady Mellon will open her roof and a violent thunderstorm will be raging overhead, thunder and lightning, rain crashing down on the combatants. Their faces would not be streaked with just rain, but tears as well, as two men, friends off the battlefield, but enemies upon, lay knuckle and bone upon each other. There would be cliched lines of mercenaries just fighting on the wrong side this time and how they're just doing their job as they grab hold of their opponent's jersey with one hand and hold their own high ready to strike. Through this entire struggle, as the benches look on, not even knowing the magnitude of what they are watching, this is playing...



Godspeed, Bissonnette. Godspeed.