Will Corey Crawford…please stand up (or Rise Against?)




I guess before i initiate my favorite mode (SNARK also known as dry humor also known as AWESOME WITTICISMS), i should compose it in a different format.  Something with more of a personal touch…


A personal letter should suffice.  Deep Thoughts by Jester.

Dear Corey Crawford,

First and foremost i’d like to say you’re doing a bang up job.  I’m sure, at least.  I don’t watch you because, well, you’re the enemy.  Which means you’re likely suuuuper boring.  And you could have super glue on your hands grabbing speeding pucks out of mid air with your eyes closed and i’d still think you were el diablolito.  Primarily because your first name isn’t jimmy (or as I weirdly refer MY goalie… JIMMY JIMMEEEEEH) or you weren’t nicknamed “Monster” (duh, my other goalie).


SO, specifically, thank you SO MUCH for providing me comic feedback with my-for the ages-rivalry with my bestie with this headline:

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And not just any concert.  A Riiiiiiiise Against concert.


Hey, at least it wasn’t Nickelback again.  THANK YOU FOR THAT, CANADA.

At least Canada made one decision easier….


Anywho – i officially have yet another reason to mercilessly taunt my so called “friend” about her “hockey” team.

But, then, i was quickly reminded of a glaring offense by my fantastic brilliant Detroit Red Wings by other “concerned hockey citizens”…

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Touche, Chicago…touche…


You Stay Classy, Toronto

So, who else heard about the Maple Leaf’s (Leaves? Leai?) basically giving their fans the good ol “feck you, you fecking feckers” the other night?

A little “Fie on you, good sir”, from Phil Kessel’s mouth to your ears

Or even the down and dirty “A plague on both your houses!” by illustrious (and dapper Mr. Cuthbert himself) El Capitan Dion Phaneuf


No?  No clue as to what i could possibly be referencing? Especially about Toronto…

“Uh, Jester, i thought you were all about that bass, bout that bass (no treble)?”

If Bass = Red Wings and Treble = the Chickenhawks, then yes – that’s my normal jam.  But i do have…closeted…varied interests as well.

Okay, fine, i hockey surf…i mean, there are only so many new articles about DRW a day, right?  I check the other teams a little.. I need constant updates…like CNN…really, it’s not you..it’s me, really it’s me.  And we’re better off as friends.

And if you believe that, also believe that i #wokeuplike this



So, while my allegiance is signed, sealed, delivered (i’m yoooours) by DRW – i will always click on articles with certain other names.  Crosby / Malkin.  Ovechkin.  Fiiiine, Toews and Kaner (but i’ll never admit it). Kessel.  Why? Well, for the latter, i feel a little bad for Kessel.  He always looks so sad.

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The news article that caught my eye was a piece last Weds described a post practice interview where Toronto’s Phil Kessel described one Leaf fan’s way of illustrating their displeasure at the 9-2 score beating it took from the Nashville Predators (that’s right…NASHVILLE) by tossing his Toronto jersey on the rink.

Specifically – he’s quoted as saying: “I think that’s pretty classless to throw your jersey on the ice like that.”


Okay, Kessel.  Slow your roll.  I mean, we might not all be classy broads…but really, what sport can one philosophically associate with class…really?


Tennis. Fine.  Classy.  You could be playing for tennis fans.

So, that said, dude vented, right?  They sucked, fans were a little irritato, Toronto players did the verbal eye roll.

But it didn’t stop there.

In their, what can only be thoughtfully described as “infinite wisdom”, when they won their next game at home against the Tampa Bay Lightning – they, for the first time in like, forever…they didn’t do their game tradition of saluting their fans as they left the ice for a home win.

Basically…when they win at home…they do this


And after winning against Tampa…they did this instead…


Retaliation for “classless” crowds, Level VII, ignition


Worse in my book though – take your petty retaliation, i get it.  But own the feck up to it.

In the post game interview, when – oh say – every member of the media was frothing at the mouth about “the incident”, Toronto captain Dion Phaneuf had a pretty awkward exchange.

First there was some weird chicken reference between him and a reporter (literally no idea what that convo meant)….

…and then he claimed it was pre planned and they were trying to “shake things up”.

Phaneuf also said the non-salute will continue.

No apology.  Just (apparent) disregard. Super weird.

Me:  all i hear is they need to shake and bake…


Then, rando other article had Toronto Assistant Captain, Joffery Lupul, sharing his thoughts on the idea of saluting the fans at the end of a home win

“Personally I feel it feels kind of fake.”

So, to the fan base that consistently sells out the arena for a team who hasn’t won the Stanley Cup since 1967…

okay then.

So – how does aaaaaaall of this baby mama drama relate back to the Detroit Red Wings?

Toronto’s next home game was against me boyos.

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But guess what….Toronto saluted their fans on the way out.

Seat Dancing on the Flightline – Red Wings vs Blackhawks

Seat Dancing.  

You do it.  

I do it.  

Generally not in a crowded plane and DEFINITELY not immediately upon landing when your phone syncs with the closest cell tower

It’s that evil “da NA nun, da NA nun” sound that gets me every time.  The hockey tone that tells me there is big Blackhawks vs Red Wings news.  That’s going to tell me how much crow i’m about to eat – or how much shit talking i’ll be able to do. 

So many FEELINGS. 

Baited breath

I so totally now get those words.  Baited breath as i risked a glance down at my NHL app text message to see…



Two days earlier:

My hockey nemesis (also known as “Val”…if that IS really her name) hockey shamed me hard.  

What is Hockey shaming?  When you can’t immediately rattle off the next three games your team is playing AND start shit talking at a minimum at least a week out if said Hockey team is playing a rival.  If it’s a really hard core rival, timeframe for shit talking generally starts 15 seconds after the buzzer of the last game went off.

The basis of our bloody friendship (outside of the whole “we shared war together” thing) was hockey.  I’m Detroit.  She’s Chicago.  My team has more Stanley Cups than hers.  She has more recent wins.  I have Datsyuk.  She has…well, arrogant Canadian pip squeaks. 


Our teams, original six rivals, the basis of our friendship, the EVERYTHING to our EVERYTHING were playing each other AND I WAS GOING TO BE ON #!@!%#@# PLANE.  


To add salt to the hideous, putrid, smelly wound – i was flying through @#!@! CHICAGO of all places for like a 40 minute connection back to DC. 

Which translates to – i will likely be sprinting in betwixt terminals trying to grab my connector.  While simo out running the BlackHawks fans in the terminal as i screeched shit talking to them at the airport “irish bars” (if that is what they REALLY are) about their lame ass team. 


Or that was the plan. 

The day arrived. 

The text messages were quiet.

In Detroit, the best fans in the world started to slowly enter the Joe Louis, loudly singing their support (hey, it’s my fecking blog, i’m sure they were doing the Haka war chants on their way in to the joe). 

Me boyo’s were suiting up.  The BlackHawks were probably giving each other sensual swedish massages.  I stepped on the plane, tearfully sent a text message to Val that United didn’t have an NHL channel, and somberly shut off my phone. 

And the waiting began. 


Touchdown at Chicago O’Hare. 

Cell Phone fires up – looking for signal…looking for signal…

still looking for signal…


…da NA nun da Na nun…..

and then….




And then, on the runway, i started to get my text messages filtering in…



That last line was perfect.

So perfect.

Even sprinting across the airport at 830 at night had me grinning like an idiot. 

Landing back home in DC was even better.



I love me boyos.

Allow Me To Re-Introduce Myself

Fine – technically, it’s “introduce” – but a huge whatevs.

I figured i needed a new hobby.  To add to my two.  So i decided to try this bad boy out and thought

“gee J Dawg, what on earth would you write about though?  What interests you outside of the normal three W’s – Wine, Whiskey, and World Wide traaaveling (okay, fine, i need another W, whiskey…shudder…)

And then it hit me

– what infuriates me more than everything?

– What can lead me drinking aforementioned horrible alcohol?

– What constantly ensures that i’m yelling at my laptop streaming content in the middle of restaurant on work trips?

…..And shock me, shock me, shock me – an idea was born, it’s gonna be about HOCKEY!


I know – right, Jonah Hill?  Totally shocking.  And not merely about “just” hockey, but an even more luscious lovely and fantastical fascinating a topic – the good ol Motown’s boys.

You know who i’m talking about, city on the rise.  D-Town.  Can I get an AMEN! (*whispers back to herself…Amen!) The Deeeeeeeetroit Red Wings.

Also known as the one hobby i decided to have.  Well, now two. Fiiiine, technically three now that i’m attempting the blog/vlog/plog? Glog?  Gif log?  YOU GET THE IDEA.

So, basically, you’re welcome America. Fist bump that shit out.


It all started, as most great stories do with two pretty young girls, under a beaming sun, who had just discovered immense passion together.


Translation:  Two tired arse chicas,  on deployment in Afghanistan -height of the war , operating on no sleep for the past 28 hours, and were trying to stay relevant by giving each other shit.


Okay, not really us, but STILL…

Then (cue dramatic sweeping epic music…Hans Zimmer and shit) we realized, that we both loved Hockey (and hell yes i capitalized that shizah).

And a bestie friendship was immediately formed (VOLTRON – UNITE)

But then….then we realized….dun dun duuuuun

“two households…both alike in dignity…in fair Bagram, Afghanistan…where we lay our scene.  From ancient grudge break to new mutiny…where civil blood makes civil hands unclean”

Detroit vs. Chicago

Original Six vs Original Six

Cold White North vs Cold White North

We dropped the gloves.


After we’d rolled around on the ground and hit each other with feather pillows in tiny shorts (MIND OUT OF THE GUTTER, PERVS), we quickly realized we could turn this into a tentative friendship.   Except on game days.  And then we turned our attention back to trying to getting the bad guys.  Some dude name Usama Bin Laden.  Cause we heard he was important too.



9 years later, we jokingly (possibly drunkenly) made a bet with each other (OKAY FINE, we were hammered) that we would travel and see our teams in every major NHL stadium that they played in.  And travel together to both Chicago and Detroit once each when we played each other.  Cause we are misfit orphans, doomed to roam our remote outposts known as DC and NC, where the hockey teams suck (or we say they do) and screaming at our laptops at any given opportunity.

This is my official account of my travels.  Alcohol will likely be involve.  I may discuss my second hobby (to be revealed later).  Real pics may actually be involved.

Let the games begin. And shenanigans.


Stay thirsty, my friends.