More Hockey Music

No! I haven't abandoned the blog.

Trust me, when I do give it up, I'll have some 'farewell' post and not leave anyone hanging like so, so many other blogs.

The past two months or whatever have been filled with a): the purchase of a new PC and b): a friend and roommate of the past 7-point-something years moving out to the Island for healthier climes. Both of which had me putting off a LOT of things before moving on.

The new 'puter moves at the speed of light compared to my previous 2003 Vaio (w/the capacity for a ridiculous RAM upgrade which will enable it to practically read my thoughts and perform functions before I even touch the mouse) and I weep with joy at it's noiseless existence. Unfortunately, my DNS server is fucked up right now and 2/3's of any sites I visit can't be reached, so that's something to be addressed really really soon.

The other thing holding me back this long while was my friend moving away, which caused no small amount of personal angst on many levels, but where she's living now is a much cleaner abode. (This place is almost literally held up by various forms of mold)

I think everything is settled now, so it's back to posting horrible awesomeness that common sense demands be left to obscurity.

Today, we got Phil Esposito and the Ranger Rockers and Dionne and the Puck-Tones with their double-A side tribute to hockey-love analogies released in 1979, with proceeds going towards the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation. 

Produced by Alan Thicke (he loves his hockey), I gotta give the Stambley Cup to (Marcel) Dionne and his boys with their pop-flavored entry, and the fact they have the original Kings' jerseys with the purple-gold scheme happenin'.

Phil & the Rangers pretty much look like male-models in comparison, and the 50's-style rockin' tune they belt out is good but they ain't no Ralph Nielson & the Chancellors (or even H. Adkins stuffed with raw meat & rye). And well they shouldn't be. It's a fun disc.

I think my copy still has my 16-year-old babysitter's (neighbor's kid) drool on it from when she'd stare at Ron Duguay's face for seemingly hours on end...

Download here:

Hockey Sock Rock
Please Forgive My Misconduct Last Night

Hockey is a lover's game....

"A base, aching loneliness, quelled neither by drink, nor TV, nor XBox, nor fitfull sleep... His haunted exis..." What! Oh, hello, dear reader! Listener... whatever! Once more we comb the cobwebby depths, the rank, putrid cellar, the... the... 
Wait, is this my bedroom? Once more we comb my bedroom for rank, putrid oddities, the likes of which have never been blogged before. Or several times! 

Either way, dig in, muchachos, it's all I got.

Today we're expressing love for that game that speaks for the working class, the game every Canadian kid played until videogames came along, the game that is basically millionaires bumping into each other on a cold surface while slapping a hard black thing around for awhile until it crosses a line on said surface. The game? Called hockey for some reason. The love? Just kidding! Loyalty died the same day player's were more concerned with the amount of zero's in their contract than with the city they were playing in. I should be cheering rich people to make more money?!

However.

Once, a very, very long time ago, hockey players considered themselves just average working joe's. They worked hard, got stitched up from pucks smacking their faces open, and got stitched up from taking their working class anger out on the defenseman. Sometimes the defenseman on the other team. They earned more than the average lunchpail working on the Chrysler building, but just a little. Sometimes some of the guys got paid a little extra, because they had some supernatural gift with the stick. Or something. 

One such dude was Bobby Orr. I could get all superfluous adjective and pronoun on ya, but less time would be taken opening up a new tab & searching Wikipedia on the guy.

That said, here's somebody who loved Mr. Bobby Orr. Maaaaybe just a little too much. Alan Thicke. 

Yes - the "Growing Pains" dad. (Thanks Rob!)

Wondrous Bobby Orr
That Boston Dandy