Yet Another Long Summer...

is what I'd be typing if the Bruins had done their normal "win a few playoff games and bow out" routine that we fans had gotten used to. Every other fucking team in Boston has won what seemed like a billion combined championships, rubbing it in our faces with every parade and trophy presentation.
But not last year.
After the shortest off season for the Bruins that I can remember, they'll take the ice this thursday. That's probably a good thing, because I was starting to get nervous that young Bradley Marchand, Captain No-Shirt, was going to dramatically increase his chances of nipple cancer due to his lack of clothing above the waist. That, coupled with the now-infamous misspelled tattoo, helped make it a summer that no Bruins fan will ever forget.
After getting to touch the Cup when Timmy brought it to Vermont (and then thinking I was going to have to whip out my CPR skills on the Canuck (and I mean that in a "Canadian" Canuck way, not those teething assclots from Western Canada way) wife), I am ready for some fucking hockey!
Gone is Kaberle (no big loss, except I was developing a pretty good Marine Corps drill instructor rasp to my voice from yelling at the flat screen for him to "SHOOT", "SKATE" or "FUCKING DO SOMETHING, ANYTHING THAT DOESN'T RESULT IN YOU GOING -1"). Gone is Ryder (he of the vaunted glove save that helped the Bruins continue their push into the playoffs). Gone is Ol' Man Recchi, he of the indestructible ilk, playing harder and better than pups less than half his age (literally).
So many teams these days just about implode after winning the Cup (the Blackhawks come to mind), and the Bruins have actually managed to improve in several areas. They came close to having issues signing Nipple Cancer Marchand (who was THIS close to going on my shit list) and Milan "Do You Know Who I Am" Lucic. Looch: your bullshit explanation on your supposed words, and I quote: "I meant in the sense of I'd never be doing what those people are saying because 'Do you know who I am?' I have so much to lose.", should have your mother traveling to Boston to throw you over her knee and spank your fucking ass. Really? Seriously? I've had people pull that line on me, and believe me when I say it makes a cop (even the "hey, let's go hug some kittens" kind of cops) want to smash you in the fucking throat with their Maglite. Aside from that, words like that make you look like The King Douchebag Cocksucker Of The North End. I know you're young, and all eyes are on you, but if you pull that shit again, I'm getting rid of my Lucic t-shirt and getting a Kessel jersey. I just threw up in my mouth as I typed that.
ANYWAY.
It's time for some random and bold predictions:
-I'm going to pencil Young Seguin, who has no doubt sprouted some pubes by now, in for 20 to 25 goals. He looked better in the playoffs, as I'm sure having to sit burned his ass up. I think that bodes well for the future, as it shows he has a competitive streak a mile wide.
-The arrival of Corvo from Carolina will help the PP. I guess that's not so bold, as there's really no way it could have gotten any worse. Fuck you, it's my blog. But seriously, how different would the playoffs have been if the boys could have just converted at a normal rate instead of going 4 for 12301214748121651Q16513CORKYKABERLESUCKS135161000??? I lost years, fucking years, off of my life due to their inability to convert. When I enter a nursing home at age 38, I will be forwarding my diaper bills to the Jacobs family.
-I'm thinking that Timmy and Tuukka will split the season almost 50-50. There's no doubt that Claude (I bet he tells awesome bedtime stories) will go with who's hot, but they have to get Tuukka some time this year.
-Krejci will continue to remind me of Napoleon Dynamite.
-Chiarelli's acquistions of Peverley and Kelly will continue to look pretty fucking slick. Peverley will no doubt continue to surprise other teams with his speed. He looked awesome skating with Patty Cake and Nipple Cancer in the preseason. And how can Kelly not continue to impress? He's the kind of grinder (I mean come on, the guy had a broken fucking FACE in the playoffs) that means so much to a team (a nod to you, P.J. number #11 forever!).
-Call him by whichever nickname you wish (Darth Quaider, Lonewolf,etc.), other teams would/will want to let that sleeping dog lie. Like Probert in the 80's and early 90's, if you wake that fucker up, your teeth are going to look like Chiclets all over the ice. I mean anyone that keeps that haircut all summer is obviously a bit touched, and best not to be fucked with (just kidding Mr. McQuaid, please don't find my house and murder me in my sleep).
-Campbell will hit 15 goals.
-Ference will continue to stick up for his teammates, showing that a dude that is gunslinger tough can also hug trees.
-Thornton will once again hit double digits in goals and fights, as well as introduce astute lip-reading hockey fans to new swear words ("dude, he just called that guy a fucking tamponfuck. what does that mean?").
-Neely will suit up for one game in which he scores 50 goals in one period, gets in three fights and then bangs Phil Kessel's sister while Rene Rancourt sings "Black Betty" (which strangely enough, is what Kessel has named his remaining testicle).
-Harry Sinden will get drunk. Or remain drunk. Whatever.
-Craig Janney will finally come out of the closet, propose to Adam Oates, come to Vermont to marry his new steely-eyed lover, and retire to run a bed a breakfast called "The Grrrden" in western Connecticut.
-Patty Cake will finally win the Selke Trophy, because the league has been ignoring him for too fucking long.
-Chara will once again win the hardest shot at the skills competition, this time forgoing the composite stick and instead just using his 6'9" Slavic cock. The puck will be clocked at 33 million miles per hour. He will celebrate by biking to the moon, where he will slay Megatron in a battle to the death. He will then enjoy a bowl of maple oatmeal (Chara, not Megatron).
-Horton will get even more tattoos, soon resembling a Maori warrior. He will even start doing that traditional dance after each goal he scores (pencil him in for 25-30, with 6 fighting majors as well).
-My Canuck wife will continue to think about Johnny Boychuk's eyes while we attempt to make babies (NO MOM, THAT DOESN'T MEAN WE ARE TRYING TO MAKE BABIES...or are we?). I'll be okay with it, because I'll be thinking about his eyes as well.
-The Habs will try, key word being "try", to get "justice" for what happened with Pacio-fuckwad. The Bruins, who no doubt have the best team toughness in the league, will pummel all comers. The result will be the frying of all 911 call centers across Quebec due to the sheer amount of incoming calls for an immediate police investigation. The history books will later say that it was the worst 911 outage since the Vidal Sassoon hair gel shortage scare of 1999.
-When the Canucks come to town on 01/07/11, all of the bullshit that happened during the Finals will be squared away once and for all. Two days before the game, Burrows will go the dentist and have all his teeth pulled, saying to his boyfriend that "I don't want to give Lucic the satisfaction of smashing them out of my stupid head." The Sedins will not play, begging off due to "extreme cramping of the Swede-gina." Nipple Cancer will break into their hotel room and punch whichever one he punched in the face several times in the playoffs, several more times.
Okay, the meth has worn off.
Thursday night. The Cup defense begins. It's finally, FINALLY FINALLY back in Boston, and I am fucking stoked (can you tell?).
Can't wait to see that banner raised, hear Rene sing the anthems, and finally get back to some hockey.
Go B's.