“Ninety percent of hockey is dealing with disappointment.
The other 10 percent is rubbing it in.”
So you would like to know about us, the two swell fellows that write this blog. Not gonna happen. Mainly because we don’t find ourselves to be all that interesting as people. What we can tell you is that one of us was around for the Dwayne Roloson era, and one hopped on board around the time Ben Walter started lacin’ ’em up for the ‘Hawks. Good years to be around, on both counts.
What else could you possibly want to know? Why we started this blog? Sure, we’ll indulge you.
Why we started this blog
It all started back in the summer of 2007, a wonderful time following the season in which Lowell failed to make the playoffs. One of us said to the other, “Hey, you should blog about the River Hawks this season,” to which the latter replied, “Sure,” and promptly failed to do so for the entirety of the season’s first half. So when the former kept prodding about this, the latter relented on the condition that he get some help. And thus, the uneasy partnership was formed and has missed, by our count, a small handful of games since that day. In that time, we’ve felt the dreary lows of a sweep in Maine and the dizzying highs of an overtime win against Northeastern at the Garden. And never once have we been wrong about anything.
And as for the content of the blog, well, we’re happy to summarize.
Our list of 10 general rules
- Lowell is awesome.
- We are awesome.
- We only moderate the comments here because of some people (hint: UMass Amherst fans) using profanity and whatnot. So go get something to drink while you wait for us to read your sure-to-be-enlightening thoughts. Relax, dude. Enjoy your Pepsi.
- It is entirely probable that there is a conspiracy against Lowell perpetrated by at least the higher-ups at Hockey East and possibly more nefarious villains. We’re unwilling to venture down that rabbit hole for fear of where it may lead (ALL THE WAY TO THE WHITE HOUSE!).
- If we go a week without a reference to the Simpsons, There Will Be Blood, or some significant literary work, we promise to quit.
- We don’t apologize or admit mistakes because we have nothing for which to be sorry and do not make errors of any kind.
- You’ll get at least five posts a week during hockey season, except when otherwise noted in advance.
- If you’re a fan of a team that isn’t Lowell, we feel badly that your team is garbage.
- If you’re a fan of UMass Amherst, we feel badly that you are garbage.
- Chill out, everyone, we’re just havin’ some fun.
You want to know one more thing? Fire away.
Why do we come off as smug?
Because we’re very, very smug. This is us, at all times.
How did we cook up the name for this blog?
Well, it’s a paraphrased quote from Jack Kerouac, perhaps Lowell’s third greatest export of all time behind CVS and the telephone number (look it up!), but before late night professional chuckler Ed McMahon, and far ahead, obviously, of the putrid soft drink Moxie.
It comes from Chapter 5 of Part Three of On the Road, his second and most famous novel (though far from his best), the one that so perfectly encapsulated the wanderlust and freedom of spirit of the young people of his era, the so-called “Beats,” without actually putting too fine a point on it.
So Sal Paradise and Dean Moriarty have basically done it again, scaring the people with whom they caught a ride to Denver so badly that they were very rudely deposited on the sidewalk at the city limits. Notes Sal, “Our battered suitcases were piled on the sidewalk again; we had longer ways to go. But no matter, the road is life.”
And that’s how we feel about Lowell hockey. Normal squares, like fans of pretty much any other team in Hockey East, know, more or less, where they’ll be putting down their hats at the end of each season. What real happiness can there be in the existence of a UNH fan? What mirth can be found in a Merrimack supporter’s long, dark winter? Living with a team like that is hardly living at all.
On the other hand, we, like Dean and Sal and Carlo Marx, live for the rudderlessness. It seems like every year, Lowell could finish with home ice or out of the playoffs, and it wouldn’t really come as any great surprise. Expectation, one way or another, denotes an amount of complacency with which we are not entirely comfortable. Kerouac’s road and Lowell’s sheet of ice symbolize approximately the same thing.
Disappointment of any kind is fleeting, and a fresh sheet of ice is out there somewhere, waiting for the first skate blade to make a slow, echoing cut into its milk white surface, for a small black disc to bounce off it, only to be settled from its chaos by a stick blade, and then sent back into the tumult again. Because that janky bedlam is the journey and how it got there and where it’s going merely bookends. The real interesting part is the in-between stuff, a wonderful mixture of possibility and uncertainty and freedom and joy.