Archive for June, 2009

HGW Author MIA

June 9, 2009

We’ve been posting infrequently here at HGW. One of the reasons is due to us not caring one whit of a Detroit-Pittsburgh Finals. Yawn. Snore. Mostly, though, it’s because both Ken’s (Boston) and my (Columbus & Boston) teams were ousted from the playoffs earlier than we had hope. Myself, I’d come to expect that the Jackets probably wouldn’t go far but I didn’t fathom a sweep. I mean, c’mon, boys. You handled the Wings well during the season. Why play like it’s 2002 again?

But for Ken, the defeat of the Bruins at the hands of the Carolina Hurricanes was too much. The man breathes, eats, bleeds, and shits black, gold, & white (we’ve suggested Ken see a doctor about that last one). He was really banking on the Bruins playing deep into the post season, so much so that he’d already invited the entire organization to a week-long Stanley Cup Championship celebration at his Northeast Compound in New Hampshire.

Well reported was the news that Ken had secured himself in his Compound to work on his still untitled 13th novel. What isn’t known was the string of erratic behavior prior to and since his sabbatical. Some posts on his home blog exhibits what some consider details of a mind in fracture while KSWNO editor Gorman Moloko details some of Ken’s more public oddball episodes.

The camel’s back long broken, the Bruins’ post-season exit was just extraneous straw on a quadriplegic dromedary.

In an effort to get Ken’s spirit out of the wasteland, I’d secured him to travel abroad to drum up funding for a secret project. So top secret is this project that I cannot legally discuss it. Unfortunately, one of the targets we’d chosen for funds was a, shall we say, ruling leader of a rather unstable yet financially abundant country. Ken’s state of mind, also, meant that he wasn’t being a good guest. That’s when trouble happened.

A few days ago, I got a cryptic voicemail on my cell phone from him. I couldn’t make out much of what he was screaming but it sounded pretty dire. The only words I could make out were “Get of my fucking hat!” and “gooseberries”. In the background, I could hear crashing, glass breaking, and, for some strange reason, an organ grinder. Then the call cut off.

I tried calling the hotel where he was staying but the only answers I could get were vows of reprisals for what he’d done to the writing desk and money to settle the large drink tab he left behind. The local police were no help either beyond saying that there were signs of a struggle. He isn’t answering his phones and any texts I send are going unanswered.

Ken is missing.

As news breaks, we will continue to update you here at HGW as well as on my own blog, The Bouron Asylum.

Ken is not a praying man but I’m sure wherever he is, he could use a bit of divine assistance.

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Tough

June 7, 2009

Hello.  My name is Chippy McGuinness.  Some of you may know me as the resident sports writer for the Ken Socrates World News Organization.  Others may know me from the criminal charges and medical insurance claims filed by my ex-husband over the past year.  I’m pleased to have been invited by the proprietor of this fine outlet to contribute here at Hockey Gone Wild, a decision I definitely intend to work hard at making him regret.

While I have nothing but respect for Mr. Socrates’ beloved Boston Bruins and their rich history graced with stories of victory, passion and committing acts of assault against crowds at Madison Square Garden, I believe he might be overdue for a real lesson in what genuinely constitutes the proper definition of tough.

Tough is winning two Stanley Cups back-to-back using the raw tactics of aggression, intimidation and threats of physical violence. 

Tough is holding the record for the most penalty minutes in a single NHL season for over three decades, as Dave Schultz has, having earned a whopping 472 in 1975.

Tough is having one of your young players currently leading the League in penalty minutes, with Danny Carcillo appearing to be poised to break Schultz’s record at some point in his career.

Tough is having a rule forbidding dirty tactics named after you.

Tough is telling Eric Lindros to go fuck himself at the height of his career.

Tough is frightening every other guy in the League so badly, they name a disease after your team, as the Philly Flu spread to epidemic levels in the 1970s.

Tough is having one of your former draft picks fatally stab a referee and then hide the body, even if Ladislav Scurko didn’t get away with it.

That’s tough.  The Bruins may have an admirable grit, but they’ll never surpass the Philadelphia Flyers on sheer ferocity, vehemence and outright mindless thuggery.  That’s something to be proud of.

Also, I’m not sure if it was made clear before the police broke up our last office party, but I should also warn Ken Socrates that if this incident is ever referred to around here as anything more or less than a tie, his balls are going to be an ingredient in my next batch of chili.  I might consider removing them first.

Thanks for having me, Ken.  Hopefully, I won’t scare your readers away.