Tough

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.