Feel better, Dickie.

For those of you who don't know already, Dickie "Digger" Moore, Hockey Hall of Famer, six time Cup winner with the Montreal Canadiens and two time Art Ross trophy winner as the NHL's leading scorer, got roughed up pretty badly when his car was smashed into by a truck.

Apparently, Moore, who is 75 years old, suffered very serious back and neck injuries along with a few broken ribs on Sunday, damage which back in his playing days would have justified sitting out at least the second period, and maybe half the third, if the score wasn't close.

But in all seriousness, I'd like to wish Digger a speedy and safe recovery, and to be assured that he is in the thoughts of thousands of hockey fans.

That said, and my affection and concern for the well being of a seriously injured 75 year-old notwithstanding, it bears mentioning that this incident has done nothing to dilute my passionate hate for the Montreal Canadiens.

Christ, I hate those bastards.

In fact, this unfortunate episode seems to me to be a perfect opportunity for me to examine the depth of my hatred for the Canadiens, something I have never really looked into before. I mean, surely, I hate them, but HOW much?

It seems an odd question.

I mean, does one ever ask "how wet is the water?" or "how livegiving the sun?" Of course one doesn't. It seems foolish to question absolutes such as these- the water is simply wet, the sun is ingenuously lifegiving, and the Montreal Canadiens are black-livered bastards who wouldn't think twice about gutting their own mothers with a crepe knife.

I'll be honest with you.

Hockey's better with a little hate.

That said, there are certain incidents in which the rhetoric can be put aside.

Serious, life-threatening injuries, received either on or off the ice, are nothing that any real hockey fan should ever root for, even in his worst on-ice rival.

Non life-threatening injuries, on the other hand, injuries that a player can recover from without threatening his long term well being or livelihood are all good, no matter how painful they may be in the short term.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, not only do I wish that Dickie Moore has a speedy recovery and a long life, but also that Mike Ribero misses a week of training camp after getting a testicle caught in a set of impact tested accordion shutters.

That's not incompatible, right?

Hey all- sorry for the long absence.

It's been a crazy week, I flew to Florida and back, had a bunch of freelance assignments, and I guess I just figured that the number one priority in my life during the last week of August was not hockey, or a hockey related blog.

Fucked up, I know.

So, did I miss anything exciting?

Did Evgeni Malkin wake up, stretch his legs and maybe decide to play a little golf?!

For Christ's sake people, keep me involved on every little thing about this kid!

I predict he'll have a crappy year. NHL rookies are a hit or miss bunch under normal circumstances, and with rare exceptions (Sid the Kid) huge media pressure and fan expectations does exactly nothing to make them excel.

Plus, I hate the goddamn Penguins, and enjoy rooting for the misery of their fans. Don't get me wrong, I don't want the team to move, that's too much misery. The best case scenario in my mind is that they stay in Pittsburgh and continue to suck, in humiliating fashion.

By the way, if you only read hockey news, you might not be aware that the Penguins aren't the only big operation threatening to move out of Pittsburgh. Apparently, this guy Nelson Peltz, a billionaire investor with a reputation for costcutting (read: gutting) companies has had his sites set on Pittsburgh's Heinz company for quite a while now. From what I've read, if members of his group gain a majority on the board, they claim they won't move the company, but no one buys it. The vote was this week, and they've been stalling the announcement, saying it could take weeks to count all the votes properly.

To quote Nick Braden from Slap Shot:

"When they close the mill, the Chiefs'll fold...These people are gonna be broke. They're not gonna be going to hockey games."

We'll see.

On a brighter note, huge congrats to my pals Chris Regan and Eric Drysdale , who did their best 1980's New York Islanders impression with their fourth emmy win in a row last Sunday for their excellent work as writers on the Daily Show. Drysdale's site, by the way, is where I found the link to the Rick Moranis album from the last post, and is a funny, funny dude, currently working over at the Colbert Report. If you're bored at work, I highly reccomend his "items of some interest," along the right margin, if for no other reason, the sublime Seven Doug Hennings in a Station Wagon.

Happy August, everybody.

Here's something fun-

It's a link to a page that allows you to download the long out-of-print Rick Moranis Comedy album "You, Me, the Music and Me," notable here for the track called "hockey."

I didn't think it was tremendously funny, but then again, I'd never listened to Foster Hewitt, and this seems to be making fun of him.

And there's the difference between America and Canada. Down here, you don't sell a lot of records by hauling out your killer Fred Cusick impression. Which is too damn bad, cause I have a pretty good one.

I can't wait to read his book.

In fact, if he reads the audiobook, I'm preordering right now.

Not sold yet?

Well, according to this teaser in the Boston Globe, Cusick wrote it because he didn't like other hockey books: "(Phil) Esposito's was awful...I could have thrown up reading all that personal stuff."

Christ, I loved that man.

Here's hoping Derek Sanderson does the introduction.

I know where Evgeni Malkin isn't.

Yeah, a lot of hockey people out there are speculating where in the world Evgeni Malkin is, Pittsburgh, Washington, Russia, who knows?

But I can tell you where he definitely is not.

Or wasn't yesterday around 3:30.

Evgeni Malkin definitely was not on 55th street in Manhattan with his arm around Mr. T.

I know this, because I was.


You heard me.














That's Mr. T on the left, there, next to your beaming author.

Evgeni Malkin was nowhere in sight.

I was on the way to meet a friend for coffee, and walked past a hotel on 55th street off Madison, and there, on the red carpet in front of the hotel posing for a photo with three beaming teenage girls, was Mr. T.

I don't really consider myself that impressed by celebrities, you see them every now and then in the city, but I hate to tell you, when you aren't expecting to see Mr. T, and all of a sudden, you are three feet away from Mr. T, well- you stop, you smile, and you tell Mr. T that you are happy to see him. Because you are.

And you know what?

Mr. T is happy to see you as well.

So, yeah- man.

Mr. T.

Sweet.

He didn't seem to be pitying me at all either, which was a good sign.

I'll keep an eye out for Malkin, though.

Keep checking back.

My friend Adam Felber has written a book:

And you all should go out and buy a copy.

Adam grew up on Long Island, was a fan of the Islanders growing up, is a regular performer on NPR, and used to play the keyboards at the late, great Felber's Frolics comedy show on 54th street in Manhattan. He also does a very funny blog about politics along with Daily Show Alums Chris Regan (who is also my pal) and Mo Rocca, (who I was in a movie with once.)

The novel is called "Schrodinger's Ball," and there should be an umlaut over the "o" there, but I still don't know how to do that on blogger, which incidentally, is also the reason I've been delaying my post about playing four-on-four street hockey with the members of Motley Crue.

(That was a lie.)

Insofar as I can tell, the book has nothing to do with the game of hockey in any way, shape or form, which still makes it better than the majority of hockey books available in stores today.

Now go buy it.

I mean, c'mon.

Shouldn't we all be doing something nice for Islanders fans this year?

I mean, if I opened the sports pages about my favorite hockey team, and saw stuff like this, well- I might contemplate writing a comic novel based on a metaphor from the world of quantum physics intended to illustrate the simultaneous potentiality of particle and wave as well.

Oh, and in case that sounds too heady, the metaphor is a dead cat in a box.

Or maybe it's alive.

Get it?

Just read the book, dickheads, there's no hockey till October anyway.

Thanks, Ben!

Well, once again, I ask Ben to step up, and he does- that Jamie MacLennan video was great- still, as an astute anonymous commentor stated, now he's Alex Auld's bitch.

Yeesh.

Still, it's worth bringing up how funny and well produced that segment was- sure it was a little low budget and rough around the edges, but it really worked. The punchlines were funny and it was directed exactly like it should have been, like a late night comedy remote.

As I was thinking about this, I was about to lament that American hockey broadcasts are just never as funny as that, but that's when it occured to me that pretty much all American sports broadcasts are never as funny as that. In this country, the sports broadcaster's idea of comedy, at least on a national level, is still just three guys behind a desk doing this lameass, fratboy whinnying at each other. They sit there like idiots and bray, awkwardly and unskillfully attempting to make fun of each other's clothing or lack of ability when they played the game. Then they force out these honking, billious waves of fake laughter, as though to impress on the viewer that watching the broadcast is just like "sitting around a friend's house, busting balls and watching the game."

Look- if they honestly wanted to replicate the experience of sitting around a buddy's house and watching the game with a bunch of knuckleheads, they not only should never have fired Jimmy the Greek, but they should go one step further. Why not go ahead and hire an abrasive actress (Kathy Griffin anyone?) to walk into the booth with two minutes left in the half and start screaming at the color man.

You know- really letting him know, right at the most important part of the game that just because his slacker, shithead "friends" think that "doing something productive" entails drinking an entire six pack before 3:00 PM, well that doesn't mean that he has to do it. Then after inquiring if his drunkass buddies all jumped off the Empire State Building if he would go along too, she would loudly and aggressively note that the lawn "ain't mowing itself."

Then, as an intro to the halftime show, we'd be treated to the color man out in the blazing sun in his shirtsleeves, hunched over a lawn mower muttering "just THAT much respect is all I ask....Beer. Yeah I'll drink a beer in my own house- just as much as I da*n well please. Think I'm gonna just sit around- Like she's never sat around- HA! Why just wait till she tries just one thing like this again- JUST ONE. Oh ho ho. We. will. see. Yes, indeedy-doo we will. Now where's' that fu&#*in gas can?"

Then they cut to the highlights.

Oh, and one other thing, while I'm talking about comedy segments in sports, particularly hockey, lemme get one thing off my chest:

Hey Denis Leary!

You can stop now.

Seriously, enough already.

I'm a Bruins fan too, dude- but knock it off.

How do you narrow it down to five?

It’s quite an honor to be included in the Five Weird Things mania that’s been sweeping the hockey blog world lately. As a highly infrequent contributor to AHF, I’ve always felt a bit like Jamie McLennan to Ritch’s Roberto Luongo:



I would say the only differences are 1) our relationship is (slightly) less homoerotic, and 2) I didn’t just dream about running Ritch down with a zamboni...I actually got out there and did it.

But having said that, my name IS right there on the “Contributors” list (which I assume is listed not alphabetically, but in order of sheer awesomeness). And hell, I’m as weird as the next guy, as long as the next guy is Ritch, or maybe “Weird Al” Yankovic (new album in stores September 26). So here goes:

Weird Thing #1 - I’m the creator of the online cartoon Unleashed. It follows the trials and tribulations of struggling animal actors in Hollywood, and it’s quite funny according to my mom, who also confirms that I’m the handsomest guy in school. Thanks to the gift of modern technology, it’s now possible for 3 guys to put out 90 seconds worth of freshly animated comedy each and every Monday, on the web, MySpace, YouTube, and iTunes. Check it out…if you don’t laugh, I will cheerfully refund your purchase price (zero dollars, you cheap bastards).

Here, you can even watch the trailer right now:



Weird Thing #2 – Before working with animated dogs, I worked with real ones. For about half a year, I was in charge of booking Stupid Pet Tricks for the Late Show with David Letterman. Was I good at it? You tell me:



It was a fun job, with tons of great perks, but the stress of having to travel the country looking for animals who could do something besides sing along with the radio got to be too much. I think my heart finally broke for good when I flew a giant pig all the way to New York so he could knock down bowling pins on TV...and he didn’t make the cut. (Weird Thing #2A – In addition to working for Letterman, I’ve also worked at Conan and SNL...the New York late night television comedy trifecta).

Weird Thing #3 – In my senior year of high school, I was on the Homecoming Court. That may not seem that weird, but wait until you get to know me a little better.

Weird Thing #4 – I don’t know nearly enough about hockey to be writing on a hockey blog. I love the sport, but the first year I watched it was 2001. Through her job, my wife got offered a pair of seats in a “luxury” box at the Meadowlands to see the Devils home opener against the Islanders that year. The Devs lost 6-4, but I was hooked. I naturally root for underdogs, and in the tri-state area, no one is further under than the Devils. I swear, the frickin’ MetroStars (or Red Bulls or Dodge Stratuses or Dr. Scholl’s Medicated Wart Removers of Soccer or whatever they’re called) get more ink around here. So while I’ve been an avid fan ever since, I’m still learning about the history of the game and finding myself go strangely quiet when someone brings up Toe Blake or Eddie Shore or Boom Boom Geoffrion. Also, I can't skate.

Weird Thing #5 – I almost always run out of steam before I finish things.

Well, I was right.

It was fun to read the Globe and the Herald today, even though I might substitute Adam Oates for Phil Esposito on Bob Ryan's "all Harry (Sinden) Era team."

Also, check out this cool Harry Sinden Timeline.

I'll give it some thought, and maybe criticize him tomorrow, but not today.

Lemme see, any other hockey news to report?

No?

Well then, enjoy this picture of a squirrel dressed up like a 9/11 search and rescue worker:




You know what would be really adorable? If the squirrel found some human remains!

Fuckin' people, man.

Harry Sinden Steps Down-

WOW.

Big news out of Boston.

I guess now he'll have some free time to play golf with Joe Lieberman.

I'll refrain from dumping on the guy today- I know that many people feel that he was a puppet of Jeremy Jacobs, but let's be clear here- he coached the Bruins to a Stanley Cup, and was a member of the organization for more than 40 years. I'll hold off on a flash decision.

Press conference is in an hour.

I'll tell ya though, It's gonna be REAL fun to read the Globe and the Herald tomorrow, boy.

Wait- shhh!

You hear that sound?

That's Kevin Paul DuPont hustling his ass off.

Fill us in, buddy- we're counting on you here.

Oh- and more importantly, here's a hearty "welcome to the world" to Gabriella Duben, born August 7th, 2006.

Apologies for that last post, and the reason I love Keith Acton.

OK- First things first.

Sorry about that last post.

I mean crap- you want to lose an hour of your life you'll never get back?

Ask a blogger to write about himself.

I hate to say it, but the fact is, if you write a blog, you're kind of into yourself. I mean, not as into yourself as say- a congressman or soap opera actress, but still- there's a problem there, and let's be honest, at least the politician and the diva get a little sun now and then.

Either way, there is nothing more ponderous on a blog than talking about blogs and bloggers, so I've decided to instead tell you all the story about why Keith Acton is one of my favorite NHL players of all time.

You can click his name there for his complete stats, and as a Bruins fan, I gotta love that opening quote:

"When I was growing up, I hated Montreal. Always."

I want that hand-embroidered on a motherfucking throw pillow, and displayed prominently in my home.

Of course, the reason I love Keith Acton has nothing to do with his career, which as I look at it again, has some interesting moments. He played for 6 NHL clubs, won a Stanley Cup, was considered one of the best faceoff men in the game, and was sent to the Winnipeg Jets from Philly one summer, only to be sent back again 5 days later. I don't know how it happened, but I do know that it's pretty fucking sweet.

After retiring, he moved into coaching, and has served as an assistant coach with the Flyers, Rangers and currently, the Maple Leafs, a position he got in the year 2000 and is still in today.

But all of that aside, it was one night in the early 1990's as a Philadelphia Flyer that had me and my little brother collecting Keith Acton cards for the rest of our lives. The Flyers were playing the Penguins, who we hated back then for two reasons. The first was that with the offensive fireworks of Lemieux and Jagr, they were becoming the powerhouse that effectively stymied the Bruins' chances to come out of the east, but even moreso, they had Ulf Samuelsson on their team, who had delivered the low hit that led to the end of the career of Cam Neely. To have that bastard skate around with the Stanley Cup while Neely was continually doing rehab after rehab after rehab had the hockey fans of Boston in an absolute fury. I have a vivid memory of a banner hanging from the Gallery of the old Garden bearing the huge letters "KILL ULF." On one chance meeting between the Bruins and Penguins in Boston at the time, the rancor and hatred ran so deep that Samuelsson was a healthy scratch, prompting the great Bruins colorman Derek Sanderson to comment that Ulf had "come down with a touch of the Swedish Flu."

Now, I've said this before, and I don't want to make this an indictment of the new NHL, but I will say that hockey, above almost any other sport, is best enjoyed with a villain or two, and in my eyes, the NHL could use another villain like Ulf.

Christ, I hated that bastard.

In fact, I still do, and wrote about it here .

At any rate, back in those days, if the Penguins were playing, it was an event, and when it was against the Flyers, you knew there were gonna be fireworks, so when the punches started flying, we popped in a tape. I forget who else was involved or how it started, but my memories start after the first fight had ended, and all the players on the ice had grabbed ahold of an opponent's sweater and "locked him up." This was a pretty common technique in the NHL back then, and served as a way to act like you were fighting and kind of save face, but in reality was a way of self-policing the situation so it wouldn't get completely out of hand. So when it did get completely out of hand, it was kind of a surprise. It took the replay for us to see that locking up Ulf Samuelsson on that night was a player named Keith Acton.

I don't know who the cameraman was who captured this moment, but it couldn't have been done more perfectly. The shot showed Acton and Samuelsson locked up with each other, both kind of absentmindedly watching the linesmen and ref break up one of the other fights, when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, Acton started staring directly over Ulf's other shoulder and up into the stands. He was looking 180 degrees away from the action, and almost straight up, with a perplexed look on his face that seemed to say "What in God's name is THAT?"

As he stared, he relaxed his hands from Ulf's jersey a bit, as though to convey the idea that whatever was going on up there was a sight so bafflingly unique that it commanded every iota of his attention. Acton's eyes widened and his jaw dropped open with awe, as he stared up and behind this giant of a man, who had at least 5 inches and forty pounds on him. Perhaps feeling the grip on his jersey relax, or maybe simply noticing the extent of Acton's interest, Ulf turned his head all the way around and followed Acton's gaze, relaxing his own grip, and craning his head back towards whatever it was that had so aroused Action's interest. Ulf blinked his eyes, stared for a second, and seeing nothing out of the ordinary, turned his head back around, directly into the path of the fast moving right fist of Acton, who had started drawing his hand back the minute Ulf took the bait. Acton's fist smashed into Samuelsson's face with the force of a flying anvil, and Ulf who had no idea what had happened, went down like a sack of wet laundry.

It was a motherfucking gorgeous thing to see.

It was one of the best sucker punches I have ever seen in the history of the NHL, and stands in my memory as a living example of not only the little guy winning over the big guy, but brains over brawn and the chickens coming home to roost, all in the span of 4 seconds.

Henceforth, Keith Acton became a hero to my brother and I, and on days where it was rainy, or we were sad- all that needed to be said to fill the moment with cheer was the phrase "Wanna watch the Keith Acton tape?"

And we did, perhaps watching that tape over a hundred times, and after our Dad mistakenly taped over it, we relived it by acting out the event at pond and street hockey games for years afterwards.

So here's to you Keith Acton.

Keep swinging, buddy- and good luck with Hal Gill in Toronto.

We know you aren't afraid of the big fellas.

My head is killing me (5 weird things)

You heard me.

Not so loud.

What's up hockey fans?

I'm temping in the legal department of Bear Stearns today, trying to ward off a savage hangover with 12 ounces of rapidly warming ice coffee and a banana. It works better than you'd think, but still- I could deal with answering these 9 phone lines a hell of a lot better if I wasn't also having to force out a fake laugh every time some lawyer sauntered past the reception desk and answered the "how was your weekend" question with the words "short!" or "too short!"

I mean, I know- casual conversation is a pain the ass, but c'mon, people, you're killing me with this shit. One of them just said it again, and then topped it off by making that gay-ass "pow-pow, I've got a gun!" gesture with his fingers. Oh, and by the way, if you went to college in the 90's and were offended by my use of the word "gay" well- take it easy there Oprah, I'm using it exclusively in the sixth grade sense of the term.

Either way, I may not make it through the day, which is why now might be the best time to provide my entry in the "5 weird things" thread that's been bouncing through the hockey blogs of late.

I got tagged by Tapeleg over at Jerseys and Hockey Love, and while this whole thing seems a little chainletter-y to me, I figure , what the hell, I'm happy to be included. I'll drop Ben a line too, as TL tagged him as well- we'll see if he can do one. I can tell you right now, he's pretty busy with the Unleashed , thing (which is new today incidentally, and you should check it out.)

Right now, the thing I've been busiest with is fighting the temptation to let fly with this beastly fart that's been rumbling around under my bowels for the past 20 minutes. It's just been rolling around in there, building, like a thick wad of gassy bread dough. It would be a bad one too, as I drank about 8 cans of Coors last night, and seeing that the coffee and banana is, well, compounding the issue, this could be something truly awful. Suffice it to say, if I let it tear, this office would be treated to a torrid blast sounding not unlike the first spastic, coughing pull of a lawnmower cord, and smelling so goddamn terrible it would make a man long for the comparatively sweet aroma of the wet corpse of a large St. Bernard being cremated on a stack of burning tires.

I better head to the restroom.

OK- I'm back.

Much better.

Anyway, lemme try to think of something weird, other than the fact that I live in America and hockey is my favorite sport, which is pretty bizarre, especially when you look at the ratings for hockey in this country. Anyway, here goes:

Five Weird Things About Me- by Ritch Duncan

1) I was the co-founder and editor-in-chief of the late, great, humor magazine Jest. I'd tell you the whole story of its rise and fall, but we need to have room for four more weird things. Here's the short version:
-I started it, got it going, and had great writers, many of whom are currently working in the some of the most coveted comedy writing jobs on the planet. After two and a half years fighting what seemed like hundreds of battles about the kinds of things that are always argued about in collective creative endeavors, I got fed up and either quit or was fired, depending on who you talk to. The magazine sputtered on for a few more issues and finally died. So yeah- now I'm answering phones for lawyers part time. Still, if I had it all to do over again, I wouldn't change a thing.

2) The opportunity I got after the magazine tanked was my introduction to blogging for a large audience, and in a way, was the inspiration for this blog. It was a fictional blog I wrote under the name "Kirk Thomson" about a 30-something video store clerk that was bitten by a werewolf. The first post is here, and the story was eventually optioned by an independent film company, meaning I was hired to write a screenplay based on the material, which I did. The whole story is here. It inspired the hockey blog because it was started for fun, with no hope of making money. When it did make me some money, it was the greatest thing ever. I started the hockey blog on (hopefully) the same principle. I even wrote about hockey a few times on that blog- For example, I was pretty pissed when they Bettman and Goodenow didn’t settle the lockout when they had the chance.

3) The first job I ever got in comedy was a radio show I started on WMCA 570 AM called "The Frank Dell Comedy Hour," which I still think is a pretty cool Lenny Bruce reference. The kicker? WMCA was (and still is) a Christian radio station, and at the time I had a dayjob selling ads for Talkline Communications Network, a Jewish TV and Radio network. Talkline bought a block of airtime in New York on WMCA on Saturday nights from 8:00 PM to 3:00 AM, and seeing as Orthodox Jews can't drive cars until the end of Shabbos, when the sun sets, they had a problem during the summer, as the sun didn’t set until 7:45. This meant that none of the regular Jewish DJ's could even get into their cars until quarter to 8:00, and couldn't get to the station in time to start the shows. Seeing as I had done college radio, could run a radio board, and was the only non-Jew in the office, I found myself with a half hour block of time on New York radio to do whatever I wanted with. It was pretty sweet. Hence, I started my own sketch comedy radio show, sandwiched between programming intended for hardcore Christians and hardcore Jews. The bad news was, the audience hated it. A lot. The good news was, I was the guy who answered the phones during the day, so when people called to complain, they had no idea they were talking to the host of the show they hated so much. I'd be like, "Really- you thought it was in poor taste? Hold on- lemme get a pen." Obviously, I never told a soul. It was a good time, and led to my other radio gig, hosting a radio game show for a couple of years.

4)When I was a kid, me and my older brother held our youngest brother down and poured pepper directly into his nostrils to see if, “like in the cartoons, it would really make someone sneeze." As it turned out, he did sneeze a little bit, but the primary side effects were thick red streaks that appeared on his face accompanied by what he claimed was a severely painful burning sensation that didn't go away for days. He's turning 30 next year, and is still pissed about it. Can’t say I blame him.

5) I won my high school's "Young Businessperson" award my senior year by making the most "fake money" of anyone in one of those stock market games high schools do every year. My winning technique was to do no homework except saving the newspapers from the first and last days of the assignment, finding the cheapest stock that went up the most, and doing all the charts and journals retroactively in different colored pens. We all started with 1000 fake dollars, but I ended up with over 90 grand. I justified my cheating by figuring that real stockbrokers would have done the same goddamn thing if they could have gotten away with it, so I felt pretty savvy. The prize was a hardcover book about sound investment strategy, which I may have opened once.

OK- that's five.

I was going to tap the always entertaining Sidearm Delivery for his five things but somebody got there first.

Crap.

OK- how about Mike and Jason from Orland Kurtenblog?

I tap those guys.

Anyway- God bless you if you made it through this. This was WAY too long.

On the plus side, my head is feeling much better.

So- did anything happen in hockey today?

No, no- stay where you are.

I’ll go check.

It's hot today:

So here's a COOL picture:



You know, I forgot how adorable Grant Fuhr used to look before all the drug use.

Thanks to new kids Jason and Mike over at Orland Kurtenblog. If you have a caption of your own, post it with them.

OK- enough already. It's awful outside.

Check on your grandparents, willya?