by Reginald Phlegmingham, Flames Fan

‘Sup, bitches? I can tell you what’s up: my patience with my favourite team, the Calgary Flames. Or as I like to call them these days, The Sutter Circle Jerks. Oh I know what you’re thinking: “Doesn’t Reggie usually just point out Lord Edmund Bryll’s many glaring flaws?” True that. But right now I’m filled with righteous fury at the cluster fuck in Calgary, so I need to blow off some steam. Eddie gets the weak shit, ‘cuz that’s all he rates — but step back, because Reg is about to drop some weapons grade beat down on the Sutters. Assholes.

So there I was the other night, crammed into the Saddledome with 19,000 other fans to watch the Flames take on the San Jose Dipshits. As usual, the place smelled like Sportchek. I was in my luxury box with some of my homeboys from the local oil industry, who didn’t so much watch the game as tolerate it as background noise while they messaged their mistresses from their Blackberries. The usual shit, you dig?

But I wasn’t wasting any time on my Blackberry, I can tell you that straight up. My mistress? Ho can wait until the game is over, is the way I roll. Nope, I was watching my team get bounced from the motherfucking playoffs by a bunch of pussies in teal jerseys. Okay, so technically they weren’t eliminated until later in the evening when the Avalancheisn’tevenaproperteamname beat the Hongcouver Cafucks in overtime. But the Flames pretty much made sure they would miss the playoffs by basically playing like guttershite. Damn.

Who is to blame for this season’s fuckuperry? Let me give you a hint: In a just world, every last member of the Sutter family — including their wives, kids, dogs, and fucking goldfish — would be relegated to coaching PeeWee in Frozen Teat, Manitoba. Naw, that’s too harsh. The kids of Frozen Teat deserve better than to be coached by those inbreds.

Since the run to the Stanley Cup Finals in ’04, Daryl Sutter has architected a team that was perfect for bombing out in the first round of the playoffs. Those fuckers do more bed shitting than Lord Eddie when he forgets to wear his Depends. This year they couldn’t even wait until the playoffs to do that. After hiring his brother in the off-season, sending away the Dion for a collection of knick knacks from the Maple Leafs’ junk drawer, making a bunch of other trades a masturbating chimpanzee would avoid (Steve Staios? WTF?), swapping away all of his draft picks from now until Judgement Day, and crafting a roster who couldn’t score at a drunken cougar convention, Daryl and his kin should be quarantined to their pig farm or whatever the fuck it is they farm out in Hicksville, Alberta. I’ll tell you what they farm out that way: shitty hockey coaches, that’s what.

Well sir, I’m done with these bunch of half-assed pantywaists. The minute the Flames are no longer contenders is the minute I go shopping for another team to cheer for. I’ll be back once they start winning again. Does that make me a fair-weather fan? Yes. Do I give a shit? No. The Phlegmer is a winner, and he sticks by winners. Losers can all get AIDS and die.

This entry was posted on Thursday, April 8th, 2010 at 7:38 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.